13 May 2008

Bad Dissenter Poetry for Your Enjoyment


The ironically-named "Voice from the Desert" site has posted an anti-Archbishop Burke poem from one of its holier-than-the-holier-than-thou crowd called "The Bishop's Folly".  

This poem is, for some reason I can't explain, copyrighted, so here is just a fair-use snippet from this gem:

Where does he come off playing God
Threatening dissenters with his rod?
Capriciously does he excommunicate
Those tired of hearing him bloviate.

I haven't read poetry this bad since the late, great Jack Buck died.

I mean, wow.  I would try to rebut the sentiments the writer expresses about the Archbishop, but the poem is so bad as to be self-negating.

You may want to ask yourself why these people are so full of "hate", and "belittle" those on the other side instead of "engaging in dialogue", but then, hey, who am I to notice?

Enjoy!

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

The 60s have come,
The 60s have gone,
But Vinnie's still stuck there
As his poetry has shown.

thetimman said...

How about a haiku?

We need a new priest.
How about Marek Bozek?
He's the next best thing.

wolftracker said...

The website should be called Voice from the Deserters.

Anonymous said...

CHRISTMAS MASS AT ST. STANISLAUS

(dedicated to Fr. Marek Bozek)

Our Bishop will not keep his hands,
Off property in Polska land,
So Bialzcak and his brother slavs,
Amended thus Stan’s old by-laws.

“No priest shall sit in counsel here,
Nor blackrobe guide our high affairs,
Our Faith in polkas and kielba-sas,
Will make that Bishop kiss our dup-as.

But Lo! we haven’t had a Mass,
Since our brave board began this mess.
And we’re not Catholic in the least,
Unless we rent a foot loose priest!

So, down in Cape there was a Slav,
Needing to flee the rumors of,
Events in a seminary, of late,
Too smarmy to disseminate.

So our Stanislaus BOD,
Did then of one great voice decree,
We need a Pole, we need a priest,
And he’ll need a BMW lease!

So Christmas bells that year did peal,
And Poles at Mass did as one kneel,
And all was well at the bang of bells,
And no Pole feared he’d go to Hell.

But the last in line communicants,
Were muscled, hairy debutantes,
Who were perfumed and very tan,
As they took the dear Host holding hands.

thetimman said...

Anon, nice job-- better get a copyright for it! Ask the guy at Voice from the Desert how.