Father Long Words

When I was back in college,
I took six long hours of Speech.
One of my classmates loved it,
It was preparing him to preach.

He joined the Seminary.
They gave him room and board.
He learned the secret handshake.
He was consecrated to the Lord.

He loved preaching his homilies.
He never noticed the time go by.
His parishioners would take notice.
His sermons made them cry.

It’s not that they weren’t moving,
Or his chosen words weren’t very strong.
It wasn’t even his repeated subjects.
It’s just that they were bloody long.

They called him “Father Long Words”,
But only behind his back.
They were plotting how to sneak out,
To try and find a snack.

Finally, someone called the Bishop.
They said, “He speaks too long.”
The Bishop said, “The Spirit is within him.”
The Bishop said, “Just play along.”

It took months of complaining.
But the Bishop finally heard.
He came to the Church one Sunday.
Then he said, “That is absurd.”

The Bishop heard Father Long Words,
He dozed off about half-way through.
So, he answered the cries of his people,
After snoring loudly from his pew.

The Bishop had him transferred.
Father Long Words moved around.
He would preach in a different parish,
Until that flock drove him out of town.

Everywhere he preached,
The people listened to him at first.
They listened and they listened,
Until their bladders almost burst.

The Church finally blamed Americans,
For not appreciating the Word.
Father Long Words escaped to Ecuador,
Where they knew he would be heard.

Down in Quito, Father Long Words
Entered the famous Guinness book.
He preached two hundred thirty-seven minutes,
Because that’s just how long it took.

The week after the World’s Record,
The Pope flew in from Rome.
The Church was overflowing.
No parishioners dared stay home.

Father Long Words preached two hours.
He paused for breath, and started further.
That’s when the Pope jumped up and shot him.
The police have called it a Mass murder.

(Bless me, Father, for I have sinned with this poem.)

SuperCenter Blues

(Editor’s Note: Recycled from the BJE Facebook page, published there August 5, 2010. This makes it a bonus track for NaPoWriMo 2014.)

BJE said – I don’t want to use any real establishment names, because my lawyer said that would be bad. Let’s just say this was written while watching the crowd at a really big mart where Jessica Simpson would think you bought walls.

SuperCenter Blues
with apologies (and a nod) to Right Said Fred

I’m too sexy for this place
I’ve just seen a face
It was on “Without A Trace”
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy for this mart
I’m filling up my cart
I hope that smell’s a fart
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy but I’m old
I’d never be quite so bold
Say, don’t your ass get cold?
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy for my sight
They’re giving me a fright
They all come out at night
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy for this food
I’m hope that I’m not rude
But that chick there’s a dude
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy for this store
I think I saw a whore
I’m running for the door
Too sexy …

I’m too sexy ’cause I’m white
My receipt’s kept out of sight
The guards just nod “Good night!”
Too sexy …


Religion & Politics

Religion and Politics don’t mix.
The latest proof was in North Miami.
Someone said Jesus endorsed her for Mayor.
She finished last.
Dead last.

She got fifty-six votes.
Twelve votes would have been symbolic.
Fifty-six is just sad.

She finished seventh.
There must be six other Messiahs
That are more involved in local politics.

Football players always thank God
After they win a difficult game.
I think the “after” part is key.

Perhaps if you depend on God for wins,
You should wait until you achieve victory.
Just in case.

Otherwise, you make Him look uninterested.
And you make yourself look a bit crazy.