Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Oberon’s Garden

Oberon’s Garden

in nocturnal light, the fairies and the sprites
in fine peacock array—girls by night and
boys by day
the art of illusion guides their magic wand
illusion their boon companion
art mimics life in costumed fine array
life mimics are, girls by night and boys by day

at eventide we gather Oberon’s Garden breathes awake
as the celestial orb ascends the sky, her iridescent
gown lights the gilded stars
drawn across the nascent onyx sky in a chariot
of spider webs drawn by gilded butterflies
until dawn, her fire exhausted, she sinks into
morning’s oblivion;

and flee we must the Garden, whence the irate lord of heaven
master of the day, fiery glowing orb eloquent
and effulgent, bold as children’s lies
washes away morning’s sounds and dew
and fairies scatter and hide

but once evening blooms again into Oberon’s bower
they come softly stealing to this enchanted garden
softly hung with twinkling lights and o’rehung with vining flowers
the fairies pluck to weave their golden locks
or hair of raven lustrous cascades shimmering
in the perfumed hours, the comes
the fairy dwarf Oberon, diminutive but handsome to
the eye, bearer of great beauty, holding court with
nymphs and sprites
and such as I and other startled creatures of the night
roam and dance to music from Pan’s magic pipe

these lovely creatures, both boy and girl, art and
nature’s mystique and wondrous to the curious I
though I alone would walk among them
without fear of the unknowing but I remain
caught in their elfin kingdom
I delighting in their domain

though I would be, were I could, one of these glittered
magic sprites, the lovely fairies bejeweled with wings
and gilded crowns and gowns of endless array, who
sporting of an evening in Oberon’s garden, without
me they dance and sway

magic creatures of art and illusion haunt the
evening, inviting with gestures fey, invite me in
to witness bold and beautiful, their enchanted drama
all pure beauty of sound and sight
making music into the night, welcome into the garden
entry to all who ask, to those who so desire, to be
both boy and girl, to confound and delight, to confuse
to delight, to blur the lines that gender taunts, come
dance with us, come join the glee while under the
Luna e l’altra, the other moon, welcomes in
the curious, the other creatures of the night
and so they welcome me

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Vatican Launches Gay Themed Art Tours

Caravaggio was the biggest queen, but my fave Renaissance artist

EXPOSEDNews

michelangelo

It seems the Metropolitan Museum of Art and the Museum of Natural History aren’t the only ones getting tour makeovers. According to the Guardian, Quiky, a gay travel company, will also be giving entertainingly sensual tours of the Vatican.

Quiky’s tour will celebrate the sexuality of some of the Catholic church’s most respected artists opening up new dialogues on the world’s best-known 16th and 17th century art. For centuries the notion that Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, or Caravaggio were gay was, to say the least, controversial (a 1961 biopic of Michelangelo gave him a made-up girlfriend). Members of the Catholic church and some art historians have long chosen to ignore or deny the sexual proclivities of these artists, despite contemporary evidence that their sexuality was never a secret. The travel company sees their project as in line with the current pope’s more liberal views.

What can you expect on Quiky’s tour of the holiest…

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Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Raise Your Bibles, Hear Them Cry

Raise Your Bibles, Hear Them Cry

raise ye your bibles unto the sky and shout, in
the name of the Lord, proclaim words He never said
thoughts he never entertained, praised by purple-haired
televangelists praising money, money: send it in
raise those holy books, raise those holy bucks
hideous have you made this holy word, this word of
God and gods, even in the name of his son
if that is what you believe

get ye down from the pulpit–cease your derisions
cease the squall, cease the chaos of your hateful
muck and mire, your endless platitudes that rankle
your oversensitive sense of entitlement, though
bible-thumpers cannot see, see through to the
mystery of God, set adrift in blinded passion, seeking
some holy spirit, some place of peace and sanctity
some state of redemption where the soul is at
peace with the source, look then, look
die Augen zum Himmel erheben

were God to show himself, as once to Elias He did
Elijah, Yahweh is my God, who also raised the
dead, harbinger of the messiah, bringer of peace
prophet of a better world to come
will it?
Will it come that great and terrible day of the Lord?
as Moses before him high on the mountains in Sinai
bearing forth the tablets of righteous living, those simple
commandments, the heart of recovery, so simple we
cannot fathom living under their guidance

if Elias saw the countenance of God I do not know
to speak of what I know not, in ignorance, is far more a sin
more a blaspheme than to utter God’s name in vain
I have surrendered, or though I try, to relinquish my
hold on power and be graced with a little insight, to
be released from the grip of certainty that I alone rule the
world, and nothing be further from the truth, I am but
here, a moment, a flash in time, to shine through God’s eyes
shine back through me
was I given this gift to waste and squander?
to soapbox my life and words thrown upon the masses
with one desire to hate, to live my life unholy

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God Vows To Destroy Ireland The First Chance He Gets

we all need this laugh!

The Cretonia Times-Picayune

monty-python-god

PEARLY GATES, HEAVEN – (CT&P) – Sources close to Almighty God told Fox News today that the benevolent creator of the universe will devastate Ireland with a series of droughts, heat waves, earthquakes, tsunamis, and a major zombie outbreak “just as soon as he has the time to do so.”

The sources, who wished to remain anonymous lest the all-loving deity seek vengeance against them, said that God intended to punish Ireland for daring to treat all her citizens equally and allowing homosexuals to get married.

“He’s really pissed off,” said on source, “and he plans on killing hundreds of thousands of Irish men, women, and children indiscriminately and then later on sort out just who voted for marriage equality.”

asteroid Sources told Fox News that gay marriage would destroy America because an all-merciful God would hurl a gigantic scrotum at the geographic center of the continental United States, killing the…

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Christopher Michael, gay, gay poetry, homosexual, lgbt, queer

Mirror, Mirror

Mirror, Mirror

in the mirror I do not see what I do not wish to see
the reality of that sight offends, my reflection exasperates, thus
I do not spend time, as Narcissus might, reviewing and regaling
in my image, my beauty does not lie in my reflection
kind sirs, it does not lie in your reflection either
the poet is not seer nor visionary, one supposed to see
through supernatural insight, to what the future holds
nor sibyl, that woman of ancient times, purported to
utter the oracles and prophecies of god

if mirrors lie, than I’ve been cursed with deceits, with
libelous spewings from my own reflection I fear
do not look in the mirror I chastise, those of a spiritual
bent claim it possible to gaze upon one’s reflection in
that silvered device and repeat, I love thee, I love thee
self, a concept as vacuous and repellent as a slimy
reptile crossing my flesh, a heinous thought, but it is
only my reflection not myself therein encircled, reflected
back what I stand before

make peace with the mirror, comb not your hair nor
shave your scruffy jowls, look not deeply into one’s own
eyes and admire one’s beauty, that fleeting sprite that comes
and fades, as it will, as it must, because beauty,
another name for vanity, which haunts those who posses
and ridicules those who wish its gifts
beauty does not last, no longer than the days it takes
the red red rose to bloom from bud to full figured
flower, to wither, die, its rusty red brown petals,
edges curled with decay, fall to the ground, no!
beauty is transitory and words, the art that beauty conveys
can, if acceded half a chance, last forever

gaze not upon your image, remove that vanity from your
heart, that obsession to possess some transitory fleeting
gift and think instead, of art who as beauty’s handmaiden
she who will outlast us one and all, she who reposes in
majesty, gilt-framed paintings where beauty, the goddess
of deceit can linger forever, untouched by time
or circumstance, though her images adapt as social graces
demand in this or that time fleeting moment, beauty is
but a wastrel, a thing of flesh and bone
only art can last forever

look not for your heart within that mercury-lined glass
you will not find yourself there, only Narcissus’ reflection
staring back, his efforts to ensnare and drag you deep with
his pool of replicated light, your death awaits staring into
forever, blindly as beauty wanes, with time and only
love and art remain

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