Jesus Left His Beer Bottle on the Church’s Front Yard

I got to work this morning,
And saw someone had already called,
Not with a voice recording,
They’d dropped in the night before,
I bet they thought I’d be appalled,
Rolling and rocking in the January wind,
A single bottle came to be stalled,
Was this a glass blown sign of someone’s sin,
Visual proof of where their feet sprawled,
Unable to walk,
Unwilling to crawl,
Maybe it was Jesus,
One beer on a cold night,
Looking for a place to sleep,
A homeless man as Jesus,
Sounds about right.

–Richard Bryant


My Proud, Beloved Infidel

I saw a man wearing a shirt identical to this earlier today.

We’re all unfaithful,
To one thing or another,
God, women, whiskey,
cigarettes brands and two bit songs,
Or beer to cheap to pour in glasses to dirty to wash,
But I’ve never been proud to be unfaithful,
To somebody else’s God,
My hands are full,
Disappointing my own.

–Richard Bryant

A Halloween Poem Chiefly Concerning Matters Fearful, Frightening, and Scary

I haven’t been that afraid,
since the last time I was scared,
which might have been the other day,
or was it when?
Maybe it was Sunday morning,
the day the preacher preached against sin,
he was frightening me,
about golden cows,
unchecked idolatry,
he petrified me,
but me is he,
and he is me,
so no wonder we’re scared.

–Richard Bryant

A Prisoner of Sky and Sea – A Poem

No, not today,
The seagull scowls,
I want to explain.
Why follow the beam of blue,
Spanning the day storms,
invisible to the naked eye?
Let me speak:
The offering of now,
on the altar of yesterday’s bread;
between the vagrant’s lips
are embellished lies;
migratory dreams,
undone by finite northeasterly nights,
when I have gone hungry
so others may flee,
and here remain bound,
a captive to sky and sea.

–Richard Bryant

A Birthday Poem for My Wife

In this cerulean desert,
Surrounded by wind and wave,
Awaiting the tropical swell,
Settled on this unwound isle,
We find a time, a way, a moment,
To claim the indefinite future called now,
There is a place for candle and cake,
A time to mourn the dying beauty of the sun,
While I seek divine counsel for a gift unfound,
For if I could, I certainly would,
Return your sister,
As my present to you,
Because you are my wife,
And I love you.

-Richard Bryant

*My wife’s sister died in a tragic car accident this past May. Her sister’s birthday was last week. My wife’s birthday is today.

A Poem About Robert Jeffress and His Recent Chat With God

Robert Jeffress
Southern Baptist Imam
Who does his fatwa address?
The God Bob claims
Made him so blessed
Is listening to
this heretical mess.
A Baptist preacher,
Impeccably dressed,
Heard God say,
Kim Jong-un is an abscess,
Rip him out, it’s ok,
I’ll tell the press,
We’ll lay hands and pray,
You’ll kill millions as we profess,
And hope none of the soldiers are, well, you know, that way.

–Richard Bryant