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

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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 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,
Don,
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

A Single Word (A Poem)

The incandescent necessities of the moment
Demand I find suitable words to describe
The fumbling steps of the morning
Shuffles which lifted the sounds
And shoved them together into something resembling
The time I call now
Utterances from under my lungs
Pushed through the esophagus
To meet the winning bidder from the brain
Somehow the world around me
Casting a net about my face
Pulls and places the pieces of the puzzle
To draw a single word from this strange place.

–Richard Bryant

The Pentecost Express

The Pentecost Express

I remember the morning,
a glimpse between the leaves,
the meandering Pentecost express,
escaping the station at full steam.
From my breakfast window,
I was certain I could see,
where the Spirit came to rest,
to the left and down a bit;
hidden behind Old Man Howard’s tree.
Everyone in the car appeared to be blessed,
tongue-tied as if waking from a dream,
speaking to newly minted friends,
strangers noticed but till now, never seen.

–Richard Bryant