April 6th TSL's NAPOWRIMO Prompt If angels dance on their heads given by
Santosh Bakaya
If angels danced on their heads
Would they be wearing skirts or smocks
Or tunics or white or silver robes
Or golden ones or nothing much?
Would those tumble to their heads
Revealing their private parts
Which they may or may not have
Do angels darn, wear underwear?
And if they dance on 'their' heads
Whose heads would these be?
On a pin or on the heads
Of some unsuspecting folks
Or on the heads unspoken of
That grow in size when blood goes there?
That would be a raunchy feat!
Inspired by Marshall G. Kent Sr.
2nd poem on Santosh Bakaya's prompt TSL Napowrimo 2021
For an angel to dance on its/his/her head
It has to put away its lyre and harp
It has to unpin or tear off (ouch!) its wings
And fold them away or store them away
carefully in a closet or wardrobe
And pretend it is not all feet
When it comes dancing on its head
But the joy, unknown
of Seeing things upside down
brings its smile on , and melts all its frown
and heavenly ditties escape from its lips
So red, so cherry, so hep and hip
You want to kiss it
Wherever you go there is a hierarchy
I will never be top dog
So let me at least be
The one who pulls the rug out
From under everyone's feet
Today's message:
(Thinking of Pet Shop Boys' song It's a Sin)
A shadow always falls across the page.
The shadow of guilt he should not have
or she
of a Christian who was not discipled well
by those who were not born again
who is made to feel he or she did
sins of commission
he or she had not done
or left out things he did not need to do anyway
sins of omission
Guilt unneeded which he or she becomes set free from
only when he finally meets his real Maker, Lord and Saviour
if he or she is lucky, if not; then woe betide
those who made him or her feel guilty
as they are Pharisees who burden human beings
and deserve to be thrown with stones tied to their necks
into the nearest ocean
for becoming stumbling blocks to such children on their way to heaven
who would otherwise be happy, free, and not guilt-ridden
To bring poets out from under their beds
Who say angels dance on their heads
Write a raunchy poem
That's the way to sock 'em
Then out they come, looking like/well 'fed's 
Posts
