A. Sea Herndon

The Poetry of A. Sea Herndon

Month: April, 2014

Blood Moon: The End of the World

Blood Moon: The End of the World


Something sprang from nothing

And God said it was good

Fourteen billion years later

Father Maître would propose a how

(though Edwin Hubble gets the credit)

but that Big Bang was nothing

compared to the day it ended:

It was the best of times

a warming trend

a Holocene within an Ice Age

Mankind had flourished

The Reason & Philosophy of Athens

The Might & Economy of Rome

The Law & Righteousness of Jerusalem

had all converged

Man was civilized

he had done the best he could do

but it was not good enough

it was not Love

it was not Faith, Hope, or Charity

and so refusing to turn His back on the world

God turned His back on Himself

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?

My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?

And we killed Him

And there was no reply

And the sun was darkened

And the moon was blood

that Good Friday:

The Day The World Ended

And we planted Him

like a seed in a tomb

from which would grow

A New Heaven and a New Earth

And His Kingdom shall have no end

“Let us believe the Gospel when it tells us that the kingdom of God is already present in this world and is growing, here and there, and in different ways: like the small seed which grows into a great tree (cf. Mt 13:31-32), like the measure of leaven that makes the dough rise (cf. Mt 13:33) and like the good seed that grows amid the weeds (cf. Mt 13:24-30) and can always pleasantly surprise us.  The kingdom is here, it returns, it struggles to flourish anew.  Christ’s resurrection everywhere calls forth seeds of that new world; even if they are cut back, they grow again, for the resurrection is already secretly woven into the fabric of this history, for Jesus did not die in vain.  May we never remain on the sidelines of this march of living hope!”

-Pope Francis, The Joy of the Gospel (Evangelii Gaudium)


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Yolk from Easter Egg.


Jesus’ Jackass

Jesus’ Jackass

I am not much to look at

and rather worse to smell,

but every lowly jackass

has his tale to tell:

They brought me to the Master;

He gently climbed aboard,

and this wonky little donkey

for a moment bore the Lord.

The people cried, “Hosanna!”

laid palm fronds in His path.

We sauntered to the City;

I stopped and munched some grass.

I really do not have the mind

to fully understand

except He uses simple stuff

to carry out His plan.

Bread and wine and fishermen

and fuck-ups He does choose,

and even one as dumb as me,

a jackass, He can use.

Happy Passover to my Jewish Brothers & Sisters & Happy Holy Week!

The Gospel According to Andy Warhol

The Gospel According to Andy Warhol

Andy Warhol starin’ at the priest

Andy Warhol starin’ at the Feast

Saw that Substance hides behind the Style

Saw the God that hides inside the Child

Andy Warhol saw the Bread and Wine

Never met a man he didn’t like

Pimps & thugs & superstars & whores

Enter one and all through open doors

Cans of soup & wine & broken bread

“Everything is sacred,” Andy said

I think I know sometimes what Andy knew

All Art is just an accident of Truth

Holy Ghost, the Father, & the Son

Let the camera roll & the tape deck run

Somethings you do for profit, some for love

Everyone is beautiful or none

Andy Warhol sittin’ on the couch

Andy Warhol kneelin’ at the pew

Andy Warhol starin’ right at me

Andy Warhol starin’ right at you

*Andy Warhol attended Mass almost daily at Saint Vincent Ferrer in Manhattan.

Listen to a recorded version here.

(c) 2013 A. Sea Herndon (BMI).

Andy & JP

Andy & John Paul II. Happy Palm Sunday & Holy Week!

Ceiling Fan

Ceiling Fan

When I find my perfect center like Vitruvian Man

I will make a perfect circle like a ceiling fan

Then I’ll sing Amazing Grace

Wipe that smile back on my face

And know I’m spinning right through space

Like a ceiling fan

When I met your mother, child, understand

I was no more than a boy, not yet a man

But the Universe is funny

Seems to be made of milk and honey

And it just keeps right on running

Like a ceiling fan

When I see you, girl, naked, toned and tanned

I see the microcosmic/macrocosmic plan:

As above, so below

As in Heaven, so in my Soul

It just rolls and rolls and rolls

Like a ceiling fan

When I see Him on that tree, a dying man

I know there are some things that I don’t comprehend

But the engine of existence

Is a death that is insistent

He just hangs there in resistance

Like a ceiling fan

When I feel like I can’t sing, or speak, or stand

When I’m lonely and alone without a friend

Well, the whole world can dismiss me

But you’re always right there with me

And I know you’ve always been

My ceiling fan

Words & Music, (c) A. Sea  Herndon (BMI) 2012.

Listen to a recorded version here.

On First Looking Into Schmidt’s Lives of the Poet

On First Looking Into Schmidt’s Lives of the Poets

Much have I traveled in the realm of words

and caught there colds that have no cures

language like addiction spurs

the junkie poet to steal more words

the rhythms, ah they come, like hot

night-sweat fevers ill-begott’n

but words, those words, those goddamned words

the substance that the addict craves

words enough to quench the page

So as this two-pound tome I crack

its breaking spine like thunder

keep guard, good doctor, watch your back

the Poet’s come to plunder

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Happy April Fools’ Day! Happy National Poetry Month (U.S.)! Happy Cruellest Month (T.S. Eliot)!