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The title of this poetry collection THE LAST SUPPER may remind you of Easter and conjure up visions of the Lord and his disciples rendered in rapturous garments, captured so beautifully in oils by many famous painters. However, Don't be fooled, these are not religious poems. These poems embrace the intersection of the Sacred and the Profane. At that intersection lies the forbidden. These poems are forbidden to you if you are easily offended if you read the lines but not between the lines. If you cannot embrace shades of gray, you will not like these poems. The author apologizes in advance for the lack of roses and limericks in these poems. These poems are not for children, little old ladies, or Church Mothers. However, the church is in these poems.
You might get a whiff of the 80's in these verses. Ronald Reagan may be dead, but his legacy lives on. Nothing has changed much in corporate America. Greed rules. AIDS steals away our young men and women. The poem's title, The Last Supper, comes the mantra a young man recited as I fed him his last meal: A sip of water please/A little string beans/Wait now, you're rushing me.
The title of this poetry collection THE LAST SUPPER may remind you of Easter and conjure up visions of the Lord and his disciples rendered in rapturous garments, captured so beautifully in oils by many famous painters. However, Don't be fooled, these are not religious poems. These poems embrace the intersection of the Sacred and the Profane. At that intersection lies the forbidden. These poems are forbidden to you if you are easily offended if you read the lines but not between the lines. If you cannot embrace shades of gray, you will not like these poems. The author apologizes in advance for the lack of roses and limericks in these poems. These poems are not for children, little old ladies, or Church Mothers. However, the church is in these poems.
You might get a whiff of the 80's in these verses. Ronald Reagan may be dead, but his legacy lives on. Nothing has changed much in corporate America. Greed rules. AIDS steals away our young men and women. The poem's title, The Last Supper, comes the mantra a young man recited as I fed him his last meal: A sip of water please/A little string beans/Wait now, you're rushing me.