last confession heard
weighted down
with others’ sins
labored steps home
shower on
needing to remove
pungent smell of incense
stains of cheap wine
robes removed
tossed aside
revealing torn t-shirt
naked before the mirror
stands a man
just a man
This poem was inspired by by dracegannon who stated that “In the past, I wrote a poem titled “Priest Are Men” See if you can run with this colorful idea for a poem.” Please visit his site and enjoy some very poignant poems.
Read Between the Minds 
In light of the dreadful abuse scandals of RC priests recently, my offering on the theme may be a little dark …
I really, really like the poetry and stuff here. Could I put this on my blogroll? Pretty please?
ah but those stains run mighty deep
great write
Beautiful Charlie,
and like we say in French “l’habit ne fait pas le moine” (the robe does not make the priest)
Firstly, perfect title. The poem reminds me of Woody Allen’s Annie Hall when he sees the Maharishi and says…
“Look, there’s ‘God’ coming out of the men’s room!”
weighted down with others’ sins…. this is the line that stands out for me; as if it isn’t enough to carry the wight of our own transgressions. Heartspell
this was gorgeous!
beautiful. all little gods we make of ourselves or other people must come before God somehow and see that He is God, while we, in our nakedness, mere men.
We are all but men, no matter what masks or costumes color us in the light. Wonderful.
Thank you for sharing.
It’s always interesting to remember our (human) history on “godly” men and their religious quest.
I will dream now of churches, la madonna and holy men.
Malene
Brilliant! I completely agree. Priests are so often seen in a higher light, but when you strip them down, they too are just men. Excellent poem!
Great poem,
I enjoyed very much,
Thanks, slpmartin
Peace,
Laz
Priests are men. That is OK to be. 🙂
I think we forget a lot of people’s humanity sometimes. Very interesting poem. :0)
very cool poem … just ‘stumbled’ it …
I really like this… We had a priest in our family when I was little. His name was Father Jim; he laughed alot and wore cowboy boots, made for him by one of his flock on the Indian reservation out west where he lived. He drank whiskey and smoked fat cigars with my father on our summer holiday when we rented a cottage in Cape Cod. There was an outside shower for getting rid of the sand before going into the cottage and I saw him, naked from behind, washing his feet. I was twelve and it was my first view of a man’s bottom, and my education that yes, even priests are men.
Thanks for the memory
You know, I was just thinking about how my parents were just a man and a woman…no super powers, feelings and faults like the rest of us. Trying to raise five kids and yet have their own life too.
Thinking of a priest like that is even more brain drain.