A strange noise

Poem by Marc Aupiais

A tribal drumming,
Like a buzzing in sensitive
ears! Yet! To me! A
thunder! Deafening! To my
...

broken hopes of hearing life!

And the distant elephant agreed,
Almost in Jest!
As it stomped softly on the
African ground!

...

Trance like! My head started
Almost to throb.

...


I withdrew for some air,
Least I get sick.

...

In the distance was a fire,
And more European sounds,

...

Out in a wilderness: a parish,
I entered it!

...

Salvation from what I couldn't comprehend,

"Ave" I said to it and to Maria,
And Pater I said to God,

...

Nothing changes of Mother church,

Hail I say, Father I,
Petition, I pray!

...

Where elephants were- now are trains and trucks-

And taxis, all more
... dangerous than beasts

And white clouds rest above,

As on Sunday morning we say an hour's prayer-

And devour our God!

More close to nature-
Than the pagans I watched!

I flee to the church-
The elephant agrees!

In her quietness is historically-
Deafening silent noise!

And unlike the pagans I watched,
She is not foreign-

Not to a foreigner in the world-
Not to me!

Sweet joy of honey scented daffodils

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I look to you baby girl,
Where are you?
In fields of flowers?
Is that a river?
The river of your heart,
Your arteries and rushing veins?

I eat and drink and move
in your graceful presence!
Baby girl! Where are you!
Today! You are mine baby!
Mine! Love! Today and the
morrow's today! Infinite
Promptly and so!

Roses, I smell,
But your sweat is more sweet,
Violets and daffodils-
Mean nothing much to me,

But your smell,
And your looks,
Your face,
Your body,
Your sound-
That voice!

Honey scented daffodils-
May do much for a bee-

Quickly serving his master-
His queen!

Yet, you are more beautiful than any ordinary monarchy's broken, stupid, foolish- scene!

And I fly, fast into your light,
The flame I'll flammably never resist!

Monarchical- the buzzing bee-
Knows not life-
For I know your love!

Broken clouds over endless white, grey and infinite contrasting dark and light

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Elephant skin- is how I'd describe the cloud.

Elephant skin, maybe a dry rocky desert,
A highveld, Kruger style drought!

She spoke to me, standing barefoot on Mother Earth.
She stood softly in front of a grave,
In the graveyard of Mother Church!

And on the grave- engraved her name!
Dead now, but always alive,
Buried in the graveyard in the bowels of Mother Church,

Set several feet below dear Mother Earth!

She spoke- standing on an elephant like cloud!
It shook its ears,
And began to charge!

Yet mist turned to mist,
And every threat was gone!

Sucked in by her grave,
Her death- chaste life!

She spoke to me of love,
Of the blackness of hearts-
And how to love she taught!

A dead woman- centuries mist!
She spoke to me of passion!
Of promises,
The deadliness of Caesar's lust!

And she spoke to me,
An anchor tied around her neck,
Three arrows in her heart.

Her bones all splintered and broke!
She stood there,
Fire arrows flying left,
Flying right, right into the vision of eternal light and finite timeousness of night!

And then my ankles were below the dirt, and the sand storm of time came-
I was buried un-timeously-
In night!

Hyenas- cleaned my bones clean,
And together with her, stood my grave,
Kindly engraved-
With the name others in mankind-
Did call me promptly by!

Comment-allez vous?

Poem by Marc Aupiais

Bonjour Monsieur, Comment-allez vous

Je dis,


Yet he is British, and he will not reply, while he does understand,
Even adore the language.

J'adore parler francais.

He looks at me with a vague disdain.

Goiedag ek het gese.
I said it to a Zulu man,

And likewise the Afrikaner refused,
My kindly worded:
How are you!

Broken in death at Babylon,
Language holds us apart,
Held us together!

How can we another comprehend,
When everything his blood is,
We softly can well despise!

Death beseech me,
She told me not to fear!

She said language,
Is one of many ways to speak,
Not all require the use of human ears!

She swooped down on her blessed black wings,
As though softly calling me home!

The way we live here matters,
And it is our duty to live for Life!

She looked at me and spoke to me,
Of how language isn't life!

Of how we may not understand another-
Yet we can all understand the love of husband and wife!

C'est la vie- we are different, and that is life-

Yet some are chasms,
Others puddles,

Which of us is swimming, to lay a bridge to life!

Sometimes it is better not to understand,
But rather to despise-

Not our fellow but his galloping horse,
... which heads the dark not the light!

Light of broken hope- washed without soap

Poem by Marc Aupiais

In the distance a tower- with a light above,
In the night, a hallowed scream,
In darkness which endlessly does it not repeat?

Shadow and water combine in this night,
A flash of lightning,
A sound in my living death,
In endless depth,
Of darkened death-less night!

A light of hope, not of man,
A light he cannot wash away or make clear with human soap,

A light of hope- within of mankind.

She looks at me, this light of hope,
The tower bends,
Looks down at me,
And lifts me up,
The tower of death's life hopes!!!

The night makes noise, a crackling sound,
Whips of sound,
Whips of light,

A circle,
Then hope in the night!

The moon stares, and guides my life,
She shall lead me!

My only reflection of light!

A man I am- I am a man

Poem by Marc Aupiais

The French ancestor, humble artist painter,

Oft, I am true man think of him,
Oft I wonder at the poverty stricken man,

I wonder at my ancestors there,
Artistic but in monetary,
Lacking!

I am a true man,
Caught up in emotion,

Yet so strong is it,
I pushes me down a painted current,

And into the painted winds of life,
Into the tainted blood of what was settled, quite trite,

I look into past times,
I weep, contrite,

My woman I look to,
My child I won't spite!

I look to you standing there,
The Madonna in my mind,

But if one were to paint with you,
To draw your dear life,

You are not paint,
But one day my blood and one day my flesh!

Dearest girl, paint with me,
Make life out of death!

Who am I really

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I wonder this now as I write in the dark!
I don't know God for I don't know me,
My weaknesses in loss of self control,
Or rather in perfect control,
But by a me I despise!

A me who uses others,
A me who can lie,
A me who seeks his own pleasure,
His own every desire!

Treachery! I look and cry into your eyes,
I let you down again my love,
Hug me while I cry!

I live my life for you my love,
But emotion and fear and foolish lack of pause,

The void that is where I'm lacking you,
The void is my sin,
And whenever I am missing you,
That is the void I mustn't fill.
I compromise in sin, but an inch is a mile,
And evil takes what I bargained for oft!

Have faith in me baby girl,
Least I lose faith in my map,
Least I lose faith in your faith in me,
And depths never cease to weep and tremor in death, my death for loss of your love,

I am not who I am,
I'm selfish, not a true man,

Common is my sin,
Even if I weep in shame,

I do not know God,
For I do not know me,

Don't lose faith-
Don't lose love-
Don't stop hope-

You're all that I have-
Love,

Have faith my very faith,
Trust in my love,

Its all I have,
Least of all,

Its all I have,

Most of all!

I give it all to you!

Silly baby- wise lady- I love you baby girl

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I want to say: Silly Baby- I love you;
Never doubt me babe;
I am yours forever-
Trust me ever baby girl!

I wear you, my silly baby;
Within my depths of heart;
I hold you, and clutch and hug you baby;
Innocent and clean;

I want you to me mine baby;
Forever; and ever and ever and ever;

To lock me to you;
Shackle me;
Take my freedom;
My entire life;

All my ambition-
You are my only want!

None but you are my life!

What is want to God? What is your death, christian fool!

Note by Marc Aupiais

What you want does not matter,
Realise truth as the desert sands swirl, and destroy.

What you desire, is hardly a concern,
It means little if anything,
It isn't even what you really desire,
You don't know what you want,
You are a fool,
Worse than an infant,
Less intelligent than a donkey,

Ask your self what you want, then look back a bit,
Say: why: why do I really want this?
Ask: what lead to this:
What did I want when I decided I want this?


Simply because a line of thought is no longer popular, does not make it wrong,
Popularity of thought, is as pointless as fashion.
You don't want what they say you want,
They don't especially know you,
Not more than God,
And they only want to destroy you.

Anyone can follow fashion- few ever learn style.

Ask what you wanted, realise your deep despair and loneliness,
Know why you sin,
Why you store up what is not yours,
You infinite fool,
You finite idiot.

Why would God help you if you don't trust him?
You have a duty to yourself,
But not in sin.

You will die by tomorrow's noon,
In this dark evil night.

But some raise again in dawn not dark



[Analysis of today's Gospel and readings brought here by Chastitysa and Tempest and the Hurricane, by Marc Aupiais]

I'm scared my baby girl

Poem by Marc Aupiais

I fear my daily spool!
In it I am a fool,
In black and white!
I have my fights!

And fall into eternal darkness
How is it I long for you?
I fear I may be Yesterday a fool!

Replac-ed in tomorrow's dews!

Baby I want your dawn!
Be into my heart in true!

Rise upon my dawned deathly bright light!

Lead me unto heaven,
Solid ground for a steed of light!
Teach me not to sin my love!

All of this is paramount!

I took it after you

Poem by Marc Aupiais

When I said! I do!
And promised my soul to God,
Like a wedding! Girl! To you!
For you kiss I long for is life!
And like!
I weep in your white dress,
And hide in you like a sleuth.

Baby, I long to hear your angelic voice!
And seek comfort in every noise!
I know how treachery does pain the heart!

Baby! Make me always all to you!
For I'd end me, if not for you!

In quietness I sin

poem by Marc Aupiais

Yes, dearest, you know its true I do,
You know I've sinned, I sin for you,
In hope you'd spare me of my life,
For without you none is worth,
And my goals ultimately pointless,
Apart, my dearest, from dearest you!

Its ironic

Note by Marc Aupiais

I love debate dearly, especially Godly debate and discussion. And SACNS used to have much of it and two main faces. Now its mostly me who does the writing for our news team- I'm scary to answer to- though our other main voice can stand up to me. Anyway, I have decided that as SACNS is Scripturelink News division, we shall finally forsake that last little bit of independence between the internationally acclaimed Scripturelink search engines, apologetics brand and our news sites. We are finally accessible exclusively under the scripturelink name brand. Blogger will redirect, as we still find the Google blog the best tool for a news service: we are maintaining our blogger engine, under a scripturelink domain on our more than 20 blog based news services, just about!

Sacns is now a scripturelink product, and thus under that name. And we may add other blogs or services to that brand, even if hosted elsewhere. Prayerfully we will have more faces soon. My scary image as a tough editor, may be combated if only articles selected go on the main service. Really, I don't bite that much... Okay, maybe I do! Still, I hope one day we will have many voices under the scripturelink Catholic banner, for now we may soon be publishing from a few, or just one more, if the brilliant blog/article author and friend of mine says yes, and no: unlike me she's not infamous: I've been the only SACNS author to ever use his real name. As a result: I have received terrible threats from powerful and weak alike. And have my name gracing an anti-Catholic hate site, where they ask violence against Catholics- mentioning my name as an example of a Catholic, of the type deserving violence. It is not the only time hat has happened to me, but is a time when for once I did not have it removed. I am proud of it. That said, because of this, our authors are anonymous mostly, expect that if we have more voices again. Its always easier to hide behind me and often wiser. We are also looking for that kind of staff, and for the type who write, perhaps in future. None the less, hopefully a recognisable voice from our past will write for us again. Pray for that please. I miss their writing gracing our pages!

I couldn't help myself

Article by Marc Aupiais

What does that phrase denote? Helplessness, or giving up! It denotes giving up! Not- I failed at helping myself- but a statement of despair- I couldn't! Even if it is said with joy- it admits something! That we should help ourselves! To not help ourselves to sin, but to do righteousness, in any case! It is always choice! Laugh at sin! Try! Laugh at what it suggests. If you say: I don't want to! That is the key! I - ego- me! Choice!