Poetry: Brown Jesus by Sam (Usual Suspects)

[source: www.opshopmodels.com]

I’m looking for Jesus, I’m looking for the Brown Jesus

Its been 23 years
and i’ve convincingly outgrown my white sunday suits
Bible study bookbags are so 1997
and the gold spray-painted coating on my crucifix
is almost completely faded

I’m looking for the brown Jesus

I feel like i’m living on vending machine faith
I pray every night before I sleep
but one glittery glove doesn’t make you Michael Jackson
(can somebody in the church say Amen)

I’m looking for Jesus

Yeah i’ve got pictures of him in my house
but he seems
too photoshopped
too airbrushed
too mimesis manufactured for my liking

Yeah i’ve got pictures of him in my house
but they’re just a collage of facial verisimilitudes
compacted into a caucasion man
with dreamy blue eyes and wavey hair
(Somebody say Amen)

‘Make-up on empty space’

Hegemonic interpretations inposed onto its blindfolded faithfuls

I’m looking for the brown Jesus

They sell us Heaven and the idea of God like
drug dealers and crack
but i guess the concept of afterlife security
is marketable in any language

‘Heaven for the highest bidder’

Downloadable religions at down low prices

All you have to do is hand over your soul
and your credit card details

Order in the next 10 minutes and you’ll receive a stainless steel toaster

BUT WAIT, THERE’S MORE…

Order now and the first 3 months are free
after that, you’re gonna be...

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Poetry: Eat My Shorts

Heres a collection of short poems by Sam Tanielu (Usual Suspects) wrote, inspired by a poet called Richard Brautigan. The collection is called 'Eat my Shorts'


I had a job once
I had a job once.
The end.

Text message
After texting her to say goodnight like i always do
I think i accidentally fell in love with her again.
She doesn’t know it though, so
i’m going to sleep with the same stupid smile i had when i was 6 years old,
i farted inside church and nobody was around

I hate the internet
I hate the internet.
On my birthday, some internet arsehole
will think he’s clever and say to me
‘Happy brithday, you’re only as old as your facebook status’.

Dining Table
We laughed tonight,
she was sitting opposite me at the dining table and i pretended
i wasn’t staring at the way her lips created a smile
out of thin air.

Insomnia
I can’t go to sleep
so i’m eye-fucking the computer screen
hoping i will get it pregnant (how will she tell her parents?)
and it will give birth to a digital baby
and its digital so it doesn’t take 9 months to arrive
it takes two seconds
and now i’m paying child support
through online banking
and i have a digital baby that shuts down when
i want it to.

Yesterday
Yesterday I buried an aborted foetus in the backyard
Haphazardly trying to hide my secret from the world
But when i cried, my tears that were ironically pregnant with guilt
Fertilised the foetus and from the mess of mud grew a flower.

Baby dreams
I often wonder what babies dream about
I think its like when you buy a new wallet and there’s a picture of somebody else in it
Maybe baby dreams are the same, their dreams are already pre-packaged for them,
until they are comfortable enough to dream for themselves.


You can find Sam's poetry at http://opshopmodels.wordpress.com/poetry/ where he will be putting up new work regularly.