What happens if there is not a God?
What happens if cruelty makes you truly happy?
What happens if being selfish is truly wise?
What happens if making others suffer makes you feel better about yourself, like truly better?
What happens if being on top is better than being on the bottom?
What happens if men do create morality?
What happens if love is an illusion?
What happens if giving to the poor only hurts you, and doesn't help you?
What happens if prayer doesn't get heard?
What happens if being a good person, actually makes you physically sick?
What happens if being a bad person, actually makes you healthy?
What happens if theft doesn't get punished?
What happens if you should keep every secret?
What happens if sociopaths are happy?
What happens if there is no such thing as truth?
What happens if there is nothing we can truly know?
What happens if our whole lives are completely determined by physics and chemistry?
What happens if our science is never going to be true?
What happens if law is what is written, and nothing else?
What happens if loving yourself makes you loved more by other people?
What happens if loving other people makes you hated by them?
What happens if beauty is inferior to ugliness?
What happens if pain is superior to pleasure?
What happens if there are no moral truths?
What happens if there are no ethical truths?
What happens if there is no love, beside emotion?
What happens if monogamy can't make anyone happier?
What happens if good is subjective?
What happens if evil is subjective?
What happens if there is only this world?
What happens if there is no heaven or hell to soothe a suffering heart or set the scales of justice?
What happens if there is nothing in this life but what you choose to make it?
What happens if life is about pleasure and nothing else?
What happens if marriage isn't superior?
What happens if faith is dishonest?
What happens if freedom is too dangerous?
What happens if morality is governed by offense?
What happens if treachery can make you succeed and never feel an ounce of guilt?
What happens if there is no forgiveness?
What happens if there is no God?

Though my heart fails within me,
Though the sorrows of hell afflict me,
Though my enemy's power is great;

Though their prayers aren't for my mercy,
Though their weapons are drawn against me,
And though Satan say 'tis too late;

Though my enemy's number my name,
And my friends do the same,
I shall to the LORD offer praise.

A bitter root must be clipped,
And a gracious heart must be filled
By God's Hesed and by faith.

I make two prayers to God,
For His affliction is my rod
Of correction; and fate

Is not a thing, as I sing
And I have two choices to bring
Either God or to sate

Upon dainty morsels,
Or to rest on my paltry laurels
But here is what I pray:

"Establish my hand's good work
"And let me inquire in your church
"For all days, and enter through Thy Gate."

I will just give my list of 20 accessible classics.

1. The Four Gospels. Very easy to read, and about 80,000 words. Just make sure you have a translation with all the verses.
2. Fahrenheit 451. Very easy to learn and read, and a great adventure.
3. The Old Man and the Sea. One of the greatest stories of all time, for its simplicity.
4. The Prince and the Pauper. Mark Twain's first literary novel.
5. A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Should be required in every 8th Grade English Class.
6. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Very beautiful story, with a great atmosphere.
7. The Great Gatsby. Understand, it's telling you a lot, though you have to pay attention a bit.
8. Seamus Heaney's Translation of Beowulf. A great classic, from the 8th Century AD, translated by a great poet.
9. Brian Stone's Translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Excellent stuff, one of only a few perfect stories.
10. The Hobbit. Tolkien wasn't a great translator, but was a great author.
11. Horace's Odes and Epodes. Excellent Roman Poetry. Translated by David West.
12. La Rochefoucauld's Complete Essays and Maxims. Translated by E.H., A. M. Blackmore and Francine Giguere.
13. Alice in Wonderland. Just a great story, and very imaginative.
14. Aesop's Fables. Wonderful little stories.
15. The Complete Grimm's Fairy Tales, translated by Margaret Hunt. Greatest stories ever told. And lots of them.
16. The Complete Fairytales of Hans Christian Andersen. Translated by Jean Hersholt. Great works of literature.
17.  Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley. A classic everyone seems to love.
18. Dale Carnegie's How to Win Friends and Influence People. No better work on Self Help.
19. To Kill a Mockingbird. One of the greatest stories ever told, and an important novel for any era.
20. Bulfinch's Mythology. The complete guide to myths, monsters, and legends.
21. A Narrative of the Life of Fredrick Douglass, an American Slave.

Dedicated to Robert Southey, 
Whose prosaic poetry helped inspire this piece, 
Through his by the same name.

Canto I

I

Many years, either past or future
Present or in the nick of time...
There lived a prophet and a king;
The king supped on spices: cumin, mint, celery, cinnamon,
With perfectly cooked meats: lamb, tilapia, bison, stag, beef;---
And he drank wine with the most cheerful inebriation.
His hot springs were like pools set as jewels in his house.
His chefs the finest in 100 realms.
The prophet supped on spices: ginger, salt, garlic, onion---
With perfectly cooked meats: beef, pork, chicken, salmon;
He drank sweetened teas and coffees, and good milk.
He had a bath drawn by servants, and warmed.
And he cooked all his own meals.
He was with his servant much, and they two were like kin.

II

The king, for want of fame or to protect his vassals
Wished to make war with Persia.
None knew, for perhaps both things can be true.
He drew up plans with his generals, conspired
To draw swords against Persia,
And draw up all the land of Grecia
To war with the South and the East.
The Generals spied it was profitable
And encouraged all his heart to enter the war.
The wights wealed with wisdom of the world,
Thus, they sought to do
And so they would.
So the siege engines were hacked from the sycamores
And the maples fell to build machines of war.














III

The prophet, however, cried---
Thalaba was his name---
Peace, where the little darlings were dandled
On their mother's knees
And the children rode their mules and stallions
And they played with their hoops and balls
And the venerable kings of foreign lands
Dwelt safely upon the clefts, spying the beige lakes.
The river boats and anglers threw their lines
The cattle and bear trod safely and were no danger;
The milk was good,
The tea plenteous with honey.
Man and wife sank flower petals into the pools
And children were cautioned about only trifles.

IV

A bird, however, heard all the curse.
It carried it to the king.
He rent his silk robe
And his princes were then used as spies.
They sought the king's engines
And came to Thalaba's home and spied all his things.
They saw he was wealthy yet was also poor
Compared to his neighbors.
The king demanded he stop publishing
And demanded he stop cursing.
Yet, as he welled it up inside
It burst from Thalaba's lungs
Causing true danger.
Thalaba could not stand by, but prophesied.
















V

Thus, foul sorcerers began to torment.
A prophet tells the truth, but sorcerers
Lies—confusion, illusion and deception
Are their only true weapons
And they weave mischief
Like a brass web.
And Thalaba cried for there to be peace,
And this angered the king greatly.
He sent for spies to tell the tale
And sorcerers and mages and enchanters.
Thalaba was confused, but steadfast for peace.
Great wars cause so much suffering.
The king saw it like a cycle
Yet Thalaba saw the stepping stone to Lawlessness.

IV

Thus, the king used his
Mediums to prevent any true
News from getting to Thalaba.
They made an iron curtain around 15 miles in radius
Thus no news, save that of peace
Came to Thalaba.
And thus it were, he received only false reports.
He drew his contract and had the judge seal the 
Document and then thought
This just, to afflict he who prophesied
Evil against the king.
To not share in collective history, he knew no greater
Punishment for a supposed prophet.
The king marched out to war.
















Canto II

I

Thus, with the king's mind so set
The vault became a manner of blood
To foretell of the blood and reset.
The king of southern realms were afrighted
Thus mustered 500,000,000 men strong
To pour into the Northern Lands.
March they did, across the dry rivers,
Scorched and made thirsty by quakes.
They marched in their lines, two armies,
One of three hundred million
The other of two hundred million.
The first sailed across the pacific
To enter the new world from the west and south;
The second marched through Egypt into Jordan.

II

They came from China, and Persia
Arabia, and Deep in Ethiopia,
Syria, the Heart of Africa,
South Asia, Russia
South America, Central America,
Drug Lords, Warlords, Businessmen
Princes of the East and South
From Idumea and Turkey
And Mexico, and some hailed
From unknown lands, Barbarian
Small peoples of a nation of two hundred men.
They arrayed in peasant's garb
Brought no sword or bow
But they came to steal, kill and destroy.














III

Their steeds were dolphins, bulls
Whales, gryphons, hawks, eagles,
Wargs, spiders, dragons, deer, stags
Bear, ligers, leopards
Jaguars, elephants, unicorns
Satyr's hooves, jackals, crows---
They had aligned with the conies and dogs,
The baboons and apes,
The hyenas and wild boars.---
Thus their numbers were overwhelming:
The fairies spread lies and rumors,
The Baals and Asheroths were satiated with blood,
The owls and liliths
And the scorpions and anthropoids and cephalopods, too.

IV

Thus, the king began his campaign
By drawing fire and brimstone from heaven
And it consumed many cities to ashes.
Man, woman, child, old, animal, tree were consumed
And melted away to bone and dust.
This act startled the realms below
Who, like a nest of hornets, when left
To their own, pollinated the trees and flowers
In exchange for sweet nectar of trade.
But when the paper nest was swatted
The hornets swarmed in great, lethal numbers
So it was, the king called by sorcery
Fire from the heavens, and it engulfed
The once peaceful peoples, so they too were stung with loss.
















V

Thalaba prophesied the war,
But the king in his craft caused all
News of the great war to never reach
Thalaba's town. All within a 15 mile radius,
They heard of minor disturbances
Far away, as children dawned mail and armor
To sail across entire oceans
To die and fight: not before
Countering the forces now landed
Upon the beachheads, who did terror
Upon all they could, to kill, steal, destroy,
Rape, rob, murder, and eat the flesh
Of men, whomever their hungry bodies slaughtered
That they did.

VI

But in this small town, all were at ease,
Drinking too, eating capon
Bathing, making flesh feel good in their many paramours,
Drinking milk, working like it were their all and only
Activity, day and night without rest or time
For peace. Thalaba saw nothing:
He dreamt of succubi which the kings conjured,
He cataloged the seasons and the stars to document
Peace, for his king were a fool.
He prayed, rested, repented, slept, woke
Ate hearty suppers, drove his hearty mare
Through town on leisure rides
Witnessing the vanity and pride wax greatly
On every citizen's tired faced.
















Canto III

I

Like Horace, a pagan whore remarked
That his countryman betrayed the solemnities:
Great wars and defeats were prognosticated
Yet Rome plunged further into a black peace.
For women were loose and the bonds of peace,
Matrimony's harmony,
Were disorderly among the entire realm:
Thalaba cried that for this, was war to come,
The women ground for those other than spouse
And men kept not their secret chaste.
Thus the king said he heard it all before
And those prophets were fools, too,
So he kept the three cities Thalaba
Knew, ignorant on pain of torture without death.

II

Yet, the armies came and murdered, raped, robbed
Ate their victims too---
They came in numbers the size of large nations
And stole much booty.
Their thews were gaunt, their bellies fat
Their weapons drawn from the men they killed.
Chemistry with nitre, they blew bridges,
They poisoned watersheds,
They hacked to pieces victims and sold their meat:
Belladonna, bane-berry, hemlock, star of Bethlehem, mandrake
Night shade, holly berry, they made
And liquid death tea: they poisoned all,
Entire cities fell ill and then fires were ignited
In forests: fields charred, game consumed to the last.














III

Thalaba thought there was peace
And warned of great war.
The abomination of desolation
Were those armies, yet Thalaba heard not a peep.
Yet he stirred to cry out for no
War. Yet war was already real.
Yet even worse, the children mocked
The hoary headed laughed
The mothers and fathers hid their children
In their bosom and said,
“There is no war, you were wrong, we are strong.
“We hide our children from the likes of you.”
They ate, drank, and slept at ease
Not a single true shred of news reached their ears.


IV

The taunt was so...
“Weak and feeble young man 
“If you only knew
“No war exists
“If so, we now prove
“You are rude of heart
“And loud of speech.
“Obnoxious now
“But you can read.
“That is all, you raging nut:
“You are not wise,
“You know nothing such.
“Wrong about a thousand things
”We laugh, and with us welkin rings."















V

Yet the milk became scarce
The honey less sweat
The portions waned so few.
10 pound capon became 3 pounds
The oils was costly
Yet gold fetched a high price.
They blamed all on Thalaba's prophecies
Saying “He discouraged our king.”
They began a rumor,
“In our city, lives Thalaba the Destroyer.
“He is usually wrong
“And his sootheing is the cause
“Of all our woes.
“Woe to him. Woe to him.”

Canto IV

I

Then, the prices fell, and the prices were good.
People were fed from the produce.
The idols were cheap
And so were the devices.
The milk, and honey, and fruit, and grain
Were at a price that was affordable.
The men gloated over Thalaba,
And called him a Broken Clock.
Yet, his stories welled in him
Over years, and his prophecies remained consistent.
He ate with trembling;
He drank with angst.
Seeing peace, he wrote his stories.
Those stories that welled for so many years.














II

Thalaba was ashamed he was wrong.
He beat his breast and rubbed his belly sore
With his belt. And his anger swelled
And great confusion hurt Thalaba's heart.
He was hurting in his heart
And saw every vision fail.
Brother and father saw, but the food was cheap.
Where before, they argued over the high costs.
The entire price was cheap.
They all celebrated the king
And lauded him for his prowess.
The people were comfortable
And they ate. They drank.
The people saw no curse.

III

The children ate freely and walked the street.
Their parents lauded their prize achievements
And the people loved their little games.
And the rumors they would spread about Thalaba.
They loved to gossip and talebear down the road.
And when Thalaba prayed, they called him insane.
The children strode with horse and mule
And hit the flowers with sticks;
They would gesticulate at Thalaba
And call him all manner of vile things.
Not one neighbor knew about the war,
Not one man knew the evil that stalked the night.
The king's bodyguard kept the three cities safe,
So they would never know.
















IV

They cried another taunt:
“You were wrong oh poet,
“And you know it!”
“The great powers of your verse
“Have not abated the curse.
“Nay, we eat freely,
“No, we eat cheaply.
“We sink to the slough
“And the king raises us!
“Understand, we know now
“That you are false
“For our devices and food
“Are cheaply produced.
“And our bounty we laud.”

V

Yet, the prices were low, and they ate
And consumed all. So there was no thing to buy.
The beef were gone, the milk, the wool and flax,
The watches, the automatons,
The paintings, the paper,
The windows, the baubles
The ships were not on the whale-paths,
The carriages not on the road,
The postmen not at their posts,
The pastors long exchanged
For counselors on life.
Where before they rejoiced
For their carts were full,
Now, they were destitute.
















VI

Before, they rejoiced over the easy flowing oil.
The food which were great and plump
And verdant food, and lush grains;
They rejoiced over their distractions.
They rejoiced over their games.
They rejoiced over their loves.
And felt they were not culpable in a thing.
They rejoiced: for the suffering
Elsewhere was not to come near
The three protected cities.
They knew not a thing about it.
They know like all the world
That they were fat and well fed.
Thus, they rejoiced over their victim.

Canto V

I

The shelves were bare from East to West
North to South of the circumference
Of that little self contained world.
The war was elsewhere, and the sword
Thick with fat: the soil quenched by blood.
Yet, in this little world
There were no war, like elsewhere.
There, the peoples saw their folly,
And that Thalaba were still a lie.
They could not admit, due to ignorance,
For they saw their little
World were bare of goods.
For fat capons became gaunt hens
And beef was nowhere else.














II

All that could be bought
Were. The people began
To feel deep depressing
Hunger for the first time.
Their shelters became their graves.
They decomposed on the streets,
Their flesh fused with the rugs,
For they melted away.
They said of Thalaba that he cried wolf
And therefore, was the harbinger
Of this great sorrow.
The people lamented
Their idols could not save.
In the streets they waxed cruel and vain.

III

They took up this taunt:
“Though hungry
“We know now you are wrong.
“Though thirsty,
“Our peace is ever strong.
“Do you know, now,
“Why we must have gone to war?
“For many men have fallen to your curse.
“Thalaba the Destroyer,
“You had your peace.
“Thalaba the Destroyer
“Now none can have their feast.
“Thalaba the destroyer
“You might as well be beast.”
















IV

Hunger struck all including Thalaba.
Priest, prophet: friend spurned friend
And men ate their fellows.
Skulls littered the roads,
The rain tattooed the puddles
Which the rotting flesh made burgundy.
Yet, the thirsty would drink.
And they'd die of their contamination.
The diseases of poverty spread.
The men fell in the streets.
Hungry, they tremored from lack of flesh.
The king mocked by making himself
A conquering Messiah.
He said, “Praise be to Allah.”

V

Then came the day
Thalaba was arrested.
Into shackles he was locked:
And by two hearty police,
He were led away.
His flesh were black
From fire soot, burning in the towns.
His once fat and gay form
Was folded with skin
And his belly a pouch.
He were ahungered.
He were athirst.
He were captured.
But he was not cursed.
















VI

They raised a litany against him:
His crimes were as said:
“Libel and slander
“Of the king.
“Disseminating State Secrets.
“Publishing blasphemies against his majesty.
“Slothful in business.
“A plagiarist, though we know not how.
“How does an unintelligent man
“Figure out things which mystified
“The skeptics?
“And it turned out never wrong?
“Necromancy, sorcery,
“False prophecy, and more.”

VII

The people cried that he demoralized
Them. Thus they were sated
On his chains.
They talked little in their days
But said it must be justice.
They were assured
It was all Thalaba's mischief.
The king knew otherwise.
He laughed and sumptuously feasted:
Goats fed on fine pastures
And dairy from the same.
Milk nourished on the spring grass
And local honey rich and dark:
Strawberries from the sweetest runners.
















VIII

Thalaba was never void,
So the peoples all died.
Great were their wanings.
All suffered even good and bad.
None found joy.
The sun darkened.
The stars fell.
The moon melted.
The trees were bare.
The grass dried up.
The beef were dry morsels often like foul berries.
The ocean were blood.
The rivers cracked to the bed.
The life on earth barren.

Canto VI

I

Months in prison kept
The prison guards grew more thin
And looked with envy at Thalaba.
Sheltered here, and untouchable,
He sat with a flowing spring
Of which he drank.
His shoes stayed on his feet:
He drank water in cups, for a fresh spring
Poured into his cell,
Cool and crisp: not hardened with excessive minerals.
He drank and washed, and took off his clothes
For washing.
He washed with the mint that grew
In between the cracks of the soil in the bricks.














II

The prison guards were full of black
Envy, as their eyes turned
To pitch and their bodies as shadows.
Thalaba had a crust of bread three times
A day, a portion of meat,
Milk and tea, and he ate the herbs which grew
In his cell, which Christu planted just for him.
The guards were envious of him!
For they were without food.
Soon, they were no more,
And a Ginger Haired maiden came with morsels.
They all abandoned him and forgot.
She came to become a spouse,
Bringing what she foraged all day.

III

In winter, she shared skin, vulva and warmth.
The two touched, and kept their stores
Which she wisely kept for colder months.
She, with breast upon his bare breast,
Ate warmth from each other.
He became fairer than 10,000
From sitting and waiting.
And they both were the two most fair
In all the world.
They were never married
But she a hymn burst for him.
And they slept, keeping warm with each other's
Bodies. And she conceived
And she and he loved each other, and that peace was like heaven.
















IV

However, food was low
And Thalaba caused her to eat
For the son in her womb
And herself.
She wept, as he got more weak
And was all but bone when he died.
She wept.
Their love was rich, though they spoke
Little to each other.
Their laconic relationship
Was borne on need and touch,
Not shallow conversations
About politics, philosophy, science and religion.

V

She knew it would be her fate, too,
So she prayed for wings.
She and he loved much.
Sorrowful hours were like heaven
In each other's arms.
Their warmth was stronger than hunger.
Their love more severe than death.
It was strong.
No thing could compare,
And in Thalaba's final moments
He received his deepest longing.
For he kept prayer strong,
Fasted often and clung to God like
Jacob.

©2026 B. K. Neifert
All Rights Reserved

Movies

Lion King
About Time
Back to the Future Trilogy
Rocky and Creed
Indiana Jones 1 - 3
Marvel Universe Movies Iron Man to Avengers End Game
Harry Potter Movies
Terminator Franchise Movies (All of It)
iRobot
Men in Black 1 - 3
George of the Jungle
Homeward Bound 1 & 2

TV Shows

Dragon Ball (All of it)
MacGyver Original
Night Rider Original
A-Team Original
Little House on the Prairie
Highway to Heaven
My Hero Academia
Stargate SG-1
Quantum Leap
Heartland
*** Avatar The Last Airbender and Legend of Kora ***

Music

Eagles
Jimmy Durante
Creedence Clearwater Revival
The Rolling Stones
The Grateful Dead
Green Day
2 Unlimited
Allman Brothers
Steve Miller Band
Journey

Songs

'tis So Sweet to Trust in Jesus - Bluegrass Worship Band
Hotel California - The Eagles
Jesus of Suburbia - Green Day
The Wall - Pink Floyd
Separate Ways - Journey
Proud Mary - CCR Cover
Simple Man - Lynyrd Skynyrd
The Devil Went Down to Georgia - Charlie Daniels
American Pie - Don McClean
As Time Goes By - Jimmy Durante Cover

Books

The Holy Bible, KJV, with Apocrypha
J. B. Lightfoot's Apostolic Fathers
Martyr's Mirror Thielman Van Braght
Fahrenheit 451 Ray Bradbury
War and Peace Leo Tolstoy
Boethius' Consolations of Philosophy
Descartes' Discourse on the Method
A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court Mark Twain
The Collected Sayings of Mencius
The Complete Pythagoras/The Sayings of Ptahhotep
The Abolition of Man C. S. Lewis
Aesop's Fables
Grimm's Fairy Tales
Hans Christian Andersen's Fairytales
To Kill a Mockingbird Harper Lee
The Great Gatsby F. Scott Fitzgerald
Bullfinch's Mythology
The Everlasting Man G. K. Chesterton
The Old Man and the Sea Earnest Hemingway
La Rochefoucauld's Collected Essays and Maxims

1. An Atheist's Proof of God

Take a square, and circumscribe a Circle's Diameter
Onto one of its sides.
Then, extend the Square into a rectangle,
So the square and rectangle fit to the golden ratio.
Then, make within the rectangle, the Golden Ratio arc.
Then, make a circle from the radii of one side of the golden ratio rectangle
And from its parallel corner of the circle, so draw an arc
To the other side of the rectangle.
Build a circle, so the diameter of a smaller circle
Is tangent to where the arc had crossed the golden ratio rectangle
And so its circumference meets the Golden Ratio Arc.
The larger circle will be exactly that of the Earth
Proportioned to the smaller circle, if it were proportioned to the moon.
And then draw an angle from the parallel corner of the golden ratio rectangle,
So that the angle meets at the place where the rectangle and smaller circle are tangent.
That angle will be equal to the Great Pyramids of Giza's slope.

2. Two Musicians

Banjos play their melodies, 
Echoing in the wind;
Each a different kind
Of plucking on the strings.
The two masters met
And music they did make;---
A style none had heard
Which echoed as they played.
Once, and only once, these two masters played
And the most beautiful music made everyone there so gay.
Never again would their song be heard
And a thousand like are so...
Musicians who form their songs
And humbly ought to know:
How many men have never played,
Or how many never would...
Oh!
If humble masters rolled
As each man's response so should?

3. Providential Guidance

Amazing to me, God brings me to a thing;
I study it there, and kindly unaware
He brings it to its peace.
There it is, which days later will be core.
How Providence guides me,
And helps shape my lore.

4. The Sum of My Politics

Silly conversations,
When two men disagree
On definitions, and cannot
Understand what is real
Leads to social calamity.
The arts, when it is ugly
Reflects the soul of a people,
Or when it is beautiful the same.
The will of a people determine
The force of a society---
No sovereign moves without his people
And he cannot sway them.
If they are good, the sovereign becomes good
But if they are bad, the sovereign becomes bad.
Tradition and innovation must work in balance---
Never forsake traditions, and enjoy them bountifully.
But innovate a little--not a lot--so as not to confuse
The elders, nor bore the youth.
Religion is good for a society,
And Atheism must subject itself to Religious laws of benevolence.
Women are not the master over men;
And children are not the master over adults.
God is to be venerated, and providence rules
Even over a people and its ruler.
Do not interfere with the peasant's timing.
They know the season to harvest, and the season to plant.
They know the season to weave, and the season to gin.
They know the season to eat, and the season to fast.
They know the season to breed, and the season to skillfully handle.
Do not interfere with them, and let them nourish themselves
Upon their own fruits. And do not make them dependent.
But, rehabilitate the poor, so they can be strong, too.
Plant a fruit tree every acre, and let the husbandman dress.
Then there will be fine clothing for all,
And a portion of meat on every table.

5. What I Wanted to Be When I Grow Up

As a child, I had no plan for the future.
I had no career, or wont for work.
I watched the A-Team and Star Wars
And Ninja Turtles. I ate hot dogs.
I'd eat apple sauce and tuna fish casserole.
I'd go to kindergarten, and fret about school.
There, even, it was too hard.
I'd write my letters on chalkboards,
And sound out all the letters,
And I'd put my number blocks together
In ones, tens, hundreds and thousands...
I'd play with playdough, and learn about division;
I'd learn about multiplication on our blocks.
I'd learn about addition on them, too.
I'd learn phonemes and suffixes and prefixes.
I'd learn about subtraction from apples
And grapes, by eating them.
I'd listen to the teacher read stories.
I'd learn Tall Tales, and about our Revolutionary War.
I'd learn about our Civil War.
I'd learn about Wright Brothers, Ford, Edison and Bell
Earhart, Robinson, King, and Tubman.  
I'd learn Mammals, and Fish, and Amphibians, and Birds,
And Reptiles, and Mollusks, and Cephalopods and Crustaceans
And Insects, and Arachnids and Anthropoids. Some Dinosaurs too.
I'd have little card catalogs with all the animals
And their species, classification and phylums.
I'd play Super Mario World and Donkey Kong.
I'd gaze for hours at the hollo sheets on my encyclopedias
That had the human systems, 
Digestive, respiratory, nervous, cardiovascular, skeletal, endocrine, reproductive.
I'd run with a stick in my basement, and make elaborate
Wars with Army Men and Star Wars action figures.
That was what I was good at, so I tried to turn it into a career.
I guess, that's what I wanted to be, was a professional
At taking all of this and creating something good.

6. We Know Not What to Ask For

Walking down the clay path,
I realize, "We know not what to pray."
For we want wives, and homes and children,
And for our hearts by these things made gay.
I then realize, we know not what to ask.
For, we must ask for peace-be-still,
And to love our neighbor as our last.

Then I see the hellborn servant,
The one who says this phrase,
"I know to hell I am going,
"So go big to win Satan's praise."
Yet there is all suffering,
And there you deserve to die.

So I ask God, I ask God,
"Should I be like him make me die."
For I wish to not walk another step
In this world of empty fame.
If I am a stumbling block to others,
Let me die LORD, if I have Thy Rage.
Yet, I ask for peace, and to be made righteous still.
That is why, the Servant of Hell,
Is going, for he is selfishly revealed.
The things of this life are his only treasure,
And to steal from me he will.
He will take all I ever asked for,
Except the heavenly hills I fill
My mouth with, and the roads of golden clay.
There I wish to walk, there I will some day.

7. Have You Ever?

Have you ever eaten a fine dish?
All your familiar flavors are there,
But enhanced to a degree greater.
Have you ever listened to flat music,
That has been played after a sweet
Melody? Such is life and heaven...
Life is a bland dish, cooked well,
Served hot, but heaven is augmented
A little brighter, and the flavors a little
More subtle, and the sights a little
Bit more beautiful than we see now.
And if you have ever heard a song
A fine church melody, play,
And then listened to this world's flat
Contemporary songs,
You shall know... yes, you shall know.
Yet, some are conditioned to prefer
The morsel that is not quite as sweet.

8. A Dream

I have two sins...
Bitterness and Idolatry.
I slept sweet last night,
And then tried to escape the essene---
And I saw Hephzibah in her olive skin,
And she did not want me.
For I idolized her.
And then, the prison house rapist
Mocked me, where the employer
Wished me to meet my fate.
And because he would not hire me, I had an outburst;
For though I knew his sons and daughters,
He did not wish to hire me, for my bread,
But wished me to be the Prison's Victim.
And I told the rapist, I'd like Brittos
Slay him, yet it was bitterness,
Even with a vile oath.
And then I fought the sith,
And ended up on a Morning Talk Show...
There I saw those same people,
But they ignored me, 
And when I talked,
They said, "This is a weak gospel."
And I saw my acquaintances walk by, downcast,
And I knew not how I offended them...
Was it my fault? I did not know for I could not recall the offense.
Yet, it was my gospel,
Of faith producing works....
They shunned me, though
And had their soldiering to do...
Who they fought I do not know,
But I do know it was not themselves.
And then, after the essene tried to grab me,
And I blurted out my idolatry,
I was bit by two Komodo Dragons,
And avoided a third.
And I walked to the snow, and washed the cankerous wounds,
I could feel my leg were swollen and numb;
Where before I were in the fires of hell so I could witness it were real.
And I asked the local, "Does this kill?"
He said, "No." in his ancient wisdom;
The White Evangelical told me to go see a doctor.
Yet, I washed in the snow.
And before that, I was talking,
And they were discussing the Apostolic Fathers.
And I knew a thing, and they knew a thing,
But they cared not for my thing, only theirs;
They said to respect the Crumbs at the Table; so I listened to their gospel, 
And knew I was but a man.
But then they asked me about the weeds.
To which, I told them about the weeds...
First all they knew were the Dandelions,
So I told them about the Veronica, the Mayapples, the Daisies, 
The Violets, the Broad Leaf Plantain,
But they said I talk too much.
But while walking a little further, I saw what I didn't tell them,
Which was Wolf's Bane, which I knew never to touch.
Yet I forgave my debtor of one hundred shekels;
And I told him, "You reap what you sow."
And the realization came to me as I awoke...
"I have two sinis. Idolatry and bitterness.
"But the rest of it is this faulty world and its ills...
"Most of this is not my fault, I now understand.
"It is just a cruel world."

9. Two Haikus

The farmer's soil
Can produce, yet every year
There is risk of drought.

Nature reflects us.
What it does, we do also.
Yet, it is still good.

10. The Wild Flowers

The rich man, with a beautiful face
Poses for a perfume commercial.
He says, "You get what you deserve."
I do not see this, anywhere, being true.
I see men like him, with no good,
Swimming in gold and whores.
I see men who have made less mistakes,
Though more taboo, destitute.
I've seen men, who did no wrong,
Still lost in a see of the world's forgetfulness.

I look at the flowers, they come up over the year
In their times. In little clusters they bloom.
Just like people, the more beautiful ones appear
For a short time, so distinct, but surrounding them
Are weeds. And the weeds thrive all year long.
But, the flowers are distinct in their times.
And they spring up, and they die... until winter
When there is only the Rose Hip and the Holly Berry.
He puts his finger to his mouth, and says "Be quiet."
Yet, I know it is not true, for people are suffering.
Yes, indeed, people are suffering.
And I see the autumn come, and the late Mallow and Chicory bloom.

And the rich men are like Barberries, invasive
With a rich, red, yet bland fruit.
And they sprout in the last months of fall,
And there they grow, not where they ought to be.
Yet, understand, the perfume of the Rose, or the Trumpets
Of the Currants, or the Daisies, or the Bluebells,
Or the Hyacinths, cannot be matched.
The oak of the forest, and the musk of the cedars
Are beautiful among all others.
Yet, the rich grow in wealth, and the poor feed their decadence.
And the writer is called a "Fool".
So what if he is? Was not Wordsworth a supporter of Liberty?
And then converted to a more conservative view?
No... for you cannot have the poets.
All must do their busy work...
Destroy art, history, literature, math, science...
All so the rich can eat, and the poor can feed them.
The peoples spring up in their generations...
And this generation there are the Chicories
With their bitter roots, though vitamin rich,
And they make a Coffee, and have a delicate flower.
They close during the hottest parts of the day,
And they open during the rain and are bright in the morning.

11. The Prettiest Face

A Prettiest Face
I saw in my life, slapped a
Man for saying that
Women shouldn't have suffrage.
He took her to court and won.

My honest opinion is
That people had decorum
In the past and would forgive.
I think of a Hippy saying 
It: this must have transpired
A hundred thousand times now.
Though, I don't think this would be.
A new world with new bounds.
So nobody has love.
Does anyone know how to forgive now?

Yet now I know what
Happened, radical left met
Radical right... war.
Calls it apolitical.
Beauty is only skin deep.

12. A Better Future

The future I had seen,
Just last night while I sleep...
Was neither good nor bad.
The way a good future ought to be.
There were cars on a grid
Flying high, and would
Move along their neural highways.
AI controlled them,
As the cars moved too fast...
They would go here, and there,
And then to make time pass
They had phones with holograms.
Their worst corruption were from whores
Who I'm not sure how it was borne
But that was what they said came from the orient.

Yet, as I see the pseudoscientists say
That dreams are about the eyes...
I do not believe it is that way.
As, I believe dreams collect
All the senses you impress,
Emotions, thoughts, sights, sounds, touch, smells and taste;
And puts them together through logical chains
To help you process what is made
In your subconscious thoughts.
Like a story or a play
Your dreams will always sway
Your mind to what you think about during the day.

13. 

I saw the rabid,
Crepuscular creature. Stopped
Along magenta
Park paths, the static sun shone;
Sensual rain trickled in bows.


14. The Gems of the Forest

I walk down the park path;
The geraniums bloom
Like magenta bijoux.
A crepuscular hike,

The geraniums bloom; 
The moonlight makes them glow.
A crepuscular hike 
In the trickling rain,

The moonlight makes them glow. 
A woman's musk, will scent
In the trickling rain; 
The static smell's  from oaks.

A woman's musk, will scent; 
As rain beads from oak leaves.
The static smell's from oaks,
The raindrops genuine.


©2026 B. K. Neifert
All Rights Reserved

I

Ten thousands poems are written.
Ten thousand essays the same...
Only one or two hundred are smitten,
The rest are sour or lame.

Am I a monkey at a typewriter?
Am I a robot making rhymes?
Or am I a man with ideas
That shall stand the test of time?

Am I Paul Bunyan or John Henry
Furiously upstaged by machines?
Am I full of rotten envy
Of what I only could have been?

I chose a foolish path...
Many were wiser and sharper with the pen...
I hear my sound, it's foolish...
And I want to make an end.

If I climb Mount Everest
And then I climb K2,
And then take a submersible,
To the bottom of the Mariana, too

Where on Earth can I go?
A thousand trails I've trekked?
My voice is so annoying,
My whining makes me vexed.

I watch the world die---
I watch the work made slow...
I have made myself real wise,
And everything I now have known.

At the end, am I like Apollonius 
A perfect philosopher at the bench
Looking at the gavel, 
My judge a youthful wench?

And shall she say that I am guilty,
For talking ever so loud?
And shall she throw the gavel
And upon the discus pound?

And shall I then a lawsuit,
Which my accusers will not budge,
Go to court with my law-suit
And plead my cause to the judge?

And they who know my Jesus
Obstinately take me before the judge?
And then they say "He's no genius
"For that I hold a grudge."

And what will I do?
For the judge shall smite me sore.
I shall go, I shall go, and shall I pay?
The last cent to the bone ensure?

And sit in my captive bonds
And wait my trial to die?
Or shall I, or shall I
Like Apollonius, in rapture fly?

II

And then I see an Ace,
Top of every field.
He was smarter than the average bear
And had perfect scores to weild.

He went to college apropos,
And submitted his interesting say.
He was a scholar superior,
And all his words and math were fae.

And he could do it, better than all
A great Journeyman at sixteen.
But, then the college caused him to fall
And rejected his wishes like thieves.

They with lies, spun so well
Tormented him with the truth.
No matter how good or swell
You can't achieve unless you have proof

Of your pedigree, not your science,
For the colleges rule the roost.
My words I find, are fayest of all,
But like him I am cast down for truth.

For if they say, they can deny
And no matter how hard you try
The further you climb, like Sisyphus
The further the rock shall slide.

And thus, like him, with perfect choices
Pushes up the slope of change;
He the greatest of them all
Pushes up his success, which are chains.

There he stands like Prometheus
Only wishing to give the world fire.
The college board plucked out his eyes,
For they all were dirty liars.

He wishes to understand the lay
And to know how his world works.
A mathematician's mind you see
Wants to know of mankind's great force.

Thus, he learned the first lesson
Two wills are stronger than one.
And I say, my friend, listen close
That is why he must cleave to God and His Son.

All my life, my dad had a hexagonal fish tank, that has housed dozens of aquariums. Periodically, it sits in storage, and then gets set back up. We've had African cichlids, angels, swordtails, Jackdempsies, Oscars, tetras, rams, tricolar and rainbow sharks, corydora and pictus catfish, but every tank always had a Pleco. And this tank was no different. But, this Pleco, was different than all the others. We named him Special, and the first weeks of having him, he liked to feed in the filter. Well, seeing that when he got a lot bigger, he might knock the filter off the tank, I flicked him in the back, to scare him. And scare him I did--had I known--the fish was traumatized, I thought, for life. He wouldn't come out from underneath his log; he would skitz out every time someone came near the tank. And for a long time he was like this.

Well, Special was such a frightened fish, that sometimes at night, he would panic, and rush so hard that it would cause a wake, that spilled water out of the tank. We didn't know what to do with him. For a few weeks, we thought to get rid of him, because the water could drip into the light socket, and start a fire, but nobody wanted to take him back. So, we were stuck with him. And good thing, too, because he is an interesting fish.

Well, today, Dad was doing his monthly cleaning of the tank, and the water and filter change, and I noticed something odd. Special's fin was up, as Dad was siphoning out the water. And not only that, Special was playing a game, where he'd move into the area that Dad was about to filter, and with his fin up--almost like he had a sense of humor--he lay there, and laugh. He wasn't afraid at all. It's still Special, he does the same bizarre top feeding that no other Plecostomus did. He still hides underneath his log all day. But he's completely different. And I suddenly realized... his trauma was soothed. What hope have we, now, that our early childhood traumas can be soothed by a gentle hand, and years worth of building trust? 

Such hope I have, seeing Special the Pleco today, not afraid of my dad's hand, and even jesting with him in a sort of bottom feeder way. And I realized, our traumas can be soothed too, by a gentle hand, and a slow build up of trust. We can be just like him, and healed through kindness.

So therefore, be kind. As Paul said in his epistles, there is never a law against it. So you will heal others, too.

©2026 B. K. Neifert
All Rights Reserved

Neo-Formalism: An art movement that deals with structure, form and logic, seeking interpretation through authorial intent, biography, and history as a context, but also accepting classical formalism and postmodern interpretations as a means to find true meaning and wisdom in a text. Particularly, as a rebellion against the stale and perfunctory amorality and clutter of modern art movements, using Form, Aesthetics and Meaning as a rebellion.

The Questions I Ask

Why don't people see what's right from wrong? 
Why do people hurt one another? 
Why do people not believe in Jesus? 
Why are people so evil? 
Why are questions deemed more noble than the answer? 
Why is everyone a skeptic of what's plainly true? 
Why does everyone need to be taught by one another? 
Why does everyone have to reinvent a system of morals? 
Why do the most intelligent men find answers? 
Why do governments oppress people? 
Why is freedom of speech not a given in every country on Earth? 
Why is the Human Rights Charter ignored? 
Why is the Constitution ignored? 
Why did men in the seventeen hundreds know our rights were unalienable, when now that's even questioned? 
Why doesn't everyone say, "Give me liberty, or give me death?" 
Why is everyone a coward? 
Why is everyone morally bankrupt? 
If there were a righteous man within a hundred miles, let me find him. 
If there were a wise woman within a thousand miles, let me find her. 
The rights of the people are infringed, and I'd like to know why. 
Why are sales more important than content? 
Why is poetry considered "Untrue"? 
Why do people believe that words have no meaning? 
If this sentence were understood, doesn't that insinuate everything we question about meaning is a lie? 
Why do strings of meaning tap into the Logos of the universe: Why is Lucretius discovering Newtonian Physics, and Milton hypothesizing the Atomic Bomb? 
Why do poets prophesy? 
Why is Love the muse of the great ones? 
I can answer this, but it still has even greater mysteries. 
Why is math more precious than language arts these days? 
If people read more poetry, wouldn't they have less time for idle minds? 
Why do Literary Critics snob at the greatest letters? 
Why does everyone have a different opinion, and why are they often wrong? 
Why can't people relate to the real world? 
Why is beauty not patronized in the arts? 
Why is truth so self evident, yet everyone pretends it not to be so? 
Why are we born knowing the way, and how do we stray from that path so quickly? 
Why are Tao and Logos so similar? 
Why are the sages always affirming what the Bible says? 
If the Roman Church burned all the books, why were they so careful to preserve them? 
If the Library of Alexandria wasn't burned, would we have any more noteworthy classics still being read today? Likely, I deem it not. 
Why do the stars tell the story of Jesus? 
Why is there so much proof that Jesus is the Christ, yet everyone pretends like it isn't there? 
More importantly, do people know the proof that Jesus is the Christ, and maybe they aren't pretending? 
Will God damn someone for ignorance? 
This I don't know. 
Why is racism a worst crime than theft these days? 
If Racism were a three, cussing would be a two, and homosexuality would be a ten; yet, we have it all backward. 
Why is adultery considered noble, when it obviously hurts so many people? 
Why is Homosexuality considered noble, when no society can function justly which accepts it? 
Those and many like it are the questions I ask. 
Questions for poets. 

Evidence

When I look into a baby’s eye,
When I see coefficients can be used to find the area of any quadrilateral,
When I look into the moon against a blue sky,
When I see Pi is a circle’s circumference if the diameter is one,
When I see lines, arranged, follow certain rules when taking shapes,
When I see a sentence can always be understood, regardless of syntax,
When I see moral philosophers discovering the very principles Christ taught,
When I see ancient myths of resurrections,
When I see miracles described by Plutarch,
When I see the ramifications of bad philosophies on the world,
When I see the effects bad behaviors have on societies,
When I see Christ prophesied in the Old Testament,
When I see genuine human kindness, oh how rare it’s become!,
When I see the stars and Niagara falls with the feelings they arouse,
When I see genuine romantic love that will persist,
When I remember peace,
When I watch a movie, and the good men kill evil ones,
When I see people who want to love themselves are the most selfish,
When I see falsehoods spring up into popular ideology, and they warp society into melancholia,
When I see nobody is happy, but I remember a time when they were,
When I felt the love of my family, my grandmother, my grandfather, my aunts and uncles,
When I see morals are certain because behaviors have consequences,
When I see selfishness hurts people, and twists all of society into a deep sadness,
When I see lustful people are vexed all the time, and filled with anxiety and bitterness,
When I see prideful people are loved for a short time, but it’s only because everyone has too much pride,
When I see science calls evil things good and good things evil---I say to myself, "That can’t be right",
When I see rainbows, saw cicadas in 1996, see the diamond of life within an Animal’s mien,
When I remember being a baby, and not being an Atheist, but rather I talked directly to God,
When I see beauty is symmetrical and beauty is health,
When I see the colors of wildflowers and the bees pollenating them; 
What caused the bee to fly and need plant nectar?,
What caused the beginning of the world?,
What reason do we grow colder the further we drift from Christ?,
What reason do the men claim there is no God, when their very breath is the evidence?,
What reason do we believe our consciences cannot perceive the real world?,
What reason do we pervert our nature to cause ourselves suffering, but then lie to and say we do not suffer?,
What reason do we say "Morals are universal," when the only moral men agree upon is "Thou Shalt not Kill?,
How long will it be when even that moral is no more?,
How many times must we witness a miracle, before we can stop rationalizing to ourselves that there is no God?,
How many beloved Christians have to die for the faith?,
Why did St. Paul and the other Apostles die for Jesus?,
Why is it said that Christ never existed, when His birth and death records are so stored in the Vatican?,
Why does Christ’s death record say "He who claimed to be the Son of God," if not for Roman Conspiracy?,
Why did Rome spread a rumor and say the Apostles overwhelmed Centurions?
Why need this lie if He did not exist? ,
Why need this lie if He did not raise from the dead?,
Why are so many in self deceit and unhappy, when they can loose themselves from the bonds of Sin?,
Why are there righteous men who suffer, if not because Christ had said it?,
Why are there evil men who prosper, if not because Christ had said it?,
Why do we all know right from wrong, until we start claiming that neither can be truly understood?,
Why do we claim there is nothing certain, when there are many certain things?,
Why do we claim reason is subjective, if not only because we ourselves cannot understand?,
If we cannot understand something as simple as the meaning of a sentence, then how can we claim there is no God?,
That is the evidence I see, and there is much more.

The Mercy Dog

How strange is the war
Which trepanned the heads of men, women, children.
The mercy dog wanders the battlefield of the Somme;
There he lays dying in no man's land.

It is a strange thing, to contemplate.
The dog, the brown of a German's hair,
A hound shaped body, or a mastiff's,
And its red cross upon its shoulder.
It wanders, sniffs out blood
For men---this is the strange thing
See how strange it is
That a man lays dying from the wound
He took from another man---
Why do these men kill?




For Kings, Queens, Democracies,
Autocracies, Panopolies arrayed in rows
Firing mustard gas, its licking smoke
Maddening Prufrock, who probably should have died.

Yet, this man lies dying on the battlefield,
An Irishman, taking a wound in the head.
The mercy dog comes to him,
Lays down, as a bloody hand scratches behind its ear.
Soon, the fingers draw lifeless white,
And they stiffen.
The dog moves to the next body.

How strange it is, that men do this thing.
It is an alien thing that armies move across frontiers 
And the obdurate faces of men having raped, murdered, stolen, killed,
They stand in their glimmering rows.
Afterward, their friends are lying dead upon battlements
And the Mercy Dogs, the Chestnut Mastiffs,
Wander to the wounded, wagging its tail
And what a wonder it is, to lie dying on the battlefield
To see life will leave you listless, to where will you go?
Heaven? Hell? You have fought in war;
The mercurial ichor drips from 
The heathen gods you have slain.

The dog lays beside you, or it takes your cloth
To retrieve it to the medics, and lead them to your wounded corpse.
It is strange, know how strange it is,
That the man lies there, having been hurt by his fellow man;
He dreams of his Beautiful Redhead
The one he never had
The one he never made love to
The one... it was made his God.
Will he have her in the afterlife?

The dog licks the wounds of the dying man,
Its antiseptic tongue licking away the soreness by its breath
And where does the soul of those slain go
On the battlefield?
Young virgins, only twenty years old
Who have shed blood before the virginal flower?

"I do not want any kingdoms
"Or strange worlds vast...
"Simply, my only desire
"Was to have her naked body in my arms,
"And yet, I die never having shared in her warmth;
"I know not amatory's sting,
"And I die."

Neifert, B. K. “The Mercy Dog.” 2022.

©2022 B. K. Neifert
All Rights Reserved

The frost makes firm the icy lake,
The samara twigs do break off;
The deer and rabbit prints of late
In the snow are made by paws.
The blackbirds sing their songs
And the bear do sleep at ease.
Love is burrowed in the fields
Where some creatures there do sleep.
The insects are all in the ground
And in peace, the trees art bare, surround.

No great thing disturbs me now
As winter is in her hoary home.
The furnace burns, and makes a fire
Keep it stoked at perfect coals.
Great harrowing war echoes there
And great sorrows the people have;
They are actors in great halls
And I feel that I am mad.
For I cannot but see them all.

Their faces are so stiff;
Pleasures are also dried.
I walk along the silvery path
And say, "LORD make me ever wise."
I cry to Him for pleasures true
As the lake whoops so divine.
The foolish of this world do skate
Upon thin ice to see.
That they are fools, but I, but I,
Am the fool of fools indeed.

For Trumpets blast in silence,
And the greatest are made small.
Petulant sinners are so dense
And the leaves do blossom wrong.
In the dead of winter, I at a green leaf pause.
"Why did they not listen? And why were they all false?"
Yet, the rabbit tracks and deer like hooves
Make a satyr print, I find.
The brother deer do lick the ice
And the squirrels there do pine.

And as I walk through this brave new world
I say, "It is not mine and never were."
For the great man wants to steal the prize
And the doctor wants there to be no cure.
Men say "Fascist" in the night,
But both sides are so obscure.
I wish this song were just 'bout winter
But, like Orwell I must be weird.
So, the whooping lake, no preternatural song;
I know 'tis not ghosts and choks.

©2026 B. K. Neifert
All Rights Reserved

"life is merely
"to ovum and sperm
"and where those two meet
"and how often and how well
"and what dies there[,]" says Renee Nicole Good.

Life is a checkpoint
At an ICE barricade;
Unlawful police
Stopping poet laureates from publishing.

If she read her Bible
Instead of put it in trash bags
To donate...

No, that is my job.
To show the rightwing their error.
I believe in the Bible
And I believe in Biology.
And I believe it was wrong.

To recount the pain of my foolish youth,
My foolish life, I shall give a good proof,
Of what not to be at first dawn of light;
What foolish beginnings bring forth great plight.

My first memory was when very young
Drinking a thimble of milk from a thumb,
Sitting in my liar's chair, a child
With great joy, yet I were never mild.

At a young age I sat with my Pop pop,
So serene, looking at the birds, their lot
So free, I would become just like them soon;
We looked at the birds, and could see they flew.

Then I would learn how to count and there spell
I would learn about change, money so fell
That I loved to count and hear my mom read
I loved it so much, to see great stories.

Thus, my mind was born a poet at last
A writer, and nothing more would pass;
For I had one thing I were ever good,
Was be a writer, that is what I should.

But alas, I scorned at all of the meek;
I, pleased by cruelty, was but very weak.
I thought I were strong, but was truly not.
I should have been mild; instead I fought.

And to say at school, I was such a dork;
To do nothing, not even a bit of work.
I sat and played, and gorged on all the arts;
I twiddled my thumbs; none knew I was smart.

Pleasure was my only way, hedonist
I was, and was also gay. The truest
Thing, I felt that wrong amatory young;
A wicked thing, born of a wicked son.

Then, had committed miserable offense,
And ten years later, there was no defense.
I had confessed my every heart felt sin.
Then sinner to saint, I would turn to win.

For I had harmed four goodly hearts it's true;
Once at fourteen and then once as a youth.
And pine over my offense, many years,
I transformed from criminal to saint. Hear!

My journey began when I fell in love;
She were not real, but Beatrice above.
And in that moment my foul heart had gained
A conscience, and a truly better name.

For once wonton and filled with awesome sin,
My heart touched love, and said "Never again."
But, then, in love, I touched another mate;
A few, for I had not been yet made great.

Then, a young man, I lived as a child
And, an adult, still invalid mild.
But, I learned the great, everlasting truths;
And to all good things I put to hard proof.

For God had turned my gravely foolish mind
Into a wiser man, and gave me time.
Thus, for God, and Math and Good I had proved;
All things point to Christ, it's forever true.

For last, I say, a great sinner I am;
What hope have I without the Son of Man?
For with time, and grace, set my mind to prove
That my LORD God Most High was ever true.

©2025 B. K. Neifert
All Rights Reserved

https://www.amazon.com/author/broomcrownnewpeace

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Noem v. Vasquez-Perdomo

Fruitful Years: 

Of Theodore Marmaduke
The Odes of Ferguson
A Tale of Seven Kings
The Myth of Subang
A Meditation on Keat's Fall of Hyperion 
Transubstantiation
The Muse of the Arabica
The American God
The Children's Crusade
Prince Absalom
O Pilidod Grass, Spread 'pon the Breadth of the Mountain Valleys
Erin O'Conner
The Flying Dutchman and the St. Brier
The Love of Ellavine
The Ballad of Maddok
A Body of Evidence
What I've Seen of Love
Four Musings on Evolution and the Bible
Autobiographical Pieces
Jack Rogers

Storyhouse:

The Odes of St. Clause
Heaven's Imaginings
The City of God
The Jude Play
The Psalter of the Broom
Tall Tales

The Wisdom of B. K. Neifert:

Collected Maxims
Hyper Modernity
Meditations on Logos
The Little Book of What I Believe
My Politics
Laws of Wisdom---an Essay
A Complete Analysis of Paradise Lost
Visual Demonstrations of Basic Math Concepts

My Collected Writing Collections:

Utopia: A World Without Us
The American Civil War 
The Elf in Manhattan 
The Most Bitter Thought
The Jude Responses
The Tragedy of Joan of Arc
The Ascent of Death
The Jet Car
Man and Wo
Artemis XX 
The Third Reich
Ayin and Athrin
Cyrus Versus Caesar Battle Royal
The 90s
My Best Short Stories
Haikus
Songs
Nature's Portraits

Bread of Harvest:

The Master Key: The Orb of Fortuna and Wine of Kairos
The Prose Mythos
Anthem Louise Alcott

Flirtations with A'te:

Why I'm a Christian
Prose Poems
Animal Fables
Nature's Symbols (A Year's Worth of Nature Poetry)
A Collection of Some of My Best Poems (2017 - 2025)
Some Writings From When I Was Still in High School (2004 - 2007)

Young Shadows:

The Odes of Brittos

Fairyland:

Prester John
Hymn of the Dark Crusade


Purchase a Copy of My Books Here 

https://www.amazon.com/author/broomcrownnewpeace

1. Letter to Amarisa

I feel like Hamlet, and you are Ophelia
And in some strange ironic twist of fate
The demon in me has found you, and like Althea,
Has left you, and I am only thwarting myself.

My soul, as Saint John had said,
Let it see prosperity. Shave off from me the grave
I ask God to take the knife of Circumcision
And cut the wicked thing from me.

I know that is not your name, Amarisa,
And I have only seen it once in a dream
When I saw that beautiful Amish Girl
Playing Frisbee in the woods.

Beatrice, Amélie, your face has inspired
Many poems, and so has your purity.
You have been heaven to me and Zion.
You wore God like Stephen did.

I have no memory of meeting you
Or seeing you, save that one time...
And I feel my Doppelganger thwarts me;
Is it a Folkstem of myself? Or some Magic?

Marry me... come find me...
But if I say, "I am born a Bachelor,"
Do not climb the willow branch
For that saber toothed lion is not me.

I have seen him in my dreams
And fear he is a part of me---
But I saw his canine teeth
In the mirror. Death, I call him.

Do not be maddened my dove;
For I wish only to have what is pure
And not be lonely. Stay strong, and alive
And know I--the conscious being who speaks--

Want love and matrimony.
But, Tyrants have placed death
As a veil over me, and I have become his puppet
As he teases the world with my vanities.

2. Cuddling

I lie with you, nude,—it never was—
And into your brown eyes—or blue or green—
Your heaving bosom beautiful,
I lay with you, skin upon skin,
Love exudes from my heart
And the opium of your love flows
Through my veins.
We made no loves, but slept in one bed
And lie in our nuptial bonds.
It was love, and skin, but not amatory’s sting
Simply love, full of friendship.
We said I love you.

3. Hope

What may be my last poem I ever write...

Let me never die, let me never die,
Do not let my hopes perish in this life.
Answer me swiftly, and give me Zion
And let me enter Everlasting Peace.

Let me love, o, let me love eternal
Souls, and let me feel compassion in my
Inward parts, and let me feel tender love
And mercies toward every person I meet.

Let me have desire; I will enter
My wife, and be knit with her soul
And create flesh tied with flesh, children
For us to raise and build a life in truth.

Let not riches corrupt me, poverty
Destroy me, let me not be foolish in
Giving, but let me uphold those whose needs
I have with me to fulfill; have and give.

Lord, let me learn, let me learn all there is
In Your Wisdom and Peace, and honor's might.
Let me be full of learning and wisdom
And let me teach many sinners the way.

Lord, I am sick in mind, and sick in soul
For I have doubts of myself, and sickness
In my very being. Yet, let me be 
Healthy, and an ointment on all others.

Lord, I have seen peace, so increase it well
And let me eat, drink, merry, but fast strong
And abstain from sin, and do good and well,
And  see good in the land of the living.

Lord, let me teach on the honor of God
And let me convert many sinners to 
Your paths, and let me build foundations strong
Of Christ's opal Diamond, red, green and black.

Lord, give me truth in my most inward parts
And give me truth in my inward being.
Give me faith, and truth, and honor's blessing.
Let me never be ashamed, and restful.

Lord, give me pleasant  labors, and good work
Which gives me rest in my inwardmost bones
And gives me health and flourishing, and feels
Good, and is not a strain to my body.

Lord, war is utmost evil, it is wrong
But sometimes what is wrong must be done. All
Things in this world have times and seasons
A season for all things under the sun.

Yet hope is perpetual. I shall live.

4. Gratitude

I sit upon my couch, and I ponder the blessings.
Cups I bought from the pickled peppers,
Perfect glasses for drinking.
Moana, which you see on my one book cover.
Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane.
A Father-clock. The palm from a Palm Sunday
Accents the portrait of Jesus.
A green poinsettia in Mid July.
A Hexagonal Fish Tank with my fish
On a hexagonal wooden stand.
I have the 1947 portrait of Jesus
In my room, with a globe, lantern
Sea Shells and in them Polished Semi-Precious stones.
My Dad's poems he wrote, framed well by me upon the wall
With that little newspaper clipping off to the side and perfect formatting
Of attribution font.
My bookshelves my Pappy made,
The cupboards and paper towel roll too.
My chess table, expertly carpentered by a family acquaintance from church.
My Nanny's plastic vase with plant.
My Mom's glass bluebird and my July Bear.
Paintings which relatives made, and photographs.
Pound Puppy and my Nanny's Afghan she knit
And my Mimi's afghans too.
My bird book by Reader's Digest that 
I used while bird watching with my Pop pop.
My Grandma's memory;
My Aunt Kim's judgment of aesthetics.
A cappuccino maker, every household appliance
Good cookware. Stainless Steel cutlery.

One thing I learned from psychiatry
They left one good piece of advice
Out of thousands of bad ones.
Gratitude is the elixir which remedies depression.

5. Poverty of Sentiment

I look at other households,
And see things.
But not real things.
I see fancy art, made cheaply on cardboard
I see stone tables, plush pillows
Couches made from leather
TV and Computers;
Good appliances, wicker chairs---but artificial ones.
Most houses I go to, that's what I see.
Not antiques handed down from four generations
Or art and furniture made by family members.
I understand why our country is frustrated.
Everything is new, and disconnected from the past.

6. The End of Enthymeme

The sages discussed, "We cannot touch it,"
When adding up infinities...
Thus, all engineering failed
And so with it all laws of physics
And so with it all laws of math and science
Beyond rudimentary geometry.
All because they couldn't accept
The Bible were true.

7. The Great Horned Owl

It looks like a hooded assassin
Upon the lamppost.
Its head and neck like a man's
And body like a monk's.
Then it flies, and you see
It's speckled chest.

It helps you understand
Why ancients were fearful of them
And they will make their perch in Babylon.

8. Crookes

I see you fail at making the Rifle Team at school.
Looks like you shopped around, looking for a mark.
'Prince Harry--maybe--Joe Biden, Donald Trump.'
I see you see Trump will be nearby.
I then see, to prove to the world you got the stuff
I witnessed you kill a fireman.

Though, the question still remains,
Why didn't secret service cover the sniper perch?

9. The Death Penalty

I am a supporter of it.
People did not indiscriminately kill men women and children,
Nor were our cities a warzone,
When it existed.
50,000 people a year die from Gang Violence.
They hide that from you, though.
The fact that there were such a penalty for it
Would certainly make them think twice.
Not to mention, it'd be more merciful
Than simply locking them up.
It'd give the criminals a chance to repent,
And quickly go to the gallows,
Where they could at least save their eternal soul.

10. White Rider

Your peace is false...
I see it... everyone cries peace.
There is no peace.

11. 

She loved him more than all else, 
And he touched her walls 
With the flower petals 
And the two made children 
In the eveningtime; 
For Ten Months the child 
Lay in the womb from conception 
For his seed had found her. 
The two were wedded by Wisdom 
In passion and honor and truth. 
 
Do not awaken love, unless she is ready. 

12. Dick Dawkins

No, I'm not making fun of you--
My grandfather was named Dick.
You beautifully summate everything I hate
About Christianity. But know, that's not my religion.
My religion is not a mind virus.
It is compassion, and something much deeper.
Something the rational animal needs,
Or they go completely insane.

13. Five Meditations on Logos

1.

Know the way, but do not depart.
See it, but do not say.
Speak it, but not to excess.
Know only to walk circumspectly,
And do not daggle by falling off the balance.
For if you soil your garments by straying to the left or right
You are monumentally off the path.

Seek, and you shall find.
Know, and you shall understand.
But that which is known is known
And that which is unknown is unknown.
But what is known, can only be truly understood
If it is seen by others—
That which is unknown cannot be known by others.
But that which is not perceived, is not known
And cannot be knowledge.
And that which is knowledge,
Cannot be known if it is unperceived.

2.

To understand is to see what others have seen.
To communicate, is to cause others to see what you see.
To know is to see what others have seen.
To communicate, is to know what others have seen.

Underneath language is truth.
Underneath words are substance.
There is a faith associated with substance
That what is underneath is understood.
Can we know the substance of other's speech?
We truly cannot, but we truly can.
Hidden in the mind is its knowledge
And shared in another mind is its knowledge,
And two minds meet, and find new dimensions of the substance of language.

3.

To see is not to want to see.
To know is to want to know.
To see is not to want knowledge as you see it
But to see knowledge as others see it.
To perceive the words of other minds
Is more knowledgeable, than to see your own mind's knowledge.

Half of words are unperceived,
Until much later, they become perceived.
The mind has grown, and sees new things.
Do not let your mind darken
Into seeing the dark
But let your mind see light.
If there is no light in what another says
Do not be ashamed for hearing,
But shine your light upon it to brighten up what is cursed.

4.

Minds darkened by foolishness know nothing
Save their own desires.
Minds lightened by wisdom, see all men's desires are the same.
Yet, the foolish man, has foolish desires
And does not seek what he ought to seek.
For he is foolish, and desires that which will not make him happy.
Thus, the fool knows nothing but his own foolishness
And destroys the precious seeds of faith in others.

For all things are derived from substance and faith in that substance;
Not anything can be known, without the substance.
For, even the simplest thing becomes unknown, without seeing the substance.
Thus, the substance is lost, due to ill conceived desires
Which seek for the lesser pleasures of life.
The substance is found, by seeking the higher pleasures of life.
What are the lower pleasures of life?
Flesh.
What are the higher pleasures of life?
Trust.
Of the flesh, there is no trust or want for knowledge toward your fellow man.
Of trust, there is community and bonds and winsome agreement, and truth.

5.

Where there is no trust, there is no faith.
Where there is no faith, there is no knowledge.
Where there is no knowledge, there is no truth.
Where there is no truth, there is no compassion.
Where there is no compassion, there is no love.
Where there is no love, there is no mercy.
Where there is no mercy, there is no friendship.
Where there is no friendship, there is only self.
Where there is only self, there is only flesh.

14. Misunderstood

There is something about me, which isn't serious
No matter how hard I try to be.
People like me when I play the fool
Because I cannot trick or deceive,
But am a bumbling idiot they can lovingly condescend to.

I try... but my rude speech doesn't entice the listener.
My "Grammar" is bad, but it's that they don't want to listen.
My reasons for believing in God are not substantiated.
Though they are.
People see I am 35 and poor, and no job...
Success breeds success.
Fame, fortune, and popularity makes your word sound credible.
It could be I have solved mysteries,
But no one will care to tell.
It could be I am a silly genius which does my act in the woods---
I cannot perform for you. For I am silly.

I cannot hate Jews, or love Queerness, or wear Purple and Pink or tight fitted jeans.
Rather, people want there to be no good and to see no good.
For it is a mind virus.
Thus, life is about ingratiating the desire...
And no one ever sees there could have been more.
I am an anachronism, a relic, an artefact;
An imitation of older times.
I am new, and old, and modern, and archaic;
Futuristic and anachronistic and ancient.
Shall my time come in this lifetime? Where I can eat, drink and merry?
No... for all want to eat drink and merry their way
Which has no love;
I need love to be happy, and that resource is vanishing like the wind.

And that's all I ever had to say, was we need love.
Not John Lennon's love, but real love.
Not the Hippy's version or the Gay's.
Real love.

"Love is love."
Yes... and you know nothing about it.

15. The Feminist Cycle

For men to grow up,
We need women in our lives. 

Women don't want men, 
So we don't grow up.
Women become single parents,
Boys are their children's fathers,
A whole crop of brats are born who don't know love.

This causes more frustration, 
And frustration causes war and violence.

16. St. Broom

St. Broom came to town, and all the people did what they pleased.
He saw they knew nothing, and strove for all they could.
He showed them God and math, and reassured them with knowledge.
But they hated him and would not listen, thus were starved of good.
He died poor, but the people all saw they were unhappy, and saw he had told them the reasons why.

The people saw he was unhappy too, and saw they made it so.
They knew nothing but that they were all sad, and selfish.
They found God, and pored over His knowledge, and tried it, to see if it were better.
It was, and they all marveled, for they finally found knowledge.
And Broom gave them the knowledge of God and Math, and golden were the ages to come.

17. Literature

The place our good letters play
In the country--Mr. Lewis, 
I am not expressing self
But trying to save many souls--
Is to be a beacon for a better world.
It is not expression of self
But expression of what's true.
It transcends our bodies
And our minds, and communicates
The eternal Providence which guides
Nations, which Indians call Dharma
Greeks Logos, Chinese Tao.
It is so mystical, but it shouldn't be.
It is the eternal truth beneath our language
And the substance of our thoughts
Of which, if there were no substance
There could be nothing of which to say.
Thus, my substance is to save the soul
To save the country, and to save myself.

18. WASP

I am white. I cannot help it.
I am Anglo-Saxon--Scotch-Irish, PA Dutch-Polish--
I am a Protestant. That I can help, but do not see any other religion which fits me.

Do you wish me to appropriate your artform?
Then let me have mine, won't you?

19. The Meaning of Life

So much ecstasy in meaning
So much… but it is now all gone.
Silently, I muse upon nothing;
My mind is a quiet well.
All roads lead back to melancholy.

It shows there is an end to wisdom
And a beginning to folly;
Beginning to folly...
Let us just live and experience,
Yet not do so foolishly.

There is meaning in life
And it is to dance,
And rear children with one you love,
And it is to pluck the wildberry 
From the stem in June.

Yet, no one can attain this joy
For all alike go the same
Working tirelessly like I have
And putting their meaning into it.
There I have found little.

20. I Am A Plain Man Like Jacob

I am a plain man like Jacob---
So said the scripture, now,
Time has wended and bended
And brought us this story---

My performance is plain
My words austere and full
Like an Amish Maid
More beautiful than any other.

Yet, I am a plain man like Jacob.
And the audience looks, and sees
My butter churning upon the oak barrel.
It goes upon life, like bread, which though plain

Nourishes the soul with a slight hint of grain
And that flavor is best among all others.
For, it is not tainted with spice
But rather is a deep, satisfying wheat.

21. The Children

The children are left
Behind, in a winding wood.
I gently say "Don't
"Fall behind, children, for the
"Woods can be a maze. Don't stray."

22. All About Me

Give me one good wife, with good love
And riches not, I need them not.
A field to plough, and a farm to sow
And cattle to milk, I’d grow old.

Give me a little activity, games not a few.
Chess, Scrabble, Pinochle, Cribbage,
A few of the modern ones too.
I’d be happy with my ilk, playing in the rainy days.

Give me a bright virgin with red hair
And beautiful face, and bosom too;
Who loves to help me with the chores
And loves to live with amenities few.

Give me a chapel nearby with a good preacher
And a little beautiful art in my life as well.
Good novels, good poetry, good essays,
But the whole world would rather be hell.

23. The Unachievable

They say only a true master can write
A Petrarchan sonnet, Dear Beloved---
And they say syllabic meter is dulled.
I, a stupid, homely, and unschooled wight
Not schooled in the modern nonsense, will fight
To free pretentions of pedagogues, called
Weighty, and heady, and awesome, which led
To our modern art, where all verse is light.
I pause at every line; I see the pause
They say which interrupts the lay reader
When verse should be read like prose, naturally
Aspirated in our thoughts, for just cause
Have I to say they know not what tender
They deal in---all dealt artificially.

24. Chiquihuite

The Chiquihuite, the Clovis--
You disappear. Why?
Aye, a global flood?

25. The Raging Atheist

They called me a "Hypocrite" and a "Liar"
And said I had no righteousness.
My lie was that Christ is testified throughout history,
The gospels are witness, and there's direct
Corroboration of the events in the Bible.
Of which, I've found many.
I'm a hypocrite because I call out
People's sin, and don't want them to go to hell.

They were right I have no righteousness, though.
Of that, Christ is my righteousness, and no other.

26. The Mystery

I really don't understand the mystery
Behind knowing what something is.
It seems like we've lost everything
By forgetting how to do that.

27. Oh Pelagius

Oh, Pelagius, do you not understand?
By human will we are condemned, 
And not in restful Sabbath?
Man striving after the law
Loses his love, so said Ignatius
To the Philadelphians,
And Asceticism is not good.
Original sin, is that we understand sin
That is our original sin,
Is we chose to have knowledge of it.
Thereby, choosing a different path
We, even as infants, attain the Nation
Not that of Israel. But by choosing 
God, we walk in His rest
And thereby do what is good always.

28. My Life

I wrote volumes nobody would publish.
I rely on others for even the slightest morsel of bread.
I never had a wife, children, debts or money.
I will soon be without an automobile.
I sleep in my childhood bedroom.
But I wrote volumes. And everyone tells me that is no good.

29. School

Seek knowledge first
Character second
Honor third,
Only, make sure it is truth
Of a sort that shall give you wisdom.
Lose none of it.

30. God's Judgment

How might God persuade you,
That you are bound for hell?
I believe, He will give you the full peace
You might have enjoyed,
Should you have come into honor.
The full love, the full blessing,
And then He shall show you
Starting with your ancestors
Their sins, and crimes, which were passed
Down, and the King's sins, too,
Over the land, who wish to corrupt their people,
And then finally, your decisions.
He shall show you every moment
Where you had recourse to better your life
And change, and make way,
And He shall show you all the people
You would have met, and all the people you did
And their crimes, and what God
Would protect you from, should you believe.
And at the end, He shall say,
"If the world chose me, you could have entered this peace.
"And being that perhaps you would have mourned 
"In this life, for a little while, by making the choice
"To follow me, I would have given you this peace
"You feel right now as an eternal inheritance.
"Which you rejected, because your knowledge
"Puffed you up, and so did your sin."
Therefore, you will understand
Why you deserve to go,
And shall enter into torment 
Without protest, but rather a dejected sigh.

31. God's Design

Sine and Cosine, you little angels,
Legs of a right triangle,
With hypotenuse of a radius of one.
You determine so many things.
You shape the formula to get the real answer.
It is not a thing we invented,
But an inherent law in the universe.
To say, "We use it, because it's useful,"
Is teleological, for the cause springs forth its use
That the cause is its self subsistent nature
In the bedrock of all reality.

Calculus, you little angel,
A very difficult curve,
Just like a circle's circumference,
Determines the area of what's underneath you.
And in that area, we can derive
Anything that is the quadratic relation
Of two variables.
And it always works.
And through your infinite series,
And the rates of change,
And the slopes of  the curve
We find a real area,
That determines a real thing.

Quadratic Equations, you little angel
By observing the square,
And fundamentally understanding it,
We can reduce the area of any two dimensional
Object into one dimension,
And thereby, understand the linear functions
Of any area. And that area represents any exponent
To the second degree. And it is,
And this comprehension leads to other laws
And other truths about the universe,
And the logic subsists that it can derive
The substance of anything it relates too--
Including the arcs of a ball falling by gravity.

Infinite primes, you little angel,
We do not "know" there are infinite primes
The same way we do not "Know" there is a God---
Yet we infer in the logical next step,
Just like Calculus solves, that it must be.
For, we only know the infinite sums add up
Because we measure it in its limited dimension,
And see it solves for the rest---
We can know, just like we know there are infinite primes
Due to the nature of infinity,
That God exists through the coherence of the universe.
For we understand it is real, and it all works interrelated,
That a mind had to develop the reality
For us to truly understand and describe it.

I see a design, so know it only can be if God made it so.

32. Metamorphosis: Be in the World but not Of It

Flesh

First, there was the Big Bang
But before that all the cosmos was without form, and was void.
It was utter darkness. God moved among the cosmos.
Then He made Light.
Light was day, and dark was night.

Then, the earth congealed into a ball of magma
And it was liquid rock.
And an atmosphere surrounded it.
Below the firmament were the waters of magma
And above the waters of space.

Then the comets came, and gathered waters
And they fell upon the Earth,
And made the cooled earth an ocean;
And the dry land appeared from the magma.
From the vents of the magma, there began to be life
The first vestiges of green. And they multiplied by war
And violence, and strife.
But it was good.

Then the moon and stars began to form
And so did the sun, for they were dust.
For life began, before the stars,
Billions of miles away,
Were formed, and the sun too,
And the moon, and the constellations.
The life did burgeon forth from the beginning.
And the stars and sun and moon were for the signs of the seasons.

Then the fish, and the birds appeared---
The seabeasts, the seamonsters, and the land monsters---
They strove with one another, in violence,
And killed, and evolved.
And the flesh world was created, through strife.
But, it was good.

Then came the cattle, the little lizards and mice,
The insects grew tiny, and the land animals went to the sea
And the sea animals went to the land.
Some of them, and they made after their kinds.
And they fought, and strove, and evolved.
But it was good.

And then God, from the ape,
Brought forth mankind.
Not Adam and Eve, but men---
And if one wishes, they can be tied to the earthly strife and earthly passions
And its wars and strife.
It is good, but shall not always be.
And man ruled over everything,
The kine, the bugs, the plants, the sealife, the birds and the earth.

Spirit:

The plants are made first, and they are beautiful, the fruit trees of life.
There was mist upon the ground, and no rain,
And the LORD formed man from the dust.
And He breathed into Adam's nostrils,
And gave him life.
Then, Adam wandered, and ate, and was merry in the heavenly Eden
And then there was the Beasts made, who gave Adam company.
For they shall be in heaven, also.
And then there was fashioned from Adam's rib, Eve.
The two lived in worldly paradise,
And ate, and drank, and slept with one another for many days.
And their breath was from God, and given to them by God.
For this paradise had no strife, but was born from love and tender mercies
And man had lineage to their Creator.
And thus, being breathed into by God
On the first day of Creation, Adam and Eve were given everything!
But, they ate from the Tree of Knowledge, so therefore knew sin.
And were cast into this world, this fleshly world, born by strife;
The world created in six days, when God rested from its sorrows on the Seventh for us to be given example.
This world with sorrows, and strife, and famine, and pestilence, and disease,
And murder, and sorrows many.
And Adam and Eve had to clothe themselves, for they knew sin.
Thus, their lineage was directly to God, and they knew Him,
They and their ilk who passed down the stories over generations.
And upon the Ark their stories were passed down,
So men can flee this world of strife, this world separated from God,
And they can be breathed into by Him, 
And live in a garden paradise like these two once did,
Only for eternity, and with no threat of sorrow or sin ever again.

33. Radical Jihsade

Your dirty religion is to dirty 
The world, with your rugs, yes, in real time.

You are in hell, you violent, gay bastards
Who in your Keffiyeh, break in real time.

You ally with gays, and mobs and violence
And wish to purge the world, in real time.

You travel in rambling mobs with hatred 
You do not even know why, in real time.

You're disgusting and liars, and of gall
And your poisoned, green hatred, in real time.

Think about what the world did to me
You stupid fools; what you do in real time.

You are an evil brood, of philistines
And shall perish like Sodom, in real time.

This isn't about Islam or even
Hinduism, but bad faith, in real time

Blood drips from your jowls and your stupid fangs
The bile runs from your lungs in real time.

34. Gods of the Copybook Heading Part II

Then there came the Prince of a New Peace,
The gods they raged through their desire,
They wished to make their Brave New World
And to consume it with unholy fire.

"Men ought to be paid for existing
"Thus we will damage all he has done;
"We will make him a pauper and savior
"Of the world, for we wish only to have fun.

"All deep topics are annoying
"All deep arts are the same;
"Piss and a crucifix in a jar
"Is the only art that isn't lame."

Thus the gods went about their business
Named Athena, Abaddon and Thor,
They grossly laid out their planes
And they scaled a world, no more

Concerned for the worker or his rights
For a writer cannot be paid his dues.
The dog returns to its vomit
Thus they determined Brandon shall lose.

Yet, his work was truly important
And no it was not insane.
It was what would beat the gods
And the world they make, which is lame.

A small income from this art form
A couple hundred a month
Is all he'd need, that
And also a woman to love.

But instead the world went broke
And decided its lusts were grave
They shamed him into deliverance:
For the worlds gods they were made.

The marketplace was demanding
And it wanted no salary earned
Thus Muslim and Chinese terrorists
Flung into a rage, and so spurned.

They hated the truth, they loved a lie
They wanted their squalor back
Thus they took their knives and daggers
And they held it behind Brandon's back.

And at the end, the world was broken
And at the end no one was paid.
At the end they burned the world
And at the end, it was those end days.

All because they wouldn't listen
All because a writer couldn't make a buck
Not even five hundred dollars
A piddling salary earned in a month.



©2024 B. K. Neifert
All Rights Reserved