Category: Poetry

Judgment

That God kills an adulterer or a homosexual
It does not bother me.
That courts put to death a murderer
It does not bother me.
That vengeance pour out into the street
And my hand has to take another's life...
It will not. Solemnly I will let myself be killed
And rest in peace within the comforts of the grave.

For, the modern man is the opposite.
They have frustration that God
Will stone the homosexual
But envision for themselves 
The murders they will commit in self defense.
 
I believe in the Gospel because I do not have to judge
But, I also believe because there will be judgment.

Drinking Rum with Obama

In a dream,
I had a tiny beer mug
And a shot glass.

I dripped the liquor from the shot glass
Into the tiny beer mug and sipped it.
However, I was in a Kindergarten Class
Where the rum wasn't allowed
So I hid it, but Obama and I 
Were cool.
We were just watching a movie with the kids.
Obama was sitting jovially with me---
He really is a nice dude---
As I sipped on a little, tiny beer mug of rum
Pouring from the shot into the smaller beer mug, just enough to taste.
It was very modest, you must understand.
I was very diligent to drink only the slightest bit
So I could never be called irresponsible.
And I could taste the rum, and it tasted delicious.
But, it soon began to spill all over me
As I transferred the rum from the two cups
So, at last, I took a healthy swig
From the original shot glass
When I became impatient with spilling
The rum all over myself.

Finally, it was time for me to leave.
So, I wrapped the rum up in a shirt
To sneak it out of school.
Obama had left, and was at the staircase of the daycare
After the two of us were done watching the movie;
We were both the teachers of the class.
And, I picked up the rum
Very carefully,
But still dropped it onto the floor.
It didn't take much
But the glass shattered everywhere
And rum poured out over everything.
So I tried to clean it up.
But, the kids all wanted to play
Around in the area where I dropped
The bottle, and they all wanted to help me.
For, they must have felt my equal
And didn't respect my authority
Because I had brought alcohol into their school.
However, I scolded them
Because they were walking all over glass
And were only in kindergarten.
It would be more dangerous to allow them to help
When I was thirty years old and responsible for them. 
One little guy in particular thought I was threatening him
When he couldn't hear me over the din
But all I was trying to tell him was that
He was playing over glass, where he could get splinters.
He thought I was saying "Knife" and was trying to kill him,
But I was saying "Glass."
I struggled with a vacuum cleaner I had found
To pick up all the shards
But the kids thought it was playtime
And tackled me, hindering even the slightest bit of work.

Obama was gone,
So, soon, my older relatives came into
The room. My mother
My Cousin, and someone I hadn't ever seen before
Who was about my age.
And, they cleaned up my mess;
Which, I was trying to clean it up
Myself, but the kids weren't helping.
Instead they were poking at my eyes
And prodding at me with their toys.
They were liable to get cuts from walking all over the glass
But, I was like one of those bad teachers
Who had lost control of her classroom.
But, my mother came and picked them up all off me
And so did my Cousin, and so did this other woman
About my age, and very interestingly enough.
The situation got resolved.

Bad Numbers

Don't let anyone fool you.
Nine Million Muslims were killed in Myanmar's genocide.
One hundred and twenty million people were pogromed in China
And another two hundred million the last fifty years.
Twenty million were murdered by Stalin.
Fourteen million souls were killed during the Holocaust.

Right now, it's said only one hundred souls were killed in Myanmar.
That only twenty million starved in China.
And---I guess for political reasons---Stalin's numbers have increased to sixty million.

Please, let's remember the past, so we aren't doomed to repeat its mistakes.

God’s Plane and Scale

Mr. Emerson, may I just attain
What you said about circles.
It makes me first get offended.
As is true with all wisdom
All truth, we resist it at first.
We do not like things to be 
So simple, nor do we appreciate
Patterns we ourselves have not attained.

Yet, looking at the mountains
The trees, my palm, my fingers
My gloves, the rocks,
My calves, the cow's horns
The lizard's ovular body
The worms, the fly's which are 
Shaped like eggs,
The grasshoppers which are shaped
Like fingers, the bird's
Which are shaped almost ovular
The frogs, which when scrunched
Are like a little oval
The bushes which are ovular too...
And cats and dogs and horses when they lie down.
I do say I see the pattern as well.
And I do believe I have a theory on why.
Pi---being infinite, as is the infinite measurement of the curve---
Must inherently be the natural order of geometry.
So everything, running off, and smoothing over by rain
And evolving over time,
Naturally must produce a circle.
As, Pi is the natural shape, the natural
Number of nature, by which all other things are dictated.
Surely, it has its subtle imperfections
Making each specimen different,
But given the natural shape of all things
Are likened to a circle---
And what is straight
Often we can assume was man made,
How men create things in squares
And nature its circles---
I do say it's an 
offensive little thought.
That I hadn't attained it first---
Maybe I equal you in genius
For giving an explanation as to why---
Is it the infinite reality of Pi
Which causes this?
That number naturally representing
The geometry of a curve
Therefore, randomness must
Inherently, be shaped into curves.
For, the patterns in nature show
That all things, built by God,
Are as a curve. Men build in squares
And God builds with circles.
Because men must shape our environment
To order, and God must shape His environment
To the natural world toward that infinite 
Shape, that infinite number Pi.
And Mr. Emerson I do not plagiarize you
Rather, as you said about great poets
Writing in an age where there are few,
We take all things and make them our own.
But, my solemn task is finding in the past
Things which ought to be remembered by all
For a better future.

Another peculiar thought.
It seems that man is the only creation
Of God's which is like a rectangle.
For, the Golden ratio
By which men create and shape their world,
Is dictated by the rectangular shape of our body.
No other creature is dictated by its rectangular
Form. None which I know.
For, they are either cones, spheroids
Or outright shaped like circles.
The Human body, when standing upright
Exhibits the Golden Ratio;---
That being Five to two.
So do trees, so do bushes,
But only human bodies seem to be nature's rectangle
Which may be why we prefer them in our creations.
But this strange ratio has been told to me
By a much beloved professor
When describing the Acropolis
Which is fitted to our human shape;---
Which does appears in nature;---
Perhaps it is nature's rectangle
Which we men are formed closer to----
Yes, it is most defined in our human form.
For, perhaps these two measurements
The measurement of Pi
And the measurement of  Phi,
Perhaps these numbers are scientific
Facts, oblong and shaping the world
Through their infinite order.

Perhaps Pi is nature's curve
And Phi is nature's rectangle
Both working together
In their infinite measurements
As if planed and scaled by God
Like the Bible said, 
"Wisdom was with God when he Planed the Scale of the Earth".

For, by observing this order, 
I am confident that God exists.
For, these measurements create
Upon the earth, and define all Aesthetic Beauty.
That, and of course, Fibonacci's sequence;
Which repeats itself through all natural shapes.
For some reason, these numbers lay down the law
Of how our natural world gets shaped by the 
Eons of textures and winds, and rains.
And, certainly, to have such geometric certainty
As this---for randomness cannot truly occur in nature
According to these principles---
It must be that an architect, by design
Created our world.

And as certain as these mathematical principles are
Which are observed in everything from trees
To mountains, to rock formations
And even the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls,
So are the moral principles laid down by Christ
As certain. Which, Mr. Emerson, 
Is my scientific foundation for believing in Him.

The Reason We Are Stupid

The reason we are stupid
Is a conspiracy of racist white men
Who want to pioneer the future
By turning all art into its most banal
And turning all beauty into its most hideous.

If one really wished to fight racism
One would fight the injustice
Of intelligent ideas being battered down 
By populism.

For the markets failed us
And are a cracker
Striking the backs of poets and visionaries
Denying them the right to speak.
Yet, the very same who fight racism
Are only a brand like deodorant.
They are just the catalyst to the race war
Where we all. in our divisive lines
Hurl warfare upon one another
Because we cannot understand
How similar we all are.

No one listens.

Modern World

I look at the modern world.
I see no wisdom.
I see no listening.
I see no striving to understand one another.

Instead I see a bunch of children
Who wishing to have their voices heard
Scream into megaphones
Tear down establishments
And hate one another based on skin color.

Yet, the question is,
Does anyone actually listen
When you scream?
Or are only lies persuasive right now?

How much blood will be spilt
To define right and wrong this century?
Will the modern Femfascist
Turn upon the world and dress us up
In leotards and G-strings
Telling me that my poetry is breaking the law?
What law did my poetry break?
None.

Yet opinions are censored
And they always were.
Stopping the breach
They allowed cracks to wear into the dam.
And now it breaks
Because they still will not let the water out.

If one person were honest
As I am honest
Maybe others would be honest, too.
Or, perhaps, an entire generation
Hadn't been taught
The principles of freedom
Or the principles of our founding laws.
Maybe they were taught maths and sciences
And were also taught that language is inconequential?
Thus, they scream that poetry must be simple
For if the common man cannot understand it---
Why, what use is it?

My poetry, it is expressions of my soul.
Must I wear a mask, and be lobotomized
To make myself equal with all others?
Because my intelligence offends someone?
I am not that intelligent.
On the low end of the Genius spectrum.
Yet, because I am this
I must learn to simplify my craft?
I simplify it,
But then you call me a "Simp"?
Do you mean that I am a chimp?
Politically charged language
Being developed with no poetry
No meaning except what is new.
Rediscovering things
Reworking things
Redefining things
Remaking things
So that all become dysfunctional
Within the lexicon diminished by
The Vulgar slang of a generation.

Previously, it was no bother
Yet each generation develops
Several cuss words
And this is their contribution to language.

"Cuck"
Is just like saying "Cunt".
And it is these petulant dweebs 
With their hair dyes
Their black leather
And their swastikas 
Who create it.
The CIA censors art
Because they want a purely American art form.
Well, they have received it
Using toilet bowls and rock murals
As laundering schemes.

And what of our true poets?
What did you do to us?
Why, you were afraid of us
So you tried to levy the dam.
And now, it will break.

Wisdom of Others

New scholar's thoughts enter into my mind
Fresh. Wendell Berry, Mencius---
I have read the Articles of Confederation.

Homosexuality ought not bother me,
Though I ought to stand firm against it;
My chief concern ought to be to understand nature.
Civilization is a cycle of good princes
Taking hold of the reigns of society
And then society decaying from silly talkers
And dishonor.
And if anything is to be understood by the Articles of Confederation
It's that even during the revolution which bought us our freedom
There were doubts, and men did not quite understand what they were fighting for.

But, like all great ideas
On a second try and much
Deliberation, it becomes clear 
What we were fighting for.

In Sodom There Is Corruption

In Sodom there is corruption.
The people fear words 
Like it were their very life threatened.
It is unnatural;
It is bestial, that city Sodom.
Silence the poets
For words are akin to murder.
Therefore the Great Ape
Can reign supreme.
There can be no peace in Sodom.
There can be no love in Sodom.
For the Princes take bribes
The people are vexed all the day long;
Selfish, cursing one another
As their streams of water.
Yet, a wise poet dismissed it
To care for the earth.
Yet, can we even have our gardens
In the land of Sodom?
Can we even read or publish our books?
I must be a wall;---
That way brimstone does not fall
From Sodomoite Torches.