It is a historical parable--like when Suetonius tells his stories, or Plutarch--of man coming into judgment and knowing right from wrong. The serpent is Satan, the deceiver, tempting Adam and Eve in their innocence--before they know how to tell right from wrong--and causing them to commit sin, where the sin is coming into the knowledge of sin. The Nakedness is Adam and Eve without the knowledge of sin, so they don't know it's shameful yet, until they eat from the fruit, and then they know why sin is sin. That's ultimately the core of why God has to judge the world, too, is that we corrupted it through our knowledge, and why Christ says "Judge not lest you be judged." Because judgment is the first sin humans acquired, from eating the fruit.
Category: Uncategorized
Doppelganger
I see you there, and I feel like you.
So long ago, committing heinous crime.
Through wind and tempest I shall be proved
But as a child I was not kind.
Brendan we threw from his hands and feet
We threw him to the ground.
He ran home soon afterward
And I ran into his screen door loud.
They moved soon after, for I was bad
And I saw his picture on the net.
It was the worst thing I had
Done to another boy, was a wicked awful jest.
Yet, you had found him at the mall
When his parents were not near.
You and another boy had broke the law
And to be attached to you I fear.
Your brown eyes, your wicked head
I saw you there one day
At my house where I once lived
Soon after I had moved away.
A Poet
As I read Augustine's word on Suicide
I read a poet who is half wise.
Impressions made, impressions won
No advice do I give him, or he might shun
His brilliant poesy's way, with airy
Words, and rhymes so fay.
"Condemned to live," the poet feels
And I see Christians everywhere do right now reel.
Augustine's words in the City of God,
Rung true, as this timely message carefully trod
A hopeful vision, when now Rome has awoke,
The plays, the sorrows, the festivals invoke
The gods of a new world, of spirits and vibes
They do make me muse upon suicide.
Yet, this poet he came, and said, "You are condemned to live,"
And a hopeful message he gave, to help me win.
On Plagiarism
[I]s it plagiarism, or just the verbiage of their ideology? You can only say something so many ways. Like New Mexican Cave Painters didn't plagiarize Naqadan Potters. It's just the ethos. It could be plagiarism, or just limitations on human thought and imagination.{}
Which to get to the nitty gritty of communication, it only is properly understood if real. Which, if something's real, it produces similar chains of logos. Not to say that all real things are good, either. There is evil in this world. Like it could come from a vein of egotism and self centeredness. But you definitely hear a lot of people say similar things, that aren't plagiarized.
I've heard people verbatim have conversations I remember having as a youth. Just saying.
It's only plagiarism if you copy it from somewhere, and then try to hide that. Not by observing something, and then coming to a similar conclusion. You find a lot of things are similarly worded across different cultures that had absolutely no contact.
The Volta
Like a Gestalt or Paradigm shift
The volta changes the muse.
It is interested in one thing,
And carries its tone,
Then in meter or theme
It changes, shifting direction
Highlighting so many nuances.
The volta is even in this poem,
Can you find it?
It is not so difficult as you may think.
The “Good” Islam
The Muslim says that that their god can
Bless you, and rain wealth upon you.
That he will never judge you but
Cleanse you of your sins, like Jesus.
How though? How can he? He cannot.
The light measure of being cleansed
Feels freeing, and satisfying
Yet does Muhammad's idol take
Sin away through strokes? Or does his
God transform you? Not like silver
Are we purified, but rather
Transformed through Christ's blood. Muhammad's
God cannot transform you, he can
Only beat you. He can only
Try you. And even that, he can't
Do, for he was never alive.
He cannot wash you of your sin.
Only Christ's blood is able to.
I Need a Wife
Come find me! I saw the nigh perfect ides
Of the woman upon the screen, and thought
Only of being unfaithful to you,
Whoever you are, I call you Amaris.
I do not know you, but imagine you
And seeing the red of her breasts shamed me
For the only pair of breasts I wish to
See are yours. I do not know you. Come, come
Come find me! So I am not a lustful
Wight. I will give up talents of silver
And gold, so long as I have you. Come, come
Find me, before I am miserable for
Life, and cannot but despair, yes, every
Broken moment of my life. Come find me.
Old and New
My, how we argue for hours
On cruel Laws in the Old Testament.
"How brutal; how unfair."
Yes... they are, because you are.
We could never get to the New
For you would hate it all the same
As it tells you to forgive,
And be a light in this world.
For you do not like the light,
Therefore, you get judged by the Old.
And I'm okay with that.
People Are a Song
Every person is a song, with chorus, refrain and verse.
Listen to them repeat their things; listen to them first.
Muse upon them for many hours, and listen carefully.
Muse upon them without sour, and listen joyfully.
Pore over their poetry over and over, and do not put it down.
Listen to every syllable, and listen to every sound.
If you do not like the melody, listen anyway.
For kindness is a skill so rare, but you may find out all are fay.
Actions Speak Louder than Words
I talk to her today, in the Sunday's crowd
She does not know how to listen, and speaks so very loud.
She does not hear me compliment, but knows only one thing;
She says what's on her mind, and her thoughts are so very slim.
My dad talks to my uncle, and on and on he goes
About the same old story, the only things he knows.
Yet, both were good people, both had inner light.
There is such depth to people, so try not to always fight.
They are tired and small, and oh so strange
They only know few things...
Listen to them carefully,
But do not speak as kings.
For people have such honesty,
They do not know so much.
Speak what is a light and airy thing
And listen more than talk.
B. K. Neifert 