Tag: Creative Writing

The Hyperborean Sea

Longships, fly to the heavens
To the Hyperborean sea.
Great flights through the oceans,
By the sails of Solar Fleets.

"Must we bring ourselves there?
Must we fare the forbidden trek?"
Or, "Shall we be careless,
And steal the lust from every beating breast?"

Great ships fly; strong sails are sorn
Through the oceans of the Hyperborean sea.
To see the lands of giants.---
To one day, this planet, leave.

One day the World will be filled
With the seed of Earth's great saints.
One day Christ's religion
Will fly to Andromeda's event'h.

Oh great hearkened warships,
Oh great, and mighty fleet.
The day we Men set sail
Through that great Hyperborean sea.

The Baker, the Customer and the Christian

Callous was the hand that fed,
Gracious was that man’s bread
Who gave the man his open feast.


However, like the duck fed in his wilderness
He could not kneed nor roll,
Nor press nor make the slits
Within the loaf for the steam to vent.


There was something meager in his existence.
Something offensive to the man who fed him.
It was like a pet, of sorts,
Which was given the crumbs which fell to the dog’s feet.


There came one day a customer, however,
Who saw this fellow.
This fellow eating his meager loaf,
The strange dance of the baker and the homeless man.
The customer asked the baker, “Why don’t you give this man a job?”
The baker had thought of it.
But, the homeless man had no teeth.
Truthfully, he had no way of doing any job.
He was like a dog in a cage
Being electrocuted every time it tried to come out.
Cramped, it was, very cramped.
But, when it poked that little nose through the crevice
It would get shocked.


What to do with such a one as this?
The baker fed him.
The customer said give him a job.
Which was the right man?
Which was the more just man?
The baker who took pity, but bound the homeless man in his chains?
Or the customer who tried to liberate him,
Knowing not it would only lead to another humiliation?


There came a third man, however…
This one was different.
He saw the homeless man,
And he took pity on him.
He brought the homeless man into his house.
Nursed him like a child.
Slowly, over several years,
This last man became a father of sort
To the homeless man.
This last man fed
And nourished the homeless man,
And soon the homeless man had a home.
He neither could work.
He neither could do anything.
He never would get a job.
But, the homeless man was suffering less.
And being that this last man was not so rich,
But had enough to support himself,
All of his effort was placed into caring for this broken man.
The homeless man died at a ripe old age.
And for his entire life,
He kept good company with the last man.
He was conversational,
Sympathetic,
Warm, friendly, for he owed this man so much
Yet nothing was to be given.
The man was insured a future
Of not the most loathsome suffering.


Which of these men do we fall into?
It is hard to know.
It is always hard to know.
The Baker is the Democrat.
The Customer the Republican.
The last man is the Christian.


That’s about the only way I can distinguish it.

Forged in the Fires of Mordor

Forged in the fires of Mordor
O' ring of power,
You crux of the Great War;---
The meaning of World War I
Is found in your coercion.

Kings seeking to be Power,
To bring forth the blackened age
Of industry's might,
To burn what's green
And make what's violet
The color of ash.

The Sauron was crushed
By the Somme, and other such evil.
The Orcs were the raping Huns,
As war marched from the green
And battlefields turned blackened under war.
Yes, the meaning of World War I
Was Green in conflict with Black;---
The Green grasses, and the auburn rivers
Turned into ashen mud and oleaginous ducts.

It's the meaning I have never seen
Who a man like Tolkien
Suffering under the same sicknesses as me
Needed a meaning to the war he witnessed.
A war no man understands,
Nor rhyme or reason.
All he could see,---
The war was Green against Black;---
Nature against Industry
Sauron against the little Shirefolk of Hobbits
The Germans against peace loving Englishmen
Who did not wish to fight in a war.
Men who did not want adventure,
But adventure was forced upon them.

That is why The Lord of the Rings
Are the novels containing the meaning of World War I.

The Three Buzz Words

Postmodernism is just Premodernism.
Absent of God, it is just the self which dictates truth.
The self becomes a god,
And the predilections of teenage angst
Become adult philosophies.

The Modernist, they say,
Is concerned with rational ways of being.
The Postmodernist is concerned with one's own being.
The Premodernist is concerned with being.

The postmodernist is just a religious zealot of the self.
The modernist is a man who believes heroes ought to be
The average man, and that average men make good literary subjects.
The Premodernist, he is concerned with heroes,
With magic, with systems of divine truth.

Which of these kinds of men are right?
Solomon said all three have merit,
Yet I find myself holding to two of the traditions;---
For there are only two.
There is the Premodern, who believes what is outside of him
Is defined by God. The Postmodernist just goes one step further
And believes themselves to be God.
The Modernist, he believes truth can be found 
In reason, and the study of the outside world.

At some point, an ontological question gets asked, "Is there any outside world to begin with?"
The Modernist doesn't speculate on such issus.
The Premodernist doesn't either.
The Postmodernist, however. wonders so very much whether solipsism were true.

The Premodernist man, he tells the tales of heroes.
The Modernist man, he tells the tales of average men.
The Postmodernist man, he doesn't believe in tales of any kind.

The prophets speak in similitudes
The scientists speak in data
The lunatics speak in self-aggrandizement.

A religious man is concerned with the well being of others.
A secular man is concerned with the well being of the state.
A lunatic man is concerned with the well being of himself.

A good man is concerned with treating others the way one would want to be treated.
A civil man is concerned with treating others the way society has constructed with their laws.
A lunatic man is concerned with how others treat himself.

A saint is concerned with soothing heartache.
A businessman is concerned with soothing poverty.
A demon is concerned with soothing himself.

A righteous man is concerned with being good.
A worldly man is concerned with being rich.
A stupid man is concerned with being himself.

A meek man is concerned with charity.
A strong man is concerned with his strength.
A weak man is concerned with how he appears to others.

.

Why I Know God Exists

There is love.
Though I'm angry and bitter,
Though I am undeserving,
Though wrath swells in my soul
While I write this...
Yes, I am angry at God.
But, God exists.

Job was angered at God.
It wasn't a sin.
As he sat sore covered,
His entire family killed.
His house ruined,
And only the nagging wife...
Job was furious
Asking God why he must suffer.

Those paragraphs in between the main chapters
Some people say, "Why would they be written?"
It is because many people have never suffered for doing right.
Immediately, everyone believes suffering is for bad men.
I've seen more worthy homeless men
In my life, than I've seen worthy rich men.
I've seen better people on the street,
And poor, than I've seen in business suits.
That is why I know God exists.
Something sweet has to exist for these people.
Some sweetness, some goodness,
Has to exist.

For man is given dominion over the Earth.
We, men, are the ones who rule this Earth,
With very little intervention by God.
God does not intervene often,
For "6“What is mankind that you are mindful of them,
    a son of man that you care for him?
7 You made them a little[a] lower than the angels;
    you crowned them with glory and honor
8     and put everything under their feet.”

Men are given authority over the earth,
Because God subjected the Earth to man's domain.
It is why miracles seldom come.
It is why good is often made so low
And the righteous are brought low.
The pastor preaches posperity,
And it is enough to make me lose my faith.
Christ said nothing of prosperity.
Man gives and bestows prosperity,
And man takes it away.

For the poor man languishing in his heartache,
God will give him meat like the fowls of heaven,
But, God will not enrich a man.
Hard work enriches a man,
And sometimes hard work ends in failure.

For, there are men who preside over my prosperity
And it is "Line upon line,
"Here a little, there a little,"
Who steal from me burdens of wheat.
I see no hope, for I am languishing in my failure
And I see no way out.
For I haven't sinned to place myself in these bonds.
I had, as it were, told the truth.
And for the truth, Satan defies it.
By giving a little prosperity to wicked men
Just enough to eat at their hearts,
And destroy them when the trap comes.

As for me, Satan holds me down like a fettered
Prisoner, and man takes the key, and locks it.
God, God could stop it.
But, he will only stop it when He pleases.
And right now he does not please to do it.
For I am languishing, but am well fed.
I am sorrowful, but am filled with more good than many men.

There is a level at which I am at.
I can either turn bitter that my desires were frustrated.
Or, I can prophesy doom that never comes,
And never see the broken glass of warfare.
For if I speak it, Satan is obstinate to make me a liar.
So, as a liar, I spoke the truth, for Satan wishes to carry forth his plan.

By my voice, I rebuke princes and principalities.
By my voice. I am growing bitter for nothing good seems to come to me.
I am broken in an instant.
I am carried forth into shame and obscurity.
Yet, I know God exists, and He is good.
Because it is not God's domain, this earth.
It is our domain.
And man makes man rich
And man makes man poor.
And devils corrupt the rich
To throw insults at the poor.

For I am poor in spirit,
Though I am bitter to my roots.
I am bitter because my spirit is failing.
LORD, when will the threshing end?

Love’s Funny

My foreboding turns into delusion
As I told him he needed to be better.
I feel like the Asian mom haranguing 
The child because they aren't quite at the level.
Of course, he goes, and instantly gets accepted.
Oblivious to the fact that I am right.
I don't say these things to upset him,
Only to make him better.

Yet, maybe my pleonastic prose are his sour notes.
Maybe my long first paragraphs are his tawdry bends.
Maybe my attempt at Pentameter is his sweet picking
Or, perhaps, he is just better than me at everything.
His professors laude his writing skills;
All I see is that it needs work.
He plays his guitar well,
But then must play fast,
And when he does, various inarticulate notes creep in,
But perhaps I am the only one that hears them.
He beats me at chess, a game I've studied.
He beats me without studying it.
However, I have been quite dull these days
With my mind flattened by the stress.

Maybe I am just mediocre.
Maybe...

But, I tell him my folksy wisdom
To choose his notes.
And he succeeds, and I fail.
As he takes a test online for his class,
I say a silent prayer, "Don't let him fail."
Because my failure is enough to break me.
No door opens, my poems don't make it to the search page.
What's more frustrating, is that everything I do
Is hedged in, and I cannot break free of it.
I see him skipping over fences.
I ask myself why this is?
It's not jealousy;
It's just watching someone else succeed
While I languish in the pit I have dug for myself.
I speak, and it doesn't come true.
All the better if it doesn't.
Yet I can't help but speak...
I try to well up the words.
But they come out.
And I suffer for it,
Facing a wall of poverty.

Is it because I cannot trust in God?
Why would I trust in God?
God doesn't open doors for me.
Though I love him,
I feel like a caged pig,
A worthless, slovenly animal
Trapped in a cage;
But love is funny.
Any sense of true anger
Turns into thankfulness that my brother doesn't have to suffer this.
I am thankful that it's him suffering nothing,
And I suffer.

But, at some point,
The suffering needs to end
So I do not become a bitter man.
For love is funny,
In that I can be happy for my brother
Yet, for myself,
I will be unloving to all around me because my life is bitter
And all my joys are turned to darkness.

The Realized Philosopher

When every idea is mastered...
The art of subtlety commenced into the ephemera of time...
A fruitful mind will, no shall know...
That only the fruitful can agree.
Only the artist can understand
The peering question.
A snap crackle and pop for the inquisitor,
But, the artist shall know.

When every idea is mastered,
The master then becomes the teacher.
The joy of instilling the past
Of passing down a tradition
To the next generation of young minds.

The philosopher spent his journey learning what is
Wisdome... when he came to his own wisdom
It was simply chaff.
The eccentricities of bitter wars,
Of conflicts, diseases of the mind.
Upon the still of reason
The refinery of our liquor,
The wine of our words
Became infused with the mastery over the subject.
So that all was under the philosopher's domain.

Thus, upon his rood of wisdom,
He had only one thing left to do.

In an Age of Censorship

In an age of censorship
My heart yearns with rage
To say my words.
My heart burns, my words spew.

"It is good."

Our cities burn.
Our cities burn you fools.
As the genocides of Hitler become censored.
Hitler's genocide, his atrocities,
Are censored on Your Television.

Men with breasts march with the swastika of their 
Venom, women with cropped hair and dyes
Threaten the police.

O' Napoleon, will your grapeshot put them in line?
Will the Bastille fall?
Will the guard's heads be paraded on pikes?
O' Robespierre, will you guillotine the clergy?

The Femfascists are among us...
Black leotards, fishnet, hair dye
And silicon breasts.
They march with their rifles...
The fruitless revolution
To place on the throne The Cult of the Supreme Being
The Cult of Reason...

Will science spill the blood of all kaffirs?

If There’s One Thing that Ought Be Left Amoral

If there's one thing that ought be left amoral
It ought to be science.

That is to say,
Racism, Religious Discrimination, Ethnic Cleansing
Homosexuality, Serial killing, Pedophilia,
Hedonism, The Lobster's Capitalism
And Abortion
Are a few things Science is starting to poke and prod
At, as if they were moral things in of themselves.

What we should understand is that we are men;
Not an animal. For, science categorizes us with the Fauna,
But our consciences say otherwise.