Tag: Poem

The World’s King

Once said to him, "There is a cycle of 
"Good and bad kings. Now we need a good king.
"For before us was a bad king. What do
"You wish your world to choose as their god?"

The boy, brown eyed and straightened hair said this:
"Love." The Giant to whom he spoke, these things
Said, 'That's too ambiguous. It will fail."
The boy stood his ground, and said, "I want love."

Thus, the Giant pondered on it, and said,
"Do you not wish it to be God, like your
"Father before you? It seemed to work well."
The boy said to the Giant these sad words,

"Well, love is god. I wish to have a love
"Which will set the example for all to
"Follow." The Giant grinned a forceful leer.
"Then you wish to make yourself a god? Hmm."

So, the world all could see him, save I
Who saw him in my nightmares which burnt my
Light being to the core of its foundations.
It was as if I had spoken the words.

This man thought the earth was blue and sky bronze.
For he know not aught upon this "blue Earth."
Thus, it was told to him that he would be
A good king. When, indeed, it was all wrong.

For, he is whom the proverb says, "Woe to
"That man who calls evil good, and he calls
"Good evil." For he sees in Earth the Sky,
So, sees in the Sky what is of the Earth.

To Appease the Critic

Your Jester said to your Poet
That it was best to write 
What was lowbrow.
Your Director saw, 
And agreed that
Appealing to the masses was right.
Your Poet, he wanted to stay
The course to his highborn ideals.

I see that by dumbing down your work
You created Faust.

Me, I look at the Postmodernist poems
And if I tried to write a piece
At my absolute worst
It would turn out leaps and bounds
Better than all but two of those.

However, Goethe, those ugly poems
Appealed to the masses,
The masses of critics
Who are the gatekeepers of my success.

And I look at your Faust,
Knowing it was written to appeal
To common men.
And here I am
In my limited Genius
Challenged by it.

So, what justice is there
If Faust were written today
And it were hidden
By a din of critics?

Fetishism

Feminist's Armpits
Black Nationalist's Hair.
White's Materialism.
Gay's Pride.
Fundamentalist's Young Earth.
Atheist's Science.
Muslim's Koran.
Spiritualist's Karma.
Racist's Hand Signs.
Gangbanger's Club Colors.
Progressive's Socialism.
Blue-Collar Masculinity.

To me, it's all like a medicine man
Shaking his stick
And thinking the rain comes from it.

What Lay Beneath

Word and Tao seem to be called opposites
Yet, each speaks to the same discovered truth.
Beyond the legalistic letters we
Try to use, lies the sense of expressed truth.
Not through matter of interpretation
But through matter of the senses given
We understand one another through truth.
Even more, that lay hid beneath all things
Is an unseen force which does define them.
That we, attempting to stray from that path
Do create for ourselves unhappiness;
For underneath everything is the truth
Which cannot be expressed by the letter
But can be  fully expressed through the sense.
For it is this sense which defines all things
And straying from this sense is what creates
Bitterness, malaise and unhappiness.
And this same thing is the proof of God's Will.

Prose Poem

I bought a little book of prose poems, which were all offensive to my ears. Every gaudy little line, every tacky little phrase, every grandiloquent little flowery line. One I read didn't like Hosea, who condemned adulterers to death. I think to myself, "We all deserve to die, you hypocrite." They talk about environmentalism. Offensive, draught, drivel, burning in my ears are these parasitic ostriches, and simplistic metaphors. That such would even be published, that such would even be brought to this mind nurtured and succored on the ancient belles-lettres  of the past. I hate it. Yet, I would have it never burned, for everyone can have their say. For the only offense it has committed against me, is that it is published and I am not. Should my writing be among the principle letters read for generations, this angst would be sufficed, and I would be at peace. Yet, it is the simplicity of this book which causes people to misunderstand the great art form of Poetry. It is like a puzzle, which entails listening for an hour's time to a few hundred words. But, no one will give my poetry the time because simple poems have dominated the market. So I burn with jealousy; and if I should burn in this unrequited passion, I still should not throw the book into the blaze. For, though hot, and angry, and fuming, it will help me understand someone else. And with that is wisdom worth the twenty-four dollars I spent on it.

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.