Tag: Poem

Why I Am Angry; Only A Patriot Would Say It.

Here is the whole list of why I’m angry.

 

  1. The United States is a fraud.

You cannot make a living off of what you want.

You can, as a matter of course,

Make a living off of what very rich people are selling.

 

2. If you spend hours of labor doing something,

The United States says that such work will be rewarded.

But it is not.

 

3. The United States also says that Speech is Free.

Just today I was harassed

By people trying to trick me into believing it is March or April

Because I have said some inconvenient truths.

 

4. The Government gets away with murder

For no aims but its own.

It will arbitrarily kill, spy on, and investigate innocent people

For nothing they did wrong;

 

5. Simply, having an IQ of 157 is enough to get you on a Government watch list

And also being curious.

 

6. Christians laud the government like it’s the New Zion.

7. They defend it, they vote in officials who send us to war,

8. They scorn fiscal policies that would help the poor.

9. They, in all their gratitude, will kick homeless off of their stoops

10. Tell people they are not allowed to exercise their rights outside of their building,

11. They will call the police on people for saying Jesus in a different language,

12. They will exclude you when you are poor.

13. What’s more, Protestants hate the Catholics.

14. The Pope is wicked.

These things I cannot stand.

Protestants should love our Catholic Brethren

And the Pope should be elected based on his merit;

15. Not his ability to solicit converts through indulging in their sins.

 

16. I’m angry that we need minimum wages.

17. I am angry that work is all an American lives for

18. And they do not get to have off their holidays or weekends.

 

19. I am angry at the false conviction rate of the United States

20. That people can be perpetually investigated for nothing.

 

This is twenty things, and I could go on to 99 if I wanted to.

The Swearing Christian

I’d be a hypocrite

If I said I did not say a swear word or two every week.

It is something I want finished.

It is a part of me I had under wraps

But has welled up in my soul recently

Because I allowed it to.

 

I said “S***” in a poem

And began, slowly, to say words.

That poem was about a genocide,

But rather than go back and change it…

For it is said…

What I will suggest every Christian do

Is not swear.

 

It is an ugly thing.

Every time I do it—

Since it is fresh on my mind—

There is an ugly welling up in me

And then a release with that dirty word.

We ought not allow such dirt well from our mouths

To come from our soul

And to be made apparent to someone else.

We are to have self control.

For every time I swear

It is like an ugly thing is welling inside of me…

An ugly, hideous, rotten thing.

And if I express it that one time

It will well in me twice again.

Hideous, ugly, rotten…

Even if I say “Faggot.”

Whatever word—

Define a cuss word, I shall try to do it—

Wells in the soul like a boiling pot of water

And whatever boils the water over,

Onto the burner, and makes a great mess

That is a cuss word.

If there is an ugly feeling in you

And it cannot be expressed except with a cuss word

That feeling is sin.

If it has to be expressed with cuss words,

Don’t—I am being a hypocrite,

But let me be one because I know what it is.

I feel it deep in my soul that every time I swear,

Say “Bitch,” “Fuck,” “Shit” or “Piss”,

I leave them naked for you,

Every time I say them, there is an ugly feeling.

One time I told a man, “Suck on your mother’s breasts.”

That was a cuss word.

Because it welled such an ugly feeling from my soul,

And every oath said, every imprecation,

Though even without intent,

Has the odor of that evil thought and feeling.

It is unclean, and unsavory speech.

We should, and do pray for me,

Cut it out of our hearts

And go to church

And read our Bible.

 

Reason Up

A fact, and a fact,

And another fact,

Reasons up to a first principle.

A principle,

And a principle, and another principle

Reasons up to an axiom.

An axiom,

And an axiom, and another axiom

Reasons up to a truth.

 

There are many facts,

Many principles,

Many axioms…

Even many truths…

 

But logic to a 21st century philosopher

Ends at a fact.

It never gets beyond it.

With that, it is actually what’s illogical.

Today Was Saturday

Humorously, I woke up today thinking it was Saturday.

I spent the whole day, resting,

Relaxing, thinking, “I don’t need to come into work.”

Because it was Saturday.

Not much got done.

No great poems.

No reading.

 

I had a nice relaxing day

Until I noticed it was Friday,

The song by Rebecca Black echoing in my ear.

Which means tomorrow I’m going to need to get some work done.

The Order of Longfellow

If I were a rich man

I would create an academy like Greece.

It would be chartered “The Order of Longfellow.”

We would teach the poor how to read,

We would educate the poor.

We would teach the poor all of the mysteries of poetry.

In this, we would issue out our Associates, Bachelors,

Masters, and Doctorates.

The degree would be free.

It would be about dialogue and discussing the meaning

Of our treasures, from Euclid to Aristotle

From Longfellow to Horus.

We would not teach esoteric interpretations.

We would teach hermeneutics to Fairyland.

We would teach math, science and arts

For no cost.

We would teach the geometry of a Quadratic Equation.

 

The way a Bachelor would receive their degree

Is by teaching an Associate’s class through and through, after already receiving it.

A Master would teach a Bachelor’s class through and through after already receiving it.

A Doctor would teach a Master’s class through and through after already receiving it.

Privileges would be given to good teachers, to keep a record of good rapport within the organization.

They would be given this privilege by petition

When they will be ready to do their class.

It wouldn’t be about the degree,

But the degree of knowledge one can obtain.

It wouldn’t be about mere accomplishment.

First, one would need to prove they can read and write.

Then, after so,

Two years of intense study would be needed to test for an Associates.

Four years of intense study to test for a Bachelors.

Six years of intense study to test for Masters.

Ten years of intense study to test for Doctorate.

 

The tests would be written exams

On the meaning of literature;

Tests on the assimilation of knowledge

Into new ideas;

Tests on the principles of math;

 

Reading, Writing, Arithmetic

Without fluffy organizations babying our members

Or weird sounding acronyms.

It would be difficult.

It would not patronize the poor.

It would, rather, set them free from their bondage.

 

The goal of the Association would be

To teach the poor.

To give a free education to the poor.

It would take a poor man,

And make him into a rich man

Of understanding and knowledge.

The rich would want our education.

Educating the poor and preserving literature would be our goal.

 

The classes would be discussions, not rote exams.

The students would discuss their topic for the day,

Be it a Quadratic Equation, be it a Euclidean Principle,

Be it Number Theory, Be it a Wordsworth or Longfellow Poem,

Be it a Literary Theory, be it a Scientific Construct,

Be it a Dialogue of Plato, be it a famous painting.

 

Those teaching the Doctorates would be graded by their superiors.

Those teaching the Masters would be graded by their superiors.

Those teaching the Bachelors would be graded by their superiors.

Those teaching the Associates would be graded by their superiors.

The teacher would not grade the students,

But the superiors would, to see if work has been done.

 

That is just one dream I’d have if I were a rich man.

 

A False Prophet

I enter into this feud.

“Hatred is how we purge it.”

That is what you said.

Then you proceeded to call me

“Balaam’s Ass.”

 

I have talked with you before,

Oh Balaam, son of Boar,—

So many moons ago.

 

I’ve been waiting to see you,

So your blasphemy can be purged from my mind.

A fox is your calling card.

Herod, oh Herod,

“He writes much but says little.”

That you said also.

 

I’ve finally found you.

Now I am satisfied that you are a fraud.

And I can let you be…

 

You frightened me,

But I recognize your  voice.

It is the voice of that Two Horned Beast.

It’s time for you to be exposed.

 

Balaam’s Ass prophesied

You foolish, foolish man.

Balaam struck it,

And it had done nothing wrong.

 

Repent, for the Kingdom is at hand.

You had said to me,

“I hate you with perfect hatred.”

Come, let us reason together,

Will you hate your own brother?

Will you call your own brother worthless?

Of course you do.

For you thought God was just like you.

 

I know God is nothing like me.

I know I am a sinner.

It is written where all men can see it.

Who I am is worthless and unworthy for this testimony.

But draw water from a rock,

And quenched lands from deserts,

My life can also be redeemed by the LORD

Jehovah Jesus Provider, God’s Gift.

A Lament for Poets; 2016

The poor old woman lifted up her voice again,

“The fowler had taken all the blackbirds away—

“They all were gone, and I knew not to where.

“I looked for them; truly I did.

 

“There was one I saw several decades ago

“But he had flown far away; the Skylarks

“Such pretty voice, yet also very common,

“Now warble their tunes from time to time—

 

“But, as I had sung about the blackbirds—

“Not the Jacobites,—When my crown was lost,

“There had recently appeared at my door

“A thrush, who though not as pretty a song as the skylark

 

“Had the dignity and pearly sheen of feathers I like.

“My heart was refreshed by seeing him,

“Though I had wished I would see more,”

Said the poor old woman, knitting upon the hills.