There's nothing to write. Fifteen times this line. All my lofty notions are expired. The vortex spins. Chewing away at my wisdom, my knowledge. An open door of the new truths Old truths rebranded with the breath of realpolitik. All is a weapon... Man versus woman. Black versus white. Now, the time told truth of the Old Maid Gets made the infidel, As a Bachelor is now a cuckold And a Forsaken bride a feminist. My raw pen is said to be mightier than the sword Yet the Bourbon crown withholds my wheat. I destroy them with my verse... Oh Hapsburg, o' Napoleon. Yet, the war of the basic cruditity Of genitalia and forsaken vows... All are weak if they do not sow their seed. Angst, and frustration... o blithe power That a dictator half a world away destroyed all his women;--- Thus, the curse turns on us that too many men were born. So, eternal angst, and war. Sow your seed, profligates... For it is your love that is faulty. Not mine.
Tag: Poetry
Where Are the Flies?
Where are the flies?
Where are the spiders?
Man, afraid of a Boogieman
Don’t have their backyard barbecues.
So, the flies die.
So, the spiders don’t make their intricate webs on my windowsill.
So, man, being infinitely wise.
Has not a clue that he is a part of the ecosystem.
The flies feed the fish, the flies feed the bats
The flies feed the spiders, the flies feed the pheasant.
I had seen so few this year,
Because the carcasses of our mid-summer feasts
Do not grace the foul odors of the trash with the maggots.
For, those little maggots feed the sparrows,
And the flies feed the bats,
And the bats are fed on by the fox
And the fox feeds on the hens
Who feeds on the flies.
So, it remains, that man is necessary,
Yet, who is feeding the man,
Now that we cower in our homes?
The rich harvest delayed.
Man must, yes he must,
Shop sheltering indoors.
For, the realization is that man is needed
For the fly, who feeds the duck and fish.
And without man, the fly wanes
So I see maybe fifteen all season long.
So it soon comes that man was necessary
And man is a part of nature.
And without him, on God’s green earth,
The ecosystems fail’th.
The Duke’s Dirge
Shorn the sheep to graze in fields, peridot,
The jeweled sun’s breath upon the burnished cheek;
Kin we were in kith we ran the ramparts
Of our boyish troop, upon the dragon’s gorge.
It reared upon us one silent hour
O’ that brother of the Jeweled Seraphim,
Son of Satan and Scylla, most unwise.
He is a man like any other, plush
With his mischief upon the earth, rosy
Are his cheeks; richer he is than the king.
The Seraphim will bind his sire in
Juddecca’s chains, cast him down to hell. Yet.
That foe Death, only one will vanquish:—Christ.
The winds of the eastern vault bring pleasant
Breeze, to where we once in boyhood’s gay charms
Played with sticks, and serious was our charge
To guard the gates of those ruddy warriors.
The armies salvos over the hills, arms
March out to war, in our memory’s past;
Those games we played as youth, with prop instead
Of cold metal in the scabbard’s tang.
Never was Satan’s sire, that Scylla’s
Bastard, a thought upon our mind, when war
Burgeoned in the hill valleys of our play.
Yet, the silent winds cooled our childhood’s
Games. And the sweet smell of the heather blooms
Rose through the air with the mowed grass; sticks crossed
Their tackles, but not the iron of war.
Brother, I pray you find rest in the green
Lights of Paradise’s grove; so rest sound.
For our swords would cross in amateur play
Yet, now the Bastard has crept through your door.
Raise; raise you Duke
At the last Trumpet’s sound
Into paradise.
The Hymn of the Citizens
Fife and drum go Hum dee dum,
The marching citizens draw their guns
Their words, their airs, their country farms
Did get sold by the county Bar…
Hum dee dum,
Hum dee dumb.
We wage this revolution with our words
Not a bullet we will incur
We shall march in our battle lines
With these words and verse so spry…
Hum dee dum,
Hum dee dumb.
If a martyr we shall make
To speak our words and masticate
That violence spreads in silent wakes
Hum dee dum
Hum dee dumb.
I shall not e’er throw a stone
If I shall die all alone
I shall not ever throw a stone
For my words are mortar bombs
Hum dee dum,
Hum dee dumb.
Wage a revolution wise
That men in flames, they do die
While I have sung my battle cries
For the wasted men who die
Hum dee dum,
Hum dee dumb.
We might have our first president
A woman good with righteousness
She might give us what we need
A stitch, a bone and well hemmed sleeves
Hum dee dum,
Hum dee dumb.
But the ghosts they testify
That with the awful costs they cry,
That they should give a man his rights
When a woman ought to win the fight,
Hum dee dum,
Hum dee dumb.
Trump, I say, is not the cost
He is not the one who robbed us all
It is not Warren nor congress’ cauc…
It is all the specious laws we wrought,
That by liberty’s woes they cause,
Hum dee dum,
Hum dee dumb.
So I sing this verse or two
Of revolution with words couth
That if a woman should not be right
But a man should win the fight,
Hum dee dum,
Hum dee dumb.
The Misfit Finds His Rebel Cause
The misfit finds his rebel cause.
Goes to war, defies all the laws.
How a ripe peach of which to pluck
Is the rebel’s cause loved so much.
I? I sit, also, misfit too
Unabashed from eternal youth.
My creative means dries so much
My country dies, the one I love.
Is the rifle my fated way?
To lose myself in coup d’é tat?
Will it suffice this longing heart?
Will I in glory play my part?
No! I say, in my angry gloom.
My vengeance shall be bloody noon.
I would rather let life depart
From my nostrils than play my part.
I will laugh at the wretched dogs
As my body swings o’er the logs.
I died, your hope for freedom last.
Because you’d not free me, I laughed.
The Only Man; A Meditation on Coleridge’s Poem Where He Meditates on a Cataract
Lay open vestibule of our greatest minds,
Upon the lap of the only man in a quarter century
To open thy door, and see thy cataract.
The strophe and antistrophe
Which haven’t a soul
To espouse Grecian category’s empty words;
No, but to me you mean the top and bottom
Of those flawless chemicals of geometry;
A cataract, just like the Great Falls of Buffalo.
Am I the only man to see it for a quarter century?—
How so austere at first
It dances around my eyes,
The ugly ink and plain words.
Yet, it is perfect in meaning.
How does a man explain poetry
To those who never drink from its mousse?
It merely tells us what rests beyond all artifice
Into the meaning of these things
We might never take a passing glance.
Waterfalls might have a certain chemical,
Something between Geometry and Stars,
But do those chemicals have meaning?
Or, does the meaning create the chemicals?
A man who feels truth is very deceived,
Yet, if one could see the pure feeling of Niagara Falls
That my sinful self could not appreciate…
I will remember the feeling later, at a second glance
In a poem nobody has read for over twenty years.
And that is why I know there is sin.
That is why I know there is such foulness.
I can know the feeling then and now
Both the same, but then I would not chew upon it.
Today, without beholding what my eyes had once seen,
I can see it once again, and in that sight,
Understand what sin truly was.
A lie we tell ourselves to spoil what is good and right before our eyes.
Then, later, one meditates on it from afar,
Without the beauty before flesh’s eyes.
Alexander Hamilton; A Tall Tale
He was a good ol’ boy
Whom a judge bought shoes for
So he could attend his mama’s funeral.
He found himself, later on in life
The chief of merchants at a shipyard station.
He saw a slave branded one day at the yard,
So he set out to hate slavery his whole entire life.
He went to college, like any decent gentleman might,
But soon found himself stirred by the continental army.
Well, Hamilton joined the ranks of Washington
And was made second only to him.
He even killed five Tories in one day
So legend had it.
At the Continental Congress
Hamilton wanted a strong government,
So he used his freedom of speech to unify the country.
He wanted a fair government.
And sure enough, he got one.
He tidied the War Debt,
And set America straight on her path.
Well, on Alexander’s last day of life
He was challenged to a duel.
It was the Vice President himself
Aaron Burr.
Alex, for honor’s sake, shot his bullet straight into the air
For he had honor, and was not a man of show.
Having set his nation’s path to longevity,
Aaron Burr couldn’t care; he, a man of great dishonor,
Shot Alexander in the head,
And after thirty hours, Alexander Hamilton was dead.
10 Questions Atheists Cannot Answer Satisfactorily
- How did nothing create something?
- What is the meaning of life?
- Why love unconditionally?
- Why do you suppose morals are a matter of belief, and not knowledge?
- Why is there no God when we clearly observe there is moral objectivity?
- If you disagree with there being moral objectivity, how can there be morality if morals are a matter of opinion?
- If morals are a matter of opinion, what makes one set of morals better than another?
- What stops someone who has no hope of a better future from being the worst person imaginable, just to make it in this world?
- Why risk your life for someone else, when all there is, is death?
- Why aren’t morals objective?
Character is More Important than Reason
Character is more important than reason.
You can be smart, but cruel.
You can be stupid, but kind.
Religion helps keep the world kind.
So be it if it keeps us a little stupid.
There are plenty of things which we ought not to know.
So there’s no question,
I am unequivocally a Christian.
I’ve found the easiest things to believe are often false.
While the more nuanced a thing,
The more it turns out to be true.
Atheism is too easy to believe
Because it’s built on simple premises.
Christianity, on the other hand,
Is too nuanced to set aside and reject.
What an Atheist believes with his reason
He is often made presumptuous and a complete jackass.
What a Christian believes by faith,
Often works in practice, and I can have no doubt
That something imaginary cannot be the foundation
Of human cooperation.
There must be a God, because belief in Him is beyond humanity’s ability to comprehend.
Yet, on the outer precipice of Genius,
It can only be so that He exists;
While the inner thoughts of man seem to reject what they cannot understand,
I embrace it because nothing that is true
Is ever so simple as a pithy statement.
To Try and Fail
I try everything, but fail.
In my dreams, the one I desire,
Her large family belongs to another man.
Everything is broken in life.
Everything is destroyed.
I see the enemy closing in around me
On every turn.
None take me seriously;
My words are chaff.
My life is spent in vanity here on the earth.
Am I truly edifying?
Am I truly bringing Christ to the masses?
Or, am I just a laughingstock?
It’s like my precious words are chaff.
It’s like my life was built on shifting sand.
I give, I give everything
But now there is nothing left to give.
There isn’t even the hope of love
Nor the hope of family.
Just the desperate hope of living until I’m old
Living, without family, without lover,
Without my goals accomplished.
All look and say, “Where is God?
“Look, this is a Christian.”
Slowly, my religion dies
Despite my protests for it not to.
I don’t want the world where my religion fades
As there would be no love.
Only oxytocin.
There would be no joy.
Only dopamine.
There would be no peace.
Only a chemical reaction obfuscated with love.
Men would use one another for their lusts…
Their appetite.
Would men murder? Maybe.
Maybe they wouldn’t.
Maybe it would just be a violent hedonism
Where relationships are cheap rags
That get used to wipe the spritz
From your privates
After touching another’s flesh.
I would lay on my couch,
Because none would want to read what I’ve written;
Silently, I would pine away,
My life’s work forgotten.
My name forgotten.
And never having seen joy on the earth
I would die.
Would the world turn black at my death?
I don’t know if I can retain the faith for that long.
So, I ask God to not leave me to this fate.
For, I am faltering.
Not in faith. I will always believe He exists.
Just in my walk with Him.
With no pleasure, with constant suffering,
I would not see the things that I treasure.
And I might lose Him from my life.
I would believe in Him until the day I die.
But, who knows if I would pine away
And pine away on the hallucinogenic porn.
Would I trade my heritage for this?
I would probably live until 108
And die, never having loved a woman
Never having married,
Never having a woman in my bed,
Never raising a child,
Never doing anything…
Not because I had done anything wrong.
Just because the world had said, “No,”
To all the things that would make me truly happy.
It wanted me to find my own happiness…
I had found it. It was the happiness of God.
But, that wasn’t what it wanted for me.
It wanted me degenerate all my life.
Understand, everything I want
Is taken from me.
Because of a world that said it wasn’t good enough.
For me, it would have been.
But, when I get to heaven,
I will say to God, “You created a good world.
“But men spoiled it. Yes. It wasn’t you Who made me suffer.
“It was them. And, suffering always was them.
“To suffer was their joy.”
B. K. Neifert 