My Heredity

Simplicity sometimes works.

Sometimes extravagent metaphors.

Me, I like pretty faces

So words have to be beautiful

In the poetry I read.

I’m vain like that.

 

The same cliche wallpaper

Over and over again…

There it is painted in my living room.

But I like it, so I use it.

It’s funny because every canvas hanging on

My wall a family member did—

Every piece of art on the one wall was made by a family member.

The chess table which appears on my covers

Was made by a PA carpenter.

 

I’m inundated with art, and artists

And yet none of them were famous.

One is an impressionist sail boat.

One a winter scene.

One a needle point of two children on a swing.

One a photograph my dad took.

My chess table is a masterwork.

Why so many Pennsylvanians

Master their art, and don’t get paid much for it.

 

My bookshelf was made by my Grandfather.

My afghan quilt—though patterned off of a magazine—

Was hand stitched by my great grandmother. My book shelf

Was hand crafted by my Grandfather.

All expertly done.

My Nanny did a white afghan

Which such expert craft.

My Grandmother made three afghans,

Too, of a much finer quality.

Photographs, I’m surrounded by.

My house is decorated by family…

Either their faces

Or their works of art.

Even some of the music I’ve had

Growing up…

Songs of high quality that my dad had sung,

Great accoustic songs by my brother,

Recipes of family members handed down from generation to generation…

Sometimes out to six.

Even my sports team

Is part of that Family tradition.

Fourth Generation Philedelphia.

 

Our house is decorated by things we’ve made,

My entire family.

It truly is.

I suppose if I were a good writer,

That would be the cause.

And nobody knows any of us.

Dear Marty Sampson


When I am “Geniunely losing my faith,”

I turn off the radio. I stop reading my books.

I don’t even read the Bible.

I go to the state park,

I look at the animals.

I see they are good

And know the Christ;

You can even ask them.

They’ll tell you He is the LORD.

 

We are locked in a world of explanations

When there isn’t one to be had.

The existentialist philosophers came to a notion

That they couldn’t write down.

But Paul wrote it.

“Christ.”

 

I hear, “People need to reason,”

But I think it is the other extreme.

I think people need to face the reality

That Giants assail us

Dragons torment us

Fairies haraung us

And wood nymhps try to lead us astray.

Visceral is my faith

To hold and cherish what is good.

Because what is good testifies to the truth

That Jesus Christ is the LORD.

Subtle miracles every day

And the power of that confession,

Which if you could not,

Consider it is Christ Himself

Hindering you…

Because when I was astray

It could not even touch my lips.

A simple miracle, but it works.

 

Study the divine mircacle that just is.

Don’t try to gain an explanation for it.

Because the world could be flat,

And the whole of NASA lying to us…

We don’t know, truly.

But we do know that Christ lives

Because He lives in us.

Even if you said a word

But make sure to never say those words,

To say to God, “Depart from me.”

Because the faith is real.

The trees don’t move because of our words,

But that they move because they move.

The wind moves their branches

Just like the very Spirit of God moves us.

And in that is power, to tap into it

And to know it is real.

 

To know that unkindness resumes

But know the walking away from the faith

Is what you see in you.

At my lowest,

I know it is my sin that prevents me.

I blame the hypocrite, but

I am that hypocrite.

All my words chiding Christianity

It is really me I’m chiding.

Because I know in me

Is the same false spirit

Enticing the world

And that demon I need to drive from my soul

So when I see the animals praise the LORD

I know that it is men who fall away

And the whole of creation testifies to the name of Jesus Christ.

 

Amen.

The Inspiration Behind the Ballad of Maddok

Carl Jung came up with a concept of the “Shadow Self.” In Freudian psychoanalysis, it’s the same as the id, or the animal self. It comprises all of our violent tendencies, all of our animal like nature, all of our evil. In Biblical imagery, they call it the “Flesh”, or our “Sin”.

There was a verse in Micah 7, toward the end, about our sin being removed from us. That was the whole of the inspiration behind the poem, was our sin’s removal from our body. And in Ezekiel, when declaring Jerusalem’s sin, and in Jeremiah, it has a laundry list of crazy sins.

I have no recollection of committing any kind of sin other than what I have written in Young Shadows. The last poem is the full account of the entirety of my memory about my sins. But, the thought remains strong in me of the sin nature, every thought I’d ever had, every lust, every lewd dream that somewhere in me is that… and that is what became Maddok. The fact that somewhere, this creature called “Maddok” or “Death” is in us. Just having a thought makes our minds capable of doing something awful, every secret thought, every secret desire. Which, leads me to the mystery of perhaps—not a doppelganger, but like Brittos’ Giant Soul—our bodies are capable of such great evil without our will. And that God needs to shave—or circumcise—that sin off of us somehow. Maybe that’s what baptism is, or maybe it’s something else entirely; maybe that subconscious evil in us called the “Shadow” makes us capable of awful things that needs to be physically removed by God Himself.

So, that’s the inspiration behind Maddok. The kind of musing of the “Flesh Self” that needs to be removed from the Christian—or really everyone—in order for salvation to truly occur. And of course I’m Brittos, meditating on this while writing the poem—though not literally Brittos because he represents every Christian, not just me, needing to understand that God saved us by grace.

So, before anyone calls me a “Gnostic” I believe wholeheartedly that this Flesh needs to be removed from the Christian in order for true salvation to occur. That Maddok, who is literal in the poem, is actually metaphorically in every human being, such as the survival instinct. Such as walking to your car with the key stuck between your fist, because you’re ready to hurt anyone who tries to mug you. Or even a canister of pepper spray. Or, perhaps owning a weapon and imagining having to use it. Or, the countless hours of pornography and violent movies we tend to watch. As if all of this culminating in the human being leaves these latent Shadow Selves in us, and it needs to be removed by God in order for us to truly attain the riches of salvation.

That is the inspiration behind the poem, and of course Maddok is a personification of the ultimate sinner because he is literally Death embodied. He is so unwise, that he forgets that he’s the very thing that he’s about to get sucked down into because he’s so deluded to think that he’s actually accomplishing the will and work of God. There are some subtle satires on Christian Theocracies in the poem, too, such as their desire to Crusade in order to bring about punishment on kingdoms, or criminal justice, or in all regard Vengeance, which seems to be the primary pathway to our violence, is the meditation on vengeance and self defense. Which, we can all say we’ve mused, which if anything were Maddok, it’s that. All of the people we had imagined killing, we had killed in video games, we had imagined fornicating with;— Maddok is all of that because he is our subconscious, the shadow that haunts us, the sum of what we’re capable of and the evil we all have present in us, latent somewhere in the survival instinct. As a Christian, we need to have that circumcised from us completely, in order to attain the riches of the Kingdom of Heaven. And nobody perfectly attains it on earth, but the metaphor was a very strong one I mused on for the better part of a year.

Good and Bad

I’ve found a little metaphor in Termites and Penguins.

 

Termites are like good people, and good civilization.

They have ordered societies,

They mate for life,

They rear their young,

They produce impressive feats,

They clean up the excess

And they make use of what people think are useless.

Most people look at them

And say, “They’re a worthless

“And destructive insect.”

Because they eat floorboards and stuff…

It’s not a perfect metaphor, people.

But even in that, without them

The forest wouldn’t decompose its foliage

For the next batch of trees to put forth their saplings.

They, all day, work and are content.

They have strong communities.

 

Penguins are like bad people.

They kill one another,

They eat one another,

They will rape one another

They are homosexual,

They will have sex with the dead.

They live in a barren land.

Are good for really nothing,

Except to be eaten by walruses.

They don’t build.

They just kind of stand there all day

Jumping into the water

Consuming huge amounts of resources;

They are violent,

Tempermental,

Will kill their young,

Will steal one another’s babies,

And everyone loves them

Because they don’t know the half of what happens

In penguin civilization.

But, unlike penguins

Because the metaphor is not perfect,

They don’t do anything truly wrong.

They just kind of sit and do what they’re supposed to do

Because they are good,

And they are the time and season for it.

Why the FCC Will Regulate the Internet

As a business owner

If I express speech

That offends the

Heart, it is not

The right of Paul

To steal my voice.

 

HAM radio is

Licensed because

As a passeryonder told me

“It could interfere

“With Planes and

“Electronics.”

 

The Internet

Of course

Is a place of

Volatile speech

Which will

ALWAYS OFFEND!

Therefore, because of

This, citizens interfere

With one another’s rights.

 

Theft, Identities stolen,

Illicit Crime,

Porn Bombs,

Frames for crime,

Dark Web.

The internet

Will have to

Be protected

To allow

Business like mine

To continue.

 

Not because

Of vain or

Offensive speech. No.

Because of

Crime.

 

To go forward

We will probably

Have to purchase

Licenses to

Operate, like a

Car, since it

Is infrastructure

Necessary for

The modern day.

 

Freedom of

Speech is what we communicate

Through writing

And speech.

It is not,

Like HAM radio,

A right of the people.

Like medication is prescribed,

I think this is

A good analogy.

Because of the

Harm drug

Addiction has

On a society

Worse, is the

Man who can

Thwart public

Transit, hinder

Economic freedom,

 

And if not

Clear, we need

Paper, too…

It’s better

To pay bills

By mail

Than by Email.

 

The commerce

Needs to

Be protected

Personal property,

Privacy,

9th Amendment,

And most of all

Our interpersonal

Relationships.

Which is why

An issued handle

Will probably be necessary for

The internet.

If people

Are to have

Any wealth connected

To it, it needs done.

 

And, people should,

No, must be able to live

Life, if they chose,

Without it.

The Law is Israel’s Protection

The law is Israel’s magic.

To know there is no power in infant bones

But in hate and murder

There is the power to steal and kill.

The law is our protection against this

To know such is evil

And will be recompensed.

To be execute judgment

On the ones desolate in the wilderness.

To bring them to nothing.

 

Those of us who are overthrown by the law

Know that there is grace

To cover our sins.

To overthrow our sins

And cast it into the sea so there is always hope.

 

Though our portions lie underneath the rocks

The LORD can create sons and daughters from even the rocks.

There is all power with the LORD to overthrow Sodom

And to level cities, and to roar in the thunders.

The LORD’s power is in the sentence to execute judgment against the sinner.

Not our hands, for we are not the ones who execute judgment.

We are little bunnies in the field

Knowing it is the LORD who causes all things,

And the lightnings.

To bring peace in the silent thunders to Israel

When he is afraid, and to see the lightnings cast forth.

 

The LORD is our shepherd

And He guards Israel.

The Muse of the Arabica

Scrolling through the poems

O’ the poems,

The muse of the Arabica—

Yet, how many the Robusta—

Is the laurel champion of the

Mind’s strongest conjurings.

 

Like some kind of spell

We poets weave the strong drink

To bless it like Dionysus,

The drunken wine of the gods;

Foul Cretans they are to juice our minds

With the spirits of the age…

 

O’ Arabica, thou muse…

Robusta! None sing of thy tart fame.

The elixir of the Pagan rights

To bless the bounty of the cup

Rather than the bounty of the provision

Of Jehovah-Jyra

For the muse and the laurel

Of the day.

 

The strong drink

Which drives the prophets mad

And the minstrels sing their songs of you…

O gods, goddesses,

Lamenting like the Titans

Lamenting like thee O’ devils

Whom Paradise lost,

The war of the gods overthrowing the Titans

Is an ancient story… ancient

Despotic,

Of the regimes of one set of kings

Who overthrew another.

These manipulators,

These men who suck the venom

Of the Asp of Dionysus’

Cup, of the venom of the strong elixir

Which men praise’th

The God of Drunkenness.

 

Foul the beasts by which the depths of dawn’s

Chariot’s—this is no allusion, but the image has been born before I know—

Strike to the root of thy coffers

Which ingrained within is the strong drink

Which drives the whole earth mad.

For if we just praise it…

All know it is the source of our stories.

Yet… the Titans, and soon to be the gods

Will be bound in the chains of misery…

O, Saturn, Prometheus, Hyperion,

O Jove, Venus, and Hades…

Soon thy reign shall end—

And the true thunder of the God

The one who roars from the clouds of heaven

Like a Lion, in the storm which lit the sky like day does reign

And is goodly, the Spirits of which we should be drunk—

Those false gods shall be bound in those chains

Which you sought to place those whom thou ruled.

For one, I say one, has driven away the demon.

In moderation, the strength by habit causes no harm,

Yet in excess—which our story is about—

The strong drinks drives the prophets mad.

There Were Two Men

There were two men.

 

The first was a prophet.

The prophet, when he saw the wickedness of mankind

Would pray to the Father in heaven

And would accuse men of being wicked.

He would reprove for the sake of correction

And nothing he spoke was with intent to harm

But rather was with intent to increase faithfulness

Among the sons of men.

Never did he say, “You sin like thus,

“And, therefore, you are a worthless fellow.”

But rather, “The whole sins like thus,

“And your sins will condemn you.

“Not that I have never sinned,

“But that you are sinning right now,

“And I am concerned for your well being.”

When men heard this,

They felt sore vexed

Because it seemed like the Prophet was accusing

Them right to their face.

But it was rather the whole who the prophet accused;

And men stood up in judgment against this prophet

To say, “He is more wicked in his judgments

“Then we are in our murders and thefts!”

 

The second man was a judge.

He would see of men, “They are righteous,

“And they are, for the whole part, better than this man.”

But, when he saw a man’s sins,

He would say, “This man is incredibly wicked.

“This man, I have seen him be wicked

“I have seen his sins,

“Because I have made a diligent search for them.

“I will not depart from him

“Until I am justified in myself

“That I have found error in him.”

This man, all men loved

Because he had accused the righteous

And had encouraged the wicked to sin

By justifying them, and by making himself justified in their eyes.

Wherever he was, he made sure he was justified in their eyes

And that the truth, even, was abominable in the sights of men

Because he would rather be justified in his position

And not the truth; and once he found sin

He went home and said, “I know I am righteous

“And this other man is a sinner more than I.

“For, the prophets are judgmental,

“And I am humble and give grace to the sinner.”

 

Which man will stand in judgment?

Who is the hypocrite?