The True Artist Lives By His Art, or Dies. He Does No Harm to Anyone for not Receiving Him.
There it is
Red in the cup.
The proverb says
Do not look at it,
Do not linger long at it.
It goes down smooth.
Hecate puts the blood of deer
Into her pot…
A dash of Kohl,
Leaven and anise.
Is there also the juniper berry?
It’s curse is luck…
The luck of turning what we dread
Into joy.
It’s not hopeless.
This is why I write.
The curse lifts with a desire to end it.
Desire… then comes water to drink.
Democrat, Republican;
Harpy, Valkyrie!
Crypts, Bloods;
Harpy, Valkyrie!
Pepsi, Coke;
Harpy, Valkyrie!
Libertarian, Green;
Harpy, Valkyrie!
Communist, Capitalist;
Harpy, Valkyrie!
CNNABCMSNBCCBS, Fox;
Harpy, Valkyrie!
Ugar, Jones;
Harpy, Valkyrie!
Hacker, Provider;
Harpy, Valkyrie!
The myth of the Harpy and Valkyrie
Is that their feuds,
When they have finally snared enough men in their nets
Convince them to set fire to the earth
For the jealousy of Man’s love.
One has spotted wings
And the other speckled;—
Also, they both hate one another
Because of it.
With his feet on mounds
He walked;—on two sides were walls.—
Walls from a nightmare.
He published peace, so may know;—
Ashur broke Eons ago.
A torrent comes
And goes…
It knocks me out.
Please, understand…
Prufrock
With his brown eyes
I do not wish to be him
Who recites a word like it was
Homer’s; like he were speaking the words of Beowulf’s monk;
Like Milton’s Paradise Lost were his,
Like he authored the Inferno.
The word he said was more like a fart joke
Than high poetry.
If seen,
If viewed…
Please don’t patronize polished turds.
I have a bad tick.
Grace heals it until I doubt.
Grace heals it again.
What if as frequently as you fed others
In Heaven, God would cook for you?
What if, the greatest you gave on earth
God would give to you?
What if every time you accompanied the prisoner
God, in heaven, would enter into your home?
What if, for every person you bestowed kindness
God would show a kindness to you?
What if heaven followed your life’s seasons,
And those seasons you “slipped,”
God would be elsewhere?
What if whenever the homeless found comfort in your house
God would give you room and board in his very mansion?
What if every good deed on earth
In heaven, God did equal the deed for you?
What if heaven has seasons
And for every kindness bestowed
On another human being
God bestowed an even greater kindness.
In our seasons, God gave us according to our seasons?
Like spring, winter and fall,—
Summer seasons,
The wet seasons,
Would be the seasons we gave to the homeless
Fed the widows,
The orphans
And showed kindness?
What if the least we could offer was lip service?
What if the least of kindness
Was “Sharing” the gospel?
What if the greatest was showing the gospel?
What if God didn’t want us to argue about whether He existed
But rather showed He existed
With our goodness here on earth?
What if this is what Christ meant by saying,
“Store up your treasure in heaven.”
What if every shekel you gave to the poor
Were worth a talent of gold in Christ’s kingdom?
What if, being very poor,
That same shekel were worth ten talents of gold?
What if, being the widow
Who put in her mite,
You received a thousand talents of gold,
And two thousand talents of copper?
And with this God would spend to build you a mansion?
What if by giving tents to the homeless
God would provide in your mansion
An entire corridor?
What if by giving a book,
You received a library?
What if by giving time
You received time with the Father himself?
Whose stew is better than even the heavenly food?
What if God’s greater servants
Would be your reward,
For living life with luke-warm kindness?
You would be approached by them
Much like one is approached by a Count
Instead of a Prince
Or a Marquis instead of a King?
What if there are some
Who spent an entire lifetime being good
Believing in Christ’s grace
And Grace Salvation
But did very little?
For those internal acts
God might send a Duke
Or a Viscount
Or a Baron.
But, those acts of kindness
The great feats which we accomplished
To help the poor, the homeless
The downtrodden,
What if Christ the King Himself
In the Flesh God gave Him
Or the very Father Himself
Came to your home
Each season at its season
For eternity, and for that season
He came?
Perhaps, this is a good way of looking at Works.
There were two walls
Which opposed one another.
One was made of corn.
The other was made of mud.
The bodies of the slain in war
Were the straw that bound the mortar
Of the two walls.
The multitudes slain were like that of
A multitude, that of thirty-eight thousand, thousand;
And the other wall was more than this
Whose skulls shewn through the mortar.
Evil was on both sides, and neither side had righteousness.
Now is a time for talk, and not for war.
What interests me,
Is that in youth,
We don’t care who sung a song.
Flagrantly, it could have been the most foul human being in the world.
Try and tell us who it is,
Who sung it, we’d deny it.
We wouldn’t want to believe it.
We’ll greatly deny the truth
Because we like the song.
In older years,
Who the artist is makes all the difference.
One can hear a song
Sung the same
By two different people.
One a good man
The other a bad…
Each with there slightly different tune.
I can’t listen to the one anymore…
Though their songs used to be so beautiful.
A man makes the meaning.
Johnny Cash sings the song good.
It now means something different
Because Johnny had sung the song.
Same lyrics… same chord progression.
But it means something different
Being sung by by a different man.
And how the man makes the meaning
Even as much as the poetry we read.
One man is Elvis;
The other Homer.
They both sing the same gospel hymn.
One is American.
The other is Greek.
One is about salvation.
The other is to scorn it.
The man made the songs
As much as the songs made the man.
A man sings one song,
It means a different thing
When it is sung by a different man.
The men sing their songs
Different, though the same lyrics
Because it is the man who made the lyrics mean
What they meant.
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Drama in the court room.
All people want to know.
Who killed who?
Who shot who?
Who slit who’s throat?
With a camera in the court room
All people will be able to know.
How we can hear the emotional response
The victim on the stand.
The innocent man in the defendant’s chair
We’ll never know because the show had lots of fans.
The news will show the testimonies
The people will see the show…
Court rooms, justice
It’s all just for entertainment anymore.
We love to see the victim
Speak their sad, sad story.
The defendant is always guilty
Like the away team at the park.
But, for show, they always put him behind bars.
For our justice is a competition
To get the man behind bars.
Regardless, that you break the rules of the Bar.
You want your quota filled,
Irregardless to whether he committed the crime.
“Get that bad guy…”
But the investigation never takes the time.
There is the victim
On the chair singing their tune.
Most of the times they don’t even know;
And that defendant could one day be you.
You could be picked up off the street
For being in the wrong place.
The conviction could be based
On evidence that damns your fate.
Evidence, such as a little sliver of DNA.
You blew your nose on a hanky
And there it ended up near the scene.
Or, there’s a man trying to frame you
In order to get you back for some odd thing.
All that matters, is that the judge is always right.
Piously she sits there,
Seeing the defendant and the victim fight.
The victim, the victim, is always, always right.
It could be a false accusation
About rape or about a theft.
Maybe you had a one night stand
And we can all know now the rest.
Remember this, my friendly loves
The fact is so awfully grand…
In an age where the television is master
Our victims always win when they take the stand.
It’s no longer “Innocent until proven guilty…”
It is “Guilty until the gavel hits the grain.”
And the fact is everyone is guilty,
So, it is all going to end the same.
You raped a woman who had consensual sex…
According to Biblical laws it stands.
Pay the 500 dollars
But it is a capital offense in this land.
All of you, all of you,
Could be guilty of this crime.
A woman’s scorn berates you
Or you were a child, and didn’t lie.
TV courts, we all sympathize with the victims.
Because it’s easy, we all want to be.
But we’re all the flagrant felon,
That includes you, him, her, and even me.
If you like what you’ve read, click the link below and purchase a copy or two of my books.
A Metaphor About Today’s Capitalism:
I recognize who you are.
I know you’re not the only one causing problems.
Frankly, though,
In a vision, as you doddled your clone on your knees,
Teaching him things you shouldn’t have…
You said you should be put in jail.
You said everything you do is legal.
This isn’t entirely true.
There are not allowed to be Trusts
Under US economic policies.
Corporations are supposed to compete with one another.
They aren’t supposed to band into leagues.
For very good reason…
On that account, you’ve broken every Trust law there is.
On a second account,
Monopolies are illegal.
But, you end up owning both brands
The red and the blue…
Wouldn’t that be considered a monopoly?
At the very least an Oligopoly?
I understand the attack is twofold.
On one hand, we’re being attacked by North African dictators.
They own half of our media.
On the other hand,
You’re in league with them.
Just like Ephraim was in league with Assyria.
Two powerful kingdoms
Forging their alliances…
The Corporation
And the Dictator.
I see you’re not an idealist.
You’re a pragmatist.
But, so long as you know…
You told me the whole thing
Which I must have seen in a dream.
But, there are much bigger fish to fry.
If you’re Athena;— Moloch…
A Prince Thor;— Baal…
A king Allah;— Sin…
Then I suppose you should know
That there is a God of one peculiar nation
That you do not know.
His name is Jesus.
Not Homer Afon,
But the Living Christ.
B. K. Neifert 