Mutatis-Mutandis
07-14-2009, 04:13 PM
So, I thought instead of posting all these separately, I'd just copy my Word file of poems and post 'em all. Reading them is up to you. I think I posted a few of these some time back, so if you feel like you've seen some of this before, you probably have.
“Entertainment”
True Entertainment, what I saw today
A mockery of law and society, such a captivating play
So careless, so sickening, so fake
A quarrel among two, a child at stake
A camera getting all the drama so we can see
How far the apple of justice has fallen from its dieing tree
Reduced to a caricature, a fake, a shame
The adjudicator sitting on high passes blame
The man has lost, his recklessness now a burden
A woman’s smile blooms at the judgment given
The crowd cheers. . .
Cheers!
How can they cheer?
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“Death and Oreos”
No good can I see in the world
Death and despair
Rape and murder
Sickness and famine
(Oreos on sale this week)
Three soldiers killed in a car bomb
Oreos sound good, come to think of it.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“Falling”
The image is all to fresh
The plume of smoke coming out
Of the gaping wounds inflicted upon the pillars in the sky.
Then they fall, collapsing as if from the latest Bay film.
This is no CGI though, this is all too real. Surreal.
War now a product of the collapse.
Evil begets evil, death begets death
I thought they stopped falling long ago
But everyday I am reminded differently.
The towers’ rubble that once spread through the
Streets of that grey jungle, like water flowing into a maze of concrete
Now spreads across the planet, covering all it touches in soot.
In blackness. In dismay. In the color of inhumanity.
No, they are still falling.
If you look, you can see them, they are right in front of you
Will they ever stop falling?
__________________________________________________ ______________________
Untitled and Unfinished
I can feel your eyes
In the tingling hairs on the back of my neck.
Do you have a question?
Am I so much of a curiosity?
__________________________________________________ ______________________
Untitled and Unfinished
Is there anything out there?
Is there anything listening
When I ask the darkness a question?
I used to pray to what may be,
But nothing ever came.
Why? Why when so many people claim
To be touched by prayer was I not?
No feeling of a connection to God.
God. . . the word itself a mystical
And untouchable fable.
Is there a God?
How could there not be?
How could there be?
I need proof! I don’t want faith,
Faith is too risky, too faulty in
It’s uncertainty. I will not believe
Only to be disappointed at the truth.
But, what if I don’t believe?
Some would have me think I
Will burn, burn in a lake of fire
For eternity. For not believing. . .
Does this not seem wrong to anyone else?
God is nothing more than an egotistical
Child who claims vengeance on who
Is not faithful to Him?
This being, this God, has created all that is
Around us, in all its complexity,
All it’s beauty, all its ugliness
All its mystery, and you expect me
To believe he is vengeful?
How can it be so vile, to think
Are creator is a vengeful menace?
Bu then again, who am I to know
The mind of God any better than
The next man? I see no clearer than
The priest before his congregation
Or the congregator before their priest.
What arrogance, to assume anyone is
Capable to know the mind of God.
If there is a God.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
"Moment of (extra)Ordinary"
If I could make you understand, I would,
The purity of the world that struck me.
I would make you understand, if I could,
The beauty in plainness that I did see.
Liquid rolling waves of green
Went back to fade into the sky.
The end of Earth could be seen
Behind the hills, fading like a sigh.
Trees sprung up from the ground,
Their branches caressing the clear blue ceiling.
A solitary house on the crest of an emerald mound,
A hawk above it, circling, gliding.
As quick as the image before me came,
It was gone, back to the way it was before.
Just another patch of ground that was the same,
Another picture outside the window, nothing more.
I can’t make you understand why it struck me.
It was ordinary and plain, nothing new.
It was a perfect moment of ordinary.
There’s no reason you won’t someday see it too.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“Interruption of a Summer Day”
The high light and joyful sounds of birds chirping,
And alien bug sounds, their noisy sources lurking
Invisible in trees and grass bright green,
Their pulsing song ever existing, always unseen.
The sun bears down with oppressive heat.
And the shade of a tree is a minor retreat.
The light becomes obscured as clouds thicken,
And as the sun behind grew clouds is hidden.
The world’s transformation from bright to grey
Happens slowly and quickly in nature’s queer way.
The clouds seem to creep like a snail into the sky,
Yet it can seem to happen in the blink of an eye.
The wind, picking up, brings the smell of a storm
As the world becomes darker and ominous in form.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, felt as much as heard.
The world now quieter, absent is the sound of birds.
In a sudden deafening crash of electricity
The sky opens up to disturb the former serenity.
The torrent that falls from above soaks the ground,
Puddles and mud now where dirt was found.
The rain dies down and begins to slow
As the sun breaks through to form a rainbow.
The calm begins to return after the rain’s great stirring
And once again the birds start chirping.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
Untitled Haikus
The soft, silent snow
Covered the field, undisturbed
Like a placid lake.
The brown leaves fall down.
Slow markers of yearly death.
Rebirth yet to come.
A flock of small birds
Explodes from the grassy field
Like a speeding cloud.
I hiss of static
As the color image forms.
Idiot box born.
The shrieking high wail
Of a child denied his
Shiny toy of choice.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“When the End Comes”
How can a person truly be certain
When so many people believe you’re wrong?
How is it that you refuse to listen
To those who may have been right all along?
How can their be one path for all mankind?
Destroy all resisting thoughts that threaten
The rhetoric of your religious lie
And lay to rest those who do not listen.
What will you do when the truth is revealed?
How will you cope if you find that you’re wrong?
The answers will not forever be sealed.
Isn’t that what God has said all along?
Because certain no one can truly be.
Only when the end arrives will we see.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“My Church”
I hear God in the bird’s song,
And the wind that can be heard all day long.
I see God in the setting sun,
And in majestic animals as they run.
I feel God in the falling rain,
And in the snow that falls much the same.
I smell God when fresh flowers bloom,
And in the smell of rain to descend soon.
All these things God is for me.
He is what I can hear, smell, feel, and see.
My belief does not require pages from a book.
All I need to do is go outside and take a look.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“God Cage”
The massive room is full of people.
Majestic chorus floats through the air.
This holy place is sacred.
This is the home of God.
You can tell from the ornate decorum
And the rich façade that surrounds.
Oh, surely, God lives here.
Look around, can’t you tell?
The ceiling is high
And the space is massive.
Surely this cage can hold God.
Look down, see the men walking?
Their robes flow in glory.
Some a blood red that assaults the eye.
A man walks in the front in pompous garb.
Tall hat and lavishly rich robes
Stream behind he who is closest to God.
Urns swing behind, emitting fragrant smoke
As he who is closes to go takes
His seat on his godlike throne.
Surely this is the house of God,
If you believe walls can contain Him.
And surely this man can talk to God,
Just look at how he is dressed.
But the cloth only conceals the man
He is beneath, like us all.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“Where are You, God?”
Is there anything out there?
Is there anything listening
When I ask the darkness a question?
I used to pray to what may be,
But nothing ever came.
No feeling of a connection to God.
God. . . the word itself a mystical
And untouchable fable.
Is there a God?
How could there not be?
How could there be?
I need proof! I don’t want faith,
Faith is too risky, too faulty in
It’s uncertainty. I will not believe
Only to be disappointed at the truth.
But, what if I don’t believe?
Some would have me think I
Will burn, burn in a lake of fire
For eternity. For not believing. . .
Am I to think God is just an egotistical
Child who claims vengeance on who
Is not faithful to Him?
This being, this God, has created all that is
Around us, in all its complexity,
All it’s beauty, all its ugliness
All its mystery, and you expect me
To believe he is vengeful?
How can we be so vile, to think
Our creator is a vengeful menace?
But, then again, who am I to know
The mind of God any better than
The next man? I see no clearer than
The priest before his congregation
Or the congregation before their priest.
What arrogance, to assume anyone is
Capable to know the mind of God.
If there is a God, he is beyond our grasp.
We are told we are created in the image of God.
I hope it is his appearance only.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“Saint Peter at the Gates”
I walked to the white gates in a daze
With bated breath, through a cloudy haze.
A man stood before me, giant book in hand,
“Where am I?” I asked, “I do not understand.”
“You are at the gates of Heaven,” the man said.
“I’m sorry, lad, but I’m afraid you are dead.”
“Dead!” I exclaimed, “But how can this be?”
“Lightning struck, and you were smashed by a falling tree.”
I stood dumbstruck. “No, no, no, you’re wrong,” I said,
“I remember this morning, I woke up in bed.
“I then went outside, a strong wind was blowing,
“But I looked around, no danger was showing.
“Wait, I remember a loud boom and a crash.
“And you say it was me that tree did smash?”
“I’m afraid so, my boy. And now you are here,
“At the gates of Heaven, and your judgment is near.”
“Who are you,” I asked, “That presumes to judge me?”
“Why, I am Saint Peter, holder of the key.”
Just then the unhinged padlock on the gate caught my sight
And it came to me what that key was for, with a fright.
“And if I am deemed unworthy to pass through the gates?”
“Just take a look down,” said he, “and see what waits.”
And so I did, and discovered a most troubling scene,
Men writhed in agony, emitting piercing screams.
Smoke and flame was all there was to see,
And to take the place of men in torture was where I could be.
“I’m sorry, Saint Peter,” I said hastily,
“I’m still dazed and my mind still feels a bit lazy.”
“It is okay, lad, what concerns me is in this book.
“I found much of it quite startling, after a look.
“It seems to me you never swore Christ as you savior.
“What am I to think,” said Peter, “of this behavior?”
Like a fool I stood, not knowing what to say,
Looking down at the hell that beneath my feet lay.
“I never said I worshipped Christ, this is true,
“But I always believed in him. Surely you knew!”
The man said angrily, “Do not presume to lie to me, boy.
“For me, your mind is but a mere child’s toy.
“I know your deepest thoughts, trust me I can see.
“But now you can redeem yourself, if you tell the truth to me.
I took a hard swallow, and tried to clear my head.
“Okay. What do you want to know?” I said.
He looked at me, and asked, “You believed not in God why?”
“I saw his intervention nowhere, his existence seemed a lie.”
“But you never believed anything, no faith was in you.
“It did not need to be Christ, any faith would do.”
“I’m sorry, Saint Peter, I just never believed.
“But now I do, by my own self my mind was deceived!
“I see now how much I was wrong all my years,
“But now I believe, and for my ignorance I shed tears.
“Please,” I sobbed, “Good Saint Peter, let me in!
From now on, I will never doubt God again.”
Saint Peter just frowned at me. “Sorry, lad, it is too late.”
And then he turned around, and locked the gate.
“Entertainment”
True Entertainment, what I saw today
A mockery of law and society, such a captivating play
So careless, so sickening, so fake
A quarrel among two, a child at stake
A camera getting all the drama so we can see
How far the apple of justice has fallen from its dieing tree
Reduced to a caricature, a fake, a shame
The adjudicator sitting on high passes blame
The man has lost, his recklessness now a burden
A woman’s smile blooms at the judgment given
The crowd cheers. . .
Cheers!
How can they cheer?
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“Death and Oreos”
No good can I see in the world
Death and despair
Rape and murder
Sickness and famine
(Oreos on sale this week)
Three soldiers killed in a car bomb
Oreos sound good, come to think of it.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“Falling”
The image is all to fresh
The plume of smoke coming out
Of the gaping wounds inflicted upon the pillars in the sky.
Then they fall, collapsing as if from the latest Bay film.
This is no CGI though, this is all too real. Surreal.
War now a product of the collapse.
Evil begets evil, death begets death
I thought they stopped falling long ago
But everyday I am reminded differently.
The towers’ rubble that once spread through the
Streets of that grey jungle, like water flowing into a maze of concrete
Now spreads across the planet, covering all it touches in soot.
In blackness. In dismay. In the color of inhumanity.
No, they are still falling.
If you look, you can see them, they are right in front of you
Will they ever stop falling?
__________________________________________________ ______________________
Untitled and Unfinished
I can feel your eyes
In the tingling hairs on the back of my neck.
Do you have a question?
Am I so much of a curiosity?
__________________________________________________ ______________________
Untitled and Unfinished
Is there anything out there?
Is there anything listening
When I ask the darkness a question?
I used to pray to what may be,
But nothing ever came.
Why? Why when so many people claim
To be touched by prayer was I not?
No feeling of a connection to God.
God. . . the word itself a mystical
And untouchable fable.
Is there a God?
How could there not be?
How could there be?
I need proof! I don’t want faith,
Faith is too risky, too faulty in
It’s uncertainty. I will not believe
Only to be disappointed at the truth.
But, what if I don’t believe?
Some would have me think I
Will burn, burn in a lake of fire
For eternity. For not believing. . .
Does this not seem wrong to anyone else?
God is nothing more than an egotistical
Child who claims vengeance on who
Is not faithful to Him?
This being, this God, has created all that is
Around us, in all its complexity,
All it’s beauty, all its ugliness
All its mystery, and you expect me
To believe he is vengeful?
How can it be so vile, to think
Are creator is a vengeful menace?
Bu then again, who am I to know
The mind of God any better than
The next man? I see no clearer than
The priest before his congregation
Or the congregator before their priest.
What arrogance, to assume anyone is
Capable to know the mind of God.
If there is a God.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
"Moment of (extra)Ordinary"
If I could make you understand, I would,
The purity of the world that struck me.
I would make you understand, if I could,
The beauty in plainness that I did see.
Liquid rolling waves of green
Went back to fade into the sky.
The end of Earth could be seen
Behind the hills, fading like a sigh.
Trees sprung up from the ground,
Their branches caressing the clear blue ceiling.
A solitary house on the crest of an emerald mound,
A hawk above it, circling, gliding.
As quick as the image before me came,
It was gone, back to the way it was before.
Just another patch of ground that was the same,
Another picture outside the window, nothing more.
I can’t make you understand why it struck me.
It was ordinary and plain, nothing new.
It was a perfect moment of ordinary.
There’s no reason you won’t someday see it too.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“Interruption of a Summer Day”
The high light and joyful sounds of birds chirping,
And alien bug sounds, their noisy sources lurking
Invisible in trees and grass bright green,
Their pulsing song ever existing, always unseen.
The sun bears down with oppressive heat.
And the shade of a tree is a minor retreat.
The light becomes obscured as clouds thicken,
And as the sun behind grew clouds is hidden.
The world’s transformation from bright to grey
Happens slowly and quickly in nature’s queer way.
The clouds seem to creep like a snail into the sky,
Yet it can seem to happen in the blink of an eye.
The wind, picking up, brings the smell of a storm
As the world becomes darker and ominous in form.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, felt as much as heard.
The world now quieter, absent is the sound of birds.
In a sudden deafening crash of electricity
The sky opens up to disturb the former serenity.
The torrent that falls from above soaks the ground,
Puddles and mud now where dirt was found.
The rain dies down and begins to slow
As the sun breaks through to form a rainbow.
The calm begins to return after the rain’s great stirring
And once again the birds start chirping.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
Untitled Haikus
The soft, silent snow
Covered the field, undisturbed
Like a placid lake.
The brown leaves fall down.
Slow markers of yearly death.
Rebirth yet to come.
A flock of small birds
Explodes from the grassy field
Like a speeding cloud.
I hiss of static
As the color image forms.
Idiot box born.
The shrieking high wail
Of a child denied his
Shiny toy of choice.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“When the End Comes”
How can a person truly be certain
When so many people believe you’re wrong?
How is it that you refuse to listen
To those who may have been right all along?
How can their be one path for all mankind?
Destroy all resisting thoughts that threaten
The rhetoric of your religious lie
And lay to rest those who do not listen.
What will you do when the truth is revealed?
How will you cope if you find that you’re wrong?
The answers will not forever be sealed.
Isn’t that what God has said all along?
Because certain no one can truly be.
Only when the end arrives will we see.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“My Church”
I hear God in the bird’s song,
And the wind that can be heard all day long.
I see God in the setting sun,
And in majestic animals as they run.
I feel God in the falling rain,
And in the snow that falls much the same.
I smell God when fresh flowers bloom,
And in the smell of rain to descend soon.
All these things God is for me.
He is what I can hear, smell, feel, and see.
My belief does not require pages from a book.
All I need to do is go outside and take a look.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“God Cage”
The massive room is full of people.
Majestic chorus floats through the air.
This holy place is sacred.
This is the home of God.
You can tell from the ornate decorum
And the rich façade that surrounds.
Oh, surely, God lives here.
Look around, can’t you tell?
The ceiling is high
And the space is massive.
Surely this cage can hold God.
Look down, see the men walking?
Their robes flow in glory.
Some a blood red that assaults the eye.
A man walks in the front in pompous garb.
Tall hat and lavishly rich robes
Stream behind he who is closest to God.
Urns swing behind, emitting fragrant smoke
As he who is closes to go takes
His seat on his godlike throne.
Surely this is the house of God,
If you believe walls can contain Him.
And surely this man can talk to God,
Just look at how he is dressed.
But the cloth only conceals the man
He is beneath, like us all.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“Where are You, God?”
Is there anything out there?
Is there anything listening
When I ask the darkness a question?
I used to pray to what may be,
But nothing ever came.
No feeling of a connection to God.
God. . . the word itself a mystical
And untouchable fable.
Is there a God?
How could there not be?
How could there be?
I need proof! I don’t want faith,
Faith is too risky, too faulty in
It’s uncertainty. I will not believe
Only to be disappointed at the truth.
But, what if I don’t believe?
Some would have me think I
Will burn, burn in a lake of fire
For eternity. For not believing. . .
Am I to think God is just an egotistical
Child who claims vengeance on who
Is not faithful to Him?
This being, this God, has created all that is
Around us, in all its complexity,
All it’s beauty, all its ugliness
All its mystery, and you expect me
To believe he is vengeful?
How can we be so vile, to think
Our creator is a vengeful menace?
But, then again, who am I to know
The mind of God any better than
The next man? I see no clearer than
The priest before his congregation
Or the congregation before their priest.
What arrogance, to assume anyone is
Capable to know the mind of God.
If there is a God, he is beyond our grasp.
We are told we are created in the image of God.
I hope it is his appearance only.
__________________________________________________ ______________________
“Saint Peter at the Gates”
I walked to the white gates in a daze
With bated breath, through a cloudy haze.
A man stood before me, giant book in hand,
“Where am I?” I asked, “I do not understand.”
“You are at the gates of Heaven,” the man said.
“I’m sorry, lad, but I’m afraid you are dead.”
“Dead!” I exclaimed, “But how can this be?”
“Lightning struck, and you were smashed by a falling tree.”
I stood dumbstruck. “No, no, no, you’re wrong,” I said,
“I remember this morning, I woke up in bed.
“I then went outside, a strong wind was blowing,
“But I looked around, no danger was showing.
“Wait, I remember a loud boom and a crash.
“And you say it was me that tree did smash?”
“I’m afraid so, my boy. And now you are here,
“At the gates of Heaven, and your judgment is near.”
“Who are you,” I asked, “That presumes to judge me?”
“Why, I am Saint Peter, holder of the key.”
Just then the unhinged padlock on the gate caught my sight
And it came to me what that key was for, with a fright.
“And if I am deemed unworthy to pass through the gates?”
“Just take a look down,” said he, “and see what waits.”
And so I did, and discovered a most troubling scene,
Men writhed in agony, emitting piercing screams.
Smoke and flame was all there was to see,
And to take the place of men in torture was where I could be.
“I’m sorry, Saint Peter,” I said hastily,
“I’m still dazed and my mind still feels a bit lazy.”
“It is okay, lad, what concerns me is in this book.
“I found much of it quite startling, after a look.
“It seems to me you never swore Christ as you savior.
“What am I to think,” said Peter, “of this behavior?”
Like a fool I stood, not knowing what to say,
Looking down at the hell that beneath my feet lay.
“I never said I worshipped Christ, this is true,
“But I always believed in him. Surely you knew!”
The man said angrily, “Do not presume to lie to me, boy.
“For me, your mind is but a mere child’s toy.
“I know your deepest thoughts, trust me I can see.
“But now you can redeem yourself, if you tell the truth to me.
I took a hard swallow, and tried to clear my head.
“Okay. What do you want to know?” I said.
He looked at me, and asked, “You believed not in God why?”
“I saw his intervention nowhere, his existence seemed a lie.”
“But you never believed anything, no faith was in you.
“It did not need to be Christ, any faith would do.”
“I’m sorry, Saint Peter, I just never believed.
“But now I do, by my own self my mind was deceived!
“I see now how much I was wrong all my years,
“But now I believe, and for my ignorance I shed tears.
“Please,” I sobbed, “Good Saint Peter, let me in!
From now on, I will never doubt God again.”
Saint Peter just frowned at me. “Sorry, lad, it is too late.”
And then he turned around, and locked the gate.