Poetry by Twebers

[Ben Zwycky]

Hero

A small town groans and suffers
Corrupt and full of strife
Where evil reigns and smothers
All hope and joys of life.

Then came along a wandering fire
To cleanse the streets of sin
His fearsome features stained with mire
Yet still was welcomed in.

Great struggles raged and shook the homes
Of monsters calm and proud
Who limped away with broken bones
Defeated, weak and cowed.

And when the work was done they asked
Him to stay on a while
To teach them to perform the task
And face the coming trial.

With bravery renewed they meet
To bid their guest farewell
And thank him for his mighty feat
To end their living hell.

They don't now need one hero
For all must do their part;
Now all have seen and all now know
They need a whole new start.

[lee_merrill]

For one who gave a salve for wounds,
For one who served one meal to thee,
And when you wandered, had a room,
And when in prison, had a key.

For aching grief that no one heard,
A simple heart that came to bide,
The sound of soft, unspoken words,
Love's weakness, that shall turn the tide.

And when man's thoughts became a thirst,
And every breath, cut with a sword,
And life, a wrestling, death, a curse,
Love came an answer, faith, a cord.

When all earth's friendliest fires were spent
Its ashes could not cover thee,
A tattered, well-worn cloak was rent,
And half for you, and half for me.

Though waiting by your side through life,
But when our eyes shall finally see,
"I served this man, this child, this wife,
Lord, when did we attend to Thee?"

[Ben Zwycky]

A couple of short ones:


Forest

Strolling through the undergrowth
Drenched with pure sweet air
Rejoicing in life's affluence
And jewels here and there.

Such unashamed magnificence
Such strength and graceful lines
Enduring generosity
To bless these sacred times

How to approach such bounty
And manage this resource?
Take the times to learn its ways
And understand its source.



Water

Shimmering glassy sheets and columns
Sweeping, swirling flows and waves
Gentle chattering streams and bubbles
Mighty roaring foams and sprays

Calming mists and cleansing rain
Warm mountain springs that soothe your pain
Refreshing and invigorating
Healing and rejuvenating
Enriching and new-life-giving
The miracle for all.

[Sparko]

Tonight, in my boots I am a' shakin,
for in my fridge there be nay bacon.
Upon high I climb and back agin,
Upon mt everest where the air is thin,
but I find no more of me bacon,
so in my boots I be shakin.

ARR wait, I have me a plan again!
For it be Rogue06's stash I be taken!

Burp.

[Ben Zwycky]

The Modern Fool

A godless place for the human race
But where can one be found?
Not in the air or sea or space
He really gets around.

"Give me relief from His trained eye
So my plans may succeed,
But woe to Him should I be found
In trouble or in need!

"I will complain and whine and pout
'Til my demands are met,
And all His kindness in the past
Immediately forget.

"Be my willing, fawning slave
And I may just compromise
To bow my head on Sunday
Or even close my eyes.

"Telling me how I should live,
Who do you think you are?
Do you not know I am my life's
Most treasured, central star?"

[fm93]

I wish I had at least a drop of legit poetry writing skill. I have friends (no, really...I have friends) who can pull off that deep, eloquent, but utterly baffling stuff masterfully.

Anyway, here's what I think a rap battle between a certain atheist (to prevent his head from inflating to critical mass, we'll refer to him as "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named") and JPH might go:

HWMNBN:
You’re not very Christ-like, Holding!
You’re screwed up in your big fat head.
Now you’re toast for using riposte.
I'll leave you like your dog Toby: dead.
You think you can diss me like Paul?
I’ll destroy you with my atheist goons!
I’m the baddest atheistic disser of all
You’re a lardball who draws cartoons!
Why didn’t God make the Bible clearer?
He caused a load of confusion and strife
Like when was the crucifixion, and what about circumcision?
Are we saved by grace alone, or do we stick our stick with a knife?
See, your religion’s a big fat lie!
So shut your yap, before I dish out big hurt
Truth is this: after you die
You’re spending eternity in the dirt!

Holding:
I’ve got rewards in heaven, [You-Know-Who]!
You’re spending eternity in prison!
How do I know? I’ve done research, yo!
And the truth is this: Jesus is risen!
You think the Bible is unclear?
That claim’s a load of monkey snot!
What was so compulsory that you committed adultery
When the Seventh Commandment clearly says “Thou shalt not?”
Dumbass, you think you can out-riposte me?
Whip off that dumb hat and take an honest look!
I make atheists run home crying for Mommy
You just blabber “Hey, buy my book!”
You’ve got some hypocrisy issues, [You-Know-Who]
Straining out gnats but swallowing camels on
Your blog—you call me egotistical
Yet you rate your own book five stars on Amazon!

[Catholicity]

This thing continues pressing on into my thoughts;
Deepening its foothold; yes, no this is this is not.
What are you going to do? It makes no room rather it takes:
Grabbing all life outside of me until it presses into my very core
And before I know, consumes this mind and owns me,
What of relief doesn't exist for the few precious moments,
Even though I might laugh it consumes me still in the backdrop.
Like a stagehand which never seems to understand to cease drawing the curtain open.
Oh then shall in sleep or in death shall I feel relief?
The mindless consumption of this obsession rages on and on.
Never in waking nightmares nor in restless dreams could one imagine;
What such horror can it be that steals one's life.
Away! Away! Away! How can it be I might fight,
That Which Steals my Joy, and and Consumes each moment,
The Very Breath of my life and leaves no hope.
To where can I run from this Which takes all pleasure only to leave
Me standing and a bittersweet Road.

[Catholicity]

And if it were that wee folk were real,
What might they say?
Could they tell of life or naught
Or merely sit and play all day.

Would it, Could it, Should it?
Exist or none, What if a wee folk should appear?
Would thou my friend stand in dread,
Or bid the being come near?

Shall it be spoken to,
What if with its tiny shimmer spake back?
Only a tiny answer to thee my friend,
Of life, love or child and nothing lack.

Hath one seen a folk as this verse described?
Their tiny world in pictures might show
To one full of humility
With spirit desiring to grow.

If dear friend, thou hast seen them,
Or spoken to a wee folk too,
Didst thou dread their tiny world
Or was it a pleasure, mystery, and true?

[Cow Poke]

This thing continues pressing on into my thoughts;
Deepening its foothold; yes, no this is this is not.
What are you going to do? It makes no room rather it takes:
Grabbing all life outside of me until it presses into my very core
And before I know, consumes this mind and owns me,
What of relief doesn't exist for the few precious moments,
Even though I might laugh it consumes me still in the backdrop.
Like a stagehand which never seems to understand to cease drawing the curtain open.
Oh then shall in sleep or in death shall I feel relief?
The mindless consumption of this obsession rages on and on.
Never in waking nightmares nor in restless dreams could one imagine;
What such horror can it be that steals one's life.
Away! Away! Away! How can it be I might fight,
That Which Steals my Joy, and and Consumes each moment,
The Very Breath of my life and leaves no hope.
To where can I run from this Which takes all pleasure only to leave
Me standing and a bittersweet Road.

This reminds me, kinda, of Robert Frost's "Road Not Taken"

[Catholicity]

Lost in thought or dream of fantasy.
Can one perhaps believe in the magic of first sight love?
Nay they say, Eros was its founder.
It's intangible its only in dreams.
For its hope is unfounded unreal yet ne'er escaping.
What would it profit to leave into girlish fantasy?
Childhood dreams only of that which could be?
Ne'er are these dreams that of shame,
Rather they bring joyful hope.
Remembering that of which one wished as a child.
Oh but could it belong, coud the dreamer have it, own it.
Ne'er again to settle for second.
But it is that which they say wrongfully founded.
Merely is it only childhood wishful thinking?
And should it be so, Might the owner beg of the dream to end.

[Catholicity]

This reminds me, kinda, of Robert Frost's "Road Not Taken"

Inquiring minds want to know....

[pancreasman]

Profundity

I'm searching for profundity
But it's always out of reach
Perhaps it's hidden underground
Or stranded on a beach
I wish I could be as profound
As other people here
Then I could be meaningful
But just not very clear

I'm searching for profundity
But it's nowhere to be seen
Everywhere I search it seems
Profundity's just been
It's left it's mark upon the page
Of other earnest folk
But when I try to capture it
It turns into a joke

I'm searching for profundity
I'll catch it in a net
Or Captain Spaulding's jammies
I am not certain yet
Perhaps I'll shoot an arrow
To pin the bugger down
Then I'll be the deepest poet
In this unpoetic town

I'm searching for profundity
Did you see it pass?
Does it sneak up on you
To bite you on the ass?
Or does it charge right at you
Like a rhino or a duck?
From this poem you can see
I'm plainly out of luck

I'm searching for profundity
Won't you help me please
The only poems I can write
Are silly ones like these
I'd like to write the poems
That make the young girls cry
But in the end I suppose
I'm not that kind of guy

[pancreasman]

Jesus

Jesus never owned a gun
He never watched TV
He never played a baseball game
Or ate excessively
And though his land was occupied
He never urged revolt
And as I was thinking this
I realised with a jolt
If Americans who loudly claim
They love this Jesus guy
Were actually to meet Him
They'd punch Him in the eye!

[shunyadragon]

One of my long term projects over the last 20 years is translating the Poetry Confucius collected from the Bronze Age.

This is an interesting one written in Bronze Age by a woman as a protest against male violence.

野有死麇 A doe is slain

野有死麇 , 白茅包之。 A doe is slain, in white grass wrapped.
.
有女怀春, 吉士诱之。 A maid longs for love, by the hunter tempted,

林有樕朴, 野有死鹿。 He hews the forest, another doe is slain.


白茅纯束, 有女如玉。 A maid like jade, in white grass adorned.

舒而脱脱兮, 无感我帨兮, Approach softly, the waist cloth untouched.
无使尨也吠。 Be gentle and not aggressive.

[Manwë Súlimo]

Say no to doe slaying!