Poetry by Twebbers

[shunyadragon]

[shunyadragon]

Haiku

God is not a chess player.
God is the Sea.
We are the fishes.

[Jedidiah]

I have not written poetry since grade school. Well there was college . . . I am just not a poet.

[Darth Executor]

When trouts eat gerbils
And gerbils eat trout
Don't be surprised
When they both have gout

[onefour1]

[shunyadragon]

I have not written poetry since grade school. Well there was college . . . I am just not a poet.

I am just not a poet!
A poet I am not!
The more I try, I don't do it
It rhymes, I guess I did it!

[shunyadragon]

Compathy

Compassion is the earth,
it is always beneath you regardless of flavor.
It receives all in death,
without judgment or favor.

Love is the moon,
a beautiful reflection in the lake.
entwines the favored son,
but fades dancing away in the wake.

Compassion is the sun.
The sun gives warmth and life to all,
even the dark shadows in the morn
receive light in the eve whether short or tall.

Love is the moon
sometime a smile, sometimes not
dancing in the shadows
sometimes there, sometimes not

Compassion fills the air.
to some a soft breeze.
others a deadly roar and a prayer
Not one nor the other to please.

Love is the moon
Playing hide and seek
Sometimes a wink
for those who vainly seek.

Compassion is the sea,
Ascending to the heavens unseen,
returning again to give life.
or a grave to some in the sea

Love is the rose.
Beautiful to behold,
When no longer a rose,
the thorns take hold.

God is not a chess player
with the white pieces.
God is the sea . . .
and we are the fishes

Frank A Doonan

[onefour1]

Come Follow Me and He Went

[onefour1]

The Man in the Glass

When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day,
Just go to a mirror and look at yourself,
And see what the man has to say.

For it isn't your father or mother or wife,
Upon you whose judgement must pass;
But the one whose verdict that counts most in your life
Is the one starring back from the glass.

He's the one to please, never mind all the rest.
For he's with you clear till the end,
And you've passed your most dangerous and difficult test
If the man in the glass is your friend.

You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years.
And get pats on the back as you pass,
But your final reward will be heartaches and tears
If you've cheated the man in the glass

[Baldie the Limey]

I tend to post my poetry to my Tumblr account here

[Duragizer]

I don't write poetry very often, and when I do, it's usually mean-spirited song parodies. Here's one completely original poem of mine, however, be warned -- it is not an uplifting poem in the least.

...

The Scary Door

You are a faceless automaton -- without heart, without soul -- an instinct-driven anthropomorphic maggot designed to feast upon the ebon objects of your psyche-spawned desires. You have no purpose. You are Nothing.

Then one day you make a discovery. You find love with a beautiful woman, a woman who acts as a mirror, reflecting the image of a pristine, shining paradise into the shadow-shrouded depths of your vestigial mind. As you find this Love, you also discover God. You enter a new stage of personal evolution, and begin to metamorphose from Homo vermis to Homo deus. The veil begins to lift from your vestigial mind, which begins to expand, allowing you to perceive the cosmos on a higher level than was previously possible.

But then disaster strikes! You discover your love has been one-sided all this time, and that She has been your true god all along. She spurns your worship, and exiles you from Her presence. The God whom you falsely claimed to worship denies you in turn for your feigned alliegiance and becomes the Ignorer, the Silent God.

You are cast out into the Outer Darkness. You devolve. No longer are you the burgeoning God Man, or even the original Maggot Man; you are now Vermis homo, the Man Maggot.

Darkness no longer envelops your mind, for you no longer have a mind to speak of; you wail and gnash your teeth with all the awareness of a lobotomized amoeba. You are beyond purposeless; you are Less Than Nothing.

As you lament and trevail, you finally find the One True God; It isn't your Love, or even the Silent God. The One True God is Time, and Death, Entropy, and the Destroyer of Worlds -- All-Powerful, All-Consuming Chaos.

And It laughs at you -- this blind, deaf, and dumb Deity -- as you fall beyond ... The Scary Door.

[fm93]

I don't write poetry very often, and when I do, it's usually mean-spirited song parodies. Here's one completely original poem of mine, however, be warned -- it is not an uplifting poem in the least.

...

The Scary Door

You are a faceless automaton -- without heart, without soul -- an instinct-driven anthropomorphic maggot designed to feast upon the ebon objects of your psyche-spawned desires. You have no purpose. You are Nothing.

Then one day you make a discovery. You find love with a beautiful woman, a woman who acts as a mirror, reflecting the image of a pristine, shining paradise into the shadow-shrouded depths of your vestigial mind. As you find this Love, you also discover God. You enter a new stage of personal evolution, and begin to metamorphose from Homo vermis to Homo deus. The veil begins to lift from your vestigial mind, which begins to expand, allowing you to perceive the cosmos on a higher level than was previously possible.

But then disaster strikes! You discover your love has been one-sided all this time, and that She has been your true god all along. She spurns your worship, and exiles you from Her presence. The God whom you falsely claimed to worship denies you in turn for your feigned alliegiance and becomes the Ignorer, the Silent God.

You are cast out into the Outer Darkness. You devolve. No longer are you the burgeoning God Man, or even the original Maggot Man; you are now Vermis homo, the Man Maggot.

Darkness no longer envelops your mind, for you no longer have a mind to speak of; you wail and gnash your teeth with all the awareness of a lobotomized amoeba. You are beyond purposeless; you are Less Than Nothing.

As you lament and trevail, you finally find the One True God; It isn't your Love, or even the Silent God. The One True God is Time, and Death, Entropy, and the Destroyer of Worlds -- All-Powerful, All-Consuming Chaos.

And It laughs at you -- this blind, deaf, and dumb Deity -- as you fall beyond ... The Scary Door.

No wonder I'm single.

[shunyadragon]

Cat Tongue Rag

Damn! Cat hair’s a bear!
Cat hair! Cat hair! Cat hair!
Cat hair everywhere!
My coat, black suit and chair!

Rollers and brush.
Roller here, brush there.
Damp cloth or vacuum.
Vacuum clogged and still more hair.

Extreme measures brought to bear,
Cut-stitch, cut-stitch, and cut-stitch again.
Maybe ten or twenty to take the hair.
Snip stitch, snip, stitch, and snip, stitch again.

Damn! Cat hair’s a bear!
Clip- stitch, Clip-stitch, and clip-stitch again!
It will take a hundred to bring to bear.
Yep! One hundred cat tongues in a square.

Cat tongue rag removed the hair.
Off with all the cat hair.
Coat, black suit and chair.
Gag! Gag! Hair balls everywhere.

After d’tongues, go d'tails

Frank A Doonan
The Orange Dog Poet of Hillsborough

[shunyadragon]

Yes, the Theory of gravity always will apply,
whether ten stories or sixty,
but in reality we do not know why.
The theory of gravity remains a mystery.

As to where we go when reasons path ends,
remains a mystery without end,
some believe it is back again, and again.
others believe it is streets of gold or Satan's BBQ in the end.

Some say nothing is the blessing,
others just say don't know.
most say their way is best bet going.
More then likely nobody for sure knows.

God is not a chess player
with the white pieces.
God is the sea,
and we are the fishes.

[shunyadragon]

Recited to the music of a Billie Holiday song.

Where have the sons, brothers and fathers gone?

Where have the sons, brothers, and fathers gone?
Brothers take them every one
Chained to the dark holds of ships one by one
With the daughters, mothers and sisters in darkness.

Gone to dock to property on the block
Gone to be sold and never to be seen
The capital of farm and industry
Leaving mothers, daughters, sons and sisters again.

Where are the sons, brothers, and fathers gone?.
When will they be free? Chains traded for chains to meet the greed.
Gone to fill the prisons everyone.
Penal peonage for our railroads and industry need
Leaving daughters, sisters, and mothers alone servitude.



*Willow Weep For Me Billie Holiday

Where are the sons, brothers and fathers gone?
Hanging in silent darkness, no justice everyone.
Leaving daughters, wives, sisters, and mothers alone.
Nor hallowed ground to rest in peace.
Hanging in the silent darkness alone.


 
Where have the sons, brothers, and fathers gone?
Gone to the street, alley, and curb alone.
Soul owned by black Lincoln in a shark suit
White powder in neat rows.
Death painless in a snow storm on a July night
Leaving the daughters, wives, sisters, and mothers alone.



*Gloomy Sunday Billie Holiday

Where are the sons, brothers, and fathers gone?
Gone to the fields, rivers, and shack where the Blues live.
Jungle acts and Minstrel demean to entertain
Jazz and Blues in the back door with dignity regained.
Leaving the sisters, daughters, and mothers again

Where are the sons, brothers and fathers gone?
Blood in the alley, the isle and door step.
Rain washes away the blood, but not the stain.
Leaving the daughters, wives and mothers to weep.



*God Bless The Child Billie Holiday

Billie! Billie! Billie!
Over 200 years of repression and fears
You lived, suffered and died the Blues.
We can only honor and acknowledge you
Your journey over the centuries singing the Blues.

Frank Doonan
The Orange Dog Poet.