A Poem Thread

"Let me live in a house
by the side of the road,
Where the race of men go by-
The men who are good and the men who are bad,
As good and as bad as I.
I would not sit in the scorner’s seat,
Or hurl the cynic’s ban;-
Let me live in a house by the side of the road
And be a friend to man."---Sam Walter Foss

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"Hey farmer farmer put away that DDT now.
Give me spots on the apples but leave me the birds and the bees.
Pleeeeeeeeeaaase!"

I think Joni would approve of GM crops. No pesticides.
 
"This morning Teresa sleeps
in the doorway of the plasma center.
Teresa of the rotten teeth
and sweet smile. Teresa
of diseased sex and raped dreams.
The cops can’t arrest her because
she’d infect the other prisoners
and no social service will touch her.
She blows winos for drinks of cheap wine
and screws anyone for a glass of beer.
and a quarter for the jukebox.
Her grin is black, the stumps
of her teeth framed by scarlet lipstick.
She told me once
how she wanted to dance
dance into the grave
with music coming out
of every hole in her body."
-- Kell Robertson
 
A flea and a fly were
trapped in the flu.
The flea said let's fly,
The fly said let's flee.
And they fled
Through a flaw in the flu.

(Traditional.)
 
Father and Son
by Irving Feldman, 1975

Set against each other, ready to butt
and struggle, with the same glaring look
of the eye and fiercely vivid anger,
son and father, isolated together
in daily deadlock, their form of murder.

Not sacrifice: murder. For it maters
that no command has brought them hither,
the proud and loving father, the eager son,
mercurial and defiant, his image,
or ordered the day and brushwood for the fire.
This is no test, but plainly real,
this Moriah where, unsanctioned, unblessed,
unpunished, sons and fathers pause and wait,
and nothing is revealed.

Will no miraculous ram now come
bleating, trotting, wagging its head
like a slow wisdom on an antique page
misleading death for the future's sake
and calling back the pair in pity
of the boy's innocence, the father's love?

No ram. None. Wildly, the father casts
about the rocky field, and grapples for
imagined horns to wrestle out a ram
from nothingness, as if to drag a god
into the stunned impenetrable world
and feel the rough material horn,
the rank fur, the uncomprehending staring eye,
and behind it the startled air's commotions
where invisible hooves are bracing―while,
almost glowering, the pitiless son looks on.

 
"To the church of my youth,
What the hell did you expect me to do?
You told me to love my neighbors, to model the life of Jesus. To be kind and considerate, and to stand up for the bullied.
You told me to love people, consider others as more important than myself.
You taught me to sing "red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in His sight."
We sang it together, pressing the volume pedal and leaning our hearts into the chorus. You said that “He loved all the children of the world”.
You told me to love my enemies, to even do good to those who wish for bad things. You told me to never "hate" anyone and to always find ways to encourage people.
You told me it's better to give than receive, to be last instead of first. To help the poor, the widow, the stranger at the gate.
You told me that Jesus looks at what I do for the least-of-these as the true depth of my faith. You told me to focus on my own sin and not to judge. You told me to be accepting and forgiving.
So I payed attention.
I took in every lesson.
And I did what you told me.
But now, you call me a libtard. A queer-lover. You call me "woke." A backslider.
You call me a heretic. You make fun of my heart. You mock the people I’m trying to help.
You say I’m a child of the devil.?
You call me soft. A snowflake. A socialist. You shun the very people you told me to help.
What the hell did you expect me to do?
I thought you were serious, but apparently not.
You hate nearly all the people I love. You stand against nearly all the things I stand for. I'm trying to see a way forward, but it's hard when I survey all the hurt, harm, and darkness that comes in the wake of your beliefs and presence.
What the hell did you expect me to do?
I believed it all the way.
I'm still believing it all the way.
Which leaves me wondering, what happened to you?"

(original post by Chris Kratzer}
 
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