Poetry by Twebbers

[arnoldo]

Hidden old pond
green frog jumps
water splash

[shunyadragon]

Dragons, Villains and Spies

Mom and Dad have gone to town!
The dragons and villains are about!
Time to rally the heroes at the barn!
The call to valor and glory

Mount the red and white Schwinn stead
Charging down the driveway
With plans of heroes deeds
Slaying dragons and defeating evil ways

Red cape flapping in the wind!
High wheelies and ramp jumps
Playing card jet motors roaring
Skids in the gravel humps
Black Mack snapping at my tires

Heroes gather in the hay loft
Glow in the dark decoder rings
flashed from beneath capes
Passwords guard against villains.
Outlooks report approaching enemy

Cat’s eyes spy in the dark loft
The evil swans and geese stalking.
The paper wasps circling.
The unseen evil villains in shadows lurking
Plans whispered in hay bale tunnels and ramparts

Feed lot scoured for ammunition
Some cow pies wet and nasty
Mud balls and Mule turds hard and round
Burlap bags loaded carefully

Villains surround the hero alliance.
Dragon swans and evil villains repulsed.
The villains disbursed triumphant
The counter attack repelled.

Raced home in time for lunch,
Torn jeans, and cow pie and dug ball wounds.
Stripped and hosed off in the front yard.
Mom and Dad brought home balloons
I dream for another victorious day

Frank A. Doonan

[rogue06]

A haiku that was on the top of a letter I got a few months ago:

Oh I love bacon

Crispy is the best way to

Prepare it oh yeah.

And with that I declare this thread won as per Jed's Law.

[shunyadragon]

Allah or God, God or Allah.

Allāhu akbar, Allāhu akbar
God is greatest, God is greatest

Praised in all Abrahamic faiths,
Allah is God on the highest.
Lost in worn human epitaphs
Of arrogance and exclusive forgiveness.

Offer call to prayer from the sacred stone towers
Of Duke Chapel in naïve tolerance,
And flowery hopes of dialogue, and good well
Where righteous ancient causes bred violence.

Ash-hadu an-lā ilāha illā allāh
I bear witness, there is no other God but God.

Proclaimed before God called to Abraham
Ancient walls echo how many Gods are God.
Dark chasms in stone remain between
Call to pray to Allah, or prayer call to God

Call to prayer barred from majestic stone spires
In delusions of beyond ecumenism
Doomed to failure all will not agree
Set in stone human divisions and isms

Ash-hadu anna Mohamadan-Rasul ullāh
I bear witness that Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah

General Lee stands Guard, USA or CSA1
Sword drawn in defense.
This line will not be crossed,
Mohammad is not God of forgiveness

Frank Graham pronounces no tolerance
A gentle tug on the piano wire
Hallowed spires reaching for heaven fearing disobedience
Tightens the purse strings just enough.
.
For Allah is not the true God
Doctrine and dogma trumps
There will no call to prayer in the name of God
Denial enshrined in stone, lead and glass

. . . and the sign reads TOLERENCE ENDS.2

Frank A. Doonan


1. Statue General Lee on the right side of the main entrance of the Duke Chapel. Does the belt buckle read CSA or USA? It appears partially cut off.
2. Load limit signs found around the Durham area.

[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
Willow weep for me
Bend your branches down along the ground and cover me
Listen to my plea
Hear me willow and weep for me
Gone my lovely dreams
Lovely summer dreams
Gone and left me here
To weep my tears along the stream.’*

*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.

‘Southern trees bear strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees’*

*Strange Fruit by Billie Holliday
 
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.

‘Sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless
Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless
Little white flowers will never awaken you
Not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you
Angels have no thoughts of ever returning you
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?
Gloomy Sunday*

*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.

‘Yes, the strong gets more
While the weak ones fade
Empty pockets don't ever make the grade
Mama may have, papa may have
But God bless the child that's got his own
That's got his own*’

*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.

[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]

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

[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.

[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.

[Baldie the Limey]

I tend to post my poetry to my Tumblr account here. But here's a sample;

Bell of mercy for one who deserves none

Here I dwell
Across the sea
Listening to the tolling bell
Of sweet mercy

For a man of great crimes
A product of selfishness
For him this bell chimes
In spite of his hellishness

I was this man
A being of pure evil
I was the one to damn
Deserving of punishment most lethal

Yet my Lord loved me
He stepped down from His throne
My Jesus I still cannot see
Why you threw this dog a bone

So I was given the hammer
And three nine inch nails
I hung you on that cross like a banner
As I listened to your screams and wails

I stood back to admire my handy work
Not knowing that this was your deed
Yet I could not find my old smirk
And right there and then sprouted my seed

Faith rushed into my every nook
Suddenly my stone heart broke
And I could not bear to look
I was put under a different yoke

That man died with Christ
He was hung there with Him on that cross
When Jesus was sacrificed
Now if it isn’t for Him it is all loss

Christ Jesus for me did die
Oh great King of Kings
Son of God Most High
To Him I owe all things

So now my life is great joy
Yet also great sorrow
I was once a foolish boy
But now the truth I know

I weep for my Lord
That He should show such benevolence
To His sinning ward
Who at the time did all things in malevolence

My soul is sorrowful
Because of my manifold transgressions
Yet my heart is freely joyful
Because He is faithful to forgive at my confessions

[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

[onefour1]

Come Follow Me and He Went
Author Unknown

Camp 332 the captain came through

He was wearing insignia bright.

“Men” he declared, “You must be prepared

To conquer the enemy’s fight!”

With a towering glare and heart without care he said,

“Men, I’d like you to hear…”

“Soldier,” he said, “Get this into your head

get rid of your cowardly fear!”

So night after night they prepared for the fight

At the feet of the militant man,

Till the soldiers were ready, their spirits were steady

And every man’s thought was I can!

Well, the night finally came and name after name was

Read for the march of the day

It was then that they heard the cowardly word,

“The captain is going to stay.”

Well, they left for the trek and were dressed to the neck

In attire designed for a fight

But the hearts of the legion that marched through the region

Were back in the camp in the night.

You see as they went, they thought of a tent


of a cowardly captain who stayed

Who didn’t go through what he told them to do

Because he was really afraid.

He easily told the men to be bold

To have courage for strength in a fight,

But he was the man when the battle began

Who hid in the dark of the night.

Then there was one who walked in the son


of Galilee country of old.

A teacher was He as He walked by the sea

For His words with His actions were bold

“Men” he declared, “We must be prepared

to conquer the enemy’s fight.”

Then He went in the power of prayer to the hills

And He prayed for the rest of the night.

It was He long ago who taught men to know

That it is far more blessed to give

Then by His example His teaching was ample

To show them how better to live.

“Come follow me” was His conquering plea

“We must not give up the fight.”

“Father, thy will not mine be done,”

and they followed in spirit and might.

You see, the master teacher wasn’t a preacher

Who hid in a camp in a tent,

He was the one who showed how it was done

He said, “Come follow me” and He went.

[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

[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!

[onefour1]

One of my favorite poems is "The Race" by Dee Groberg

The Race

“Quit! Give up! You’re beaten!
They shout at me and plead.”
“There’s just too much against you now.
This time you can’t succeed.”
And as I start to hang my head
In front of failure’s face,
My downward fall is broken by
The memory of a race.

And hope refills my weakened will
As I recall that scene;

For just the thought of that short race
Rejuvenates my being.

A children’s race–young boys, young men–
How I remember well.

Excitement, sure! But also fear;
it wasn’t hard to tell.

They all lined up so full of hope;
Each thought to win that race.
Or tie for first, or if not that,
At least take second place.

And fathers watched from off the side
Each cheering for his son.
And each boy hoped to show his dad
That he would be the one.

The whistle blew and off they went,
Young hearts and hopes afire.
To win and be the hero there
Was each young boy’s desire.

And one boy in particular,
Whose dad was in the crowd,
Was running near the lead and thought:

“My dad will be so proud!”

But as they sped down the field
Across a shallow dip,

The little boy who thought to win
Lost his step and slipped.
Trying hard to catch himself,
His hands flew out to brace,
but mid the laughter of the crowd
He fell flat on his face.
So down he fell and with him hope
He couldn’t win it now–
Embarrassed, sad, he only wished
To disappear somehow.
But as he fell his dad stood up,
And showed his anxious face,
Which to the boy so clearly said,
“Get up and win the race.”

He quickly rose, no damage done,
Behind a bit, that’s all–

And ran with all his mind and might
To make up for his fall.

So anxious to restore himself
To catch up and to win–

His mind went faster than his legs;
He slipped and fell again!
He wished then he had quit before,
With only one disgrace.
“I’m hopeless as a runner now;
I shouldn’t try to race.”

But in the laughing crowd he searched
And found his father’s face;
That steady look which said again:
“Get up and win the race!”

So up he jumped to try again
Ten yards behind the last–
“If I’m to gain those yards,” he thought,
“I’ve got to move real fast.”
Exerting everything he had
He regained eight or ten,
But trying so hard to catch the lead
He slipped and fell again!
Defeat! He lay there silently
A tear dropped from his eye–
“There is no sense in running more;
Three strikes: I’m out! Why try!”
The will to rise had disappeared;
All hope had fled away;
So far behind, so error prone;
A loser all the way.
“I’ve lost. So what’s the use,” he thought,
“I’ll live with my disgrace.”

But then he thought about his dad
Who soon he’d have to face
“Get up,” an echo sounded low.
“Get up and take your place;
You were not meant for failure here.
Get up and win the race.”
“With borrowed will get up,” it said,
“You haven’t lost at all.
for winning is no more than this:
To rise each time you fall.”
So up he rose to run once more,
And with a new commit
He resolved that win or lose
At least he wouldn’t quit.

So far behind the others now,
The most he’d ever been–
Still he gave it all he had
And ran as though to win.
Three times he’d fallen, stumbling;
Three times he rose again;
Too far behind to hope to win
He still ran to the end.

They cheered the winning runner,
As he crossed the line first place.
Head high, and proud, and happy;
No falling, no disgrace.
But when the fallen youngster
Crossed the line last place,
The crowd gave him the greater cheer,
For finishing the race.
And even though he came in last,
With head bowed low, unproud,
You would have thought he’d won the race
To listen to the crowd.
And to his dad he sadly said,
“I didn’t do too well.”
“To me, you won, his father said.
“You rose each time you fell.”

And now when things seem dark and hard
And difficult to face,
The memory of that little boy
Helps me to win my race.

For all of life is like that race,
With ups and downs and all.
And all you have to do to win,
Is rise each time you fall.

Quit! Give up! You're beaten!
They still shout in my face.
But another voice within me says,
Get up and win the race!