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Ok it isn't so quiet in here but our resident librarian will ensure that there is good discussion on literature, prose, poetry, etc. You may also post sermons, notes, and the like as long as it is not copyrighted material and within reason of the post length regulation.

We encourage you to take a lose look at the threads and offer honest and useful input. This forum is a place where we discuss literature of any media, as well as personal creations by some of our own wordsmiths. Debate is encouraged, but we often find ourselves relaxing here.

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Poetry by Twebbers

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  • arnoldo
    replied
    Hidden old pond
    green frog jumps
    water splash

    Leave a comment:


  • shunyadragon
    replied
    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

    Leave a comment:


  • rogue06
    replied
    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.

    Leave a comment:


  • shunyadragon
    replied
    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.

    Leave a comment:


  • shunyadragon
    replied
    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.
    Last edited by shunyadragon; 05-19-2015, 04:59 PM.

    Leave a comment:


  • shunyadragon
    replied
    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.

    Leave a comment:


  • shunyadragon
    replied
    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
    Last edited by shunyadragon; 10-30-2014, 04:15 PM.

    Leave a comment:


  • fm93
    replied
    Originally posted by Duragizer View Post
    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.

    Leave a comment:


  • Duragizer
    replied
    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.

    Leave a comment:


  • Baldie the Limey
    replied
    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

    Leave a comment:


  • onefour1
    replied
    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

    Leave a comment:


  • onefour1
    replied
    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.

    Leave a comment:


  • shunyadragon
    replied
    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

    Leave a comment:


  • shunyadragon
    replied
    Originally posted by Jedidiah View Post
    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!

    Leave a comment:


  • onefour1
    replied
    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!
    Last edited by onefour1; 01-25-2014, 09:53 PM.

    Leave a comment:

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