10 Best Famous Noah Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Noah poems. This is a select list of the best famous Noah poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Noah poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of noah poems.

• All Famous Noah Poems

 call it the greenhouse effect or whatever
but it just doesn't rain like it used to.
I particularly remember the rains of the 
depression era.
there wasn't any money but there was
plenty of rain.
it wouldn't rain for just a night or
a day,
it would RAIN for 7 days and 7
nights
and in Los Angeles the storm drains
weren't built to carry off taht much
water
and the rain came down THICK and 
MEAN and
STEADY
and you HEARD it banging against
the roofs and into the ground
waterfalls of it came down
from roofs
and there was HAIL
big ROCKS OF ICE
bombing
exploding smashing into things
and the rain 
just wouldn't
STOP
and all the roofs leaked-
dishpans,
cooking pots
were placed all about;
they dripped loudly
and had to be emptied
again and
again.
the rain came up over the street curbings,
across the lawns, climbed up the steps and
entered the houses.
there were mops and bathroom towels,
and the rain often came up through the 
toilets:bubbling, brown, crazy,whirling,
and all the old cars stood in the streets,
cars that had problems starting on a 
sunny day,
and the jobless men stood
looking out the windows
at the old machines dying
like living things out there.
the jobless men,
failures in a failing time
were imprisoned in their houses with their
wives and children
and their
pets.
the pets refused to go out
and left their waste in 
strange places.
the jobless men went mad 
confined with
their once beautiful wives.
there were terrible arguments
as notices of foreclosure
fell into the mailbox.
rain and hail, cans of beans,
bread without butter;fried
eggs, boiled eggs, poached
eggs; peanut butter
sandwiches, and an invisible 
chicken in every pot.
my father, never a good man
at best, beat my mother
when it rained
as I threw myself
between them,
the legs, the knees, the
screams
until they
seperated.
"I'll kill you," I screamed
at him. "You hit her again
and I'll kill you!"
"Get that son-of-a-bitching
kid out of here!"
"no, Henry, you stay with
your mother!"
all the households were under 
seige but I believe that ours
held more terror than the
average.
and at night
as we attempted to sleep
the rains still came down
and it was in bed
in the dark
watching the moon against 
the scarred window
so bravely
holding out 
most of the rain,
I thought of Noah and the
Ark
and I thought, it has come
again.
we all thought
that.
and then, at once, it would 
stop.
and it always seemed to 
stop
around 5 or 6 a.m.,
peaceful then,
but not an exact silence
because things continued to
drip
 drip
 drip


and there was no smog then
and by 8 a.m.
there was a
blazing yellow sunlight,
Van Gogh yellow-
crazy, blinding!
and then
the roof drains
relieved of the rush of 
water
began to expand in the warmth:
PANG!PANG!PANG!
and everybody got up and looked outside
and there were all the lawns
still soaked
greener than green will ever
be
and there were birds
on the lawn
CHIRPING like mad,
they hadn't eaten decently 
for 7 days and 7 nights
and they were weary of 
berries
and
they waited as the worms
rose to the top,
half drowned worms.
the birds plucked them 
up
and gobbled them
down;there were
blackbirds and sparrows.
the blackbirds tried to
drive the sparrows off
but the sparrows,
maddened with hunger,
smaller and quicker,
got their
due.
the men stood on their porches
smoking cigarettes,
now knowing
they'd have to go out
there
to look for that job
that probably wasn't 
there, to start that car 
that probably wouldn't
start.
and the once beautiful
wives
stood in their bathrooms
combing their hair,
applying makeup,
trying to put their world back
together again,
trying to forget that
awful sadness that
gripped them,
wondering what they could
fix for 
breakfast.
and on the radio
we were told that
school was now
open.
and
soon
there I was
on the way to school,
massive puddles in the 
street,
the sun like a new
world,
my parents back in that
house,
I arrived at my classroom
on time.
Mrs. Sorenson greeted us
with, "we won't have our
usual recess, the grounds 
are too wet."
"AW!" most of the boys 
went.
"but we are going to do
something special at
recess," she went on,
"and it will be
fun!"
well, we all wondered
what that would
be
and the two hour wait
seemed a long time
as Mrs.Sorenson
went about
teaching her
lessons.
I looked at the little
girls, they looked so 
pretty and clean and
alert,
they sat still and
straight
and their hair was 
beautiful
in the California
sunshine.
the the recess bells rang 
and we all waited for the 
fun.
then Mrs. Sorenson told us:
"now, what we are going to
do is we are going to tell
each other what we did 
during the rainstorm!
we'll begin in the front row
and go right around!
now, Michael, you're first!. . ."
well, we all began to tell
our stories, Michael began
and it went on and on,
and soon we realized that
we were all lying, not
exactly lying but mostly
lying and some of the boys
began to snicker and some 
of the girls began to give
them dirty looks and
Mrs.Sorenson said,
"all right! I demand a
modicum of silence
here!
I am interested in what
you did
during the rainstorm
even if you
aren't!"
so we had to tell our 
stories and they were
stories.
one girl said that
when the rainbow first
came 
she saw God's face
at the end of it.
only she didn't say which end.
one boy said he stuck
his fishing pole
out the window
and caught a little
fish
and fed it to his
cat.
almost everybody told
a lie.
the truth was just
too awful and
embarassing to tell.
then the bell rang
and recess was 
over.
"thank you," said Mrs.
Sorenson, "that was very
nice.
and tomorrow the grounds 
will be dry
and we will put them
to use
again."
most of the boys
cheered
and the little girls 
sat very straight and
still,
looking so pretty and 
clean and
alert,
their hair beautiful in a sunshine that 
the world might never see 
again.
and

 You have forty-nine days between
death and rebirth if you're a Buddhist.
Even the smallest soul could swim
the English Channel in that time
or climb, like a ten-month-old child,
every step of the Washington Monument
to travel across, up, down, over or through
--you won't know till you get there which to do.

He laid on me for a few seconds
said Roscoe Black, who lived to tell
about his skirmish with a grizzly bear
in Glacier Park.He laid on me not doing anything.I could feel his heart
beating against my heart.
Never mind lie and lay, the whole world
confuses them.For Roscoe Black you might say
all forty-nine days flew by.

I was raised on the Old Testament.
In it God talks to Moses, Noah, 
Samuel, and they answer.
People confer with angels.Certain
animals converse with humans.
It's a simple world, full of crossovers.
Heaven's an airy Somewhere, and God
has a nasty temper when provoked,
but if there's a Hell, little is made of it.
No longtailed Devil, no eternal fire,

and no choosing what to come back as.
When the grizzly bear appears, he lies/lays down
on atheist and zealot.In the pitch-dark
each of us waits for him in Glacier Park.

 THERE is a wolf in me … fangs pointed for tearing gashes … a red tongue for raw meat … and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me … a silver-gray fox … I sniff and guess … I pick things out of the wind and air … I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers … I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me … a snout and a belly … a machinery for eating and grunting … a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me … I know I came from saltblue water-gates … I scurried with shoals of herring … I blew waterspouts with porpoises … before land was … before the water went down … before Noah … before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me … clambering-clawed … dog-faced … yawping a galoot’s hunger … hairy under the armpits … here are the hawk-eyed hankering men … here are the blond and blue-eyed women … here they hide curled asleep waiting … ready to snarl and kill … ready to sing and give milk … waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird … and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want … and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

Nigh and day arrive and day after day goes by 
And what is old remains old and what is young remains young and grows old.
The lumber pile does not grow younger nor the two-by-fours lose their darkness 
but the old tree goes on the barn stands without help so many years;
the advocate of darkness and night is not lost.

The horse steps up swings on one leg turns its body 
the chicken flapping claws onto the roost its wings whelping and walloping 
but what is primitive is not to be shot out into the night and the dark.
And slowly the kind man comes closer loses his rage sits down at table.

So I am proud only of those days that pass in undivided tenderness 
when you sit drawing or making books stapled with messages to the world 
or coloring a man with fire coming out of his hair.
Or we sit at a table with small tea carefully poured.
So we pass our time together calm and delighted.

 THE BRICKLAYER:
 I tell this tale, which is strictly true,
 Just by way of convincing you
 How very little, since things were made,
 Things have altered in building trade.

 A year ago, come the middle of March,
 We was building flats near the Marble Arch,
 When a thin young man with coal-black hair
 Came up to watch us working there.

 Now there wasn't a trick in brick or stone 
 Which this young man hadn't seen or known;
 Nor there wasn't a tool from trowel to maul
 But this young man could use 'em all!

 Then up and spoke the plumbyers bold,
 Which was laying the pipes for the hot and cold:
 "Since you with us have made so free,
 Will you kindly say what your name might be? "

 The young man kindly answered them:
 "It might be Lot or Methusalem,
 Or it might be Moses (a man I hate),
 Whereas it is Pharaoh surnamed the Great.

 "Your glazing is new and your plumbing's strange,
 But otherwise I perceive no change;
 And in less than a month if you do as I bid
 I'd learn you to build me a Pyramid!"

THE SAILOR:
 I tell this tale, which is stricter true,
 Just by way of convincing you
 How very little, since things was made,
 Things have altered in the shipwright's trade.

 In Blackwall Basin yesterday
 A China barque re-fitting lay,
 When a fat old man with snow-white hair
 Came up to watch us working there.

 Now there wasn't a knot which the riggers knew
 But the old man made it--and better too;
 Nor there wasn't a sheet, or a lift, or a brace,
 But the old man knew its lead and place.

 Then up and spoke the caulkyers bold,
 Which was packing the pump in the afterhold:
 "Since you with us have made so free,
 Will you kindly tell what your name might be? "

 The old man kindly answered them:
 "It might be Japheth, it might be Shem,
 Or it might be Ham (though his skin was dark),
 Whereas it is Noah, commanding the Ark.

 "Your wheel is new and your pumps are strange,
 But otherwise I perceive no change;
 And in less than a week, if she did not ground,
 I'd sail this hooker the wide world round! "

BOTH: 
 We tell these tales, which are strictest true,
 Just by way of convincing you
 How very little, since things was made,
 Any thing alters in any one's trade!

 AFRICA 

I will sing you a song of Los. the Eternal Prophet: 
He sung it to four harps at the tables of Eternity. 
In heart-formed Africa. 
Urizen faded! Ariston shudderd! 
And thus the Song began 

Adam stood in the garden of Eden: 
And Noah on the mountains of Ararat; 
They saw Urizen give his Laws to the Nations 
By the hands of the children of Los. 

Adam shudderd! Noah faded! black grew the sunny African 
When Rintrah gave Abstract Philosophy to Brama in the East: 
(Night spoke to the Cloud! 
Lo these Human form'd spirits in smiling hipocrisy. War 
Against one another; so let them War on; slaves to the eternal Elements) 
Noah shrunk, beneath the waters; 
Abram fled in fires from Chaldea; 
Moses beheld upon Mount Sinai forms of dark delusion: 

To Trismegistus. Palamabron gave an abstract Law: 
To Pythagoras Socrates & Plato. 

Times rolled on o'er all the sons of Har, time after time 
Orc on Mount Atlas howld, chain'd down with the Chain of Jealousy 
Then Oothoon hoverd over Judah & Jerusalem 
And Jesus heard her voice (a man of sorrows) he recievd 
A Gospel from wretched Theotormon. 

The human race began to wither, for the healthy built 
Secluded places, fearing the joys of Love 
And the disease'd only propagated: 
So Antamon call'd up Leutha from her valleys of delight: 
And to Mahomet a loose Bible gave. 
But in the North, to Odin, Sotha gave a Code of War, 
Because of Diralada thinking to reclaim his joy. 

These were the Churches: Hospitals: Castles: Palaces: 
Like nets & gins & traps to catch the joys of Eternity 
And all the rest a desart; 
Till like a dream Eternity was obliterated & erased. 

Since that dread day when Har and Heva fled. 
Because their brethren & sisters liv'd in War & Lust; 
And as they fled they shrunk 
Into two narrow doleful forms: 
Creeping in reptile flesh upon 
The bosom of the ground: 
And all the vast of Nature shrunk 
Before their shrunken eyes. 

Thus the terrible race of Los & Enitharmon gave 
Laws & Religions to the sons of Har binding them more 
And more to Earth: closing and restraining: 
Till a Philosophy of Five Senses was complete 
Urizen wept & gave it into the hands of Newton & Locke 

Clouds roll heavy upon the Alps round Rousseau & Voltaire: 
And on the mountains of Lebanon round the deceased Gods 
Of Asia; & on the deserts of Africa round the Fallen Angels 
The Guardian Prince of Albion burns in his nightly tent 


ASIA 

The Kings of Asia heard 
The howl rise up from Europe! 
And each ran out from his Web; 
From his ancient woven Den; 
For the darkness of Asia was startled 
At the thick-flaming, thought-creating fires of Orc. 

And the Kings of Asia stood 
And cried in bitterness of soul. 

Shall not the King call for Famine from the heath? 
Nor the Priest, for Pestilence from the fen? 
To restrain! to dismay! to thin! 
The inhabitants of mountain and plain; 
In the day, of full-feeding prosperity; 
And the night of delicious songs. 

Shall not the Councellor throw his curb 
Of Poverty on the laborious? 
To fix the price of labour; 
To invent allegoric riches: 

And the privy admonishers of men 
Call for fires in the City 
For heaps of smoking ruins, 
In the night of prosperity & wantonness 

To turn man from his path, 
To restrain the child from the womb, 

To cut off the bread from the city, 
That the remnant may learn to obey. 
That the pride of the heart may fail; 
That the lust of the eyes may be quench'd: 
That the delicate ear in its infancy 

May be dull'd; and the nostrils clos'd up; 
To teach mortal worms the path 
That leads from the gates of the Grave. 

Urizen heard them cry! 
And his shudd'ring waving wings 
Went enormous above the red flames 
Drawing clouds of despair thro' the heavens 
Of Europe as he went: 
And his Books of brass iron & gold 
Melted over the land as he flew, 

Heavy-waving, howling, weeping. 

And he stood over Judea: 
And stay'd in his ancient place: 
And stretch'd his clouds over Jerusalem; 

For Adam, a mouldering skeleton 
Lay bleach'd on the garden of Eden; 
And Noah as white as snow 
On the mountains of Ararat. 

Then the thunders of Urizen bellow'd aloud 
From his woven darkness above. 

Orc raging in European darkness 
Arose like a pillar of fire above the Alps 
Like a serpent of fiery flame! 
The sullen Earth 
Shrunk! 

Forth from the dead dust rattling bones to bones 
Join: shaking convuls'd the shivring clay breathes 
And all flesh naked stands: Fathers and Friends; 
Mothers & Infants; Kings & Warriors: 

The Grave shrieks with delight, & shakes 
Her hollow womb, & clasps the solid stem: 
Her bosom swells with wild desire: 
And milk & blood & glandous wine.

 When the Waters were dried an' the Earth did appear,
 ("It's all one," says the Sapper),
The Lord He created the Engineer,
 Her Majesty's Royal Engineer,
 With the rank and pay of a Sapper!

When the Flood come along for an extra monsoon,
'Twas Noah constructed the first pontoon
 To the plans of Her Majesty's, etc.

But after fatigue in the wet an' the sun,
Old Noah got drunk, which he wouldn't ha' done
 If he'd trained with, etc.

When the Tower o' Babel had mixed up men's bat,
Some clever civilian was managing that,
 An' none of, etc.

When the Jews had a fight at the foot of a hill,
Young Joshua ordered the sun to stand still,
 For he was a Captain of Engineers, etc.

When the Children of Israel made bricks without straw,
They were learnin' the regular work of our Corps,
 The work of, etc.

For ever since then, if a war they would wage,
Behold us a-shinin' on history's page --
 First page for, etc.

We lay down their sidings an' help 'em entrain,
An' we sweep up their mess through the bloomin' campaign,
 In the style of, etc.

They send us in front with a fuse an' a mine
To blow up the gates that are rushed by the Line,
 But bent by, etc.

They send us behind with a pick an' a spade,
To dig for the guns of a bullock-brigade
 Which has asked for, etc.

We work under escort in trousers and shirt,
An' the heathen they plug us tail-up in the dirt,
 Annoying, etc.

We blast out the rock an' we shovel the mud,
We make 'em good roads an' -- they roll down the khud,
 Reporting, etc.

We make 'em their bridges, their wells, an' their huts,
An' the telegraph-wire the enemy cuts,
 An' it's blamed on, etc.

An' when we return, an' from war we would cease,
They grudge us adornin' the billets of peace,
 Which are kept for, etc.

We build 'em nice barracks -- they swear they are bad,
That our Colonels are Methodist, married or mad,
 Insultin', etc.

They haven't no manners nor gratitude too,
For the more that we help 'em, the less will they do,
 But mock at, etc.

Now the Line's but a man with a gun in his hand,
An' Cavalry's only what horses can stand,
 When helped by, etc.

Artillery moves by the leave o' the ground,
But we are the men that do something all round,
 For we are, etc.

I have stated it plain, an' my argument's thus
 ("It's all one," says the Sapper),
There's only one Corps which is perfect -- that's us;
 An' they call us Her Majesty's Engineers,
 Her Majesty's Royal Engineers,
 With the rank and pay of a Sapper!

 This day winding down now
At God speeded summer's end
In the torrent salmon sun,
In my seashaken house
On a breakneck of rocks
Tangled with chirrup and fruit,
Froth, flute, fin, and quill
At a wood's dancing hoof,
By scummed, starfish sands
With their fishwife cross
Gulls, pipers, cockles, and snails,
Out there, crow black, men
Tackled with clouds, who kneel
To the sunset nets,
Geese nearly in heaven, boys
Stabbing, and herons, and shells
That speak seven seas,
Eternal waters away
From the cities of nine
Days' night whose towers will catch
In the religious wind
Like stalks of tall, dry straw,
At poor peace I sing
To you strangers (though song
Is a burning and crested act,
The fire of birds in
The world's turning wood,
For my swan, splay sounds),
Out of these seathumbed leaves
That will fly and fall
Like leaves of trees and as soon
Crumble and undie
Into the dogdayed night.
Seaward the salmon, sucked sun slips,
And the dumb swans drub blue
My dabbed bay's dusk, as I hack
This rumpus of shapes
For you to know
How I, a spining man,
Glory also this star, bird
Roared, sea born, man torn, blood blest.
Hark: I trumpet the place,
From fish to jumping hill! Look:
I build my bellowing ark
To the best of my love
As the flood begins,
Out of the fountainhead
Of fear, rage read, manalive,
Molten and mountainous to stream
Over the wound asleep
Sheep white hollow farms
To Wales in my arms.
Hoo, there, in castle keep,
You king singsong owls, who moonbeam
The flickering runs and dive
The dingle furred deer dead!
Huloo, on plumbed bryns,
O my ruffled ring dove
in the hooting, nearly dark
With Welsh and reverent rook,
Coo rooning the woods' praise,
who moons her blue notes from her nest
Down to the curlew herd!
Ho, hullaballoing clan
Agape, with woe
In your beaks, on the gabbing capes!
Heigh, on horseback hill, jack
Whisking hare! who
Hears, there, this fox light, my flood ship's
Clangour as I hew and smite
(A clash of anvils for my
Hubbub and fiddle, this tune
On atounged puffball)
But animals thick as theives
On God's rough tumbling grounds
(Hail to His beasthood!).
Beasts who sleep good and thin,
Hist, in hogback woods! The haystacked
Hollow farms ina throng
Of waters cluck and cling,
And barnroofs cockcrow war!
O kingdom of neighbors finned
Felled and quilled, flash to my patch
Work ark and the moonshine
Drinking Noah of the bay,
With pelt, and scale, and fleece:
Only the drowned deep bells
Of sheep and churches noise
Poor peace as the sun sets
And dark shoals every holy field.
We will ride out alone then,
Under the stars of Wales,
Cry, Multiudes of arks! Across
The water lidded lands,
Manned with their loves they'll move
Like wooden islands, hill to hill.
Huloo, my prowed dove with a flute!
Ahoy, old, sea-legged fox,
Tom tit and Dai mouse!
My ark sings in the sun
At God speeded summer's end
And the flood flowers now.

 He that is filthy let him be filthy still. 
Rev. 22.11 

Like John on Patmos, brooding on the Four 
Last Things, I meditate the ruin of friends 
Whose loss, Lord, brings this grand new curse to mind 
Now send me foes worth cursing, or send more 
- Since means should be proportionate to ends - 
For mine are few and of the piddling kind: 

Drivellers, snivellers, writers of bad verse, 
Backbiting bitches, snipers from a pew, 
Small turds from the great **** of self-esteem; 
On such as these I would not waste my curse. 
God send me soon the enemy or two 
Fit for the wrath of God, of whom I dream: 

Some Caliban of Culture, some absurd 
Messiah of the Paranoiac State, 
Some Educator wallowing in his slime, 
Some Prophet of the Uncreating Word 
Monsters a man might reasonably hate, 
Masters of Progress, Leaders of our Time; 

But chiefly the Suborners: Common Tout 
And Punk, the Advertiser, him I mean 
And his smooth hatchet-man, the Technocrat. 
Them let my malediction single out, 
These modern Dives with their talking screen 
Who lick the sores of Lazarus and grow fat, 

Licensed to pimp, solicit and procure 
Here in my house, to foul my feast, to bawl 
Their wares while I am talking with my friend, 
To pour into my ears a public sewer 
Of all the Strumpet Muses sell and all 
That prostituted science has to vend. 

In this great Sodom of a world, which turns 
The treasure of the Intellect to dust 
And every gift to some perverted use, 
What wonder if the human spirit learns 
Recourses of despair or of disgust, 
Abortion, suicide and self-abuse. 

But let me laugh, Lord; let me crack and strain 
The belly of this derision till it burst; 
For I have seen too much, have lived too long 
A citizen of Sodom to refrain, 
And in the stye of Science, from the first, 
Have watched the pearls of Circe drop on dung. 

Let me not curse my children, nor in rage 
Mock at the just, the helpless and the poor, 
Foot-fast in Sodom's rat-trap; make me bold 
To turn on the Despoilers all their age 
Invents: damnations never felt before 
And hells more horrible than hot and cold. 

And, since in Heaven creatures purified 
Rational, free, perfected in their kinds 
Contemplate God and see Him face to face 
In Hell, for sure, spirits transmogrified, 
Paralysed wills and parasitic minds 
Mirror their own corruption and disgrace. 

Now let this curse fall on my enemies 
My enemies, Lord, but all mankind's as well 
Prophets and panders of their golden calf; 
Let Justice fit them all in their degrees; 
Let them, still living, know that state of hell, 
And let me see them perish, Lord, and laugh. 

Let them be glued to television screens 
Till their minds fester and the trash they see 
Worm their dry hearts away to crackling shells; 
Let ends be so revenged upon their means 
That all that once was human grows to be 
A flaccid mass of phototropic cells; 

Let the dog love his vomit still, the swine 
Squelch in the slough; and let their only speech 
Be Babel; let the specious lies they bred 
Taste on their tongues like intellectual wine 
Let sung commercials surfeit them, till each 
Goggles with nausea in his nauseous bed. 

And, lest with them I learn to gibber and gloat, 
Lead me, for Sodom is my city still, 
To seek those hills in which the heart finds ease; 
Give Lot his leave; let Noah build his boat, 
And me and mine, when each has laughed his fill, 
View thy damnation and depart in peace.

 He that is filthy let him be filthy still. 
Rev. 22.11 

Like John on Patmos, brooding on the Four 
Last Things, I meditate the ruin of friends 
Whose loss, Lord, brings this grand new curse to mind 
Now send me foes worth cursing, or send more 
- Since means should be proportionate to ends - 
For mine are few and of the piddling kind: 

Drivellers, snivellers, writers of bad verse, 
Backbiting bitches, snipers from a pew, 
Small turds from the great **** of self-esteem; 
On such as these I would not waste my curse. 
God send me soon the enemy or two 
Fit for the wrath of God, of whom I dream: 

Some Caliban of Culture, some absurd 
Messiah of the Paranoiac State, 
Some Educator wallowing in his slime, 
Some Prophet of the Uncreating Word 
Monsters a man might reasonably hate, 
Masters of Progress, Leaders of our Time; 

But chiefly the Suborners: Common Tout 
And Punk, the Advertiser, him I mean 
And his smooth hatchet-man, the Technocrat. 
Them let my malediction single out, 
These modern Dives with their talking screen 
Who lick the sores of Lazarus and grow fat, 

Licensed to pimp, solicit and procure 
Here in my house, to foul my feast, to bawl 
Their wares while I am talking with my friend, 
To pour into my ears a public sewer 
Of all the Strumpet Muses sell and all 
That prostituted science has to vend. 

In this great Sodom of a world, which turns 
The treasure of the Intellect to dust 
And every gift to some perverted use, 
What wonder if the human spirit learns 
Recourses of despair or of disgust, 
Abortion, suicide and self-abuse. 

But let me laugh, Lord; let me crack and strain 
The belly of this derision till it burst; 
For I have seen too much, have lived too long 
A citizen of Sodom to refrain, 
And in the stye of Science, from the first, 
Have watched the pearls of Circe drop on dung. 

Let me not curse my children, nor in rage 
Mock at the just, the helpless and the poor, 
Foot-fast in Sodom's rat-trap; make me bold 
To turn on the Despoilers all their age 
Invents: damnations never felt before 
And hells more horrible than hot and cold. 

And, since in Heaven creatures purified 
Rational, free, perfected in their kinds 
Contemplate God and see Him face to face 
In Hell, for sure, spirits transmogrified, 
Paralysed wills and parasitic minds 
Mirror their own corruption and disgrace. 

Now let this curse fall on my enemies 
My enemies, Lord, but all mankind's as well 
Prophets and panders of their golden calf; 
Let Justice fit them all in their degrees; 
Let them, still living, know that state of hell, 
And let me see them perish, Lord, and laugh. 

Let them be glued to television screens 
Till their minds fester and the trash they see 
Worm their dry hearts away to crackling shells; 
Let ends be so revenged upon their means 
That all that once was human grows to be 
A flaccid mass of phototropic cells; 

Let the dog love his vomit still, the swine 
Squelch in the slough; and let their only speech 
Be Babel; let the specious lies they bred 
Taste on their tongues like intellectual wine 
Let sung commercials surfeit them, till each 
Goggles with nausea in his nauseous bed. 

And, lest with them I learn to gibber and gloat, 
Lead me, for Sodom is my city still, 
To seek those hills in which the heart finds ease; 
Give Lot his leave; let Noah build his boat, 
And me and mine, when each has laughed his fill, 
View thy damnation and depart in peace.