Noah, ‘a righteous man
pure in his generations’ (Genesis 6:9)
spent a year in the Ark
‘til on Mt. Ararat it parked
When he emerged
he got drunk as a skunk
Which just goes to show
it’s a whole bunch of bunk
That to be righteous and pure
ya gotta live like a monk
AFTER THE FLOOD
Mount Ararat holds a testament
of stories told in ancient texts,
and stories shared down generations;
the aftermath of catastrophe.
Place names are the remembering
of gratitude as the Ark was drawn out of the water[1],
and the place of the descending[2]
into the village of the eight[3]~
survivers making pilgrimage[4] to the site of sacrifice[5].
Noah's Ark is resting there upon the mountain,
in archeological insistance,
and science is confirming the reality
of God's Judgment and His mercy.
The Drogue Stones[6] bear the witness to Noah's great adventure,
The Turks placing tourist signposts[7]
so we may walk the footsteps
of Noah and his progeny.
AFTER THE FLOOD
(tanka)
do doves remember
their ancient elder flying
over flood ravage
then returning to the ark
with a twig of new-found hope
[1] Uzengili Town – This was formerly called Mahser, which means: To be drawn out of the water
[2] Mount Judi
[3] Kazan and today is called Goller.
[4] Ziyaret Dagi
[5] Nasar
[6] anchor stones
[7] Noah's Ark National Park, Turkey
The famous mountain where Noah came to rest,
ending the ecliptic flood, building an altar for time as test.
Flourished kingdoms at the upper Tigris grew,
Babylonia and Urardhu created powers to sew.
Persian legends refers the holy Vulcan as the cradle of human race,
Armenians built a monastery in honor to St. Jacob’s pace.
Mount Ararat as omnipresent and utterly elusive,
snow capped peaks imaginative conclusive.
Magical countenance almost not of this earth,
crisp air in endless blue white mountain infinite birth.
Center of legends, myth and story,
the fire God Vahagn stumbles upon Ararat with all gory.
Giving life to Tigris and Euphrates River,
pagans visited ghost of royal ancestor in shiver.
Armenians and their homeland of Kurdistan under fire,
centuries in war for nationhood and holy place entire.
Good spirits in distillation known as Ararat Brandy,
Sir Winston Churchill called his favorite tipple, ‘handy’.
No Arc ever found beside many tries on Mount Ararat still today,
keeping mysteries in holy books still at bay.
"Got any rivers you think are un crossable?
Got any mountains you cannot tunnel through?
God can do what no other power can do".
The lyrics to a song by John Wesley, a great revivalist
and accomplished song writer, speak to the practical SIDES
of our everyday LIVES and remind us that we are not ALONE.
Though at TIMES driven by stormy winds, and far we have ROAMED,
Our strong faith REMINDS us that we have not reached our HOME.
Figuratively, we all have crossed rivers once thought IMPOSSABLE
and tunneled through gigantic mountains once deemed UNTHINKABLE.
How many times have we completed missions and asked, "Did I do THAT?" Or what about the times you climbed mountains taller than Mount ARARAT?
Do you remember the time your job was OUTSOURCED to India, or 10 years ago when you went through a horrible DIVORCE? Although it hurt you to the CORE and left you bruised, SOUR, and SORE, you overcame all of that and MORE, because you were blessed with God's POWER which did for you, as Mr. Wesley said, 'what no other power could do'.
072520PSCtest, In Honor Of John Wesley, Kim Rodrigues
Noah's Ark
floundered at Mount Arapiles
laboured through Horsham,
Stawell and Ararat
run aground at Mount Ararat.
they planned their
route they knew the
route but didn't know
how high was the peak
having taken a peek at the
world's highest made them pique
but curiously
what they found
was a go around
a run around and
turns out they'd
run a ground
finding themselves
something hard to
do you know what
i mean because
just before a dove
had brought back
an olive branch and
surely this can't be
Mount Olive because
i planned the route so
scratching his old hair
head he mumbled Ararat
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/the-tower-of-babel
A tranquil land, when the Earth was but few
Refreshing renewal, beginning anew
Noah and sons, grew to remain
Multiplied nation, so it became
Mountain of Ararat, water subside
A move to the east, with fears aside
Families therein, travelled afar
A settled plain in the land of Shinar
Bold decision, people of prime
Building themselves, for such a time
A great high tower, apparent worth
Be not scattered over all the earth
Work commenced, building the city
Bricks and mortar, workers busy
Ever-ready, no time to stall
Unexpected to cease at all
Might endured, the time it took
A displeased father, there to look
Ever more sinful, none to repent
Ignoring the one who gave them strength
Labouring on, within their own plans
Worshipping the work of their own hands
A call from high, un-amused
Let their languages be confused
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
-- Just a bit of silliness --
"Baissez le rideau, la farce est jouee..."
---- Daumier
39 & 1/2 days had passed;
the rain had lessened.
Noah, grungy and grumpy,
paced the wet deck
like a caged Lion of Judah.
Reading the Odyssey by blubber-light,
Jonah, a free-thinker, cruised
in his whale below; he marveled,
captainishly, carefully pronouncing
the unfamiliar Greek, an uninvented
tongue he couldn't speak.
Ham, an adherent to all the dietary
restrictions, was relieved
at the journey's almost-close.
Consultation of the Holy Books
had proved he wasn't kosher
and, therefore, could not be served.
Still, Shem and Japhet eyed him oddly.
They had a lean and hungry look.
The wives, sensible lot,
cleaned the kennels, did the chores
and tried to keep an even keel
in the anachronistic mess.
They drifted onward,
tired of fishing fruitless waters,
doubtful now of being made
fishers of men.
All things considered, it was
a perfectly normal situation:
men were mystics
and women staid and sturdy workers.
And yet, Ararat, still beneath the waters,
may not have been the only futuristic
structure in this grey, flat
seascape.
You are cruel and stopped counting your treasons
You're respected Muslim nevertheless.
You don't need to give yourself a true reason
To pray, it's scheduled five times nonetheless.
You do not appreciate expensive wine
Although you drink yet you abstain from pork.
Minaret calls for prayer, its surface shines,
The mosque is atop. "Now left at this fork!"
Passing empty field, a small town, then uphill
Following neighbours and your dear loved ones.
The sight of an old cripple gives you a shrill,
His look is strict but begging you to come.
The view is of artsy brush of Monet, Claud,
Quiet murmur is prayer of imam.
In distance majestic Christian Ararat
Is hypnotizing. Now here it's Islam.
Story goes back a century, it's a while,
Thank God, the world remembers genocide.
Human's Id is nibble, double faced and vile,
Armenians hold their heads up with pride.
A fat cat from Ararat
Ate too many mice and there she sat,
I have gorged myself I do confess,
My stomach is in great distress.
All I can do is sit and stare
As mice pass by without a care,
There's only so much one cat can do,
Perhaps the farmer might need two.
-more poems like this can be found at:
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Noah loaded all, two-by-two
Ending up with a floating zoo
For forty days and forty nights
They drifted on, viewing the sights
With much lightning and thunder
High mountains soon went under
The Lord knew exactly where it was at
The Ark landed right on Mt. Ararat
So Man began again with Noah
When the Rainbow said "Drown no moah!"
It was still two-by-two
Except, well, you-know-who
The hare pair, well, while there
Did what they do and made five pair
"Be fruitful and multiply", they did
And as soon as they debarked, they hid
I am the Pharaoh
and you are my sparrow
piercing my heart
like the point of an arrow
good times, bad times
and the in between
all this for you
forever my queen
I ride the night train
like a vandal, restless
a certain night air
keeps me cool calm and collected
somewhat expressive
sometimes hard to find
a reason, to believe in
and keep me in line
For the tribulation
I receive little glory
thats not the moral
but the principal of the story
a foundation for tales
taller than mount Ararat
I carry my ghosts
no matter where I'm at
in life the up or the down
it all seems to be enough excitement
to keep me around
A pleasant smile flashes
keeps my heart warm
a question makes me fascist
like an unpredictable storm
I see what the math is
all adding to disaster
a controlled destruction
brings an end to this chapter
I close my eyes, think of myself
as being there
to where
screams are free to roam,
then bounce back,
immune to tortured souls
allowed to spread in waves
For some reason,
Ararat comes to mind right now
but to be honest,
Arayat should suffice
surrender,
surrender...
Surrender
All these rocks-- can I disturb you?
Even just this once.
let me
let out
my sanctioned screaming,
and release it to these mountains.
8420161147p851206a
I'd love to visit Holland
To wear those wooden shoes
Or maybe, down in Memphis
I'd learn to sing the blues
If I could learn the language
I'd love to visit France
I've heard it said that Paris
Is the place to find romance
I'd love to see Old Faithful
In Yellowstone National Park
Or maybe, climb Mt Ararat
In search of Noah's Ark
Maybe, I'll visit Ireland
And catch a leprechaun
I'd rob him of his pot of gold
Before the crack of dawn
I'd like to sail the seven seas
Just like Columbus did
Or maybe, visit Egypt
And explore a pyramid
I'd climb the Himalayas
With a sherpa as my guide
I may not catch a yeti
But, at least, I'll know I tried
Maybe, I'll visit England
I might even see the Queen
One day, I'll tell my grandkids
Of all the sights I've seen
Even if I see these things
Like India, Greece or Rome
I'll always love the place I live
For there's still no place like home
I see a savior everywhere, I see
a prophet everyday, shining purple through the faces of
Teachers, Stockmen, Welders, Prostitutes.
Those halogens shine, pilot lights burning bright in
Cyan, Magenta, Hunter green and Mauve, stained-glass
saints made free from that flat and veined dimension.
Those are
Figurines,
translucent they bear before them brushes and
cisterns filled with lamb's blood, marking
the houses of the unlucky as they pass-
(they walk on hallowed ground not a place for me they walk with heads held high eyes up to
the sky contemplating visions I am not blessed enough to see)
Hushed voices in oaken pews speak
litany and mumble
Hymn, while doomed players act out the
stations of the cross within the
Lavish temple.
Ah!
see this rimmed with gold and platinum:
A chorus made for angles of war and angles of peace rides upon the
heavy air, gliding
upwards from the ladies choir.
I suspect that if Gabriel or Michael were to lend an ear and hear them, tears
would pour out from the heavens, covering the
world in a second flood, and
Once again, our
bastion of hope would land on Ararat, but
this time it would be a super-tanker.
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