Best Balaam Poems
"Why is it", the donkey mused, "that horses get all the glory?
Seems throughout the ages its the same old hackneyed story.
We go unheralded and are treated with utter disdain,
While horses bear king and emperor about their vast domain!"
"Though we are somewhat ungainly and will never win a race,
We've born distinctive personages with extraordinary grace!
I'll tell you of unnamed heroes among our humble breed,
That will outshine the acclaim of any blue-blooded steed!"
"Mister Ed the talking horse has nothing on the donkey Balaam rode.
She saw an angel of the Lord in the way and promptly left the road!
Balaam cursed, the donkey talked some sass and was beaten thrice!
The angel was about to slay Balaam had he not heeded her advice!"
"A donkey was in the stable when the Prince of Peace was born.
Later to Egypt they fled - on a donkey Mary's Babe was borne.
For entry into Jerusalem, He chose a donkey, a borrowed one at that.
Hosanna! Hosanna! God's Son it was! There he regally sat!"
"We've had astride us preachers, desperados and hardy pioneers,
And have been accused of stubborness driving mankind to tears!
But when all is said and done, we provide reliable transportation,
Getting you slowly but safely to your ultimate destination!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF
© All Rights Reserved
Light minded people say I’m an uppity darkie
They color me bad,
with a black face, felt pen Sharpie
Vanilla voices downright don’t like
the audio sounds of this mouthy darkie
They say I’m way too uppity,
don’t know what my proper place be
Snow cone hats say they gon have to teach me,
there's a painful cost for thinking free
They wanna call the fascist calvary and give me
some old-fashioned triple Kord rope justice,
by them good ole boys neo-Nazi vigilantes
They say my strait Nazarene speech
borders on treason,
that it needs to be muzzled
But I’ve always given king Pharaoh Caesar
his required slave taxes —
His printed paperweight metallic tribute ...
so what’s the dispute?
My Herodian enemies want so bad
to reach into their torture trick bag,
and gag my mouth with a gasoline soaked rag
Then lie in wait for my muffled words
to set that tri-colored cloth on fire
Red cheek coconut meat,
dressed in blue uniforms pressed neat,
wanna beat, kick, pound
some patriotic sense into me
Giving thinly veiled warnings:
saying ship that ghetto talk back to Africa
Carting rice-colored evil thoughts
that are Balaam Iscariot store bought
Walking weeds in the Goshen grassroots,
wearing bloodstained slaughterhouse coats,
got indigo disdain for this uppity darkie
They wanna sell some
strange rotting fruit hanging from a tree
Hating me because I stood up
in the open free market place
And declared with Lion of Judah boldness,
they were selling the people rancid red meat lies
wrapped in waxy white packages
And giving State-Don’t-Care samples away
of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer bottles of hate
I ain’t nothing but a pseudo-smart, intellectual wannabe
It’s what my rabbit ears detractors say ...
yeah, that’s how they regard me
As just another trouble making uppity darkie
As the ink dries swiftly,
peer into the invisible thoughts
these poet eyes see
Blink blink
The world is on the brink,
following dire voices
that speak darkly
Many underground secret plans
are silo hatching
No peyote ingest is required
to see the sign
of a mushroom cloud looming
And soon mutation burst opening
Nuclear rain is not a small-talk,
weather topic
most people care to discuss
at cocktail gatherings
Blink blink
There’s plenty of mouths excess wanting,
and even more famine bellies needing
But they both pale numerically
in comparison
to the torrential violence bleeding
And the talking rear-ends say,
“Have a Balaam mule work day”
As the share-the-wealth resources
get pilfered off-shore —
Somewhere clandestine secure
That kind of information is classified!
I’m pretty poetry sure
many have heard that line before
Blink blink
As the white paper turns yellow,
the time of Man
is turning fiery red sunset
Apocalyptic visions
of city heaps glowing in the uranium night
Cold pocket calculations
of nuclear winter burnings, so solar bright
Goggle minds having
no sense of mass extinction urgency
Blink blink
This be what these poet eyes see
(Chorus): My name is breda Donkey
'Pon my back is de Christmas story
A carry God's son an' mercy
Down through the ages to wi glory
De baby born in Bethlehem's manger
Wi creator, redeemer, how stranger
Ole Balaam let mi carry him
Fi guh sell the Massa prophecy
An angel did appear to him
An' bring me square in history
Ole Balaam saw a star
Coming out of Jacob family
Jesus coming from beyond afar
To bring all sinners mercy
So one night breda Joseph call mi
Him seh O donkey come carry Mary
I know it was Balaam's prophecy
For Bethlehem's star was bright above me
No room, no room for the baby
Not a preacher in the earth was ready
So mi call 'pon mi animal family
Jesus cum guh mek yuh manger ready
The street was full of trafficking
While merchants count their money
Wi sang glory to man's joy born king
Jesus is the manger baby
Hush Mr. cow nuh bawl again
Red Heifer yuh sacrifice over
Likkle lambs guh skip 'pon de plain
Bethlehem bring forth the redeemer
Sweet likkle turtle dove you are free
The covenant of the ark is broken
Sweet Jesus bring love and jubilee
Same de greedy ole Balaam had spoken
But mi is donkey an mi work nuh done
A carry him before the cross
Mi labor till de second coming of the son
Sin is mi burden, but a him it cost
This song is written to the tune of Jamaican folk song: "Good evening, Mrs Cunningham
It is written for two voices that blend to sing the chorus, but sing each stanza in 2 parts. It
tells the story of Christmas from a donkey's point view, and yet stay true to the Bible
discourse.
Some words are peculiar to the Jamaican dialect for coloring of the song:
Breda: brother; 'pon:upon; de:the; wi:our; ole:old; mi:me; fi:to; guh:go
Cum:come ... had all words recapitulate to the Jamaican dialect even young Jamaicans would
have been alienated --- for the language was not encouraged in our homes where it was
considered bad talking. It is being revived through academics at the UWI again.
Emerald shiny baubles
attract wizard eyes ...
Balaam al-Oz
Assyrian acquisitions
be kryptonite-colored vanity
Ownership is an Alexandrian transaction,
a Grecian war rhetoric reaction
Gehazi greedy ...
take all that your Philistine soul see,
as much as your twelve fingers can reach
Sennacherib eyes bald eagle beady,
tilt the full treasure chest pirate empty
Hard diamond negotiator sue for peace,
brook of deceit bubbling sulfuric words acidly
Assyrian babbler
baring the saber sharp tiger teeth
Asking for more and more
shiny baubles ,
more than a Rab-shakeh heart could ever need
Baal belly lust consume:
Pure Pul gluttony, covetous Jareb vomiting
Iscariot greedy ...
betray any and everybody
for the precious metal blood money
Venusian discovery:
Jupiter begat Mars,
typical mythical anti-hero morality
Pharaoh pyramid schemes,
beryl baubles
shining in Caesar’s coffer coffin dreams
Kill the Tyrus body ... then kill the Magog zombie spirit arising:
don't vow pitbull loyalty to a low-born licentious liege
Count the death cost for the Sisera hostile takeover campaign,
calculate the Tartan war price for the protracted siege
Assyrian babbler
don’t wanna pay for the Wall
No more dead presidents
jaded green leaves gon windfall
Assyrian babbler
you’re gonna pay for the Wall
Taxing dead presidents
levee green sacks gon Jericho fall
Assyrian babbler
give the last tour of duty trump call
wishing he had sung his prayers last night
from both ends to the middle
fell to the ground in adoration
tore a wake through the ink stains
but not from satisfaction
plastic Jesus hold my head
a round of applause for once
or even just a soft murmur
from those in your employ
parked way out in Kokomo
my interrogator professor Zworykin
said quietly we want information
I knew I was up **** creek
without an assault rifle
with various blunt objects
aimed at what was left of my head
initiations with disfigurement
so have a melodic answer he encouraged
yah well the Third Reich fell from bad music
I spat like a backwards vampire
the swelling is an obstacle
I added for evidence I mean emphasis
the King of the Scarabs was neither mollified
nor inclined to use less aftershave
a great rectum of a situation
which is a poem in itself
I got in a few imaginary hits
before he called in the hockey franchise
with their many novel effects and manifestations
such as hugely distended penises
not at all like the computer club
fart gigglers and Balaam anointed
who sang as they worked
that's how we laugh the day away
in the merry merry Land of Oz
always a help to morale in the trenches
to use a dirty semaphore
for the male power hug
cracking walnuts with hydraulics
the Scarab King was a backhanded guy
strung out on endless platitudes
this is a spit shine day men
do your regimentation proud
they wavered then cheered then wavered
when the going got tough
and it seemed to often
for your present narrator
they allocate security personnel
in my case a comic endorphin gigolo
the hand of a spell upon his brow
good lord not another eccentric botanist
bedecked with the fabled Trinkets of Mouthgate
traffic fines double in poet zone
former servant of the hypno-avatar
with his blemish free goats
and his tunnel vision paparazzi
hI I'm Joe Product family friend
half con half circus half fury
screaming on the rack
my one line in the play
whatever will I do now
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Alabaster body of truth
got buried beneath
a dung-key pile of swastika lies
SWAT teams of fascist oppression
swarm the polling places
like hieroglyphic Dead Sea flies
Democracy is locked in a closet,
and minority tears are sorrow overflowing
from a false premise reel faucet
For a few rubles more,
Balaam poli sighs bite their tongue
and don’t say a word
As voting rights get trashed,
Uncle Ben and Aunt Jemima voices
never lever get heard
Tongue suppressor is an 'ol ancient Pharaoh trick;
dental floss over the facts,
say freedom diabetes tis how the patient got sick
Sugar coat the ballot Cain process,
put a chocolate high poll tax
to gain pure vanilla power access
Play the cerulean bugle blueberry call of the wild,
tap out the bank accounts in gangsta gutter style
While the cherry cheeks smile ...
knowing that the empty elector jingle reign sound,
from the tongue suppressor vice techniques,
will keep the mute prisoners of hope tightly bound
Coulda been
the Hand of the Lying King,
if I didn’t tell the truth so much
Coulda been
Caesar’s right hand man,
if I was kill willing
to have a shogun trigger touch
Coulda been
chief consigliore renown
for the don Corelone spiked crown
But I never wanted to know
where the blood money
was body bag buried underground
Coulda been dark knighted Haman Faustian
All I had to diablo do was unjust be Equus no-good;
give breaking bad Darth Vader viper counsel, wearing a cobra hood
Terminator words that would crush the skull bones
Coulda been the Vice Hand
standing behind the golden chalice image,
ruling drunkenly on the Babylonian Empire throne
Coulda been
the Spartan Hand of the Grecian warlord,
but I loved peace too much
Told the Jezebel whisperers of the royal court,
don’t try to finger me to be the next flesh merchant of death ...
I don’t tear traffick in such ~ City-state grunts suffer enough
Coulda been
Caesar’s right hand hatchet man,
if I had promoted Herod cockatrice thoughts
to condor hatch crucifixion plans
If I had been parrot inclined
to whisper
some patriot mischief in Pharaoh’s ear ...
I coulda been
sitting next to the pirate power,
making the brown-nose boot lickers fear
Coulda been
the Iron Hand of the President,
if I truly had a crafty guile mind to
take a sticky dip ...
deep in them pockets of citizen you
Coulda been
the sixth finger of king Midas’ hand
But, breaking the golden rule,
just wasn’t the ambitious rear end
I was willing to career bend
If I was more Balaam money bag motivated —
Fee willing to put a Judas hand under the table;
and with an Iscariot silver patch-eye gaze,
look the other way as freedom get disabled
I coulda been
Pharaoh’s right hand man
I coulda been
the one who doused the torch
in Lady Liberty’s hand
I coulda been
Caesar’s right hand man
I coulda been
the one who lit the Pilate
in Nero’s hand
Coulda been
the right Hand of the Lying King,
if I didn’t roar the Judah truth so much
But I was born
a left hand of the Zion King,
who gave a righteous Resurrection roar,
echoing throughout eternity
Red power mode
White digital
Blue logo
My, oh my ...
sweet apple pie!
Patriotic American cheese is turning sour Kraut commie
Democracy is Wisconsin curdling ... penicillin shot
needed between the ailing ballot box,
sho’ ain’t Louisiana Purchase forthcoming
Lady Liberty is bowing face down, Kansas Toto-style,
to Kremlin oligarchy ...
didn’t take much to bend with Washington wavy subservience
It’s an Idaho russet Ruskie crying shame
Couch the Benedict-ion omelette breaking news:
Missy Freedom done Alaska huskie hussy sold herself
to be a Soviet satellite skirt muzzled tramp mule
Red power mode
has taken cyber control of all voter confidence
White digital bar-code
activate the Manchurian self-destruct sequence
Blue logo brand ruble sold,
keeps the general populace straddling the fence
As they reality TV see their loose Lady Liberty
make a Texas loan star barracuda bow face
Proud North Dakota woman bending her knee,
acknowledging her Bolshevik bastard place
It’s a Kentucky bourbon crying shame
Democracy kissing the Politburo Czar ring
Bluegrass filly ruling class
selling the masses out for the Balaam green
Capitol Hill Star Spangled silent gag,
money mutes on a Pavel dog Con-stitutional prostitute
Wavy anthem cloth used as a snot rag,
Molotov noses following the Red Pied Pier booger flute
My, oh my ...
Marx Twain subversive tweet sweet apple pie!
Collaborator citizens being called patriotic comrades
Eating the Stalinist straw buries,
spit sprinkled with
Chernobyl pyramid scheme
propaganda whipped cream
Traitor taste the Taps Blue Fibbing beer,
free-market funeral dirge price gouge overflowing,
in the white Lenin toe-tag black body bag aisle
While the Ukraine lobbyist piggies
are covetously Crimea coffer crying
Oh, Nevada bordello bosom alligator weep ...
let the Alabama tick tears leech flow
down those Florida lemon-squeezed cheeks
It’s a New Mexico caliente green chile crying shame —
Them neo-Anazazi, gun-clicking squatters
getting a Wounded Knee ice gulag reservation claim
Lady Liberty doing an Independence bow face,
it’s a thirteen stripe, Siberian mongrel disgrace
The God who calls everybody everywhere
to come and worship Him alone
is the one who rules and reigns
making His creation all a living stone
This God is Lord of all creation
everything made the Lord has done
He is the king ruling fully in control
for the word incarnate is His son
Jesus Christ God's son in truth
came to earth to die for sin
not His own but He truly loved
those He chose to enter in
This God works by His miracles
displaying His great awesome power
showed here to open a donkey's mouth
simply as easy as a beautiful flower
Truly this is the eternal God
who can do absolutely anything
sovereignly ruling over His creation
as master Lord saviour and king
(Then the Lord opened the mouth of the donkey, and she said to Balaam, “What have I done to you, that you have struck me these three times". ')
Numbers ch. 22 v. 28 (ESV)
Listen to what the snake charmers say:
We be sulfuric scaly bellies,
flicking poisonous tongues on the telly
Idoly speak pure Orwellie —
Down is up ... famine be a feast sup
Tell money hungry fools they’re full of it,
when their ears drink
from our lung vault empty purse cup
Listen to what a snake charmer spray:
Me leprechaun lips
speak titan talk ... phat pocket swellie
I spit brass piss,
and call it golden rain,
on your lemming brain grey umbrellie
These cobra eyes
tell a little robbing hoodie lie
each bent cross day
Then me boast the Big Lie,
sell it at bottom feeder price ...
make dim blind mice pay
when they look the other way
Me cockatrice cries
fill your belly full of lies
Empty turtle shell truth
is the swastika soup
I love to pour in toilet bowl mouths
Hateful language is the milk poppy hex curse
that I sugar Cain bosom fed mules
from their piggy snout Balaam Iscariot birth
Us posh puff adders
love sending toadies on a hallucinogenic,
golden goose leap ...
Flying locust pestilent blind onto the dung pile
Pot belly boa roil bad luck ...
paper chase pillow tucked
Cannabis dreams sucked in by serpentine wile
We scaly belly anaconda roll sway
with a slithering smile ...
Giving foible fools a terrible tummy ache ...
tasting maggot foul, constipated lies
boiled cannibal style
The axe boasts not, nor lets arrogance reign.
By whose hand did buds sprout forth from Aaron’s rod?
Balaam kept blessing God’s people, was all this in vain?
Can man know the might and mind of Almighty God?
Man is a means by which our Lord will prod
other men who govern this world’s domain.
When success is birthed, who is it they should applaud?
The axe boasts not, nor lets arrogance reign.
Jehovah hears when grumblers savor disdain.
Korah’s envy of Aaron was spent with a nod;
the earth swallowed him up for Sheol to restrain.
By whose hand, did buds sprout forth on Aaron’s rod?
Recall Balaam and Balak, now their story’s odd;
when asked to curse Israel, Balaam fought to refrain.
His donkey waylaid him from the angel’s drawn sword;
Balaam kept blessing God’s people, was all this in vain?
We read of the error of Balaam, the way of Cain;
Jude writes that men follow their own lusts and defraud
God who shields them from spoils for which they strain...
Can man know the might and mind of Almighty God?
When Christians take credit where God has trod,
it degrades His Spirit who guides body and brain.
We are clay in the Potter’s hands, His tools though flawed;
A bond-servant works so His Lord gets the gain.
The axe boasts not.
Isaiah 10:15; Numbers 16 & 17; Numbers 22 & 23, Jude 1:10,16
Simple reminder in Genesis 9
rainbow we see in the cloud,
sign from our God that He honors His Word.
Balaam affirms the demeanor of God.
Numbers gives verification -
God is not human for He does not lie.
Six, if not seven, bad habits God hates;
chronicled down in the Proverbs -
lying – deception is listed twice.
All of us need to endorse such a rainbow;
speaking no lies; reaffirming our word,
earning pure gold in the end.
August 14, 2019
Inspired by these biblical references:
Genesis 9:12-16;
Numbers 23:19;
Proverbs 6:16-19.
.
Peel back the onion tear squeals
coming from a televised live politico lynch rally
See the sound byte rubber duckie
teflon touting
his favorite effigy combustible hits
Penguin strutting presidential seal
got a billy goat attitude, kicking rude gutter alley
A moving goalpost sway dis plucky,
sour spouting
his most edgy, nitroglycerin lip obits
Give an Orwellian mad props shout out
to this Banana Republic appeal
It’s got plenty of Hammedetha hate, swastika love
Bent cross rules
trolling tropic yellow fever
Rabid delirious cold sweat vanilla doubt,
fascist hope has a death toll knell
It’s got bundles of blitzkrieg love, Haman hate
Coin bossed tools
pull on the hangman’s lever
Banana Republic appeal
got a filthy lucre piggy publican feel
Roman togas behind the keel steering wheel,
Caesars wanton more red dollar bills
Two thousand fraudulent, furrowed years,
crucified cries dripping with Diaspora tears
Banana Republic appeal ...
Legionnaire monkeyshine hurt,
skeleton bones
sabertooth rattle toss
a high yellow alert
Alien fear don’t have to gun tote yield,
power corrupts when a Balaam wields
Scimitar curved insides
swinging sling blade serrated hate
Dividing every Canary gripe state
Carny barker razor edge spit,
spiked with Herod care,
lung pour Raid
the Dixie klear kup of Kool-Aid
Banana Republic appeal ...
heady void, thoughtless swill
Pendulum arc bullet shot
is a guillotine drop done deal
Donkeys are known for their sheer stubborness;
determination beyond compare.
I see three "saints" for donkeys, nonetheless -
Mary's transport to Bethlehem's square
and Balaam's unique donkey, quite rare.
Mary's donkey is not mentioned per se
in God’s Word, but I don’t think she walked.
Balaam’s donkey saw an angel guarding the way.
After two beatings, he sat down and balked;
and in self-defense that poor donkey talked.
Balaam had not seen the angel’s drawn sword
warning him not to return to Balak.
Now he was told to speak only God’s words.
And what of the donkey? now on a sidetrack -
I hope Balaam had some treats in his knapsack.
There IS one more donkey, I should mention,
the one who carried Christ to Jerusalem
near the end of His salvation mission.
The foal of a donkey, a colt bore Him
to His venue of death and human mayhem.