Best Rod Poems
Your rod is not for signs my brother...
Stop looking for red seas to divide...
It should be the trophy of your bride...
That other sister need not to bother...
The pie between your thigh is priceless...
serving it cheaply to mark a moment
may lead to a lifetime of tearful torment...
Lose not your worth, Your royal badness.
Rash rodents seek sweet holes to plunder...
Let them not mess your milky mountains...
Some pies are pools from filthy fountains...
Let them put your heart and soul asunder...
I really believe that safe sex is sweet...
it makes real relationships romantic...
yet it does not make marriage realistic...
Safe hearts reduce stray dogs on the street.
No sex is really safe outside marriage...
some lovers often turn to lousy losers...
cheaters were one loyal skirt chasers...
Sex cannot save slaves from bondage
Conchita Dowser, Water Witch,
Is famous for her willow switch
The water she found
Is all underground
And digging it up is a B itch!
Hot Rod
Dr. James E. Martin
©January, 2014
His hot rod was way too fast.
His lot was quickly cast.
He felt the need
For continual speed,
No gas station was ever passed.
For something that used to run so well,
It looks as useless as anything else sitting rusted.
If it would’ve kept working, everything would be swell,
But it sat around, so everything is busted.
Anything rusted is worthless,
even a Corvette.
Will the wicked Hot rod run again?
It’d be a good bet.
Something that used to run so well can always start back up.
It’s not impossible to get this car out of a rut.
This car may be rusted from the roof to the ground,
but it’s not too late to polish it, and turn things around.
fishing rod
balanced on bare rock
fisherman gone
1/24/2017
WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO
CARS THESE DAYS?
THEY SURE AREN'T BUILT
THE SAME AS YESTERDAYS
WHAT YOU SEE ON THE ROAD
IS NOTHING MORE THAN A PLASTIC MOLD
THERE IS NO WAY TO
COMPARE TO THE OLD
THEY USED TO HAVE CLASS
A CERTAIN KIND OF FLARE
YOU REMEMBER LIKE A
55 CHEVY BEL-AIRE
HOT RODS ARE....
TOUGH, LOUD, AND MEAN
CARS TODAY SOUND
LIKE SEWING MACHINES
67 MUSTANG, 68 CAMARO,69 SUPER BEE,
JUST TO NAME A FEW
OR 70 CHEVELLE, 72 CUDA
DON'T FORGET 66 CHEVY NOVA II
THOSE CARS SIMPLY
CAN'T BE BEAT
WHAT A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT
WHEN THEY CRUISE DOWN THE STREET
A HOT ROD GIRL IS
WHAT I WILL ALWAYS BE
A LOVER OF THE TRUE BLUE
AMERICAN STREET MACHINE
Form:
As a child in days gone by
Mother’s rod was swift but sure
Many a weal as time went by
Scarred my skin an ugly blue.
Nagging was the way of life
My mother used to lay the rule
Not a day did I cry
Child abuse, nor reported it at school.
Father’s hands lay thick and strong
A whopping blow upon my hide
On the day I failed at sums
That slap brought answers quick to mind.
Even when I pouted and sulked
Cups or shoes came flying high
Never ever missed the target
That mother’s aim intended to strike.
No words were kind
When I did wrong
No sparing the rod to spoil the child
Discipline the child was a daily song.
Today the cry is child abuse
For which society has no use
Put the child in a foster home
To grow up to be another deviant one.
Is it wise to spare the rod?
Or better yet to talk with the child?
Still mother’s way did well for me
To talk and live like a Jesus child.
it had been predicted
the crime of your century
i would figure out
and do it justice
It was written
after many years of famine
and tragedy
the justice i did the crime of the century
would lead you to enlightenment
it was said
the lasting effects of my iron rod
would last for hundreds of years
known as the golden age
it was foretold
the last prophet of the world before jesus
returns at the end of earth when this was undone,
I would do this for you
and he would be annointed
so here it is
the mastermined war code
with potential to end your way of life
sucked into its center, a personal war against war,
in which war protests itself
spiralling out from the center of indifference
and miscommunication
to keep up with the supposed manipulation
the outside layers, a holy essence
as this beasts mission is to prevent itself
walking out with knowledge
to be scathed in your perfection
to take every good advice given in the mentioned cypher
to prevent the end of your life
in which your global enemies will be pinpointed
and peace on earth mastermined
My Iron rod
can be dangerous
for now i wield it with good intent
for now i teach you to come together in unity
to become a global success
this false prophet, dressed up as your historical legacy
this god complex, joke dressed in suicide
it was mentioned i would have an enemy
and with world peace for 300 years at stake
you would not tell them of this under rug swept prophecy
for your enemy to be realised
your global enemy responsible for all wars of earth
this warcode to protect everyone from their own foolery
walk away from this personal war with what is offered
for the next man i label as the antichrist,
may not be found as the blackmailed victom of your organisation
in the matrix of the underground,
the sleight of reality, belief and spirituality
the world deadlocked, and blackmailed for peace
I have an enemy
i t also happens that i have a rash
i am the prophet nostradamus predicted
the last one to be before the end of the world
i am here to lead you to the golden age
and then world peace
this will last for hundreds of years
but having an enemy
i am having difficulty accomplishing my heavenly task
Faith requires both the rod and the staff to get salvation;
whoever fails in this quest will experience much tribulation.
Try to climb the rockiest mountain, you have ever seen
without the rod, you will fall into the pit.
Try to live without God, and never lean
on his staff, your feet will get weak and make you slip.
Uphold His laws and learn from His mouth as His words burst,
He promises that He won't let your burden be heavier
than the one you can easily carry on either shoulder;
His wisdom is the spring that will quench your desperate thirst.
From the bottom of the valley to the mountain's peak,
you climbed singing and listening to that hummingbird.
David did the same, never showing a sign of being weak;
he kept on climbing cliffs happily, feeling a puff of wind.
Faith requires both the rod and the staff to get salvation;
not having these two, we're thrown into the depths of damnation.
The rod is that vital strength to overcome sins of any sort;.
the staff is that strong shoulder we lean on when we're distraught.
Written on 1/ 14/ 2016
Inspired by King David's Psalm 23:1-6:
" I will feel no evil, for You are with me. Your rod and Your staff,
they comfort me. "
Curt and Rod were just hanging around..
For they were known as tightwads..
Girls passed on by without a sound.
They stole some money and tripped over a bipod.
Being chased by Clod!
The lord gave me life,
to what end will it be?
He gave me a family that loves me,
he gave me a life to live.
To what road will it lead?
I am wondering in this misty forest
Keeping a hold of the iron rod with my left hand
And holding my soul in my right
I am walking straight
For I know that holding on to the iron rod
I will and I can achieve the highest of all goals
For no matter what path I go on or that
My life is taken on I will hold
And I will hold tightly to the rod of iron
The rod of truth
The rod of the Lords Love and guidance
Looking beyond the mist I see
The lost and I see the confused
And I hear the screams of frustration
As the flies of temptations eat at their flesh
Looking away from the pain I begin to cry
I hear their screams echo in and around
the dark misty woods. .
I wonder. ..What end will I have?
What end will they have?
They are lost and too far for me to reach
Sometimes I wonder happens if I let go?
Just for a second
Just a small short second If let go
So that I can grab on to pull the lost to safety
the safety of the Iron rod
Yet I quickly dismiss the thought
For that would lead to my demise
who says that they would take a hold
Or heed to my words
I cannot take away their agency
I cannot choose for them.
The choice was theirs,
as the choice is mine.
Form:
Climb inside and buckle in
Anxiously twisting the key
As a mechanical symphony roars to life
Setting nine hundred horses free
The machine becomes an extension
Of my own flesh and bone
My heart beats in choppy rhythm
While eight cylinders scream in tone
Launch sequence initiated
The green bulb’s affirmative glare
Release one button as I depress another
The front tires suspend in mid air
The mechanical cavalry stampedes
While the pipes cry out their siren song
Defiantly embedding rubber into asphalt
Parallel stripes running dark and long
Every gear change seemingly effortless
Acceleration that flattens your chest
Control of the beast seems impossible
While every sense is put to the test
Heads swivel and jaws drop open
The earth quakes as I roll past
Vanishing into the darkness
Redefining the meaning of “fast”
For I have stared fear in the face
While others stood back and leered
I stomped my right foot in defiance
And clicked down to a lower gear
This - the Divine Unity
Of Man and his Machine
In water we may be baptised
But in horsepower we are redeemed
The red sea surface before me
Deep valley at my sides
My pharaoh case after me
Oh! Where is my Moses
I have suffered in Egypt
Promised Land still far away
My pharaoh has no mercy
Oh! God where is my rod
I heard the sound of horses
Galloping fast to stop my vision
The ultimate voice showed me the rod
Today, the rod of Moses brought me out of Egypt
The rod you choose
The jokes you made
The insults you gave
Where only the bruise of my pass
The pain you inflicted
The tears you saw
The secrets you hid
Are the shadows that keeps knocking at my door
The fear you instilled
The lies you told
Are the demons that torments my soul
The cane you use to cause my wounds
Are the stains that are splash against your window pane
The scars I carry
The heart that is broken
Are the tale that I cannot bury
The life I live
The streets I walk
Are the burdens that the mind carry
The strain of it all
Make me want to fall
I think its time
I made that call.
Back in the early '50s, my Dad believed in,
"Spare the rod, spoil a child," his lesson seeping in.
As a young growing kid, I longed for playtime's call,
Believing in the joy of games, both indoors and outdoors, I stood tall.
Mornings meant waking up to breakfast's warm delight,
Then off to the playing field, where dreams took flight.
Soccer games with friends, a ball dancing at our feet,
Laughter and competition merging, making life sweet.
Returning home, it was school's turn to take the stage,
Waiting for the bell to ring, releasing me from its cage.
Quickly escaping, my cricket team awaited outside,
Bound by the love of the game, with passion as our guide.
But my Dad had other plans, a tutor he'd employ,
Armed with a shining black ruler, ready to deploy.
Counting became a challenge, I faltered with each try,
And for every digit missed, the ruler would meet my thigh.
Alphabets came next, a daunting task to undertake,
I stumbled and missed many, inviting the ruler's wake.
With each whack, the shrieks pierced through the evening air,
Neighbors and Mom pleading, a cry for fairness to bear.
But my Dad remained unmoved, adamant in his belief,
That homework must be done, before granting any relief.
Yet one day, a lesson blossomed within my soul,
I rid myself of the tutor, and took my studies under control.
From that day forward, I delved into learning on my own,
No more ruler's sting, my independence fully grown.
I realized education could be a joy, not just a chore,
And with newfound freedom, I soared, wanting to explore.