Long Choosers Poems
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(Mary Custis was the wife of Robert E. Lee.
Union forces captured her ante-bellum
mansion in what is now Arlington Cemetery
and defiled it, because it was the only thing
of Lee's they could get their hands on.)
Suppose you kill Gaddafi and Hussein,
or sad old Nazis, huddled in the dock.
So what exactly do you think you gain?
Your own humanity is what you mock,
not them. The winners stringing-up the losers
can not be right. You heap your fury on
the halt and helpless. Beggars can’t be choosers,
but winners can. (Why not Ben-Gurion?)
Put Karadzic before a firing-squad
for spite, or just to entertain the flock,
but don’t disguise the ugly thing your lust is.
Don’t talk of Law, or Liberty, or God.
Go rape the home of absent Mary Custis,
if rape you must. Don’t dress it up as Justice.
"Life for life my one exchange, for your's another given, but not a corpse mind you old
man, I feed only on the living"
"I know of such a person, that would make a fitting feast, he sleeps not far away from
here, I'm sure you'd like to meet"
Beckoning him to follow, the old man led the way, to creep upon the runaway sleeping in
the hay.
"See he sleeps so peaceful, wrapped up in the straw, strike now demonic Demon, as you were
planning to before"
The Demon flicked his fingers and spread out a sharpened claw, he struck the sleeping
runaway, ripped pieces from his jaw,
The lad in shock reacted, but to late, the demon dined, and underneath his winged
cape,blood flowed like red, red wine.
He picked up the lads frail body, split his torso clean in two, half thrown to the waiting
serpent, the other he gnawed and chewed.
There was nothing more delicious than the crunch of human bones, as blood dripped from the
demons teeth he said "well done old man, go home"
Once the demon had completed his feast on human meat, he took a fractured splintered bone,
pick free the flesh stuck between his teeth.
The morn was fast approaching, he knew it time to leave, as demons in the daylight are
never really seen.
As the demon climbed upon his serpent, ready to ascend, he gave an evil smile in
appreciation of this friend.
How kind he thought the beggar to lead them to a banquet, "this beggar shall be
remembered, I really should go back to thank him".
Demonic demons rarely you encounter and survive, I guess that's why his thanks were
mutilation in the sty!
Historically, all wars have had winners and losers.
Also, lines were clearly drawn for the choosers.
World War 1 was a birthing room for World War 11.
From the ashes, there arose one with a different worldview.
Not since the African slave trade had the world been so unseemly.
An entire race of people was stripped of both life and liberty.
World War 111 promises, not better, but the worth ever conceived.
It bodes to be the most tragic of warfare that we would not believe.
There will be no gains or winners or bosses, but only losers and losses.
The final end-game will reflect the result of mankind's evil choices.
I'm not a would-be prophet and would much prefer to be wrong than right.
My hope is that in our darkest hour, Christ will shine the brightest light.
Underneath the canvas of the black painted sky, the demon of destruction seeks his victim
of the night,
Twisted up in agony his feed was getting urgent, as he sped across the moon on a swift
demonic serpent.
The serpent swooped and glided, looking for some prey, whomsoever they encountered, would
not easily get away.
Above the tree's and over streams, spinning passing stars, looking for a meal, they
travelled near and far.
When huddled in a blanket, in the back end of a sty, they spied a beggar fast asleep, as
they quietly flew by.
The demon disembarked as the serpent stood behind him, "what a feast to stop my hunger,
see serpent the food I am always finding"
Suddenly the tramp, was awakened by the presence, his eyes widening in fear at this
awesome looking menace.
"Who are you, what do you seek, I have no gold or treasure, do you really think I sleep
amongst the pigs for the sheer pleasure?"
"Silence" said the Demon, "I have no use for mortal words, it's your flesh I seek to take
from you, your last life's breath upon this earth"
"I implore you, please don't harm me, I am not a worthy meal, just tell me what I can do
for you, be it to borrow, beg or steal"
The Demon grew impatient, his blood began to boil, "fool it does not interest me, the
human precious spoils"
"Then what? the beggar answered, "tell me how my life to save? I beg you please don't kill
me, reprieve me from the grave"
The Demon looked upon him, this scruffy dirty man, offering him a way out, a wicked evil plan.
Form:
Comparisons are unerring things at worst;
Every common ore yielded for shinier gold,
And tepid junkets given up in apt forfeiture
For tolerably pricier carats unsullied stored.
Far less treasured lots perpetually stand
In shrouded paths to more pleasing deal,
And more often than not emit lures bland
To fade jollities owners of finer gems feel.
Prudent choosers are harder to hoodwink;
They're grateful to know how to swiftly tell
Vast variance between wee penny's worth
And huger wads quiet past old minas' kink.
They're merrier types closer to Midas lips;
Smarter-thinking pickers noted with strips
Of fair Fortune's higher turns beyond taste,
Loftier than Fancy's dreams and her haste.
With comparative logic one never can err,
Since brighter minds cheap choices abhor.
Welsh Rarebit (cheese on toast if you prefer)
Easy to prepare, so no time wasted.
Lighted candles make it seem romantic.
Sure you’ll love it darling, once you’ve tried it.
Hard times these, so beggars can’t be choosers.
Render a little butter in the pan,
Add some Cheddar cheese and mustard to it.
Reminds me of my happy childhood days
Every time I have the urge to do it.
Brown bread toasted (bit healthier that white)
It’s time to serve it up by candlelight.
There, I said romance would blossom tonight!
If Sunday be only meant for the
sole purpose of quiet reflection
and contemplations
A day upon which to rest take in and
ponder our own individual actions
Of this here presiding week just that
just passed us all bye
Then surely enough what I am in
effect actually doing here
Is penning my own imitable confession
To the Church of Soup itself
Not so much for and asking for
forgiveness nor seeking redemption
But rather for the sake of my own
wellbeing self preservation
As a means of which may relieve the
stress this here past week has placed
upon my brittle mental health
I am trying my very level best not
to be swallowed up drown underneath
If only in the hope as God permitted
will not sadly not be able or it willing
to answer to any of my prayers
Maybe just then there is a member
of the soup out there
Who actually is and maybe also will
be willing to
And that will do me just fine as well
As beggars and losers do not have the
luxury of being choosers
If and once god has stood them up
for the umpteenth countless time again
Until they themselves must have to
eventually realize
How much louder could the message
possibly be
And sadly they don't even have friends
otherwise perhaps they may before
now have been able
To have told them and let them know
How to know how to take a hint