Long Mormon Poems
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another day in the woods. on Strawberry ridge
looking out over undulating green hills to
the next great wall of mountains. the last
morning clouds left from last night's storm
hanging in the valley mistily. the sun eventually
burns them away.
the respect between old Paul Karlsen and I continues
to exist. even though he's a Mormon and I'm a fallen
New Yorker. the work is comparatively easy, lifting
hundred pound bags, so you can just imagine what
we do other days. in fact, it's fun, especially for
young Bates. we get all white (and our lungs dusty).
on the way to and from the work site I read
in Silent Spring, the chapter against herbicides, gathering
inspiration for the upcoming controversy. in the end
perhaps I'll be fired for refusing to lay down Tordon
beads. realizing this, as I drive with Bates,
I see the dark green conifers and begin to miss them.
Rocks and rattlesnakes, bluebells
and mountain daisies, grasses and cactuses, mahogany
bush, lodgepole pine and quaking aspen, lush forest
and dry sun-tortured mountainside, wind and seed
carried by wind, ants, streams, hummingbird
and hawk, deer, badger, ground squirrel, wolverine.
There is a war of rage being waged.
I want to run into the heat I feel,
And fight to save global souls,
Not ease into the frost surreal.
I hear my commander’s voice,
Calling me out to come and see,
This echo cries for unending peace,
Never settling for inhumanity.
I behold the gauntlet of the clash,
And stand up to the vision I see.
This is why we came at last,
In the revolutions of eternity.
I reach out to gather others in,
Taking stock in preparation to go.
We wave our freedom banners in the wind,
“Attack!” is our manifesto.
We are the marked generation,
Fighting for family preservation.
Our hearts bear with ultimate victory,
The work shouldered in exultant delivery!
We are the soldiers of this hour,
And workers of Christ’s power.
Building upon our watchtowers,
We righteously make the Kingdom ours.
Go and read this manifesto,
It will make you a true hero.
It is a holy ancient record written,
Entitled, “The Book of Mormon.”
An old trail hand came upon a man,
His wagon was stuck in the mud.
He asked the man if he needed a hand,
He said thanks, my name's Delmar Crudd.
Well hello Crudd, I'm Benjamin Fudd,
I'm just your common Buckaroo.
I'll help you Crudd get out of the mud,
But you'll have to feed me when I do.
That sounds like a plan you old trail hand,
I'll take all the help I can get.
Once out of the mud I'll feed you Fudd,
We'll eat as soon as the table is set.
With a push and shove and help from above,
Crudds wagon was finally free.
Once the table was set, Fudd finally ett;
And rode off to the West towards the sea.
Then on the next day and well on his way,
Fudd came across a man with three wives.
Shared his water with wives, sons, and daughter,
The man said thanks, you just saved our lives.
We'd like to feed you and if you need to,
You can dally with one of my wives.
Said I'm a Mormon, named Edgar Norman,
I live by making and sharpening knives.
After he fed, Eds wife joined him in bed,
Oh what a night for Benjamin Fudd!
You can make a bet, he'll never forget,
Fudd was fed better by Ed than by Crudd.
breathless hush
Beyond dreams
with candlelight burns
Lives cross lives idling
Beyond souls emptiness'
piano speaks
'It's all in one mind'
the trees listening
for they are one
with the universe
Eyes smell flowers and become them
There's a deathless hush tonight
tidal wave sweeps in
breathes and sinks all lights lit
Mormon tabernacles washed away like barnacles
Coyotes are confounded & swim nowhere
An orchestra keeps on playing Handel's Water Music
Horns fill with water float away like lovers horizontal
Loop becomes a rollercoaster
like water glasses mixed with Buddhist brine
watered down beer topped with sea foam
Beau Fleuve suddenly become salt
buried masts of Amsterdam arise
the great wave sweeps
to wash away over-age Camembert
steaming in sea-vines
the washed land awakes again to wilderness
the only sound a vast thrumming of crickets
a cry of seabirds high over
and Indians reclaim their canoes
(Blackout of Wild Dreams Of A New Beginning
By Lawrence Ferlinghetti)
April 30 In Search of America 1975 – Hitchhiking Tales part one
published in Tiferet Journal 2018 Poem-a-Thon
When I was young and foolish
Broke and stubborn
I hitchhiked across the USA
Started in Salt Lake City
Where my greyhound bus pass
Was stolen
The station manager
Could have helped me
But refused to do so
Threaten to call the cops
When I grabbed my bags Without the stolen tags
I said
Go ahead
But I am so out of here
Wondered about Salt Lake City
Went to a bar
Found I had to buy my booze
Next door
And they would mix it for me
Had to order food too
After a bloody Mary
And a burger
I walked about town
Saw the Mormon Temple
Finally, about 3 pm
It was time to hit the road
Did not look back
Ended up in Cody Wyoming
Got a room shower
Steak beer
Using my rapidly depleted cash Spent 25 dollars
Money really went far
Back in those days
A band of professional
Communist agitators
Gave me a ride
To Des Moines
Lots of weed, booze
And politics later
Got off the road
Slept outside
Next day
A beautiful woman
Drove me to near Chicago
In a red mustang
Might have been
The girl in the song
Took it easy
Digging her vibe
She invited home
But was not sure
If her estranged husband
Would welcome me
So, I am being foolish
And inexperienced with women
Did not go to her place
And always regretted
That I had lost
My chance that day
end part one
...It was two days before she lost them,
and an arrow slashed her small finger,
a small wagon train did take her in,
but a doctor found gangrene in her,
chopped her pinkey with barely a word.
Fever set in and it was two weeks,
she got so sick she could barely speak.
At Denver she left the settler crowd,
only to learn that Merlon was gone,
he’d been absent about two years now,
and his trapping has never been strong,
that he would’ve gone bust before long.
Celeste felt that her heart would soon break,
but she heard word he was in Salt Lake.
Once more on the trail Celeste did go,
through frozen and rocky mountains high,
taking hard paths she didn’t much know,
in those cold peaks she often did find
that her stomach was kissing her spine,
lost fifteen pounds in that rocky span,
but finally saw the Mormon lands…
She soon learned where Merlon was living,
rode towards his spread with a smile,
couldn’t believe this was happening,
she’d not felt such hope for a while,
and prayed for rewards for her trials,
but when she made it to his cabin
she saw a woman standing with him.
Celeste froze at this awful scene,
Merlon gasped and ran up to her mare,
he then cried out,”My dear Celestine…
Please, oh will you come down from up there?
You are looking half-dead, have a care.”
Celeste was too broken to shed a tear,
Merle just asked,”How did you end up here?”
She cried,”I came to find my fiancé,”
but said nothing of all the great harms,
the woman came up and Celeste’s gaze
fixed upon a baby in her arms,
she was too broken to feel alarm.
Merlon said,”But I thought you’d hate me,
I’m a deserter, so unworthy…”
She barely heard his words as he spoke,
feeling as if her whole life was done,
she couldn’t breathe, she wanted to choke,
Heard him say,”But I am now Mormon,
and God doesn’t limit wives to one.
Yes, my dear, I think we’ll welcome her,
another wife, to be your sister.”
The wife just looked on, her face quite blank,
Said,”Bring my sister in from the cold.”
“Ah,”cried Merle,”Our family gives thanks!”
Celeste numbly did as she was told,
she was soiled, and thirty years old.
not something most wanted in a bride,
so she let this man lead her inside…
Not much about Goldilocks is really well known,
Except she liked to hang out in the woods all alone.
Of other customs and habits we have just a splintering:
She was whiney, persnickety,
And obviously skillful at breaking and entering.
No deadbolt or burglar alarm could defy her.
A common criminal, then, is how history should try her.
The three bears, that morning, had gone outside to forage
For sweet berries and nuts they could add to their porridge.
On returning, they found this young girl in their bed,
And their first misconception was that she was dead.
Since she also was human, they were somewhat afraid,
But after looking around at the mess she had made,
They debated the question of how they should treat her,
Then took a quick family vote and opted to eat her.
Now, bears are opportunistic, don't adhere to the letter,
And when it comes to cuisine, "haute's"* not necessarily better.
These three had had Muslim, a Mormon, a Christian, a Jew,
And a Tibetan monk, just to mention a few.
But they couldn't care less for religious perversity,
When it came to free food, they were all for diversity.
What they weren't quite sure of was how this one they'd render,
Or was she naturally tender because of her gender?
So heed this warning all squatters, all beakers and enterers,
Before invading the space of homeowners or renterers.
Beware lest your miscreant action finagles a sad end,
Like our heroine,
Who never dreamed, I'll be bound,
She would ever be found with three bears chowing down,
Complementing their porridge with Goldilocks and bagels.
*As in "haute cuisine" (pronounced "oat kwee-zeen"), French for "fine dining".
Mark Halliday
Son of a California Englishman
And a small-town Utah Mormon.
In his youth, nothing extraordinary;
Later served in Europe as a missionary.
Pianist, marching flutist, then a Guitarist;
Enlisted to be an Army Intelligence Analyst.
Speaks French; spoke Spanish, Russian,
Serbian, Croatian, some German and Macedonian.
Has resided mostly in California.
Spent months or years in Makedonija,
La France, le Belgique, Deutchesland,
Kuwait, Iraq; in the USA: Maryland,
Utah, Massachusettes, Kansas,
Arizona, Missouri, and Texas.
Of course, he’s known here as poetic,
But with charcoal, pens, and pastels is artistic.
He’s starting to slow down due to age,
But loves to sing original songs on stage.
During the French Bicentennial, went to Paris,
Where he met his future Mrs.
Has sons Steven and Tony, wife Nelly.
They’ll soon celebrate their silver anniversary.
Like many other military veterans,
He works with Dept. of Defense civilians….
Commuting between Salinas and Monterey
(Defense Language Institute, Presidio of Monterey).
He loves to read (especially military science fiction),
Go to cinemas, and grow food in his garden.
He’s interested in music production software,
And dreams his songs will someday go somewhere.
HELLO, JOE.
Hello, God.
SORRY ABOUT THAT DEATH THING.
Yeah, I didn’t see that coming.
WELL, ACCIDENTS DO HAPPEN.
Apparently. I just wish I had time to tell the people that I love, that I love them.
YEAH, I HEAR THAT A LOT. YOU’D THINK PEOPLE WOULD START TO PICK UP ON THAT.
I guess they’re just stupid, like me.
I GUESS SO. SO?
So?
WHAT DO YOU THINK?
About what?
ABOUT BEING HERE WITH ME?
Nervous. I guess you know that I really didn’t believe in you.
YEAH, WELL I AM A HARD CONCEPT TO GET TO KNOW.
Not, for everyone.
OH, YES, FOR EVERYONE.
But, there are plenty of people who know you.
NOT REALLY. THEY ALL GET IT WRONG.
You mean none of the religions are targeting the right God?
NOPE. HUMANS HAVE AN AMAZING CAPACITY TO MAKE UP STORIES ABOUT THINGS THEY CANNOT UNDERSTAND. ONCE THEY START UNDERSTANDING SOME THINGS, THEIR STORIES ABOUT ME CHANGE A LOT. BUT, THEY ARE ALL STILL MADE UP. PEOPLE DO NOT AND SHOULD NOT HAVE THE CAPACITY TO REALLY KNOW ME – IT IS AN INCOMPREHENSIBLE CONCEPT FOR MAN. I WAS HOPING MAN WOULD CONCENTRATE ON DOING GOOD FOR ONE ANOTHER AND NOT FOR SOME MADE UP CONCEPT OF ME.
What about the Old Testament? New Testament? The Koran? The Book of Mormon? And, others I don’t even know about?
MADE UP, MADE UP, MADE UP, MADE UP AND MADE UP.
Huh. I guess it wasn’t so much the concept of you that I didn’t believe in; it was just the religious portrayal of you that I had a problem with.
I KNOW.
Yeah, I guess you would.
I GIVE MAN CREDIT, THOUGH, HE GOT A LOT ABOUT THE CONCEPTS OF GOOD AND EVIL RIGHT, HE JUST CLOAKED IT ALL IN MADE UP STORIES ABOUT ME.
I guess it helped lead a lot of people down the right path.
AND A LOT DOWN THE WRONG PATH, TOO.
Yeah.
YEAH.
Well, even though I didn’t believe, I still tried to do the right thing more times than not.
YEAH, I KNOW THAT, TOO.
Good. So, now what?
INDEED, NOW WHAT.
It feels like the ship’s half mast
Mystery as history’s been recast
The last ghost of Christmas past
Impropriety savaging our society
Notoriety ravaging the entirety
Fake tyrants make migrants an outcast
Primal survival and tribal bible revival
Mormon iconoclasts in Gormenghast
The nub of pub hubbub have a blast
Cloned then dethroned closing fast
Snub our community hub flabbergast
Crowds roared as bands toured
New names explored heaven sent
Adored venues & events floored
Ignored by deplored property fraud
Hysterical dissent & lyrical lament
Landlord hell bent the rent soared
Even cricket’s oldest format now old hat
Temper at T20’s emperors new clothes
Every game the same just tit & more tat
But treasure troves as in roves the droves
Milk or silk for the ilk of that fat cat twa*
Farce of the hospo carcass hospitalised
Reign of the chain stops Mom & Pop shops
Locavore lair despair flair heirs marmalised
Flops grandstanding bland branding pops
Deranged how we are now so estranged
No one mops up the slops Laptops drop
Changed so fast for many trumpets blast
Hark back to the rose tinted halcyon past
As smart phones are overcome by dumb
Aghast say goodbye to the whole AI lie
The forecast for the future well overcast
Last post of the host & ghost of the past