Poetry Visualized

Mormon Poetry #10 Sins Of The Fathers

GUTS
By Reid Baer

He is kneeling
in expectation

Choking from a
gag reflex action

Spewing poison
along with spittle

He once swallowed
when he was little
-

Chilling Whispers

This is the revised video of Crystal Dawn's poem as part of a collaborative effort which began with her visual interpretation of my poem ("Ode to A Wounded Eye").

Fluxuations

Fluxuations By Reid Baer Buy on rumor Sell on fact Start with humor End with sad Love the lover Cut the crap

The King of Fools

The King of Fools
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

His smiles are genuine and built upon a seasoned toughness
of hidden fears. His souls skin is hardened and weathered,
callused by sarcasm, cynicism and misplaced love.
There is no hatred, only confusion…

His spirit reeks of empathy and wisdom has taught him to
dampen down the tears and disguise them with sparkling
laughter. With ruse and feint he wages a war of discontent.
Smiling and laughing to cover silent cries…

The depth of life… is shallowed by survivals reality.
He dreams of going off the deep end but the weight of his
tears would surely drown him. Even the buoyancy of the
King of Fools holds no reign over the unknown…

His epitaph will read;

Here lies the King of Fools.
Who dreamt of deeper pools,
he laughed and smiled as others sinned.
We found him drowned in the shallow end.

TOXIC RELATIONSHIPS

In great dismay you came. "Look! I've been bit!" "You play with serpents, friend. The charmer charmed." Distressed, you cried out, flailing in a fit, till shock set in. At that I grew alarmed. I'm scouting trained. My friendship I can prove. I lanced your wound and sucked and spat and sucked and spat again, the deadly poison to remove. I saved your life, so why do I feel fucked? And even then I thought, I can't ignore I risk this venom getting in my veins. And what's in this for me for all my pains? And haven't we done just this thing before? I watch you limping back to find that snake. How often must we make the same mistake?

THE SHOW MUST GO ON

Back there are storage rooms crammed to the beams with trunks of costumes, coats, and shoes and hats, old scripts and notes in boxes, powders, creams and tables, chairs and thickly painted flats. This stage is set. It all has been arranged. Whichever role I pick to play I know my lines, my moves, what must be changed. I'm planning quite a lively, moving show. For many years I've fought off my despair, rehearsing what I could alone. I bought this nice cologne, here's naughty underwear. Which lights, which sheets, which wine took lots of thought. I hoard these props still hoping to attract another actor for my opening act.

SHE SAID SAVE YOURSELF

My friend, if you mean save my mortal soul before the pass/fail test when I decay for pre-paid bliss or face the heated hole. I'll run the risk-- I'm Sorry, I won't play. Or do you mean I ought to hoard my goods to barter in the market of the tough? Or how I should survive the world of shoulds? Addictions say there never is enough. Or do you mean I ought to bide my time, as if I am a resource to conserve, for all too soon I will be past my prime? I doubt if I am worthy to preserve. Do I need rescuing? It's plain to see that no one's saving me, my friend, but me.

PRIORITY

Whatever! Sure! What's your bizarre request? I've worn assorted panties, briefs and thongs for others, sitting still as they've obsessed of life, of love, and catalogue their wrongs. Like there's the guy who had me call him "dad." I'm cool. So what's your preference? �Sir?" or "Son?" Come on. It's no time to feel tired or sad. You paid for this. The evening�s just begun. We all pay. God, by masters I've been trained in guilt, betrayal, denial, and jealousy. Intimidate or plead. Your choice. Your feigned concern is nice. Tonight's 'bout you not me. No matter how mistreated, tricked or scarred, right now, it's all 'bout you and keeping hard.

JACK ASS

So just how stupid do you think I am? Did you think you invented sex or crime? Do you think I can't spot a fib or scam? Your silence, jokes and jabber waste my time. Today your body may be at its prime, but, trust me, not so is your growing mind. Your nasty wit's not wisdom. Mostly I'm annoyed by all the many woes you've whined. I'd rather have a mule. Though unrefined they're sterile, tough, and don't shit where they eat. I'm sure less stubborn, lazy or unkind, not prone to blame, sarcasm or deceit. It walks the day it's born. You're life ain't rough. Just nine months? Twenty years is not enough.

FILTHY LUCRE

All I have mined and melted, minted, stored I offered you and yet I can't compete. Does my attention leave you cold and bored? My heart's locked coffer's key lies at your feet. I've seen him with you callous if not cruel and yet you're thrilled, no matter what I say. (Had he a brain he play you for the fool) He dumps his problems, then goes on his way. I wonder if you'll ever change your mind. Today I wonder more about your taste (and mine!) I wonder when and how you'll find out what an ass he is. (Am I unkind, my love?) I wonder why and with such haste you gaily shovel up his stinking waste.