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Distance Between

The rays of light, first past night
A rooster of a red ball dawn
Penetrating my space making place
In my mind, my heart, and soul

Got a messenger on my mail
Saying you have a point to nail
The distance between shadow thin
And in silence you assailed

Oh no! for there is no assuramce
Between bookends afterglow
On a sea of promisses drowned
in revenge

The required 1% was not evident
Blood drawn and sacrifice be made
To please foul reasoning
Your embryo was to the point inbred

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poem by Midnights Voice
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Hymn 26

Hope of heaven by the resurrection of Christ.

1 Pet. 1:3-5.

Blest be the everlasting God,
The Father of our Lord;
Be his abounding mercy praised,
His majesty adored.

When from the dead he raised his Son,
And called him to the sky,
He gave our souls a lively hope
That they should never die.

What though our inbred sins require
Our flesh to see the dust,
Yet as the Lord our Savior rose,
So all his followers must.

There's an inheritance divine

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poem by Isaac Watts
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Sonnet XXIV: O Thou! Meek Orb

O thou! meek Orb! that stealing o'er the dale
Cheer'st with thy modest beams the noon of night!
On the smooth lake diffusing silv'ry light,
Sublimely still, and beautifully pale!
What can thy cool and placid eye avail,
Where fierce despair absorbs the mental sight,
While inbred glooms the vagrant thoughts invite,
To tempt the gulph where howling fiends assail?
O, Night! all nature owns thy temper'd pow'r;
Thy solemn pause, thy dews, thy pensive beam;
Thy sweet breath whisp'ring in the moonlight bow'r,
While fainting flow'rets kiss the wand'ring stream!
Yet, vain is ev'ry charm! and vain the hour,
That brings to madd'ning love, no soothing dream!

poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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Unmitigated verse

Don't ever read these poems
They are not literary fait accomplis

I am not board certified to write poetry

My relatives are inbred
Some of them were even from Arkansas

I am not a wizard of words
Hiding behind the curtain of degree

It is only your own time you waste here

Don't ask me to mail a check for lost hours
Any mental illness that ensues
After being exposed here

Or if you break out in a mixed pox, of metaphors

Worse, if you catch this virus

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poem by Patti Masterman
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Just Routine Chatter

Anyone can probe and find 'something',
To disparage one's credibility.
And if what has been 'created'
Is labelled disgusting...
By those doing this in exposed daylight,
AND self righteous?
Well,
Doesn't that put one's influence on the line?
As if an intention was there to undermine.

Being proactive with intervention,
Can prevent one's good intentions.

And having the audacity to be able to 'think',
On top of it...
Poses a major threat to those,
Who have come to enjoy...
The ease of instigating 'implied' suppression.

And today that doesn't have to be seen,

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A 'Supreme' Invention Meant

Release them from their inbred madness!
Black and white stagnation,
Dipped in fear of integration!
Segregated links have weakened...
The greatness of a nation sought!
With pettiness amongst them fought!

Release them from their quest to rule.
Choosing tactics
And tools only fools use to prove themselves cruel!
Unfortunate are those who see some as inferior.
After exploiting resources,
To annoint themselves superior!

Delusions of power exposing insecurities...
With an ineptness of concepts,
To destroy economies!
Intentions to take and make subservience stick...
Has done nothing to advance humanity,
Or grant honor upon those...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Polygamist Part 2

Please, oh please
Shut up already
And spare us
Your religious fanatic crap

Only one wife per man
That's the way
God's law says
It is supposed to be

Learn how to repect that
And maybe
Just maybe
We'll let you have your inbred snot nosed brats back

Young pretty hot things
Having sex with old wrinkled has been men
Just makes us sick
Right down to the bone

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poem by Ramona Thompson
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Sydney Cup 1899

Of course they say if this Bobadil starts
He'll settle 'em all in a flash:
For the pace he can go will be breaking their hearts,
And he ends with the "Bobadil dash".
But there's one in the race is a fance of mine
Whenever the distance is far --
Crosslake! He's inbred to the Yattendon line,
And we know what the Yattendons are.
His feet are his trouble: they're tender as gum!
If only his feet are got straight,
If the field were all Bobadils --let 'em all come
So long as they carry the weight.
For a three-year-old colt with nine-three on his back --
Well, he needs to be rather a star!
And with seven stone ten we will trust the old black,
For we know what the Yattendons are.

He is sired by Lochiel, which ensures that his pace
Is enough, and a little to spare.
But the blood that will tell at the end of the race

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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Kaiser Street

The summer clouds congealed so thick
My brain could hardly take the pressure
Elections for a constitution, a president and assembly
That would not matter anyway.
All was predetermined. It was clear
The old order had murdered too many
To stand for long, with nothing to deliver.

In the beer gardens downtown
The smoke of bratwurst hovered constantly
The gap-toothed and sun-wrinkled men
Drinking to the death of their colony
Laying bets on the failure of independence
Apartheid-wasted and inbred
The girls too listless for a proposition
Of even the U.N.

I walked home alone
There was no-one in town to meet
The passing of the night, the age

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poem by Frank Bana
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Work In Progress - Fragment 4

in the autumn sunshine
we found it empty
the answer we knew
was not then discovered
picking through the debris
the day confounded us
until footsteps of memory
reared an opinion

we all entrap pilgrimage
but Bunyan was out
the scenery of passing
caused illusions to falter
the moot hall erupted
the market green stretched
the journey became unsure
the shrine was lost

while groping for themes
a swollen oak bole

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poem by Michael Oliver
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