"Not Jacob"

by Jeph Johnson


If predestination
is providentially dictated,
God loves you
and it's me He's hated.
Like Esau;
a see-saw,
back and forth.
He chose those
He knew would
choose Him,
of course.
And He knew me not
though I loved Him.
I knew Him not;
I desired sin.
Do you still find it odd
why I blame God
for His foreknowledge
of who He would prod
into Heaven?
For the grace from which I fell
that's sending me to Hell
was not graciously
but gracefully compelled leaven.
Why would He elect
then fail to protect
an irresistible decision
not to defect?
Perhaps my freewill
is deprived by depravity still
or are the limits on atonement
finally filled?

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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"Spilled Milk"

by Jeph Johnson


I lap it up
Almost aroused;
Feline in my fury,
Nearly blinded by the whiteness.
My eyes are closed,
Dreaming of an ending
To these episodes of splattered horror
Why not graphic bloodstains?
Only serene innocence
Explodes for me to taste.
I've inhaled mountain breezes
more disturbing
than my perception of this crime.

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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by Jeph Johnson


a springboard
splattered spectacle
of unity undecided
beauty astroglides
refined beyond
dainty fantasy
and resides inside
the mindless cries
of the tattooed bartender
who won't get
his foreskin pierced
because he won't
be able
to have sex
for two weeks

Author's Notes/Comments: 


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Lifeus Innterruptus

Poetry interrupted my life today.

It reared its sensuous head,

and beckoned me from my labors.

But I managed to resist its hedonistic call.

There where dishes to do,

(Grease and filth encrusted porcelain, topped

with rainbow spheres, slowly turning soft skinned hands

into those of a withered crone's.)

then there was the vacuuming,

(Daemon encased, roaring with hate

and swearing vengeance, bow to my wishes, whisk

this catastrophe from mine eyes...)

the laundry to be done,

(Vile smelling, rancid scum that wastes

my precious hours and sucks out

what little joy I find in this day.)

and then the children start their day,

(Squawking, rabid nestlings from hell or

precious representatives of my immortality,

just depends on the moment you catch me.)

And just as I was about to rest my weary body

from my labors, my husbands announces

to the entire world that he is hungry.

(Love of my life, other half of my soul,

bane of my existence,

earner of the all mighty paycheck,

center of my deepest frustrations, I could

go on but it would be redundant.)

Therefore, I walked back out to the kitchen

to feed him.  (Resenting the chaos I create

where order once reigned.)

So my day went, until, finally,

I was able to sit at last,

answering poetry's whispering call.

Only to find myself dwelling on my days

Oh so normal events and not the poetry

I wanted to write at all.

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What a wonderful Life

What a wonderful life it surely must be,

to know everything lies between A and Z.

To be so jaded, so sated with living,

it’s a bore, a chore, a trial simply breathing.

You’ll not to be bothered with the joy of surprise,

the pain of a heartache, with your passion’s rise.

To understand in advance every nuance, each inflection,

to know exactly how every line, lies in your reflection.  

What contentment you must know with all your levels in balance,

a mind uncluttered, clear of all you deem useless, no allowance.

Have you experienced love to the point of not caring?

Jealousy and rage become too irksome or wearing?

Or perhaps it is simply that you have seen too much,

your hearts become hard, your soul untouched.

Maybe you never knew how to feel these things,

imagine being born with no burdens to bring.

At the table of life, you have feasted your fill,

Nothing left to prove, to crave, to desire, to thrill.

However, such a happy life, I guess, is not for me.

I like not knowing what today might be.

I’ll look for my surprises; eyes wide open, waiting.

I’ll keep my heart unhardened, my soul unforsaking.

All those little joys, so fleeting, so rare,

you deemed unworthy, I’ll watch for with care.

Your life you think happy, everything neat and in place,

I’ll take the mess dear, more potential, less commonplace.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I also post at alt.arts.poetry.comments and I had just gotton a little fed up with snide comments.

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Parrot a Love,

    Swim at Golf,

Enough to All

    Is to Some, Enough.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Mimicry and a Splash.

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I turned on the radio,

    And lo' and behold,

The destruction of our planet,

    Was being foretold.

A man of the stars,

    Nostradamus is name.

Of no great source,

    But alarm us his fame.

I wondered if fear,

    Accrued by his word,

Could aid in the demise,

    Of our plentiful world.

Contrived it seemed,

    That we would think thus,

And up our own wholes,

    We would self-destruct.

But broadminded the few,

    Who interpreted as said,

The hues of the rainbow,

    Can be over our head.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Ah yes, sometimes I do hear things arse about.

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Curl a sash,

     Wrap, twist and pull.

Continue the search,

    Of a that in this world.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Bit of a fantasy at the time, it's alright, it got me through the night.

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Living Within The Lie

You don't love me

You never did

You took me

And crumpled me

Treated me like a kid.

Empty words

Like an arrow

Pierced through my heart

I should have seen

The truth

Right at the start.

The finger of blame

Points now at me

But yea! Don't you think

I see

Your false words

And lying eyes

Yes dear, now I am not surprised.

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