Archive for the ‘poem’ Category

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Eulogy to the Enemy

March 11, 2018

I hope he suffered when he died.

I hope he suffered all his life.

I hope his kids hated him.

I hope his wife made the man a cuckold.

And if none of this happened,

It is the hell he deserves.

I hope he suffers for all eternity,

If there is a god,

Who wishes our souls preserved.

 

– Mr. Binger

 

 

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A Song For the Death of Children

March 2, 2018

I met a people who prepared themselves for the end of everything. Everyone I spoke to told me, “All the adults will be sorted first,” and they will go to heaven or hell. There, they will await their families, for sin and forgiveness were inherited because of surnames.

“We know our children will die,” many had said to me. “They will be alone, for we will have perished. Each one will die by themselves, so we taught all our children a nursery rhyme. They might sing in our voices while they wait. Our children might sing to themselves before they die…”

“One, two, three and four.

 The kingdom of God is at your door.

 Close your eyes,

 Be at peace.

 Go home with our Lord.

 Go to sleep.”

“How will the children die,” I wondered. “How will everyone die?”

“Horribly,” their preacher said.

“There will be nothing of you,” the clergy says, “Nothing left but your last breath.”

“That’s why the verses are so short.”

 

– Matthew Sawyer

 

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What Happened To You?

February 28, 2018

It starts fine. it’s all okay.

Then the pants come off,

And it’s, “Where did these spiders come from?”

“They’re not a part of you. They’re coming off of you!”

“I mean, they’re coming out of you.”

– Mr. Binger

 

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What Heaven Might Be Imagined

February 24, 2018

Heaven is not a new place; it is nowhere you go when you die. Heaven is a familiar place in time. This personal moment may last forever or be relived again or again; or the truly blessed may have a lifetime of joy to experience once more.

It is not reincarnation, nor like watching a film; heaven is being returned to when there was a joyful time. Nothing from the future goes with you – you become that age again, with all the memory and emotion of then and nothing more. This is you when you were 5 or 10 or 37 – whatever age. This is your heaven, or hell, if that is what you carry inside you.

This is why prophets have preached to look for heaven inside oneself. Look for the joyful memories that shine like stars. You probably have already made the place you will return after the rest of your days.

– Mr. Binger

 

 

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The Town of This Many Years Old

February 22, 2018

“I am from the town of this-many-years-old,” Mr. Binger claimed. “I have a friend who will eat things you wouldn’t put in a dog’s butt.”

“Now, I am not advocating inserting anything into any dog’s anus, I’m saying, strange things come from a dog’s butt. People put them there… suppositories, colonoscopy scopes; ordinary stuff, I suppose.”

“Let’s see what we have here,” Mr. Binger said producing a paisley carpet bag, there on stage. From which, the short man produces a miniaturized model of an airplane, a hollow ping pong ball and a plastic army figure, among other unrelated small objects.

“All this stuff came from dog butts.”

Mr. Binger says as if he changes his mind, “Let’s not talk about that.”

“What does my friend eat?” he asked an invisible audience.

“Well,” he claimed and gestures at the miscellany before him on the floor.

“I would never put this stuff in my mouth,” Mr. Binger iterated. “I guess a dog would. My friend did; he would after it came out of a canine.”

“But, we’re not talking about him.”

“I guess these can things look edible, but I’ve never asked. It’s not something I wonder about. I think it’s all about a mental illness called coprophilia.”

Mr. Binger interrupts himself. “That’s what it’s called in the DSM-IV, that’s a manual of mental disorders; Psychiatrists use it. Someone educated in the audience will inevitably say, ‘Uh-huh, the disorder is called something different, and there is now a DSM-V’.”

“I don’t think dogs know. I mean, do dogs know what food looks like, or do they swallow anything that looks pretty? Do they consume the visual arts? It is probable.”

“Maybe they think an open can of beef stew looks like the Mona Lisa.”

“They could believe they’re giving a precious little thing a home. It won’t crawl up there by itself, so our gregarious little companion must first gulp it down.”

“And that would be the end of that, until it came back around.”

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You Know What Hell Sounds Like

February 13, 2018
“You know what hell sounds like,

Standing this far off, this far away?”

“It sounds like a distant train whistle.

Hell sounds like that horn blown from miles up the track.”

“Except, the whistle never stops,

It’s never interrupted.”

“And you know something is wrong.”

“It’s always coming.”

 

– Mr. Binger

 

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The Context of Guilt

November 2, 2017

It occurs to me, much of the guilt I feel is taken out of context. So, I put myself back into those situations.

I ask myself, ‘Could I have done something differently? Could I have been better prepared for that situation?’

‘Would the outcome have been any better?’

‘Hey, would I have even been in that situation if I was better prepared?’

‘Probably’, I tell myself. Then I think, ‘Could things have been much worst?’

‘Possibly’, I answer.

 

– Matthew Sawyer

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