The LDS poetry thread

[RobinFinderson]

Maybe you could call the category, "The Open Mic." Or, "The Beatnik Cafe."

[Jeff Lebowski]

Even Lebowski's lame Haiku made me chuckle.

Hey, it's the toughest form to work with. You only have 17 syllables. (but if you throw on a title you can cheat a little bit)

[PaloAltoCougar]

This is one of the best thread detours ever. I was enjoying reading about others' Christmases, and suddenly I'm plunged into a collection of moving short stories (thanks, O. Landpoke) and poetry that would cause the Algonquin Round Table to shudder with inadequacy. I'm saving the poetry and haiku for my church history lessons in the coming year. Tears will be shed.

[RobinFinderson]

Hey, it's the toughest form to work with. You only have 17 syllables. (but if you throw on a title you can cheat a little bit)

Hey, I like it! I was just throwing your 'Groan... I guess it had to happen some time' back at you.

Seriously, consider the 'Beatnik Cafe.' A collection of BYU/UTE/LDS/Sports related poetry?? That is the kind of content that internet empires are built on!

[Jeff Lebowski]

Hey, I like it! I was just throwing your 'Groan... I guess it had to happen some time' back at you.

For the record, I was groaning at the narcissistic nature of your "vote on my sauce" poll and thread.

Seriously, consider the 'Beatnik Cafe.' A collection of BYU/UTE/LDS/Sports related poetry?? That is the kind of content that internet empires are built on!

Not a bad idea.

[YOhio]

This poem was created at a time in my life when I had just overcome some obstacles with the help of a dear family member.

There's no telling how much a sunrise means
to the one who had a terrible night
and there's no telling how much a hand to hold,
means to one whose being led to the light
and no one can tell,
though at times they might try
what it means to have one friend
that's been true
So I guess there's no telling you
just how much
one heart in the right place can do
There's no telling how far
ones eyes can see
when someone's vision
can inspire a song
and there's no telling how big
a dream can be
for the one whose learned
to never think small
and no one can tell
though at times you might try
what another person's love means to you
So I guess there's no telling you
just how much
one heart in the right place can do
But there's been a heart
as big as it's dreams
that's blessed us all for so many years
It's been in all the right places
at all the right times
and it's changed everyone of us here.
There's no telling how much
that sunrise meant
to the one who had a terrible night
And there's no telling how much
a hand to hold
has meant to someone
whose been led to the light
and no one can tell
though at times they might try
what it means to have been touched
by someone
so there's no way of telling you
just how much
your heart in the right place has done
We wish we could tell you now
just how much
your heart in the right place has done

[TripletDaddy]

This poem was created at a time in my life when I had just overcome some obstacles with the help of a dear family member.

Welcome home, brother....welcome home.

[CardiacCoug]

I figured this one would be a shoe-in for the LDS Poetry section of the Ensign:

Parley Parker Pratt...so many P's!
Multiple wives....so many V's!

Mission to Chile, you didn't feel silly
When the Millenial Star was burned to a char
Or was it Times and Seasons? I forget the reasons

The G known as PPP
Had a beef with Hector
Now Parley is a specter

But his spirit lives on today
Mitt Romney has his DNA
And there's a little PPP in you and in me
And on the building at the back of the MTC

Excellent!

[Tim]

I figured this one would be a shoe-in for the LDS Poetry section of the Ensign:

Parley Parker Pratt...so many P's!
Multiple wives....so many V's!

Mission to Chile, you didn't feel silly
When the Millenial Star was burned to a char
Or was it Times and Seasons? I forget the reasons

The G known as PPP
Had a beef with Hector
Now Parley is a specter

But his spirit lives on today
Mitt Romney has his DNA
And there's a little PPP in you and in me
And on the building at the back of the MTC

I can't stop laughing.

Tim

[SoCalCoug]

Here's a little poem I wrote a few years ago:

Footsteps In The Sand

One night a man had a dream.
He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the LORD.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand:
one belonging to him, and the other to the LORD.
When the last scene of his life flashed before him
he looked back, at the footprints in the sand.
He noticed that many times along the path of his life
there was only one set of footprints.
He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times of his life.
This really bothered him and he questioned the LORD about it:
"LORD, you said that once I decided to follow you,
you'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me."
The LORD replied:
"My son, My precious child, I love you and I would never leave you,
During your times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you."

[Teenage Dirtbag]

Here is a poem I wrote as a boy. I submitted it for consideration, but it went unpublished. The editor returned it to me, along with a handwritten note that said simply: "Too creepy".

Adam was a prophet, first one that we know.
In a place called Eden, he helped things to grow.
Adam served the Lord by following his ways.
We are his descendants in the latter days.
Follow the prophet, follow the prophet,
Follow the prophet; don't go astray.
Follow the prophet, follow the prophet,
Follow the prophet he knows the way.

Now we have a world where people are confused.
If you don’t believe it, go and watch the news.
We can get direction all along our way,
If we heed the prophets-follow what they say
Follow the prophet, follow the prophet,
Follow the prophet; don't go astray.
Follow the prophet, follow the prophet,
Follow the prophet he knows the way.

[Jeff Lebowski]

Here is a poem I wrote as a boy. I submitted it for consideration, but it went unpublished. The editor returned it to me, along with a handwritten note that said simply: "Too creepy".

Adam was a prophet, first one that we know.
In a place called Eden, he helped things to grow.
Adam served the Lord by following his ways.
We are his descendants in the latter days.
Follow the prophet, follow the prophet,
Follow the prophet; don't go astray.
Follow the prophet, follow the prophet,
Follow the prophet he knows the way.

Now we have a world where people are confused.
If you don’t believe it, go and watch the news.
We can get direction all along our way,
If we heed the prophets-follow what they say
Follow the prophet, follow the prophet,
Follow the prophet; don't go astray.
Follow the prophet, follow the prophet,
Follow the prophet he knows the way.

It's tough to portray the full creepiness without the nazi marching music.

[MartyFunkhouser]

None of you have anything on JJ Redick

No bandage can cover my scars
It's hard living a life behind invisible bars
Searching for the face of God
I'm only inspired by the poems of Nas
Because the truth has carved my life's patterns
The reality of pain, and the joy of laughter
My hopes and dreams shattered
by the miscalculation of my own situation
It's difficult to keep my nerves patient
Facing the forecast of fears
that none of my peers have ever been faced with
I wanna reach the top floor, but I'm stuck in the basement
With not enough juice to burst through
the chains that have shackled my brain
It seems my dreams have carried me to a separate peace
apart from reality
Society is allowing me to grow into the man I'm destined to become
But how can I move when my entire skeleton is numb?
Numb from the obstacles that I've been given
Suddenly the bars connect to walls
and I find myself contained inside life's prison
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/200.../redick.poems/

[LA Ute]

"Water," by Lance Larsen

Water

Immersion-it sputters from their mouths
half word, half gargle. "To hold
your breath," a tiny girl says, "to go under
like Jesus." Now they want to try it,
these six-year-olds, so I lead them
through the hall to the unfilled font.

Four steps down and we're buried
in blue tile. They trace the grout,
watching it powder under their nails.
And who was John? "The hairy one,"
they answer, "who wears heavy skins."
"Dips crickets in honey." I kneel,

and the nearest child steps forward.
My right arm squared, left hand circling
his wrist, I take him into that grave
of imagined water. Then the others.
They dip easily, like foldable dolls.
They rise up from air sipping air.
If they picture whiteness, it's a color,
or something to wear, not a state
they've learned to yearn for. Outside,
in a collar of fog, snow piles deeper.
Christmas a shy three weeks away, and only
adults like me needing to come clean.

--From A Believing People
Original poem here.

[LA Ute]

A haunting bit of LDS poetry

At Mountain Meadows:
For Juanita Brooks

The mass grave here is set with stones
Piled low inside a low rock wall,
And marked for travelers by a sign
That tells us briefly of the murder
Of six score emigrants, whose bones
Lay here and there once – on the plain,
In the gulley – left to the weather
Of almost a century where they fell –

Like so many others, screaming, shot,
Robbed and left naked in the dust;
A few of the millions underneath,
And killed for something, like the rest
That we remember and forget
In stone and plaque – our modern shrines,
A casual pilgrimage of death
For tourists in the summertime

Who cannot kneel to sift for those yet
Ungathered pieces of the dead
That wash out here in summer floods
Like parts of broken animals,
But choose a few things to take home,
A twig, a name, then pass adept
As visitors around low walls,
Inspecting what they must disown;

Forgetting that such ways will end
When these bones, bursting to rebirth,
Pick through the meadows for debris
We did not number, and the Earth
Burns to a glass in which we see
Ourselves as we are seen, wherein
We read, as guilt and innocence,
The record of our ignorance.

--Robert A. Christmas