Miscellaneous

THE CHALICE (Andrea, July 2009 but written earlier)
Side by side in the pew that day,
yet miles apart.
We heard, it seems, with different hearts.
She felt drawn by love,
I . . . pushed away.

We talked and talked and talked that night
with such caring.
Enveloped in her sharing
of heart and mind, I was yet unable
to take her light.

How could she restore her soul
from what to me was prison bowl?

***

Side by side today sit another two
with different sight.
Love holds me (aching), as you fight
deadly, confounding dragons
I earlier slew.

We, too, talk and talk without relief
until quite spent.
Filled with longing, we are yet impotent,
no matter that I try
to give away belief.

Now it is I, sipping and lifted up,
from what you see as broken cup.

STEP TOWARD APOLOGY (Doug, July 2009)
"A journey of ten thousand miles begins
With one step," as some Chinaman once said.
A never-ending journey doesn't; thus
No progress lies ahead.

SOLICITATION (Ron, July 2009)
While I go digging for my own precious few
Let’s hear more from you, you and you
Douglas Gardner likes wry limericks
And rewritten hymns from old heretics
For it seems he too likes to dwell
On what sends us to heaven or hell

COME AND GONE (Doug, July 2009)
Mollie Sugden died today; I thought you out to know.
She too has gone where our deceased celebrities all go.
Jackson, Faucett, Malden, Billy Mays and Ed McMahan
Have gone the way that all flesh goes; let's mourn them if we can.
Cancer, drugs, old age are forces few can long resist,
But Mollie Sugden died today, and she'll be, you know, missed.

Mr Humphreys drops his voice when he picks up the phone.
Mrs Slocombe strokes her pussy, then leaves it alone.
Peacock leers but Slocombe asks young Humphreys to her flat.
She's no use for the captain; she's unanimous in that.
Her hair was pink (or purple, green, bright yellow, maybe blue)
Mollie's gone to white today, and soon we'll go there too.

YOUR FATHER AND YOU June 2009--dates to 2003)
Closely, his heart next to your heart,
He holds you; yes, now when you are young,
But even later as you grow older.

He knows you; who you are,
Who you were before this earth-time, and who you are becoming.
Face to face you talk and talk over many things, over everything –
As friends, as best friends.

Even though trials and troubles are all about,
You see through it all, eye to eye, and appreciate
The beauties of this wide wondrous world.

Side by side you work together in your garage, and in the yard;
In your neighborhood, and in the Kingdom.

Even more than the beauties of this earth,
You comprehend together, pure mind with pure mind, the simplicities and complexities of the Eternities –
The great principles that reveal truth,
And what is of real worth.

Soul to soul –together with your dear Mother and loved ones –
You reach to the heights and glories
Of the highest and best that is deep within.
Your father and you . . . you are one.

SOLICITATION (Doug, January 2009)
As seasons shift from pole to pole
'Cross our revolving earth
We let them symbolize life's growth,
Its death, and then rebirth.
To show survival's not for just
The smart but for the boldest,
We've come to have the year begin
Just when the weather's coldest.
And thus, here is the news for which
I know we've all been hopin':
The poem contest on Mormon-L
For 20-ought-9's now open.

(followed up by Ron, January 2009)
The consistent Gardner is right on time
reminding us about this year's rhymes.
He prays ought nine be fraught with aught,
But frets it may be too much of naught?

UNAWARE (Scott on his birthday, January 2009)
The light of the night shadows ov'r the sun.
The darkness of days spares not even one.

We miss in plain sight -- and not discerning --
Seeking what we're un-knowingly yearning.

It was . . . never lost, but always right there,
We find deep inside that -- now -- we're aware.

VARIATIONS ON A THEME OF THE BOYS OF UTAH (Ron, January 2009 after the University of Utah's American football team defeated BYU, won the Cotton Bowl, and ended an undefeated season, somewhat to the surprise of many members of the press)

Ode To Barry Switzer, Bryant Gumbel and assorted BCS Bigshots
Oh we are the boys of Utah
and, we don’t mean to raise a fuss
but, we don’t give a damn
for any damn man
that don’t give a damn for us!
E pluribus unum
we certainly are
Ah BYU
Ahhhh Utah
Ahhhh perfection! Thrice!!!

OPENING DAY (Doug, January 2009)
As seasons shift from pole to pole
'Cross our revolving earth
We let them symbolize life's growth,
Its death, and then rebirth.
To show survival's not for just
The smart but for the boldest,
We've come to have the year begin
Just when the weather's coldest.
And thus, here is the news for which
I know we've all been hopin':
The poem contest on Mormon-L
For 20-ought-9's now open.

WITH APOLGIES TO MRS. MALAPROP (Ron, December 2008)

As our list's literati wax overwrought
about mindlessly subbing "aught" for "ought"
let them too send a sniff or two to those
who can't tell from a knows, no's or nose

Also scorn them who couldn’ give two hoots
if the word they intended is routes, routs or roots.
And, never wonder if its Avian flew, flue or flu
that brings on last rights, wrights or rites? Like you?

Fuggedabowd variants of deess, dem and doze
And, hie, hi and high? Gawd only knows?
Such word-mangling mavens of the malapropos
are nothing if not purveyors of aughtnaughty no-no's

A Haiku (actually a senryu by Scott Vanatter, October 2008)
old men sit alone
laughter of children outside
the sound not reaching

#The FARMS/FAIR Algorithm (Tim Heaton, July 2008)

if (evidence irrelevant to Mormonism) then
    if (evidence supports the hypothesis) then
       accept the hypothesis
    else
       reject the hypothesis
    end if
else if (evidence supports Mormon position) then
    if (evidence too good to be true) and (some evidence is contrary)
then
       proceed with caution
    else
       accept the evidence as proof of Mormonism
    end if
else if (evidence disproves Mormon position) then
    if (evidence is undeniable) then
       modify Mormon position to fit the evidence
    else
       dismiss the evidence as irrelevant
    end if
end if

shorter version of the same algorithm runs as follows:

Set Mormonism = True

SILENT SOUND (Scott L. Vanatter,September 26, 2008)
(Poem for Lee Allen for her 80th birthday: Sister, Mother, Mother-in-law, Grandmother, and Great Grandmother.)

I.
Her wisdom's words ­ spoken long ago, but now fully quieted --
Still sound in our ears, pointing out the way.

II.
The binding power of her love's selfless acts ­ given for so long, but now all bound up --
Still echo in our hearts, blessing us today.

III.
In all our days of need she was always there for us.
Now she's just . . . there.

In all her days alone she sits there silently -- without us.
Soon we'll be there.

For now, her communication is
Soundless and unspoken,
Dulled, muted, and verbally stifled
Till that Great Day when all none shall be voiceless.

IV.
Sitting all by herself, with Heaven alone looking down on her -- and into her soul,
She stares out the window,
Alone again.

Now together with her again,
Sometimes she stares blankly straight ahead, but then in a moment, straight into our eyes.
We sit with and talk to and walk with her ­ looking back deep into  her eyes and heart.

Too infrequently, the silent sound is
Broken with a Hello or a (heart-rending) Goodbye,
Punctuated with an occasional giggle or laugh,
Or is pierced with an audible (sacred), "I love you."

V.
Now, when she speaks, jumbled syllables escape her lips.
But she, though hushed to less than a whisper,
Speaks louder than a thousand pictures.

VI.
Staring out into our world -- but elegantly pondering alone there in her own,
I imagine that she hears the faint inklings of the sounds and wonderment of Eternity
Which, unknown to her outer self, speaks to her an inner satisfaction and joy.
Though her expressions no longer find voice, ever longer will they touch us.
Ever will her smothered, speechless silence sound in our souls.
Ever let us remember and love and cherish her -- and her everlasting impact on us.

LAMENTATION (Gail Porritt July 2008, probably written earlier)
(With apologies to Brother Eliot)

I can never go home again,
For home isn’t there anymore.
Everything has changed;
Changed forever, and forever.
 
The Poet has seen it,
The past as a mean sleep.
For nothing is as before,
Nor shall be again.
 
The eyes of my past lie parched upon the barren earth,
Of no use but to babes to play their tedious games.
It is the child who returns again and again,
To review the scattered dry bones again and again.
Breathing the hope of the Infallible Garden,
as they review the discarded withered seeds, again and again.
 
And they partake of the bones,
And they drink of the sand.
 
Look not to me to turn again,
Tho I lament that which is lost,
Again and again.

(Same sentiment and author as above) 
I will never go home, I cannot go home;               
But I envy the simple solution.
The simple, simple solution;
Where answers are free or need not be,
Or the questions must never be spoken.
 
“Just walk in the dark and follow thee me,
I’ll take you where you should be.
Just sit on the train and pay me the fare,
I’ll wake you when we are there.”
 
We sing the songs that make us belong,
Tho they’re words without conviction.
They touch our hearts on the surface parts,
Tho the inner is cast in tradition.

TECHNETIUM (Kristy, in October 2003, after professing not to know why or with what her spell-checker had replaced "technician" and receiving the explanation (with obvious metaphoric overtones) that technetium is "a synthetic element with no known stable isotopes. It's an oddity since it's not a transuranic element, but sits in the middle of the periodic chart surrounded by well-behaved elements with stable isotopes."

The things you learn on Mormon-l
but wouldn't there, if I could spell.

MY LOVE (inspired by the similes of the Song of Solomon)
Your neck is like an ivory tower,
And I could climb it by the hour
For wreathing 'round that sturdy throat's
A hairdo like a flock of goats.
Your belly's like a pile of wheat,
A bushel, maybe two.
You smell of all that's good to eat,
And flowers not a few.
Are those twin roes perched on your chest?
Less hairy is a grape-like breast.
Down in the valley . . . [skip the rest
of this line-- be with patience blessed.]
Your eyes are soft as dung of dove--
No wonder that I love my Love.


FROM KOLOB
Oh, I hied to Kolob one twinkling,
With a question, but did I dare ask it?
"Of God's origins why have we no inkling?"
So they loaded me in this hand-basket.

"Wait! Our prophet Gordon has hinted
Dingy men do well just to be saved."
Then with bootmarks my back was imprinted.
And I rolled down a road that's well paved.


EXALT YOURSELF
Some say, "Just say 'I'm saved' and then
your future's hunky-dory."
But they don't know God's plan for them;
They've just heard half the story.
Yes, they'll be saved, but when that's done,
To be an angel is no fun.
Salvation goes to everyone--
To get it is no glory.

Exalt yourself, exalt yourself,
Work hard, and you'll deserve it.
Although the law can't save you,
You know you must observe it.
Do everything the brethren say,
And much more! Now! Without delay!
You'll lift yourself at the last day.
Your throne awaits-- reserve it.

COVENANTS, CONTACTS, BONDS . . .

With fear and with trembling I dreamed of a life in which
Ties of my youth would all end.
Then somebody told me the thing I should do
Was to look at verse 7 in 132
(of the Doctrine & Covenants, oft thought to be true).
"Don't worry," he told me, "unless they've been sealed to you
None can remain as your friend."

GIRL'S CAMP
He sounds like Brigham when he prays:
He's our Bishop!
He loves us all in many ways:
He's our Bishop!
He's bright, he bathes, he stands erect,
He's anatomically correct.
How do I know that? Oh, my heck!!
But he's our bishop!

From Kristy Sumner
I read the book, while on a train
and will not, would not, read again--
I did not think the thing inspired:
your 'ask sincerely' line is tired.
And so am I, so let me be.
I do not like the book you see.
I do not like it, Elder Sam.
I won't convert, so please, just scram.

"PROSPECTIVE MEMBERS"
The elder must knock on each door--
Of privacy he's no respecter--
Until every member can act
As an investigator detector.
Yes, the members can show "them"
There's no place to hide--
"They" can't 'scape our clutches
By cowering inside--
The member who once
Went along for the ride
Is now a "New Member Prospector."

THE WILD TEACHER

I've been on the bishopric, High Council too.
I thought I'd make Seventy 'fore I was through.
But then the Stake President walked through the door,
Saying, "This man should never teach doctrine no more."

Chorus:
And it's no, nay, never. No, nay, never, no more
Will I ever teach doctrine. No, never, no more

To keep myself humble ere I'd gone too far,
I went to Primary to teach CTR.
The sweet little spirits would crowd 'round my knee,
To learn how to grow up to be just like me.

I taught them that Jesus reigns throughout all space
Not ruling by fear, but depending on grace.
He built many mansions for us to dwell in,
And gave up His own life to save us from sin.

The dear children listened, and what did they do?
They took up shoplifting-- and cigarettes, too!
When their parents caught them, what did the kids say?
"Our Primary teacher taught 'Sinning's okay!'"

I know that the library's quite a nice place,
And leading the singing is far from disgrace.
And passing out hymnbooks is within my reach,
As long as I never endeavor to teach.

Chorus:
And it's no, nay, never. No, nay, never, no more
Will I ever teach doctrine. No, never, no more

HANDS ACROSS THE AGES
In May 2003 RBS asked how "we of a certain age" could benefit from the brethren's attempt to phase out the right-hand rule for taking the sacrament.

No more pain, no more sorrow,
You'll rise in that bright tomorrow
Resting there in Beulah Land
And worshipping with either hand.

But ere they lay you on the shelf
Cease to think just of yourself--
Help your sisters and your brothers
Spread this truth to all the others:

"The dextrous and the sinister
Were made alike by God.
They both are raised in humble prayer;
Both grasp the iron rod.
The tokens on both sides are blessed.
But please don't drop them on your chest."

HINCKLEY MOTRIX CENTER
Speaking of the Eagles, Kristy Sumner wrote: "When someone else suggested Hotel California, this was my response. (It might also help to know that a Matrix fan on that list coined the term Mo-trix to refer to the Mormon corridor.)"

Dead Legacy highway
salt wind in my hair
egg-stench off of Ensign
rising up through the air
up ahead in the distance
I saw a temple a-light
my eyes grew foggy and my heart grew numb
while the inversion held tight
then from the new conference center
I heard the chorus swell
and I was thinking to myself
this can't be heaven
so it must be hell
then they lit up Moroni
just to show me the way
there were voices in the plaza outside
I thought I heard them say:

Welcome to the Hinckley Motrix Center
such a spotless space (better wash your face)
a great and spacious place
Plenty of room, at the Hinckley Motrix Center
any time of year (it's the same all year)
you can find *it* here

All minds are ordered and straight here
all revelations end
drop the circles of fellowship
and touch no friend
Don't bathe in the plaza
Don't smoke on the lawn.
Keep your earrings down to two, or less
and keep your white shirt on.

So, I called up the tour guide
and said, "Please show me the gate"
and he said, "We haven't had the keys to those
since eighteen sixty-eight."
And still those voices are calling
from far away
Wake you up in the middle of a talk
just to hear them say:

Welcome to the Hinckley Motrix Center
such a spotless space (better wash your face)
a great and spacious place
Plenty of room, at the Hinckley Motrix Center
any time of year (it's the same all year)
you can find *it* here

Eyes that blink on ceilings
the pink champagne all packed
and she said, "We are all just prisoners here
since the Borg attacked."
and in the Holy chamber
they sit to wrest the law
they wrangle and they politic
but they just can't solve the flaw

The last thing I remember
I was running for the coast
I had to try to make it back
to the place they hid the ghost

"Relax," said security.
"We are programmed to believe.
You can take the red pill any time you like
but you can never leave."