Mormon-L Sonnet, Limerick and Hymn Parody Contest

Sonnets

TEMPLE PRAYER (Doug, November 2009)
Each day he stands there--lifts his voice to call
Upon his God to raise a mighty hand
And bring real peace, at last, to all the land.
Success? "No--it's like talking to a wall."
Rejected once again, but on the whole
She knew her fault--and could she once forget?
Her skills and interview were great ... and yet
Her name was not found on the temple's roll.
When storms and quakes destroy the neighborhood,
When dread diseases send our friends to Hell,
When terror wreaks destruction everywhere,
We know our homes and families will be good,
Both earth and heaven will treat our loved ones well
Because we asked for that in mighty prayer.



PRIESTHOOD PIGS (Doug, November 2009)
The world is blessed with varied womankind
In sizes, shapes, and attitudes as well.
One need but look around to quickly find
More differences than fourteen lines could tell.
Many put their children in first place;
Many hold fast to their marital vows;
Many live to bless the human race;
And very few are just hormonal cows.
The last have the idea beneath their wigs
That there's no honest man they can recall,
But just those who insult with subtle digs.
Since she who pisseth not against a wall
Cannot be thought of as a priest at all,
Aaronic and Melchizedek all are pigs.



MARRIAGE PENALTY (Doug, March 2009)
Let me not to the marriage of two kinds
Admit impediment; love is not love
That, if it have full sanction from above,
Would care whate'er the tax collector finds.
But when it comes to same-sexed love, alas,
There is no moral choice but to impede.
Such unions will produce no worthy seed,
And, unlike DOMA, must not come to pass.
Oh, no! It is a thing we must condemn.
For, though the constitution seems to say
That all are equal in the light of day,
What is a "right" for us is wrong for them.
Companionship, support--there is no doubt
They're nice, but sex is what it's all about.



OR JUST CHUCK IT (Andrew Motion, October 2008)
(possibly a pseudonym--in any case, his point is that the difference between limericks and sonnets is slight)
A young man in Nantucket plied his trade
Who had a growth enormous in his pants
Which he did practice ever to enhance,
But 'twas beyond his skill to bed a maid.
With oral application he did try
To give that rampant member sweet relief
But all his practice only added grief,
For still no maid would e'er allow him nigh.
"Alas," quoth he, "this doth engorge my fear
That should a maid perchance my strength espy
She would my aspiration quite deny
And only tell me, 'Thrust it in your ear.'"
And so he thought, "At least I am still free
To fashion from distress good poetry."



THE MORNING BREAKS (October 2008)
"The morning breaks, the shadows flee," they say
But when the sun is up and I look down
There is no lack of shadows gathered round;
There, bold and dark they stream across the clay.
The shadows shorten as the sun grows high
And at midday they reach a smaller size.
In afternoons the law of growth applies
And surely they stretch out when evening's nigh.
And have we seen the last of error's way?
Is foolish tradition gone for good,
Or are new truths, like old, misunderstood?
Shades shrink or spread or fade, but always stay.
They say the morning breaks, the shadows flee.
Come, all you shadows, gather unto me.



ON THE OPENING OF WINGNUTZ (September 2008)

Man cannot live by bread alone. He shops
For pickles and pastrami, condiments
To give his loaf a flavor more intense.
And then that brew of barley malt and hops
Enlivens both his sandwich and his soul.
It lifts him from the drudgery of days,
Provides him with a subject fit for praise
And turns a partial life into a whole.
We're told (by way of greeting, not command)
That drunkenness could be a thing to fear
(Those words, in wisdom, didn't mention beer
Till someone's prophecy got out of hand).
A microbrewery is a dangerous thing;
Drink deep, or touch not that Empyrean spring.



DA VINCI CODE (May 2004)
They talk of Jesus as a perfect man
Too pure to kiss, much less to lay, a broad.
But don't you think that sounds a little odd
For one who says that LOVE fulfills God's plan?
That Mary chick will always hang around
And rub his feet to draw his mind away
From the important things men have to say
To give his gospel more substantial ground.
She says she does all things her master bids:
"He asks; I don't consider, I just do!'
From that alone we can assume it's true
That she bore all those Merovingian kids.
Ignore that pack of lies told by the church;
Believe it and you'll be left in the lurch.





PROMOTING FAITH
(Kristy Sumner, September 2003)
Shall I promote that which I do not own?
Convictions that would send me over walls
of ancient cities, set to cast a stone,
or into streets where some poor sinner falls
too drunk to know that reckoning has come,
do not ignite my breast to furtive action;
no visions call me from my humble home
to label lives of others worth retraction.
I am a minstrel gods dare not employ.
Some translate spirit sans a thought or care.
Such self-assurance I do not enjoy
I've no inspired definitives to share
for whispers such as seem to come from spheres
above our own are garbled in my ears.



MY NEIGHBOR?
Love your neighbor like yourself, you said.
Should I repent, then, for my neighbor's sin?
Unless he loses big, how can I win?
Next thing you know, I'll have to share my bread.
Good Lord! Just think what kind of world we've got:
Each one must bear the burden for his own
Where self-reliance is the general tone.
Are neighbors' needs my business? They are not!
I passed a neighbor once, down on his luck
And knees, no doubt brought down by too much booze.
I said "Repent!" then dusted off my shoes;
I knew he'd rather fester in that muck.
No time to waste on that unruly mob--
Just saving my own soul's a full-time job.



SMARTGROUPS MAINTENANCE
My discontent is obvious from my look:
I'm isolated-- still-- from Mormon-L.
My wife suggests it's time to read a book.
"Perhaps the scriptures, dear!" (I think, "Yeah, swell.")
All is dark and void in SmartGroups' bin.
I check, and check again-- but nothing's there.
Then finally a few posts dribble in,
Not "good," or even "average;" maybe "fair."
I grumble then that "What's not fair is foul,"
And still suspect I didn't get it all.
So-- the mail comes in a few days late;
I scratch my head, and maybe curse or howl.
I speak of "server" problems, then recall
They also serve that only sit and wait.



THY CHOICEST BLESSINGS
We love the prophet by whom we are led
In righteous ways to do the works of God.
And we are sure thou canst not think it odd
We pray thy choicest blessings on his head.
Apostles, Seventies-- a mighty host
Spreads out across this world to do thy will
Rewarding which, thou'lt give to them, we feel,
The blessings they deserve, choicer than most.
In every stake, ward, branch we hear thy voice
Through bishops, presidents-- great men, as such--
As their reward we think it not too much
To ask for them some blessings that are choice.
And for the rest-- the rude, unwashed, and rough--
Thy love and life with thee should be enough.