A little something I wrote

I haven't written a poem in months, perhaps a year, but this came last night to me after reading a poem by Gloria Anzaldúa entitled "El sonavabitche." Fantastic poem and intriguing poet, by the way. Google her.

Anyway, that said I'm laying this out for you guys. Please be respectful. None of this "Oh that doesn't really happen." I don't mind constructive criticism, just don't be an dismissive ass. That's all I really care about. Also know I remain faithful to no form of poetry, so comments regarding to meter or rhyme will be ignored. Rhythm, progression and structure (to a degree), however, are important to me. I also have issues with changing tenses. Blogger also won't allow me to create the layout of the poem I want with indentations and the like (help?)

Also know I'm one of those perpetual editors. I don't consider this done but I feel it's good enough to publish.

Hope you like it.

PS: I don't plan on writing too much more about the church (I have to give myself some leeway). It's been fantastic these last few weeks giving it so little thought. This is not to say I've been divinely censured or I'm suddenly a fawning fan. I'm just not interested in getting myself riled up these days. It's given me peace and I've waited a long time for even a taste of it. I'm also seriously considering starting up a writing blog. Now that the semester is almost done and we're moving into a new house (and won't be able to renovate for at least a year), I'll have time to truly focus on my writing.

Oh--That reminds me. I've been published in print. You don't have to buy the book (I get no royalties anyway), but if you're interested please check it out on Writer's Bump. It's entitled "Trapped" and it's for anyone who has ever felt the need to be someone they aren't. Writer's Bump found me on Writing.Com (one of the Writer's Digest Top 100 writing sites) where I'm a preferred author.

/plug

For those who have emailed me or otherwise commented that my words on this blog echo their thoughts, I invite them to New Order Mormon.

Then again there's always StayLDS. I know The Faithful Dissident enjoys it very much. That site is for those who struggle with some doubts and dissensions but who want to remain faithful. The previous site mentioned deals with people who don't want to StayLDS necessarily. Those have a beef or three with the Church, but they stay for whatever reason (family, friends, spouse, tradition, confused, etc)

So the content of this blog may change. May be random. The politics will stay (the GOP gives me far too much fodder) but I hope you'll stick around. I've really enjoyed your company.

* * *

The Golden Convert
[Edited 5/20/09]


I may as well have come from my mama,
They said,
In an ankle length skirt and modest top,
Scriptures tucked under arm,
Chin high to heaven
To be led in the direction the Lord wants me to be:

Here,
The One and Only True Church of God on Earth.

The confirmation had come:
“This is where you need to be.”
“You're ready,”
They said

And I was

Eighteen and
enamored with her;

Eighteen and
Foaming for Independence;

So I went along
Willingly;
New friends and pats on the back,
Encouraged me along the way.

They told me
I am Golden,
I am Choice,
I once lived among the Noble and the Great.
I am Sarah.
I am Rachel.

But my lips never fully formed around
I Know This Church is True.

Yet I sacrificed
To cut the cord.
Sacrificed,
Because it feels good
To belong,
To be Right;
Feels good
For God to be indebted
To my obedience.

And so my god-in-the-making and I
Gritted our teeth.
Wrapped ourselves with spiritual dynamite
Ready to blow if we blew it,
We waited for marriage,
Too afraid
To disappoint.

We tried, we tried, we tried,
Sacrificing ten percent
of Everything,
And then some:
Our Time, Talents, and Everything with which the Lord has blessed us
--or will bless us
Each other
Ourselves
Our kids
We tried.

With one piercing in each ear,
We hung the Temple on the Mantle,
Repented for keeping one too many pennies,
Donned knee length garments
To cover sex
An expression of
The sting of peculiarity
For a God with no respect
Of Persons.

But more Alice Kramden than Donna Reed,
My Mustard Seed Faith suffered
Beneath a black thumb.

Now the kind faces of family and friends I love
Are watchful.
They are careful to avoid
Every Appearance of Evil
(Just like Jesus did)
As they whisper and lament
Of a soul
They know not.

So I sit in the closet reading of the
unnatural,
unholy, and
impure practices of oral sex,
Of a man and his fourteen year old brides,
Of the calls for death on the spot for
The White Man
who thrusts himself into a willing Black Woman.
Of choosing death over fornication,
Of the fear of Africans and Women and Homosexuals
Plunging the world straight to hell.
(I’m still waiting)
I learn of the imploring against
“petting,” and men working the little factory
in its off hours
To keep the Vessel of God
Pure and clean.

But, President:
I don't have wet dreams
Like you do.

As two men, worthiness of me decide
Recommend me
To be Eve, who
Veils herself when asked,
Gives him her New Name,
Covers herself, ashamed--
And Promises
To keep these pearls before unworthy swine,
Because The Church Will Not Be Mocked;
Promises
To Hearken unto Adam
as He Hearkens unto God.

But President,
I am not Eve,
And I did not marry Adam.
Don't you remember?

Master, the Tempest is Raging,
And my prayers have lead me here.
Is it well,
Or does God ignore pleas
And toy with a shattered heart?

"Sister,”
The solemn reply campaigns,
“Question not. Follow the Prophet’s refrain
For he will never lead you astray,
Listen to his words and obey.
Hearken not to thine own understanding,
Listen to his words and obey.
Submit and forget thyself,
Do not delay.
Listen to his words and obey."

Guthrie's "Jesus Christ"

Jesus Christ
Woody Guthrie, 1940

Jesus Christ was a man who traveled through the land
A hard-working man and brave
He said to the rich, "Give your money to the poor,"
But they laid Jesus Christ in His grave

Jesus was a man, a carpenter by hand
His followers true and brave
One dirty little coward called Judas Iscariot
Has laid Jesus Christ in His Grave

He went to the preacher, He went to the sheriff
He told them all the same
"Sell all of your jewelry and give it to the poor,"
And they laid Jesus Christ in His grave.

When Jesus come to town, all the working folks around
Believed what he did say
But the bankers and the preachers, they nailed Him on the cross,
And they laid Jesus Christ in his grave.

And the people held their breath when they heard about his death
Everybody wondered why
It was the big landlord and the soldiers that they hired
To nail Jesus Christ in the sky

This song was written in New York City
Of rich man, preacher, and slave
If Jesus was to preach what He preached in Galilee,
They would lay poor Jesus in His grave.


This is a reading for my American Lit class. It struck me, not because I thought I was the only one to come to such conclusions, but because so many have - indeed for so long. Though unoriginal, the sentiments are shared by many.