Great Views

And we, ourselves, also, through the infinite goodness of God, and the manifestations of his Spirit, have great views of that which is to come; and were it expedient, we could prophesy of all things.
Mosiah 5:3

The telescopes of scientists that scan the heavens vast

can't compare with views the saints are able to forecast.

For when a righteous spirit guides the use of mortal sight

nothing is withheld that can be true and pure and bright.

Moses' visions, Lehi's dreams, are not beyond the ken

of humble searchers among all the race of saintly men.

Great views are not restricted to a preordained cartel,

but all can prophesy when with the Lord they choose to dwell.

Verses from Headlines in the Washington Post -- ‘Juliet and Romeo’: Newly unearthed text suggests how Milton might have edited Shakespeare -- Transportation Secretary Elaine Chao faces investigation over ‘troubling’ ethics allegations -- As Trump prepares big push on homelessness, White House floats new role for police.

I'm afraid I find it hard

reading Avon's noted Bard.

Such ripe language ain't for me;

it gives my brain perplexity.

Make his plays some novels graphic

and he's bound to get more traffic.

Until then lip service is

all I'll pay that English whiz. 

***************************

What's the matter, anyhow,

with that Secretary Chao?

Don't she know the right from wrong;

do we have to beat a gong

so attention she will pay

to the fact that she does stray

from the path of virtue by

giving mom and dad some pie?

Let's play fair, O Ms. Elaine,

letting others bid for gain!

****************************************

Remember cops from Hollywood

who patrolled the neighborhood

and when finding hobos on

park benches at chilly dawn

used their billy clubs to beat

on the hobo's freezing feet

to encourage them to find

someplace else to park their hind?

Now today Trump thinks the cops

will improve their brutal ops

with a loving touch to those

with no home, in ragged clothes.

I'll believe such raw malark

when farm chickens start to bark.

And crows are fatted with the murrion flock

As in revenge, have suck'd up from the sea
Contagious fogs; which falling in the land
Have every pelting river made so proud
That they have overborne their continents:
The ox hath therefore stretch'd his yoke in vain,
The ploughman lost his sweat, and the green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attain'd a beard;
The fold stands empty in the drowned field,
And crows are fatted with the murrion flock . . .

Midsummer Night's Dream. Act One. Scene One.

I noticed something funny with the weather late last spring when the tumbleweeds grew froward. One knocked on my back door, asking for a handout. When I told it to chop me a cord of wood for the stove and I would give it a cup of broth and a stale cheese rind it made a ferocious sound, something between a Bronx cheer and a fog horn, and then rolled away.

Instead of coming back from the South, the migrated birds had a troop of frowzy sparrows hang For Rent signs on their old but sturdy nests. There were no takers, and large yellow wasps moved in, squatting in angry squalor. It took a SWAT team ten hours to smoke them out and escort them down to Guantanamo. 

That's when all the clouds in the sky started looking like Pennywise the Clown. And it rained every time someone mentioned the name "Morey Amsterdam." In fact, it ONLY rained when Morey Amsterdam's name was mentioned, and so there were long periods of drought followed by tremendous flash floods whenever the Dick Van Dyke Show had a run on Netflix. 

The glaciers in Greenland went on strike; they simply refused to stay frozen and flowed away into sinkholes, leaving behind walrus tusks and flint arrowheads that were stamped "Hecho en Mexico."

The final indignity came when a typhoon formed over Nebraska and wouldn't budge for six months. They named it Hector and were at a loss to explain why it whipped corn stalks into the air which then landed miles away transformed into parking meters -- they were quite heavy and injured a number of corn chandlers who were too dumb to get out of the rain. By the time the storm finally cleared everyone had forgotten where it happened (this was Nebraska, remember) and Disney made a movie about it that took place in Nova Scotia.

And that's when I realized that global warming was no joke, just as Shakespeare had centuries ago. 

(This piece of nonsense is dedicated to John Schwartz, of the New York Times.)

Peace of Conscience

. . . and they were filled with joy, having received a remission of their sins, and having peace of conscience, because of the exceeding faith which they had in Jesus Christ who should come . . .
Alma  4:3 

Peace and joy, the legacy of those with faith in Christ;

his milk and honey overflow and so remain unpriced.

Forgiveness, grace, and mercy are the consequence of love

and trust in Jesus Christ --  who is our Master from above.

Give thanks the Bread of Life has come, to offer up his flesh

for all who do believe in him that they may start afresh.

I Come From Broken Lands.

I come from broken lands. From lands where fish can walk and birds build nests under the water, from which they hatch stinging centipedes. It is a land filled with hot dry rocks and surly mud. My beloved grandfather is buried in a rusted green oil drum at the edge of a stream that runs black in the winter and red in the summer. The trees drip a sour gum that eats holes in hats and shoes.
I come from broken lands and have left them behind to find out what it means not to be broken. To care again about wholesome streets and gainful relaxation. To look through clean windows. To watch children smile.
And I am stopped  by you, a man in a brown uniform. A gatekeeper at a blue portal. Blue is the color of the ocean, of turning around to say goodbye to fear. And brown is not a bad color for a man who must be hard sometimes. Whose eyes reflect the color of disturbed sand. You will not beat me, though you will not like me much either. I think it was you who left the speckled banana on the bench next to me when I fell asleep.
I fell asleep because I was exhausted with all the questions and all the lines to fill in on all the forms that came in pastel green and pink and yellow. And I don't know your language very well. We read it in books at school but it seemed like the sound of stormy water slapping at slimy cliffs to us. Your words are cold and harsh, like your winters to the north. I do not enjoy using them. 
But you in your stiff brown uniform and your stiff brown language are now my captor -- and maybe my captive, too. It's hard to tell sometimes. I hear you laugh down the hall, the cracked linoleum floor carrying your delight in something or other up the hall to me. And I am made aware of my insignificance to you. But then your inflexible boots march towards me and there is a moment when you want to ask me something, maybe beg me for something. What could it be? I can't know, not under these circumstances. You have a night stick in your belt, but it has never been used -- it is shoe shine bright. And I understand you must wear a mask in my presence. A muzzle that I put there. 
If I ever escape into your unbroken lands I will plant chives to your memory. I respect your sad dream-killing duties. But I think maybe my living dreams are going to be stronger than your dead duties. 

(Inspired by the NYT article "People Actively Hate Us": Inside the Border Patrol's Morale Crisis. by Fernandez, Jordan, Dickerson, and Kanno-Youngs.)

‘

My Obituary

When off this mortal coil I shuffle

let no one ever start to snuffle;

write my obit with some verve

(and not about what I deserve.)

The jokes, the gags, the lousy poems -- 

my antipathy to garden gnomes.

Let all my quirks and follies shine

as to the sod I realign;

so I can summon one more laugh

once the Lord has pulled the gaff.

Verses from Headlines in today's Washington Post ** Commode caper: Someone steals solid-gold toilet — once offered to Trump White House — from British palace ** A teen told the restaurant he had a dairy allergy. Then his birthday meal killed him. ** Hong Kong police disperse protesters with tear gas and water cannon, stinging blue dye in 15th weekend of unrest.

It must be really really cold

to sit upon a toilet gold.

No wonder House of Windsor folk

look like they can't take a joke.

@siobhan_ogrady

****************************

I never saw a chophouse yet

that didn't make my gut upset.

It's not the food that gives me grippe,

but how much they want for a tip!

@AlexHortonTX

**************************

Spending weekends in Hong Kong

for vacations now is wrong.

 Unless, of course, you like tear gas

and water cannons you can't pass.

If that's the case, feel free to stay

for masochistic holiday!

@ShibaniMahtani

Awake unto God

. . . he awakened them out of a deep sleep, and they awoke unto God.
Alma 5:7

The world may think it's wide awake, but such is not the case.

The world with all its people is insensible to grace.

In slumber deep the Earth revolves, a somnolent blue ball --

until the Lord in glory issues his own wake up call.

He issues it through you and me; we cannot shun the fight.

We must proclaim the Gospel to dispel the gloom of night.

By word and deed, in rain or shine, let ev'ry Saint rejoice

and share the gladsome tidings with a persevering voice!

Verses from Headlines in the Washington Post * Patients who bought a doctor’s Botox services on Groupon got phony injections, officials say * This igloo-themed hotel is set to open at the North Pole — for $100,000 per person. * Trump uttered what many supporters consider blasphemy. Here’s why most will probably forgive him.

I filled my face with Botox; now it's silky as can be.

In fact I look like a balloon, all shiny and hair-free.

And so I paid for shots galore, in arms and legs and back;

my body has begun to sag like empty gunnysack.

My doctor, as it turns out, got his license in the gutter;

instead of Botox all his shots were Jiffy peanut butter!

@KnowlesHannah

********************************

I wonder how old Santa can afford to live on ice,

since North Pole rental properties come with a hefty price.

He ought to try Airbnb to make a little cash,

in case his hedge fund savings ever really go to smash.

It can't be cheap to hire elves and house them, plus reindeer

will eat you out of house and home despite the best good cheer.

Perhaps our jolly sleigh rider will have to float a loan

to make sure this year's Holiday he won't have to postpone!

@bellwak

*********************************

When our president doth take the name of God in vain,

I'm sure it causes heaven lots of heavy hearted pain.

But heaven is forgiving, as are voters nowadays;

they do not care a fig about the Donald's sinful ways.

They like his heedless deviltry; it makes them feel secure

that they can lead the good life, too, by wading in manure.

@JulieZauzmer 

Their hearts had been changed

. . . and they did all declare unto the people the selfsame thing—that their hearts had been changed; that they had no more desire to do evil.
Alma 19:33

The heart of man is deep and mixed;

tis filled with contradictions.

Who can plumb its depths aright,

and lay bare its convictions?

Christ alone unlocks the heart

to take benign possession;

He collects no tribute mean

but comes to bless and freshen.

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