"amish" poems
An Amish elder named Mullet,
And some of his ****** clan,
bore hatred deep in their gullets
for their Amish fellow man.
****** seemed out of the question,
It’s rare among Amish, folks say,
(It may be that a horse and a carriage
doesn’t make for a quick getaway.)
So Mullet and some of his minions
Invented a new sort of crime:
Shaving their bearded opponents
one Amish man at a time.
Losing one’s beard among Amish-
A disgrace before God, it’s been said.
Mullet spared no woman either
choping the hair from their heads.
His victims are speechless with anger,
denuded of both beards and hair.
Leave it to someone named “Mullet”
To offend using a Barber’s chair.
Mullet’s in Federal custody;
charged with a crime, not a sin.
He refuses to answer the charges
By the hair of his chinny chin chin.
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 8:29 PM UTC
A drugstore pallid in waning light, always illuminated in halogen halos.
I am earless with music.
Black metal loud in clanging sets and blows-
foreshadowing the smell of cleaning solution,
air freshener and the outside
sweet at my back
all steeped deep in the rip roaring undertone torrent of cigarette smoke
blended with cheap perfume until I cannot tell the difference.
There is a limp familiarity to the underlying odor
born partially of personal encounter and-
nestled in the hive mind of social experience.
A distillation of regret and remorse,
of lonely,
of irrelevance;
this black hole swallows my voice the way of my ears,
eaten by rust.
Four cans of beans,
kidneys,
in cans squeezed without any power against sagging swells
melting into other curves
and I swerve close and around guiltily,
noting you only as the source of this pungent spring.
You are smiling apologies
ignorant of my apparent inhumanity-
blind to my selfish hands..
Pinioning belly flesh,
flattening,
reaching
and gaining attendance from a better man
retrieving every dropped can.
I’m retreating,
shaken,
tense to alternatively slacken.
My sweat slippery palms with whitened red sharp fingers feel foreign
and I am surrounded by razors then shaving cream,
moving from shampoo to conditioner,
the whole store is infected with smell.
Staring at nail clippers/snipers clipping touch smooth sooth my tense mind-
don’t look
**don’t
look**
I can sense little else but dread
drawing closer
you are now crouched so close I’m gagging,
taken forcefully-swept away in an olfactory flood
roiling in rot,
currents of solitude exude from your smiling sullen appearance when I turn to you
fumbling
with my electric ears,
surfacing
in a breath of Amish silence
broken with simple request
and I want to scream at you that I am not a man to ask opinions of
that it does not matter what fake nails she glues to her body
that she is excluded and I don’t know why.
I choose swirls of cream suspended within watery milk,
over childish lady bugs framed by yellow
or dots of red alternating to black,
an epitaph to a lifelike effigy.
Dec 10, 2010
Dec 10, 2010 at 1:42 AM UTC
In summers past, hot and hazy,
we wandered northern shorelines,
sand whipping salt brine and
vinegar enveloped, marveling that
even the Amish possess swimwear.
I lingered at the taffy shop,
toe-raised peering through smudged
glass and candy bins, spying
both worker and robo-worker
pulling long tough ropes of
salty confection and memory.
Our time on the path is pulled taffy,
event-pummeled, tugged asunder,
reunited bittersweet.
baked boardwalk beneath feet,
cobbled personality planks
stretching taffy of time
In summers past I was there.
In summers present i am there.
In summers beyond we are back
there once again
folded and kneaded
smiling, reunited.
This is the back-end of forever,
yet do not fear;
the dying of the light
is the dawning of the dusk:
a wheel that we spin,
a point that we traverse,
a keeping of a promise,
a memory of a scent,
a vision of disorder,
and the chaos in the calm.
Cower.
Rejoice.
Repeat.
Amen.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
I'm so tired O,
tell me a man would sleep
til dinner time.
Tell me a woman would sleep
til tea.
But I shan't be able to sleep
past the sunrise, no.
Not as long as the water is wet;
so long as it sits in the sea.
D'ud'r de amish kam ihkazee.
De darken'd cam-ami'zeen.
All running over the inset pain relieving incantations.
Through the traces of several places
as we crawl into the stove.
Half alive, half steryl
like the pages of a magazine.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 12:51 PM UTC
.
"That there Is'belle's house stinks wunderful turr'ble,"croaked Emma Beiler at their quilting bee.
"Jah...vell," sighed Rosanna Yoder. "All them there katzes , ain't so?"
Accordingly the two ladies set out to pay Travis and Isabella Salter a visit, only to be politely told that they had were in the process of taking some cats to a local shelter.
Two weeks passed and to the Amish folks' disgust the odour had merely intensified.
"Them there Englisch are chust liars!" Potato Sam spat the words out along with a *** of chewing tobacco.
" Ach, vell," sighed his wife Rosanna, unaware of her heavily sweating underarms. The Ordnung strictly forbade deodorant as well as perfume. "Reckon I best mosey over and see fur myself."
Travis opened the door with a tired sigh.
'Chust thought I'de ask vhat fur stinks yer house up so vonderful tur'ble...Izzy tells us youse gettin' rid of them but-"
A puzzled look crossed Travis weary face as he glanced toward the kitchen. Irritation gripped him, not lessened as Rosanna glowered at Tabby washing her face on the couch. Then a waft of a familiar scent, overpowering, drifted toward him from the kitchen. Brussel sprouts enhanced by -.
With all the stress, Isabelle was increasing her calming herbs, mixing the powders.... Valerian?
"Good evening, Mrs. Yoder." He motioned her toward the door, locking it firmly behind her. For a long time after she was gone he stood staring out the window.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 1:39 AM UTC
lost in a maze of gazes;
lured
to the pool by the sound; Sondheim
sung badly in a nasal twang;
cught in her lace negligee one more time;
we give the old women the benefit
of the doubtful proposition; if granny
wants to get tied
to on the bedpost - yet again;
the gallant refrain from that old song
is remade the kpop way & tuned in to
the drag subculture; everyone u know;
the prostitution used to be better; maybe
there were once better prostitutes, what
I can see is unpleasantly stink eyed; hos
used to have class before they could
switch genders back & forth; that's some
millennial **** the first celebrity I ever
became aware of was Christine Jorgensen, from the newspaper story about a man who had surgery to turn himself into a woman; a patently impossible task; in the picture in the newspaper he had on a bouffant wig & big sequin ***** working as a showgirl in Vegas in its heyday, so she was already well-known; I always thought that bit of trivial information would come in handy one day: never did
Aug 12, 2018
Aug 12, 2018 at 7:22 PM UTC
Coming from your humble and holy
houses each morning bringing blessings, your lively and
cheerful "Good Morning!" sounds - all the power and energy
that a good life brings. Living by the light God gives you
every day, eschewing electricity,
and all of the worst that it brings with it,
teaching your children and loving your wives
with gentleness and devotion.
Ruben, Glen David, Marlin... did I spell these right?
I only heard your beautiful, traditional names in your own, clear, grounded voices,
as we began to know each other, while you travelled back
and forth, from bright and early each day, onto our ailing roof.
Tearing into four layers of old, sickly roofing tiles with your
wonderful vim and vigour, a healing began that went deep,
deeper every day, as we absorbed the precious fortune
of having you in our midst. Your chosen, Amish lives inspired
us, and still do, as we still, quite often, hear the echoes
of your footsteps above us, each one a prayer and an affirmation
of lives well-lived.
One fine afternoon, one of you stood straddling the very top of our
steep old roof line, and that image of a man mastering his craft,
invested in a life that blesses everyone he cares for,
and teaches by example, everyone he meets,
will stay with me for all of my days.
Dec 29, 2016
Dec 29, 2016 at 7:11 AM UTC
Dusk and dust envelop this intriguing Amish couple,
as she watches through the windshield of her parked car.
She's been observing sporadically for well on seven weeks,
as they've taken the old relic of a house
from disrepair to today's refurbished splendor.
It will be their home.
Away in the adjacent field, his straw hat barely visible,
an elder guides a team of Belgians five across
from the furrows of the tract toward the dying sunlight.
She follows them with her eyes, marveling their magnificence
and his unassuming control of their power.
They are the source of the dust.
Outside the house another Amish woman, perhaps
their mother, unhanging clothes, while a baby
plays upon a blanket on the ground. Black bonnet on her head,
flowing soft blue dress, and bib apron, she works
serenely as the sun melts warmly down the western sky,
leaving in its wake the dusk.
Dwindling moments of a day that mark a turning point
for the young couple and their unseen spectator.
For them a place to make a loving home amongst
their brethren and for her a revelation in her life.
She's committed once again to love's entanglements.
Dusk and dust have claimed another.
Feb 25, 2012
Feb 25, 2012 at 4:16 AM UTC
I placed my bread to heat for just five seconds--
behold: when I came for it, it wasn't alone.
A mayfly had set up camp (so to speak)
with my wheat bread, my most favored
Amish-baked, sliced-before-my-own eyes bread;
and when I say it "set up camp," I do not
mean anything pleasant. I do mean six thin legs
sprawled long and broken when discovered
and perhaps some melted insides; who's to say?
Something turned inside of me and I'm certain
I grimaced at least a little, and took my plate back,
thinking, disturbed just slightly. How had I not
seen the fly? It couldn't have touched the bread--poor thing--
just rested there, unknowing, to be slaughtered.
*"Mom...Mom...Ahh, uhh, Mom! Mom?"
(mother assesses circumstances, unceremoniously takes a napkin
to my victim, and introduces his corpse to the garbage)
"He probably wasn't in there when I...right?"
--"It probably was."
"But five seconds couldn't have killed him."
I know I am wrong
as I feel the warm grains of my prize.
(mother gives a long look and says...)
--"If it heated the bread, I'm sure it heated the bug."*
I took my bounty anyway--the bread, that is, mind you--
and went to eat it absentmindedly, but found that
now impossible. Sigh. I also found myself
staring, long and hard, then, at half of a piece
of glorious, Heaven-breathed wheat bread,
and suddenly realized that I could not discern
whether or not I was enjoying it. ******
And then I tried to reassure myself by chiding
inwardly, "You're just afraid of insects
irrationally," but maybe I actually
felt that the blood of an
innocent life was on
my hands.
*Why are they so stupid? I ask
no one really, fighting revulsion,
grasping for blame.*
Alas, I finished eating but felt rightly robbed
of some essential part of the experience.
Yet, such is life.
Mar 16, 2012
Mar 16, 2012 at 8:36 PM UTC
The journey through time
The railing that became mine
It was the Amtrak Broadway Limited experience
New York City to Chicago in endurance
Railing all the way
The Diesel engine and the passenger cars
A Diner aboard but had to go far
A journey into tomorrow
My story on morrow
Speeding through the Amish fields
One wave in the greetings deal
A nighttime approach
Sleeping good in my coach
Crossing flashing signal lights
The whole ride being a sight
In the distance Chicago stands tall
The Sears Tower being the observation for all
The train finally puts into Chicago Union Station
My 7 days vacation being the indication
I stepped off the train
Chicago is far from being plain
My return trip home to New York will be by train
My everlasting memories in what will remain.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 4:56 PM UTC
we're almost nowhere. just one more block...
the town clock a white dot with prayer hands and a mute halo
we inveigle the fireflies in our mantis
our mantras throw tantrums in tandem
we polish lanterns and leave chrysanthemums
for Amish sirens. your wine a thick miasma of phantasms
a Cabernet of rich spasms in the delicate worm
your apple turns.
off again and another alabaster more pale than actual...
the fat uvula pendulum in the dark tower
where the bats nap in ammonia, fuming with green dreams
that turn black the clock, behind the white solemn.
a virtual girl.
an un-promise promised
one hand over your heart
indivisible
halfway.
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 9:56 PM UTC
AN AMISH WEDDING
It’s a life I have always wanted to live
The Amish culture has so much to give
Close family bonds and a fondness for the old ways
No modern conveniences are used and are kept at bay
Horse and buggy take you where you need to go
Even on the coldest days as it starts to snow
A warm blanket is spread across your lap
The women always wearing their white prayer caps
They have no use for television, computers or cell phones
Fun for them is a singing at a location well known
The boys are on one side; the girls on the other
As curious eyes are kept on one another
When the singing is over pairs start to form
Talking outside while trying to stay warm
If a boy likes you, you are offered a ride
Sitting in his buggy very close to his side
You are courting now; soon to go steady
Marriage is published just as soon as you are ready
Planting celery in the garden is the next thing you must do
It’s the indication of a wedding where lives will start anew
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 2:12 AM UTC
Rare riddles are oft bittersweet,
a never ending search for poisonous feed,
sand greyish desert coloured ****
so many studies, not edible this seed?
Emeralds green in forrests deep,
sunken wood drifted apart and seep,
mortal words that never sleep,
in a city full of leaks.
cherished thoughts wandering celestial high,
whose orphans are these lost kids…sigh….
flickering fields, amish nigh;
shiverings on personal corpses,
numb of words, ah… stunts in shortest.
The words refused to be arranged as it must.
I lost my commands of the words, no, it’s no plus,
these words mock mankind as their playful lust,
sorry, now I can only say in the past tense:" Friends, 'twas....."
© SYLVIA FRANCES CHAN
Jun 3, 2015
Jun 3, 2015 at 8:23 AM UTC
There's a stranger at the door
Eyes are blurry and sunk to the floor
its the middle of the night and the noise causes fright
you open the door and fear what’s more
grabbed by the beard
assailed in the night
tribal lines feared
by the victims of tonight
They cut off my manhood
they cut off my might
Fanatic terrorism
Is the cult I must fight
But I would have rather died
sleep through the perils I’ve eyed
than to have this beard of mine cut
my manhood, my pride
This ego has fallen
by the hand of slandered, misguided pride
-Sam mullet must be tried
-sa fool that must be tried
When they stole my hair they stole my story
This beard was much more than identity allegory
They didn't steal it all though....
I escaped
To tell a story of fear in a horse and buggy ride
To alert the media and to simply confide
We never locked our doors before
you wondered “what violence” you s3nseless *****
Schism between the mainstream and Mullet
and the scissors cut/divide communities apart
like a cook does a cutlet
Never forget the scissors that took my bucket-list ,
TerrorEYEz; learned helplessness, cult leader...fuck-it-quick.
.fuck.youSamMullet.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
moonshine on the lawn
amish rocking chair, creaking listlessly in the white wind snapping
howls
murdering crows with a swallow
fists to barking dogs and the dead bark, we are the 99%
of deadness on trees
only you are the leaves and root tips and phloem that thrives under the weight of dead things
and death
Jun 29, 2014
Jun 29, 2014 at 5:41 PM UTC
Give me another sweetwater afternoon
That tastes of onion grass and birth
And doesn’t care where you take a leak,
Give me the safe and warm provincial air
Coming from the west like a beggar
on a box car,
Give me the humidity that blots out the June-day sun
While we think ***** thoughts
On my couch,
Give me the opportunity to exchange blows with Johnny Rebel up the street
And his grandday’s probably rolling
In his grave,
Give me the hicks I rolled with for laughs before they married too early
So they can ride around on bikes with me
Like we did when the world was ours,
Give me a couple more days in the acrid Juniata
So I can dive in its sloppy green body
With reckless abandon,
Give me fishhooks in my heel
So I can pull them from my nakedness
And get Amish-made whoopee pies after the tears stop,
Give me moss covered roofs and tons of **** in the backyard
And the idle lap of water beneath the trout-boat’s belly
While I tell myself I’m not a redneck to my sunburned chest and my open flannel.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
Miriam And Esther Were Chatting Over Tea One Day.
"My Daughter, Kate Likes To Laugh Too Much.
She Does Nod Behave As An Amish Should Behave."
Said Esther To Miriam.
Miriam Perked Up, Rather Good Naturedly.
"Ach, Vell, If Laughing Means I Am Nod Amish
Then I Guess You Can Put Me Im Der Bahn
Because I Do Nod Mind A Good Ole-Fashioned Joke
Now And Then."
Miriam Replied With A Smile.
~Marian~
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 1:12 AM UTC
He got up onstage lookin’ like somebody’d torn him out of a National Geographic special on the Amish, plunked ‘im down in Eugene for a decade where he quickly realized he didn’t have to change much to get along quite alright here.
this is a song ya know I played it here 23 years ago just right over there on that side of the room and ya know my partner and I played it here and I couldn’t write songs then and he could and I was a little bit down in the dumps about myself about it but then I moved on and ya know my partner left here not long after that got caught up in that hitchhiking business and then got tangled up with the mental hospital and now he’s forced to take antipsychotic drugs every day for a time he was known as the second most dangerous schizophrenic in the state of Oregon but ya know he was also probably the second most gentle person in the state of Oregon cause ya know opposites sometimes come together in that way and ya know his songs were gentle too like this one for example this one is real gentle
ya know he was really a gentle player and now he’s caught up on those antipsychotics and its all my fault cause I drank a bunch of *****
Hot Tub Jeff looked straight outta National Geographic but when he sat down he pulled out a phone and the screen glowed bright on his face bringing out all the creases that had been hidden in room’s putty atmosphere, cause ya know opposites sometimes come together in that way.
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 10:02 PM UTC
XD
If you offer Moses porkchops
And Ghandi t-bone steaks
An Amish woman lightbulbs
You have what it takes!
If fish ain't on the menu
For a Catholic's Friday meal
And you fast on a Fat Wednesday
You're the real deal!
If at a Mosque you're dancing
While they're bowing to the east
If you use a salad fork
To eat the main course feast
At Episcopal church functions
Then don't give a dime
At Joel Osteen's mega-church
Man, you're right on time!
Non-religious offenders
Really should unite!
Just do what comes naturally!
Don't give up the fight!
Far from being reverent
Take it one step more!
Diss ol' jolly Santa
While looting big box stores!
But watch the gays and lesbians!
Jokes we won't allow!
Or political gurus and women
*For those are sacred cows!*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 10/9/2013
Jul 21, 2015
Jul 21, 2015 at 2:52 AM UTC
I woke from revolving door dreams
Faces mixed by the illusion bartender
And stitched together by an Amish quilt master
The attention to detail, the intentional flaw
Her needle poked holes through my comfort and weaved me closer to the bodies of old lovers
I weigh out my guilt on a scale with the ashes of yet another "last cigarette"
And contemplate the linear fashion of myself
Then and here, here and now
Now there is a body upstairs,
Heated and dreaming between sheets
It is neither mine nor yours
But love has no figure, it simply just is.
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:16 AM UTC
I raise luck like the Amish raise a barn
With the help of good family and friends
Mar 3, 2012
Mar 3, 2012 at 11:34 AM UTC
I’ll mimic Matterhorn or the worn ways we window gaze and swipe left
or turn right on the green light of another cliche
If you swear gray is all the shades you’ll
put on lamps to match the grayscale duvet
Then catch me if you cat o’ nine tails
a swallowed whale,
We swear with chapped lips a waterworn promise
Maybe the Amish had it right and we’re a little bit snobbish.
I’ll Jack O’Lantern your etch-a-sketch erotica,
Not much scarier, these days, trick or treat.
Q-tips got your tongue? I’ll Question where you Came From 4 as long i Chan.
You don’t leave the house anymore except for groceries.
Catch me if you cat o’ nine tails
a swallowed whale,
Nineveh won’t wait, it’s time to break bread with danger and death.
Jan 17, 2021
Jan 17, 2021 at 11:55 PM UTC
I envy those that have never found themselves asking if they were alone.
To be Frank. I’d have to change my name.
Though if I’m being honest.
It terrifies me.
The thought of you feeling like I do.
Oct 5, 2020
Oct 5, 2020 at 5:40 PM UTC
I have lived in this area for the better part of my 66 years on this earth. Most years we have a garden. This year is no exception. Strange weather has taken it's toll on the plant life. I have never seen such a sorry growing season as this one. Squash and cucumber plants have all died!! Tomato plants are spindly, and most tomatoes rot before they can be harvested. We have to pick them green and let them ripen on the windowsill. The same for the pepper plants. Normally, at this time we have an abundance, and are able to share with neighbors. Not this year! The other day we went to a local Amish farm stand that we frequent. Their stand should be brimming full of produce. They had maybe 25% of normal. It was sobering, to say the least! They had no squash, as theirs also died. They didn't have much of anything. Their fields look as bad as our garden! The only crop that seems unaffected is the (most likely GMO) corn - which is doing great!
Flowers are faring no better. In years past there has been an abundance of butterflies, as we plant flowers that attract them. So far we have only seen one or two butterflies!!! The flowers that attract them are a sorry looking lot. We have an almond tree, which the local squirrel's enjoy in the fall. We noticed a frantic squirrel the other day, devouring the not yet ripe almonds. The way the plants are looking, this area will be blessed to have any vegetables or flowers left in August. No way will any make it until fall!
We have also noticed a return of buzzards. At our local park they are now everywhere again. They are not afraid of people or other animals. They will let a human get as close to three feet from them before they move away. So arrogant! They seem to know that they are soon to partake of a feast, as "where the carcass is, the vultures gather". So says Jesus. Walking our five dogs past them was rather creepy.
The local health department says bird flu is heading to this area by September. The Delmarva peninsula is home to many, many poultry farms - including Perdue, and supplies much of the mid- Atlantic and beyond, with poultry and eggs. It looks like we are heading into a fall/winter of shortages. I hope everyone has heeded the watchman's warnings - as if not - time is just about up!
I pray that each of the Lord's people will be able to endure to the end. May Lord Jesus bless all who are his!
Shalom, Dolores
Jul 28, 2015
Jul 28, 2015 at 9:55 PM UTC