"gideon" poems
“What do you think
The bravest drink
Under the sky?”
“Strong beer,” said I.
“There’s a place for everything,
Everything, anything,
There’s a place for everything
Where it ought to be:
For a chicken, the hen’s wing;
For poison, the bee’s sting;
For almond-blossom, Spring;
A beerhouse for me.”
“There’s a prize for every one
Every one, any one,
There’s a prize for every one,
Whoever he may be:
Crags for the mountaineer,
Flags for the Fusilier,
For English poets, beer!
Strong beer for me!”
“Tell us, now, how and when
We may find the bravest men?”
“A sure test, an easy test:
Those that drink beer are the best,
Brown beer strongly brewed,
English drink and English food.”
Oh, never choose as Gideon chose
By the cold well, but rather those
Who look on beer when it is brown,
Smack their lips and gulp it down.
Leave the lads who tamely drink
With Gideon by the water brink,
But search the benches of the Plough,
The Tun, the Sun, the Spotted Cow,
For jolly rascal lads who pray,
Pewter in hand, at close of day,
“Teach me to live that I may fear
The grave as little as my beer.”
8k
A bird in an aurulent billed mud-face,Living as a four foot two inch dragon in a San Franciscan cave,
Lifts off from a hot breathed murmur of Gideon.
Even in night the whole grandeur of movement
Soaking in red beeping heart-pangs
Fasten to the thrusts of his arms.
This post of vainglory was the opening of the year.
In July's open pores,
On a spatial plateau of Dodonian oak.
The Penguin
Unveils his weakened voice.
Flattening into a wide arrow
Draped from Carina he
Sails Westward. Barefooted through the Anavros
Molting under deep helplessness and melancholia.
With his inlaid eyes faced askance
The penguin broods
Among the day's songs
Cast into the poetry of the lyre,
Stretched upwards from Paradise Bay to Colchis,
Where his ebony wings
Soak into the palms of Peleus
Suffering only where the arrows have flung.
Downside up, with children in a pocket of blood,
Among supergigantic siren songs and muse poems
Sewing teeth into a spot of Earth
Races towards a column of toppling strakes.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:48 AM UTC
(Exodus, xvii.15)
By whom was David taught
To aim the deadly blow,
When he Goliath fought,
And laid the Gittite low?
Nor sword nor spear the stripling took,
But chose a pebble from the brook.
'Twas Israel's God and King
Who sent him to the fight;
Who gave him strength to sling,
And skill to aim aright.
Ye feeble saints, your strength endures,
Because young David's God is yours.
Who order'd Gideon forth,
To storm the invaders' camp.
With arms of little worth,
A pitcher and a lamp?
The trumpets made his coming known
And all the host was overthrown.
Oh! I have seen the day,
When with a single word,
God helping me to say,
"My trust is in the Lord,"
My soul hath quell'd a thousand foes
Fearless of all that could oppose.
But unbelief, self-will,
Self-righteousness, and pride,
How often do they steal
My weapon from my side!
Yet David's Lord, and Gideon's friend,
Will help his servant to the end.
2.4k
The new-born child of gospel grace,
Like some fair tree when summer's nigh,
Beneath Emmanuel's shining face
Lifts up his blooming branch on high.
No fears he feels, he sees no foes,
No conflict yet his faith employs,
Nor has he learnt to whom he owes
The strength and peace his soul enjoys.
But sin soon darts its cruel sting,
And comforts sinking day by day,
What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring,
Proves but a brook that glides away.
When Gideon arm'd his numerous host,
The Lord soon made his numbers less;
And said, "Lest Israel vainly boast,
My arm procured me this success!"
Thus will He bring our spirits down,
And draw our ebbing comforts low,
That saved by grace, but not our own,
We may not claim the praise we owe.
1.6k
There is nowhere to hold this, and it is heavy.
We drink coffee in white, square mugs
on the fifth ***** step.
I am sick and the coffee pinballs in my stomach.
You do not care about hydration.
You are covered in so much paint
you look like Matisse in a fender-bender.
You look sore all the way down to your fingers.
The bed in the opposite room won't be yours,
but could be.
I lope around nauseous on the mornings
I don't work. I light candles that jump
with a stench of French Vanilla. Dogs bark
unholy early.
I tire of the anxious sleep of the newly living-there,
the newly living.
The loud neighbour,
the considerate neighbour,
the ******* dogs.
I open the bedside drawer.
No Gideon hotel bibles.
Condoms, picture frames,
instructions for a washing machine.
No Bibles.
Sometimes, I find it in my shoes - this envy -
or in my pockets.
And sometimes I drag it behind me,
like wedding cans on a bachelor's car,
filaments of grief and filthy broken dinnerware,
threaded cotton of towels
too often used without washing
and wine bottle bones.
And somebody once told me not to paint a
room in it, but this jealousy is sage, not lime,
and I could **** well sleep in here,
and sometimes do.
Oct 24, 2011
Oct 24, 2011 at 4:02 PM UTC
No, I'm not here to tell you that you're weak.
I'm not going to turn your weaknesses against you.
Just to say you need a God to make you strong.
God transforms you.
I can't tell you that the
alcohol
drugs
***
and cursing
are bad
and that
maybe
you should consider
a God who can
change it.
I'm not going to lure you in by your own demons
Just to make you believe
But let me ask you this,
Do you honestly believe that God can't use you?
Noah was a drunk
Abrahm was "too old"
Jacob was a liar
Leah was ugly
Joseph was abused
Moses stuttered
Gideon was afraid
Rahab was a **********
Jeremiah and Timothy were "too young"
David had an affair and murdered
Isaiah preached the gospel naked
Elijah was suicidal
Naomi was a widow
Job lost everything
Peter denied Christ
All of Jesus' disciples fell asleep during prayer
Martha worried
The samaritan woman divorced
Paul was "too religious"
Timothy had an ulcer
And Lazarus?
Oh, he was dead!
But Christ used each and every one of the characters of the Bible to bring Glory to His name!
Oct 19, 2013
Oct 19, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
Introspection is cheaper than a horror film and its nightmares will chase you long after Freddy's hands are arthritic and the blades they operate are rusty and impotent. Here I am in this roach den with musty sheets and carpet stains. The place I retreat to in blind panic without considering escape. Here it is, peeling wallpaper and cigarette burns are the hems of skirts you tug and cry to, PICK ME UP PICK ME UP! Inside it is empty, truly empty, no trace of a whispering current in the draft or its cryptic revelations woven under the surface, no beetles scrambling around the corpse to tell its secrets. There is truly nothing and I don't know who called this vacancy "inner peace". It's a motel room with empty drawers and the water is some shade of red and every page has been torn from the Gideon's Bible to roll joints and make origami cranes and free throws into wastebaskets filled with scribbled poetry and compulsively written lists.
May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 4:44 PM UTC
I've got a Bobble Head Buddha
That nods on the dash
Some guy named Gideon
Whose Bible rides in the back
Rainbow covered Rosary beads
Hang from my mirror with ease
I've got all the bases covered
As pretty as you please
Have my cassette of Hindu chants
Where I hum along
Shaved my head for Hare Krishna
In case I get it wrong
Holy water in my reservoir
So when my windshield wipers wipe
I have that added protection
Never knowing what might
A Yarmulke from a Bar Mitzvah
In the seat next to me
With a case of Watchtower in the floorboard
I pass out for free
No cigarettes or coffee
Like a good Latter Day Saint
In case Jesus comes back a third time
Who's to say that he ain't
With all my bases covered
I feel pretty safe
Guess I can now crank the engine
And start out my day
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 8:11 AM UTC
Love is a riddle
A Gideon's knot of emotion
Only untangled
By two sets of hands
And a pair of hearts
So lend me your hands
And protect my heart
Help me untangle and unlock
Our love
And as long as you wish
I'll be yours
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 3:54 PM UTC
⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to self-harm ⚠
______________________________________________________________
In memory of
him?
her?
I do not know.
______________________________________________________________
In the hushed moments
before sleep,
you summon the
loveliest memories of him--
memories now
resigned to heartache and destitution,
to some far off, phantasmic realm
(wherever that may be);
you come to school ill
one winter's morning,
flesh cadaverous,
pale cheeks embellished
by bloodshot eyes
wreathed in dark circles.
He rests his hand atop
your forehead affectionately,
his eyes shaded with concern
as he comes to the realization that
"You're burning up."
(But, eventually, his affections
begin to ebb away,
and with them, so does your fire--
the stuff of magic);
Mouth frothing with rage,
you haul off and
punch the living ****
out of a bathroom stall.
This escapade of fury
leaves your left hand
inflamed
bruised
splintered.
When you tell him
what you've done,
he meets you outside
of the girl's washroom
and takes your hand in his,
runs his fingers over the
inflammation
bruises
splinters
softly and asks you,
"Does it hurt?"
(These days, it hurts everywhere--
and all for him, darling);
He pulls you--
fretful and teary-eyed--
to his chest,
his palm cradling
the back of your neck.
For a moment
you forget about
the cuts on your thighs;
the blood seeping
from your nylons;
the sorrow gnawing
at your bones.
For a moment,
you can't help but wonder
if this boy
is to be your
Gideon--
your Holy Grail.
(And, to think,
one abrupt gesticulation
of his wrist
and your neck snaps--
and you're a goner).
Oct 2, 2018
Oct 2, 2018 at 2:26 PM UTC
See, once many moons ago,
by a single solit'ry sun,
I met a cat nominated Liam,
and above him was his thumb,
Twas a good thumb,
twas the best thumb,
unspun the skin cells were silkest
and yet, when reassembled,
not that ilk. It's (Whaaaaaat?)
She was a tough and callous blemish
that he'd relish, totally cherish
'till he'd perish, (not embellished
tales true, but tails lie)
and Lasquisha for all her balance
and her posture
all her talents
Gideon knot who'll accost ya, with her roster's
Fox'd-ya-got-cha talons
(oooooooooooooooooooo)
This Liam was a good old cat
a tabby cat, not big and black,
but orange, mangy, super slack
deranged, estranged and caged in slack
with slipper feet, and coddled back,
he sat in chair that lazy sack
and when the doorbell called his track
he shirked the effort needed, whack!
Lashquisha, see, she was another
met our cat before this brother
Set her sights on not a smother
but, acknowledged rites of other.
So lashquisha with her sight so true
and thumb eluding tyrants skew
so set about to be anew
not thumb or (k)not, nor nails too,
and that was where I'd met these two
well first the cat and then the shoe
for sock was never needed, who
would hide themselves from their own view?
Lashquisha when I met that thumb
surprised not I by glove of fun
and *** and ***** layered un-
derneath the figure Liam strum.
See Liam knew his thumb so well
he knew the thumb twas not a shell
that caged the angry men that fell
to clipping when their partners tell.
For thumb a partner never is
unless like me you've ****** the quiz
and ended up a pointless shiv
in side of angry hornets nest.
And rest assured the thumbs annointed
given by their partners pointed
comments feeling slightly daunted
by need to act their best.
Attest they do the thumbs that chew
And unrest is left by plough and brew
But then again a thumb are you?
And me, and we, and I?
So tru....
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
I've got a Bobble Head Buddha
That nods on the dash
Some guy named Gideon
Whose Bible rides in the back
Rainbow covered Rosary beads
Hang from my mirror with ease
I've got all the bases covered
As pretty as you please
Have my cassette of Hindu chants
Where I hum along
Shaved my head for Hare Krishna
In case I get it wrong
Holy water in my reservoir
So when my windshield wipers wipe
I have that added protection
Never knowing what might
A Yarmulke from a Bar Mitzvah
In the seat next to me
With a case of Watchtower in the floorboard
I pass out for free
No cigarettes or coffee
Like a good Latter Day Saint
In case Jesus comes back a third time
Who's to say that he ain't
With all my bases covered
I feel pretty safe
Guess I can now crank the engine
And start out my day
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 8:24 AM UTC
Take me by the hips-
I’ll devour your lies like the spit on my lips.
Thumbs pressing into my collar bones-
I’ll be your throne.
I starve myself for you to fill me
This infatuation will **** me.
Nose ******
Am I your honey?
Text me once a week-
This only means something to me.
We’re a one sided thing
But you’re the centerpiece of my dreams;
The consummation of my demons.
I've noticed your scheming smile but
I haven’t felt so
Hopelessly enraptured in a while.
Destroy me,
Please
Don’t mind my scabby knees.
I have a habit of falling
In and out of logic
But
You aren't a project
No not someone I want to fix-
That bag of rocks
Is just a box of tricks.
You’re a train and I'm sitting on your tracks
It’s just a count down until we smash into oblivion
Aphrodite,
I’m your Gideon.
We aren't apart of the same story
But mines 16th century,
And the glory has faded into the pages
from decades of irrelevant stages.
.
I hopped across bindings
And stereotypical findings
Because maybe
You’re meant for me.
Maybe I’m pushing too hard but
Our histories are intertwining and
the mysteries you decided
To pick apart;
Well they’re coming back to haunt you.
We collided over a fire
And an irregular heart beat
set by amphetamines;
You don’t know what you did to me.
Fever dreams when the fan is on low
Vacant thoughts make the hours hollow
You’re alive,
I know it but you only surface for me
When you want to see how quickly I’ll come
Eat out your hand
you extend
so
Selectively.
I shouldn't feel so honored that you've chosen me
But those eyes,
God those eyes.
I can’t stop swimming through them when I close mine.
I can see galaxies spinning in your pupils as
The sunrise begs to begin,
But noon will come and I’m buried in
Your possibilities
So effortlessly imagined;
So impossibly enacted.
You distract me from reality.
You are the thing that will never be.
You’re toxic-
A poison.
A deadly,
Delicious treat.
I’m voracious for the heat of your breath
On my neck once again.
Fingers on my chin-
Tilt it until our eyes align.
What a disastrous lie-
I’d die for you, spy.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC
Love is a riddle
A Gideon's knot of emotion
That can only be untangled
By two sets of hands
And a pair of hearts
Dec 30, 2012
Dec 30, 2012 at 7:36 PM UTC
Oh Brother,
On your quests always so diligent
To accomplish what you seek
My efforts remain negligent
My body tired and weak
Though we share the same blood
And grew up in the same hood
Your mind found its way
Among words to stay
While mine got away
So foggy and stray
Our hearts,
Stepping out of the same closet
Yours fueling your strive
Mine consuming to survive
Yours building a mindset
Mine still looking for an outset
Oh Brother,
You ran to a land faraway
Just when I found I could relate
So I used this gateway
To be able to articulate
For expressing myself face to face
Would only unwholesomely convey
What my mouth could no longer retain
Oh Brother,
What should I do to snap out
Of this prone position, so tightly bound ?
I’ve wiped my tears and shout
But still can't loose the pound
And this obsession with loosing
Got me trapped into this tunnel
Vision of Gideon
Where can I find you?
Is it a person?
I need a clue
Give me the cue
Feb 12, 2018
Feb 12, 2018 at 11:09 AM UTC
He came as super bunny
She,...Cinderella in red and lovely
Tom and Violet were milk and honey
Alex and Suzzie, quite a beauty
At the Drunken Pig again
Garden with beautiful flowers perfectly lain
Four years and what they have is bare
And now back to Alamo Square
Wham! Alex and Suzzie did
In that time they got two kids
Wham! Gideon also did
And violet is four again you see
Worst choice is no choice at all
San francisco through Michigan through the fall
Clam-bar to Michigan took all four
As Tom and Violet chose to fall
Four years is like violet
Help tell Violet and Tom
Violet is fair and priceless
Someone please call 9-1-Yum
Jul 19, 2014
Jul 19, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC
Visions of Gideon
Bite your heels
As you flee
This is the mystery
Of love
A retreat
My name in
Your throat
A futile device
On repeat
Oct 21, 2022
Oct 21, 2022 at 1:33 AM UTC
Tied to furniture
in near-weeping posture:
lust can always bring you here,
carried in its spider-cradle arms,
eager for my marks
across your hidden spots.
I am your ***** little secret,
*****
I have erased my name,
in shadows lurk,
behind barely closed curtains,
watched by Gideon Bibles,
hazed in blue television light,
your only sound,
barely abled gasps of,
"Yes, Daddy...please, Sir.
Yes, Daddy...hurt me more."
Tied down,
bruised,
bitten,
opened,
all your secrets revealed,
collapse
into the pool of *******
muddle your words just enough
smile your bottom lip,
cutting against your teeth.
I have won the respect of the princess,
shown her the strength she has,
awoken her mind.
My reward is the ownership of her whorish body.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 1:22 AM UTC
Give me
the darkened doorway
the cause behind
the bricked up window.
Indigo shipwrecks
of tatty saloons
on ill lit streets of moody repute,
where the glorious truth of
of all imperfection
is welcomed,
accepted,
made beautiful.
Here I am among my people.
Give me the handshake
of needle on vinyl,
the tannin stained chapters
of Gideon bibles to burn
in the grate of
a derelict crib.
There is nothing as wry
as the smile
of children, in thrall
to the cancerous faiths
they were given
who grieve for the loss
of a parent still living
in legends.
Those
hereditary tenants of sediment means
examining tea- leaves in tardy
canteens off a tenement floor, while
studying fates in a library of faces,
one eye to the weather.
So waltz with the dealing
Phoenician itinerants, clevered
in scandal of travellers tattle,
to bring out
the stories of war.
I embrace Undesire
Come
tambourine laughter
of river Bohemia redeemed
with the nurturing sapphire of gin,
that I take as a galloping flame
to a dry August heath.
We are
all of us ever
but one step from ******
All of us ever
one breath from release.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 10:07 PM UTC
*Feeding stray dogs from abandoned
benches , counting cars to feed active clinical obsessions
Wrapped in Dad's trench coat , focused on a city sidewalk
Running fingers through unkempt beard , growing old ,
bits and pieces falling away , hopefully leaving a trail for my children to track me down someday
Screaming ****** of Crow overlooking my chosen boulevard
They tell tall tales and cackle , aware of my biting score
A fluttering , wind racked Gideon Bible with relevant verse circled
in blue ink lying on front steps , my reflection in black Army boots ,
my craven public image and disparity vociferously unaddressed* ...
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 2:55 PM UTC
Virginia Lee Burton
It’s all in there, a blueprint
for living, my sacred text
perfect replacement for a world
of tired hotel Gideon’s, this tale
of a plucky fellow with an Irish
surname, unencumbered, set free
to roam at will, picking up work here
and there, more hedgehog than fox, a man
who did one thing and did it well. He
wrestled with private doubts in the dark,
stretched out on top of Mary Anne,
the nights warm and clear, sky smeared
with stars, a man who knew how to
back up a claim, take a risk, court failure
and humiliation at the bottom of a deep,
perfectly excised hole, all four corners
neat and square. My idea of a perfect ending,
a second chance, a mulligan, quietly tending
the boiler with a pipe and a good book,
waiting for you and your homemade pie.
Sep 28, 2016
Sep 28, 2016 at 7:33 AM UTC
Gideon with torches and trumpets routed nations
mightier and more numerous than his 300
Putin with the vanity of Trump and his believers
is now king of mighty USA without need for war
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 9:28 AM UTC
*An empty pop bottle filled with ants
A Fall tomato plant blooming as if its children
even have a chance
A cigarette pack book marker in a Gideon Bible
Bits of blue sky laden with thunderheads
Shellshocked warrior discerning life from death
Shoot me while I sleep so the checks will continue
Remove my face from evils menu
Throw the oxycontin into the lake
To mingle with mud in a watery grave
Call me Wednesday longing for Thursday
Two a.m. contemplative over the dawn
Refuse strewn by wild dogs
Forage did I in hopes of sanity as do the midnight hogs*
Sep 13, 2016
Sep 13, 2016 at 1:17 PM UTC
I shook hands with Joe Gideon
And high fived the shark
After a forest performance
In which they had rocked hard
The beauty of his voice and words
The slickness o her grooves
Soaked into me sonically
And caused the earth to move
Their world is so inviting
As at the barrier i stand
They'll take you on a journey
To learn the ways of man.
Sep 6, 2024
Sep 6, 2024 at 7:27 AM UTC