No Rhyme or Reason - Former Mormon Poetry

On a Mormon Tombstone

03/14/2010 - by Anonymuse at Recovery from Mormonism

Here once lay a Mormon
Short and round
To those who might visit,
Here is what I found:

In life I was righteous
Proud as a sheep
In death I did slumber
My garments were heap'd

One day the angels did come to this place
I awoke with a start, a smirk on my face
Hah - the church is twoo I sputtered in glee
The angels laughed and said to me:

Poor little Mormon, you are a such a dope
Smith was a jackass - and we're with the Pope
Now ditch those jammies and come with us,
The Holy Toilet has failed to flush

And when stopped-up plumbing His Holiness disturbs
The Pope likes to bring a mormon out to the 'burbs,
Morbots are familiar with that stuff called crap
Looks like doctrine to them - what's the flap?

Here's a plunger and brush,
now off to the pot
You are now the Vatican's
Johnny On The Spot

Thus my heavenly reward
is forever disturbed
as I'm now a plumber
out in the 'burbs

I'm sure hoping eternity is brief
'cause for Mormons, it ain't nothing but grief
Celestial City? Give me a break.
Like everything Mormon, it's a complete fake.

Wings - An upside to going through the "Recovery from Mormonism" process

10/20/2009 by Bob McCue

A thousand
loving hopes and fears
caress hooks into young flesh
day on day
as light fades.

Pain's warning
lost
in long darkness,
wound upon wound
strangely pleasing.

Life stirs as he struggles
broken
from their mire.

Dark barbs hide
like rats in holes
screaming when
dragged to light.

Wounds heal
one by one
if found.

He weeps over scars
embroiders around them
forgets
as years flee through boredom
unwelcome chaos
growth.

Until dawn
soaring in new skies
he wonders at the power pulsing through him
and remembers,
glimpsing wings
where the worst wounds had been.

The Doze

04/01/2009 by Elder Berry

Some say love, it is a temple
That dunks the tender dead
Some say love, it is a recommend
That feeds your soul wonder bread
Some say love, it is fasting
An endless want to eat
I say love, it's in some flour
And you, its only knead

It's your heart, afraid of breaking
That never yearns to chant
It's your faith, afraid and shaking
That takes off holy under pants
You're the one who won't be taken
Who cannot seem to forgive
And your soul, afraid of trying
That never learns to believe

When perdition will get too lonely
And the road to Hell, too long
And you think that love is only
for Brethren and their throng
Just remember in lower kingdoms
Far beneath that bitter low
Lies the need
That with lights down in the temple
Becomes the doze

Anyone describe their feelings of their exit from Mormonism in a poem?

Postdumb - 01/11/2009

There's a Mormon Within Me - by Fallible

There's a Mormon within me, he's been there for years.
His thoughts and his words sometimes brings me to tears.

No matter what I do I simply can't send him away.
Regardless my actions it seems he truly wants to stay.

Sometimes I have so much anger I simply want to shout,
"How could I have been so taken?" Mormon I want you out!

How long he'll be a part of me I really can not say.
But when he's totally gone it will be a glorious day!

There's a Mormon within me, he's been there for years.
That he will never really leave is one of my greatest fears.

My journey from Mormonism haiku. made in 5 minutes - by Measure

I was in a cult
My eyes have been opened now
Kiss my ass, damn cult

In Memoriam, L.D.S. by Absalom

I wrote this a couple of years ago--most of it while drunk. I'm not sure if it still describes the way I feel anymore. Now it seems a little narcissistic. But at the time I really loved it. Hope you like it.

In Memoriam, L.D.S.

I always took a pessimistic stance
But I hoped to be proven wrong in the end
I became a master at the skeptic dance
But I always chose optimistic friends
I wanted to believe that there’s a guiding hand
But I saw no evidence of any trend
Shouting hallelujahs always makes me wince
But still I cross my fingers and pretend

My prayers aren’t lost in the vast expanse.
But I remain forever unconvinced

Set up your glass castles and I’ll knock them down
You can’t break mine because it’s long since fallen
The architecture was too grand for my ability to plan
And I will never build another one
Take your youthful jailbirds and set them free
You knew all this time that they were innocent
There’s nothing wrong with you that isn’t wrong with me
From the crime of being born you can’t repent

You created both the sin and consequence
And I remain forever unconvinced

Your weeping and your praising and your Christ-like love
I’ve only had those feelings second hand
Your sacraments and ordinance and joyful hymns
Seem unfamiliar at a second glance
I’ve gone to foreign lands and fought and bled for you
To see you wouldn’t come to any harm
I would have taken a bullet in the head for you
Now I wouldn’t even take one in the arm

I never felt that way before or since
But I remain forever unconvinced

I don’t know if what is good in me has come from you
Can’t separate the nature from the man
I try to be gentle and treat others right
But I never really do the best I can
I’ve learned to be a liar and a drunkard too
But there’s so much more now that I understand
I’m not better off or worse now, I’m just different
Heaven only knows how it will end

Heaven only know if it exists
But I remain forever unconvinced

I will never hold you guilty though, you did your best
I will never call you Anti-Christ or fake
I think that in the end you’re only human
But for you that is a fatal mistake
The whole road before me has been broken up
My destination has been wiped off the map
Your way of life may be the best for all I know
But the magic’s gone and it cannot come back

You’re nothing without your omnipotence
And I remain forever unconvinced.

I used to be True Believing Mormon - TBM - by lilmama

I used to be a TBM
But then I thought to hell with them
When I say I was a Mormon
People think I'm saying Moron.

I so adored the prophet
But he took all of my money
So I decided to get off it
and became a playboy bunny.

I don't live a lie - by Poetic

Wrote this just for your thread, and very much describes my journey out. Note the confidence that the Church is true, and nothing can change it. I allow time and wisdom into my life. And I lose everything.

I don't live a lie,
Not on purpose at least
And if you know different
Please say nothing to me

For I've felt what is true
And I've prayed to make sure
That the truth that I live
Is the one true and pure

Untruths and lies
You can keep to yourself
You can't ever disprove
All the things that I've felt

As sure as I stand here
I've felt that it's true
My faith still grows stronger
Here standing with you

You say this and say that
And you point here and there
But contention and arguing
Gets us nowhere

I'm right and you're wrong
So give up and give in
The Spirit's on my side
Don't you know you can't win?

Years pass and your gone
But I can't help but feign
That the Spirit's still with me
Though I've discovered my brain

The pieces of puzzle
And stories believed
Were false all along
And I've been so deceived

My soul is so quiet
And I'm dying inside
I mourn the time wasted
I've lost all my pride

I speak up and speak out
About what I once thought absurd
But my family won't hear it
Not even one word

Divorced and denounced
From my children and spouse
I say good-bye and walk away
From my family and house

One day at a time
With some hope and some help
To keep from swallowing these pills
And to end all this hell.

I won't live a lie,
Not on purpose at least
And if you know different,
Please say something to me.

The Lockless Door by forestpal

It went many years,
But at last came a knock,
And I thought of the door
With no lock to lock.

I turned out the light,
I tip-toed the floor,
And raised both hands
In prayer to the door.

But the knock came again
My window was wide,
I climbed on the sill
And descended outside.

Back over the sill
I called "Come in,"
To whatever the knock
At the door may have been.

So at a knock
I emptied my cage
To hide in the world
And alter with age. - Robert Frost

In a song... by tbm_no_more

alanthegould.com/mp3/thesighoflosinginlove/lietoyoubaldly.mp3

To Joseph Smith... - by Emily Dickinson

Now I lay me down to sleep
But not with you, you *&^#ing creep!

Mine is a poem in video - by Hannah but not in Montana

Mormonism went through my life like a year of seasons:

http://vimeo.com/2639782?pg=embed&sec=2639782

It had it had its spring, summer, fall & winter. Now it is spring again (sans Mormonism!) :-)

My foray - by Postdumb

End of the line, time to stop believing so many lies
God knows how many times and how many tries
I've given Nephi, Lehi and the New Jew crew.

Zion is the pure blood, spilled from hearts
Purely superegoed, superficially sacrificed and super
Special for their commitment to a God
Who spells with a desereted alphabet and an autocrat
with a tic for the neoprophetic.

Though, my ear rings with the prophet's revelation
It has two holes and the second one
Broke the sealing and now I hear free,
Free as my sinning flows and as free as my ass
Chose never to warm The Lord's bench again.

I wrote several, many years ago - here's one - by Richard Packham

But no! No! It cannot be!
My mother would have told me!
You lie! It is not so!
You Devil's instrument! You lie!

I feel it, though, it cannot be denied,
And somehow, spite of all, I too must know,
I must grow up, yes! I admit it's so:
You told the truth, and Mother, she has lied.
I am afraid--I want to go and hide,
But hide I cannot--where is there to go?
If only we could dream and make it so!
Cruel God, and still you would be deified?
Thy world is naked, ugly and defiled,
And all our striving will not make it right.
We stand alone, abandoned and reviled,
And see the dark approaching of the night.

Why must the price of knowledge be so high,
When knowing, we know only that we die?

How And Why Joseph Smith Created Mormonism

created by Shummy - 12/02/2008

As told by Dr. Seuss...

Joe liked to have sex
But the girls found him odd
So he had an idea
"I'll pretend I know god!
I'll look in this hat
Hold some rocks in my hand
Tell the sheep there's an angel
Oh, won't this be GRAND"

So Joe told his tales
About darkies and pales
And some wars that occurred
And some dopes took his word
And he said 'By the way
God said you must pay
Cause your soul you just rent
So I'll take ten percent'

'And while we were talking, that god guy and I,
he told me we'd all get to live in the sky
with a whole bunch of girls who would do what we say
and he said I should start with a harem today'

So Joe looked around at the girls in the town
and chose which ones he would like to go down
and those who objected were reminded that
Joe had been told by the voice in the hat
That he must be obeyed, there should be no more strife
And when Joe said "I want her", you gave him your wife

And Joe kept this up (for the people were stupid)
This make believe guy-in-a-hat-sort-of-cupid
As long as he thought he could, longer than that
Until some of the people said "hey, where's the hat?"
We've taken about just enough of this stuff
And then things got weird and then things got rough
And the next thing you know, Joe got what he deserved
But a lot of his BS was somehow preserved
By another old goat with an eye for the ladies
Who reminded the sheep while there wasn't a hades
They better turn over the women for fun
And reminded them all that he'd soon 'breed 'em young'

MASQUERADE

created by phoenix rising - 12/01/2008

Here's a poem from when I was a TBM (True Believing Mormon), during my freshman year of college. It's amazing how it seems so full of new meaning reading it again after deciding to officially leave the church. To keep this in context, you must understand that I had not begun questioning at that time and considered myself a faithful member. It makes so much more sense now looking back. Here goes.

MASQUERADE

It's just a game, a silly game
we all play roles: a living play
but i refuse, i'm pulling out

Body language, silly gestures
words that really have no meaning
falsified, enlarged emoting--melodrama everywhere

But I refuse
I want no part

What is real and where is life?
solid truth
no masks, no torches
where i can be just what i am
what i could and what i want

But still I smile and nod and play
I hold my mask up like the rest
Behind my wall alone i stay
wishing, wishing to be free

I want no part,
I want no mask,
no history, no tragedy, no comedy, no infamy...

It's just a game, a stupid game
there are no winners, only players
But I refuse!
I'm pulling out!

I smile and nod, hold up my mask.

In the land of Morridor (with apologies to JRR Tolkien)

created by theMoonRising - 01/2008

Three sacred undergarments always worn knee-high,
Six holy ox-butts to bear the font of stone,
Nine levels of heaven near Kolob in the sky,
All to honor dark Gord, and make him feel at home
In the land of Morridor where the prophets lie.
One scam to rule them all, Missionaries to find them,
With Recommends to bring them all and in the temples bind them
In the land of Morridor where the prophets lie.

What if God Were One of Us?

created by Pope Piel I - 04/01/2007

If God had a frame that's just like us
And you could tweak His nose...
If you were alone with Him
And Heav'nly Mom
What would you ask if you had just one question?

And yeah, yeah, God eats dates
Yeah, yeah, God's a dude
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah

What if God was one of us?
Had a bod like one of us
Just a fare on the Kolob bus
Trying to hie His way home

If God had a face, hmmm, would it be white?
And would you want to see
If sinnin' meant that
you would start to turn black?
And forfeit blondes who are latter day saints
and all CK cavortings

Trying to earn my way home
Way up to heaven -- level one
Gentiles calling me a clone
duped by Joe and Briggy Young.

And yeah, yeah, God eats dates
Yeah, yeah, God's a dude
Yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah-yeah

Just trying to earn my way home
Like a ever grinnin' drone
Way up to heaven -- level one
Just trying to earn my way home
Gentiles calling me a clone
duped by Joe and Briggy Young.

It's been one week since the Mormon Apologetics Conference

04/04/2007 - by Cats

It's been one week since the Mormon Apologetics Conference
Cocky bloated heads in South Towne said "I'm angry"
Five days since they laughed at apostates saying
"Get a testimony and come back to the truth"
Three days since I had a fast Sunday
I realized all my faulty logic, but couldn't tell them
Yesterday God forgave me
but it'll still be two days till I bear more testimony

Hold on now and watch them hoodwink me
As they make you stop thinking
You'll think you're a whole new generation of critic
They summon Spirit while they dish, all the way like The Jewish
They like their cheese
'cause it's never touched a real fact
Hot like Claudia L. Bushman when she busts fems
Big like Daniel C. Peterson
Because he's all about verification
Mike Ash's got the most jewels
I try to match wits, I try to hold them but they bust through my logic
Gonna make a website and take out fakes
I'd like a Nephite ancient artifact
Like Brant Gardner, he's the finest of the ethnohistorians
Gotta see the conference, cause then you'll know
The cogdis is gonna grow
Cause it's so sacred,
you'll have to covenant not to waver

How can they help it if they think you're funny when you're mad at the church
Trying hard not to smile though they feel bad for you
They are the kind of guys who laugh at funerals
Can't understand what they mean?
Well, you soon will
They have celestial underwear under their sleeves
They have a history of covering up the dirt

It's been one week since the Mormon Apologetics Conference
They threw their arms to the square
and said "You're scholarship is lazy"
Five days since their logic cornered me
I've got cogdis burning so bad I could sneeze
It's been three days since those testimonies
They realize it's not my faulty logic
Just my motive to croon
Yesterday they'd forgiven me
And now they sit back and wait til I say I was wrong

The church in China the Chinese Mormons
You have them dumbstruck and their brains stop thinkin'
Watchin' General Conference with no lights on
We're RMs on a mission
I hope the Internet's smokin' over this post
Like Governor Ford I'm trying not to panic
Like Donny Osmond I'm charismatic
Like Nibley, I'm guaranteed to clarify

Like Richard Dutcher I make Mormon films
Okay, I don't make films
But if I did they'd have polygamy
Gonna get a set a' better scriptures
Gonna find the kind with shiny leather
Just so my iron rod always riding in my backpack
Gotta get some tunes with Angel Moroni
Because Living Scriptures has got the crooners
That help me choose the right thing

I can't help it if I think you antis are funny when you're bad
I try hard not to smile though I feel bad
I'm the kind of guy who laughs at a funeral
Can't understand what I mean?
Well, you soon will
I have celestial underwear under my sleeves
I have a history of covering up Mormon dirt

It's been one week since the Mormon Apologetics Conference
They threw their arms to the square
and said "You're scholarship is lazy"
Five days since their logic cornered me
I've got cogdis burning so bad I could sneeze
It's been three days since those testimonies
They realize it's not my faulty logic
Just my motive to croon
Yesterday they'd forgiven me
And now they sit back and wait til I say I was wrong

It'll still be two days till I'm in the church lobby
It'll still be two days till I'm in the church lobby

Eleven of Joe Smith's 33 wives

01/19/2007 - OK Dahl (the pal) Olsen

Eleven of Joe Smith's 33 wives
were already married to other guys.
Rejecting a marriage proposal would rankle his ire.
Joe would condemn them to damnation and fire.
To hide polygamy, Joe told many, many lies.

As a child, Joseph Smith's leg became diseased

12/05/2006 - Cats

As a child, Joseph Smith's leg became diseased and the doctors wanted to amputate.

Early in his life, Joe learned from his parents how to lie and exaggerate.

To find buried treasure, Joe used a seer stone in an attempt to locate.

In the Hill Cumorah, from the ground, the golden plates, Joe did excavate.

The golden plates, written in Egyptian, Joe did claim to translate.

To translate, Joe put his face in his hat and did concentrate.

To start a new church, Joe decided to restorate.

Before marrying some of the local virgins, Joe decided to fornicate.

Polygamy was a new doctrine Joe did promulgate.

When God revealed plural marriage to Joe, he did not hesitate.

Being married to many wives gave Joe many opportunities to penetrate.

When none of his 33 wives was available for sex, Joe would masterbate.

Because eleven of his wives were already married, Joe didn't worry about impregnate.

When someone would refer a new wife to Joe, he would reciprocate.

To hide polygamy, "lying for the Lord" was a practice Joe did tolerate.

To Joe, truth was just another something to desecrate.

To bang four wives in one night, Joe would alternate.

When he was in bed with two wives at the same time, Joe would rotate.

He bought and sold land in Nauvoo in order to speculate.

With gold and broken dishes in the temple, Joe did decorate.

To silence a critic, Joe had a stong weapon---public humiliate.

If a follower disagreed with Joe, the solution was excommunicate.

The BOMO and the D & C are examples of his amazing ability to fabricate.

When a follower lost faith in Joe, he was labeled an apostate.

Using his imagination, many new doctrines he did instigate.

He made enemies wherever he went so many times he had to relocate.

Due to his bank failure in Ohio, the money lost was more than he could calculate.

So, in the middle of the night to escape the law, Joe would evaporate.

To resolve the many allegations against him, the law would investigate.

To dream up new "revelations" Joe would meditate.

When Zion's Camp was defeated, Joe was forced to negotiate.

From Zion, The Promised Land, The Garden of Eden, Missouri, he did evacuate.

As Lt General over the Nauvoo Legion, Joe loved to dictate.

To stop the Nauvoo Expositor, Joe decided to incinerate.

He did and the sound of the riot across the US did reverberate.

The governor heard about the destruction and decided to incarcerate.

Joe wrote to the governor in his own defense in an attempt to mitigate.

Newspapers across the land printed the story and named it "Exposigate."

Exposigate became a seed for trouble which quickly began to germinate.

Joe showed his middle finger to the governor in a justure to symbolically jesticulate. Locked in a cold jail cell, Joe tried to hibernate.

After Joe's arrest, the Carthage Greys loaded their guns in order to retaliate.

Exposigate gave the Carthage Greys just what they wanted---a reason to exterminate.

Waiting for dark gave the Carthage Greys time to anticipate.

Word of the plan to storm the jail around the town did circulate.

Sounds of singing from the jail window caused the situation to exacerbate.

In Carthage jail, Joe had a gun the guards failed to confiscate.

As the mob stormed the jail, Joe ran to the window in an attempt to escaperate.

Regarding Joe's deceitful, lying, lustful life, God decided to terminate.

Knowing what I now know, with the Carthage Greys, I would have volunteered to participate.

Writing, reading and rereading this poem helps me rehabilitate.

How the Apostate Stole Smithmas

12/05/2006 - Cats

Every Mormon down in Happy Valley Liked Smithmas a lot...

But the Apostate Mormon who lived just north of Happy Valley, Did NOT!

The Apostate hated Smithmas! And the whole Mormon holiday season!

Now, please don't ask why. Every good Mormon knows the reason.

It was because his head wasn't into scripture reading at night.

It was also because, perhaps, his underwear wasn’t right.

But I think that the most shocking reason of all,

Is because his former calling was humbly too small.

Whatever the offense, his calling or his underwear,

He stood there on Smithmas Eve, hating Mormons everywhere,

Staring out from his mists of darkness, a sinful Apostatey example,

As the warmth of the gospel lighted the windows down in their temple.

For he knew every Mormon down in Happy Valley below,

Was busy now telling stories of handcarts and snow.

"They're hanging their new First Presidency’s photo" he snarled with scorn,

"Tomorrow is Smithmas! It's the General Conference Saturday closest to when Joseph Smith was born!"

Then he scowled, with anti-Mormon facts in his head thumping,

"I MUST find some way to stop Smithmas from coming!"

For Tomorrow, he knew, all his Mormon relatives’ children,

Would wake bright and early. They'd rush for their television!

And then! Oh, the noise! The noise of Living Scriptures!

Oh, the Noise of Michael Mclean!

Noise of apostles droning! Noise of Seventies bemoaning! Noise of women “joying!”

That's one thing he hated! The LDS NOISE!

NOISE! NOISE! NOISE!

Then after the first session his Mormon family, young cousins and old grandparent farts, would sit down to a Mormon eating.

And they'd eat! And they'd eat! And they'd EAT!

EAT! EAT! EAT!

They would eat Mormon Jell-O, and Mormon funeral potatoes.

Which was something apostates can't stand eating, every Mormon knows!

And THEN They'd do something He liked least of all!

Everyone from Happy Valley, the tall and the small,

Would stand close together, with the whole family beaming.

They'd stand hand-in-hand. And the Mormons would start singing!

They'd sing hymns! And they'd sing LDS songs! And they'd SING!

SING! SING! SING!

And the more the Apostate thought of this Mormon Smithmas sing,

The more the Apostate thought, "I must stop this Mormon thing!"

"Why, for fifty-three years I've put up with it now!"

"I MUST stop this Smithmas from coming! But HOW?"

Then he got an idea! An awful idea!

THE APOSTATE GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

"I know just what to do!" The Apostate laughed in his throat.

And he made a quick dash for his Halloween costumes.

And he chuckled, and clucked, "What a great Apostatey trick!"

"With this clock and this mask, I look just like Old Nick!"

"All I need is a pitched fork..." The Apostate looked around.

But, since pitched forks are scarce, there was none to be found.

Did that stop the old Apostate? No! The Apostate simply said,

"If I can't find a pitched fork, I'll use a rake instead!"

So he pulled on his mask. Then he painted the rake red,

And he tied big horns on the top of his head.

THEN He loaded some empty trash bags and some old empty crates,

In his ramshackle car he pitched that old rake.

Then the Apostate said, "Later!" And the car started down,

Toward the homes where his Mormon relations lay asleep in their town.

All their windows were dark. Lovely quiet filled the air.

All these Mormons were dreaming Celestial dreams without wit.

When he came to the first little house full of Mormon shit.

"This is stop number one," the old Apostate hissed,

And he opened their unlocked door, empty bags in his fist.

Then he slid down the hall. Their television room he almost missed.

But, as Satan he could do it, so on went the Apostate.

He got confused in the dark only once, for a moment or two.

Then Smith’s head stuck out above the fireplace and he knew.

Where those little Mormon movies and CDs were all stacked in a row.

"These movies," he grinned, "are the first things to go!"

Then he slithered and slunk, with a smile most unpleasant,

Around the Mormon decorated room, and he took every accent!

The First Presidency picture! And Smith statuettes! MoTab CDs! Living Scriptures!

White hankies! Ensign Magazines! The Friend! And Christ pictures!

And he stuffed them in bags. Then the Apostate, very nimbly,

Stuffed all the bags, one by one, into his Chevy!

Then he slunk to the icebox. He took the Mormons' eats!

He took the green Jell-O! He took the potatoes!

He cleaned out that icebox as quick as evil grows.

Why, that Apostate even took their last can of Sprite!

Then he stuffed all the food in his car with glee.

"And NOW!" grinned the Apostate, "I will take their t.v.!"

And the Apostate grabbed the television, and he started to puff,

When he heard a small sound like a dog barking ruff.

He turned around fast, and he saw a big Mormon!

Little Cindy his niece, and she was not more than thirty-two.

The Apostate had been caught by this hefty Mormon daughter,

She'd got out of bed for a cup of refrigerator door water.

She stared at the Apostate and said, "Satan, why,”

"Why are you taking our television? WHY?"

But, you know, that old Apostate was so smart and so slick,

He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!

"Why, my sweet little Cindy," the fake Satan lied,

"There's a problem with this television and its not filling you with pride."

"So I'm taking it to Hell to work on it, my dear."

"I'll fix it up there. Then I'll bring it back here."

And his fib fooled his niece. Then he patronized her some more,

And he got her a drink from the door of their refrigerator.

And when Cindy went to bed with her cup,

HE went to the car and tied their television on top!

Then the last thing he took was the agenda for their fireside!

Then he went to his car and pulled the door closed, the old liar.

On their walls he left nothing but hooks and some wire.

And the one speck of food that he left in the house,

Was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse.

Then he did the same thing to his other Mormon relations’ houses

Leaving crumbs much too small For the other Mormons' mouses!

It was quarter past dawn... All the Mormons, sleeping in,

All the Mormons, still asleep when he had filled up his station wagon,

Packed it up with their pictures! The recordings! The Mormon things!

The tacky decoration! And the movies! The warm fuzzies! The Mormon trappings!

Three thousand feet up! Up the side of Mt. Timpanogas,

He rode with his load to the tiptop then ran out of gas!

"Pooh Pooh to the Mormons!" he was Apostateishly humming.

"They're finding out now that no Smithmas is coming!"

"They're just waking up! I know just what they'll do!"

"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two,

Then the Mormon family down in Happy Valley will all cry Boo Hoo!"

"That's a noise," grinned the Apostate, "That I simply MUST hear!"

So he paused. And the Apostate put his hand to his ear.

And he did hear a sound rising over the foothills.

It started in low. Then it grew to some shrills.

But the sound wasn't sad! Why, this sound sounded happy!

It couldn't be so! But it WAS happy! VERY!

He stared down at Happy Valley! The Apostate popped his eyes!

Then he shook! What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Every Mormon relative he had down in Happy Valley, the tall and the small,

Was singing! Without any paraphernalia at all!

He HADN'T stopped Smithmas from coming! IT CAME!

Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Apostate, with his Apostate-feet ice-cold in the mountain snow,

Stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so?"

"It came with out recordings! It came without televised drags!"

"It came without pictures, decorations or guilt-laden nags!"

And he puzzled for a full three hour block, till his puzzler was shocked.

Then the Apostate thought of something he hadn't before!

"Maybe Smithmas," he thought, "doesn't come from Deseret Bookstore."

"Maybe Smithmas...perhaps...means something more than a bore!"

And what happened then? Well...in Happy Valley they say,

That the Apostate's small testimony grew three sizes that day!

And the minute his head didn't feel quite so full of spite,

He coasted down with his load through the bright morning light,

And he brought back their junk! And the food for their tween-session eating!

And he, HE HIMSELF! The Apostate got a royal Mormon beating!

Welcome Smithmas

Father of Mormons Joseph!

Preexistent Mormons he chose us!

Welcome Smithmas,

come this way!

Father of Mormons Joseph!

Preexistent Mormons he chose us!

Welcome Smithmas,

Smithmas Day!

Welcome, welcome!

Father of Mormons Joseph!

Welcome, welcome!

Preexistent Mormons he chose us!

Smithmas Day,

Is in our patriarchal grip,

So long as we,

Arms to fold

And hands to hold!

Father of Mormons Joseph!

Preexistent Mormons he chose us!

Welcome Smithmas!

Bring your scriptures.

Father of Mormons Joseph!

Preexistent Mormons he chose us!

Welcome all Mormon's,

Far and near

Father of Mormons Joseph!

Preexistent Mormons he chose us!

Welcome, Smithmas!

Father of Mormons Joseph!

Welcome, Smithmas!

Preexistent Mormons he chose us!

Smithmas Day,

Will always be

Just as long,

As we have we

Welcome all Mormon's,

Far and near.

The Twelve Weeks of Apostasy

12/01/2006 - substrate

On the first week I skipped church,
my bishop sent to me
A home teacher preaching to me.

On the second week I skipped church,
my bishop sent to me
Two visiting teachers,
And a home teacher preaching to me.

On the third week I skipped church,
my bishop sent to me
Three emails,
Two visiting teachers,
And a home teacher preaching to me.

On the fourth week I skipped church,
my bishop sent to me
Four phone calls,
Three emails,
Two visiting teachers,
And a home teacher preaching to me.

On the fifth week I skipped church,
my bishop sent to me
Five plates of cookies,
Four phone calls,
Three emails,
Two visiting teachers,
And a home teacher preaching to me.

On the sixth week I skipped church,
my bishop sent to me
Six major guilt trips,
Five plates of cookies,
Four phone calls,
Three emails,
Two visiting teachers,
And a home teacher preaching to me.

On the seventh week I skipped church,
My bishop sent to me
Seven First Presidency Messages,
Six major guilt trips,
Five plates of cookies,
Four phone calls,
Three emails,
Two visiting teachers,
And a home teacher preaching to me.

On the eighth week I skipped church,
My bishop sent to me
Eight links to FARMS,
Seven First Presidency Messages,
Six major guilt trips,
Five plates of cookies,
Four phone calls,
Three emails,
Two visiting teachers,
And a home teacher preaching to me.

On the ninth week I skipped church,
My bishop sent to me
Nine rumors about my sexual orientation,
Eight links to FARMS,
Seven First Presidency Messages,
Six major guilt trips,
Five plates of cookies,
Four phone calls,
Three emails,
Two visiting teachers,
And a home teacher preaching to me.

On the tenth week I skipped church,
My bishop sent to me
Ten predictions of divorce,
Nine rumors about my sexual orientation,
Eight links to FARMS,
Seven First Presidency Messages,
Six major guilt trips,
Five plates of cookies,
Four phone calls,
Three emails,
Two visiting teachers,
And a home teacher preaching to me.

On the eleventh week I skipped church,
My bishop sent to me
Eleven promises of damnation,
Ten predictions of divorce,
Nine rumors about my sexual orientation,
Eight links to FARMS,
Seven First Presidency Messages,
Six major guilt trips,
Five plates of cookies,
Four phone calls,
Three emails,
Two visiting teachers,
And a home teacher preaching to me.

On the twelfth week I skipped church,
My bishop came to me
And we had a beer and watched football.

The Twelve Days of Smithmas

12/01/2006 - created by Grape Nephi

On the first day of Smithmas my leader gave to me
A PPI next to the Smithmas tree

On the second day of Smithmas my leader gave to me
two Books of Mormon and a PPI next to the Smithmas tree.

On the third day of Smithmas my leader gave to me
three new hometeaching families, two Books of Mormon and a PPI next to the Smithmas tree.

On the forth day of Smithmas my leader gave to me
An assignment to talk on Sunday, three new hometeaching families, two Books of Mormon and a PPI next to the Smithmas tree.

On the Fifth day of Smithmas my leader gave to me!
Packer's latest Talk! Four assignment talks, three new hometeaching familes, two Books of Mormon and a PPI next to the Smithmas tree.

On the sixth day of Smithmas my leader gave to me!
A call to the Deacons quorum. Packer's latest Talk! Four assignment talks, three new hometeaching familes, two Books of Mormon and a PPI next to the Smithmas tree.

On the seventh day of Smithmas my leader gave to me!
Seven seals to talk on.
A call to the Deacons quorum. Packer's latest Talk! Four assignment talks, three new hometeaching familes, two Books of Mormon and a PPI next to the Smithmas tree.

On the eigth day of Smithmas my leader gave to me. Eight endowment sessions.
Seven seals to talk on. A call to the Deacons quorum. Packer's latest Talk! Four assignment talks, three new hometeaching familes, two Books of Mormon and a PPI next to the Smithmas tree.

On the 9th day of Smithmas my leader gave to me.....

A nervous breakdown...

At PPI the next Sunday Brother Jones was talked about. See he ended up in the hospital with a nervous breakdown and heart palpitations. A request was made for someone to take some green Jell-O salad over to the family.

On Top of Old Hokey

11/29/2006 - Just passing through

The really old Geezer
all covered with "Snow"
has lost true believers
for lying, on "Shows".

He lied about "treasure"
that was buried beneath:
a false-hearted leader
that worstens my grief.

As a thief Joe had robbed them
And took them for fools;
That false-hearted "Peter"
had watery stools.

Their daughters enticed Joe
for just being girls--
his lustful endeavors
de-frocked many "pearls".

He hugged and he kissed them
And told them more lies,
and crossed o'er the River:
away from law's spies.

So, come all you gals and
You listen to me!
Don't put all your hopes in
Old Morg Fantasies:

for, L.D.S. leaders
will wither and die
And, they'll be forgotten,
with all of their lies.

What it's really like to go to BYU: a poem about alienation

11/23/2006 - the red pill

A friend wrote this poem for me as a way of relating to the frustration I feel here at BYU as a closet exmo. I think it really captures the estrangement of the disillusioned individual from her own identity and the imperialistic domination of the school over both thoughts and emotions. He put it in words far better than I ever could.

Stranger

I roam through the streets of depravity
In a cave of offices and lecture halls
The air is cold
the days are dark
Though crowds surround me, I am alone

An eerie wave pervades
a silent frequency of control
tuned in are android robots
in knee length shorts
and meaningless smiles

I wander to the town meeting
Follow the crowd languidly through the door
a snake in shirt an tie at the pulpit
He welcomes all who enter
and makes shadow puppets on the wall

He hisses warnings of danger
lurking everywhere says he
Worst of all you cannot love
for they say you can get pregnant
just by looking

I can't escape their judgment
thought police 'round every corner
My emotions are not mine to keep
and identity is long forgotten
What's left of me is no longer human

As I linger in their midst
I want nothing more than to feel again
For someone close who understands
To no longer be a stranger
around so many friends

Adam

10/24/2006 - by substrate at Recovery from Mormonism

Concerned about fading temple attendance, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints announced the release of a new, musical version of its endowment ceremony, entitled "Adam!"

As the lights dim for the beginning of the film, we hear an overture with a catchy refrain:

Welcome to the temple
You lucky gals and guys!
Now you've been anointed
And those garments sure feel nice!

Don't forget that new name
And whisper if you please
Be alert, attentive, reverent,
With the endowment we'll proceed!

You all now have the promise
Be faithful, brave, and clean
Someday you'll be a priest
a priestess, king, and queen.

Your garment's just like Adam's
It will protect your hide
As long as you don't defile it
God will be by your side.

Now listen to three voices
They sing, they create, they talk
Don't violate your covenants
For God will not be mocked!

At this point, a chorus line appears representing the 6 creative periods until the creation is done and Adam and Eve are created. Suddenly, the lights flash as Satan enters to a rollicking tune:

Hey, Adam! Yeah, You!
You're so stupid and so blind! (eat that fruit)
You don't even remember
The world we left behind! (eat that fruit)

Hey, Satan! Yeah, you!
You're so evil and you lie (eat that fruit)
Father said if I eat that apple
I will surely die! (eat that fruit)

Hey, Eve! Yeah, you!
You're all naked, and you're hot (eat that fruit)
Eat it so you'll understand
What is and what is not! (eat that fruit)

Hey, Adam! Yeah, it's me!
I ate that fruit God forbid (eat that fruit)
I ate it, so you'll be alone
So, eat and you'll be free! (sew those leaves!)

Adam! Where art thou?
Who said that you were nude?
It's not my fault; she ate the fruit
Beguiled by that Satan dude!

I curse that loser Satan!
That Adam's such a dope!
I'll reign with blood and horror
And buy up priests and popes!

Let's obey the law of sacrifice
And the law of the Lord, too!
And make a token of aaronic priesthood
With the name that's new!

We used to slit our throats right here
But now we just do the sign.
No penalties anymore
To keep the patrons in line.

We then go with Adam to the lone and dreary world, where he sings a solo:

I've been building up an altar
All the live-long creative period
I've been calling on my father
For further light and knowledge!

Just then Satan breaks in:

I hear you, silly man
You want religion, don't you?
I'll have someone preach philosophy
plus scripture, too.

At this point, a lengthy slapstick scene involving a Protestant minister was originally to have been shown, but the footage was cut, lest it offend members' sensibilities.

Peter, James, and John enter, singing:

Good morning! Good morning!
What are you doing here, Satan?

Satan: Just watching some lessons,
But this man can't be taught

Peter: That's because he's faithful
His tokens can't be bought!

Satan: Ooohhh, I'm powerful now!
I reign all over the earth
My powers are more ample
Than Danny P's girth!

Peter: It's OK, Adam
We're apostles true!
We'll give the token you received
With the name that's new!

Satan: Hey, listen, y'all
If you don't keep
The covenants that you make
You'll be in my power always
And in hell you'll bake!

Now, obey the law of the gospel
We won't explain what it means
Just mind loud laughter, evil speaking
And anything unclean

Bow your heads! Say yes! yes! yes!
Yes, and yes, and yes!

Now robes on, everyone
keep it on the left
Put on the cap, the girdle, the slippers
For ordinances you're prepped!

The second token comes up now
With knuckles touching thumbs
The name's your name, you won't forget
Unless you're really dumb!

Here we disembowelled
Ourselves in former times
But now it's just a cupping shape
Left arm to the square, the sign

Now hurry up, it's time to switch
The robe from left to right!
Melchizedek ordinances await
So, sit back down and hold on tight!

Chastity's the law that's next
It's important, of course
So much that we say "relations"
When before it was "intercourse."

Now comes another token
It's called the sign of the nail
Fingers on palms, it's named the Son
Receive it, and you won't fail.

It's time for consecration
Sacrifice is for the weak.
Give up everything you own
if righteousness you seek.

Now make the grip, the patriarchal one
The sure sign of the nail
Try not to giggle as you repeat
Pay! Lay! Ale!

Now go to the altar
In the order of prayer
Only the best of feelings should be
If you want to gather there.

The veil is shown
Check out the marks.
Three times the mallet,
The veil parts.

What is wanted? says the Lord
I'll give it through the veil.
No five points of fellowship;
that's gone with pay lay ale!

Health in the navel
Marrow in the bones
Strong sinews, healthy loins
If you're faithful
Power you'll have
Through all generations of time

Three more times
You're on the couch
Waiting for your dear spouse
You sit and wonder
Is that all there is
Is this supposed to be God's house?

The General Conference Poem

09/24/2006 - by Denis

Lots of Old
Nothing New
Lots of Borrowed
Lots of Do (Pray, Pay, Obey)
Lots of Boring
Lots of Snoring
Nothing Good
Lots of Should
Nothing Real
Lots of Deal (God'll swap you This for That)
Lots of Proddin'
Bunch of Noddin'
Lots of Struttin'
Tons of Nuttin'
Lots of Ain't We Cool
Secret thoughts of What A Fool
Lots of Podium Puffery
Hidden thoughts of Take It And Stuffitery
Free Choir Musicality
Not a bit of real Practicality
Lots of Droning
Herds of GA Cloning
Lots of Piety
Way too much Sobriety
Bunch of Do The Right
Quiet hunch of This Ain't Right
So much of Look At Me
Way too little of Let Me Be

Which, I think, covers the situation for both speakers & listeners.

Goodbye Utah

09/22/2006 - by cheeseburger

Goodbye Utah.
Goodbye Young, Smith, Kimball
with your succession of yellow-fevered child brides.
Goodbye neighborhoods of siding-clad split-levels
boxy and unwieldy as 1979
pinpricked with the steeples of half a thousand houses of God.

Goodbye Heber Dairy Keen, bathed in a sheen of fry sauce,
temples of chocolate soft-serve cupped in a wafer
cone, licked while
trains push against cavernous valley walls
smoke frothing black, down over striated water.

Goodbye to desert sage pungent after rain
wearing garments of dust and woven by desiccated wind.

Goodbye to the song gone round in my head:

Follow the Prophet
Follow the Prophet
Follow the Prophet
Don't go astray.

You made me want to be a saint.

Goodbye to bright day bright sky
hot wind like a Protestant fire,
formless sand shifting endlessly before it.

Goodbye jagged grass leached pale by the sun
Goodbye Great Salt Lake, ringed agate
brown of earth and twilight blue caked in a ring of salt
death to any living thing.

Goodbye to the reek of sand hot and metallic
carving the back of my throat.

You made me want to be a saint.

Goodbye to the cry of too many infants
crying and clawing the stuffy chapel air
crying for their mothers who could only hear God.

Goodbye to heavy skirts
thudding into ankles, fast walking,
along the dusty side of the road early Sunday morning.

Goodbye to you who saw the face of God
in every temple matron.

I stop somewhere waiting for you.

Goodbye to "brother and sister", "Heavenly Father and Holy Ghost"
muttered phrases lost in the air over my head
hands folded across arms.

Goodbye magpie black and white
words on a page in a book of a song
black and white and never, not ever, gray.

Goodbye to the golden boy I kissed in that secret place
where the leaves fell down on our shoulders and
scattered sunlight
I only touched your lips with mine.
and that was sin enough.

Goodbye Utah.
Thank you for filling my head and leaving no place for me.

And let me lie down between the soft billow of meadow hay
and the water of Utah Lake, heavy steel
melting along the shore.

From now on the law against a thought
will be lifted.

You made me want to be a saint.

Goodbye Provo River, shifting shapes
of you, clear over mossy stone.
Goodbye to the taste of
ward-made root beer, broiling on my tongue,
I thought I saw shapes in the billows of dry ice as
they poured over the bowl.

Goodbye Utah.

I can never be your saint.

Kick me, slap me , throw me up to the wall

09/22/2006 - by lightfingerlouie

Kick me, slap me , throw me up to the wall,
And I will go to the meeting after all.

Scare me, threaten me, make me look into perdition,
All is part of the Mormon condition.

Send me on a mission, take away my rights
I will work during the day, and cry through the nights.

Take my money, take my time,
Make me feel "dissent "is "crime."

When the brethren have spoken, the thinking has been done,
Denying your freedom is apostolic fun.

Teach me the doctrine, the folk tales and lore,
All are found behind the seminary door.

Blood atonement, polygamy, Joseph is our god,
Never dare to think, the prophet was a fraud.

The bough finally breaks, and you are eventually free,
Perhaps to become the person you wanted to be.

You say good-bye, and I say hello

09/22/2006 - by Ken Taylor

Say Hello to the Real You!

Say good bye to the morg,
Say hello to the real you,

Say good bye to the church,
Say hello to the real world,

Say good bye to Sunday school,
Say hello to the earth,

Say good bye to the image,
Say hello to the truth,

Say good bye to the lies,
Say hello to science,

Say good bye to the pabulum,
Say hello to honesty,

Say good bye to fake faith,
Say hello to faith in yourself,

Say good bye to the translations,
Say hello to expanded thinking,

Say good bye to jabberwocky,
Say hello to real dialogue,

Say good bye to plastic friends,
Say hello to real friends,

Say good bye to companions,
Say hello to soul mates,

Say good bye to frustration,
Say hello to peace.

Say good bye, and as you do,
Say hello
To the real you.

Goodbye to Gordon B Hinckley

09/22/2006 - by anonymous

Goodbye to Gordon B Hinckley,
He doesn't know what we teach and he's wrinkly,
He is such a liar,
Ten percent he does require,
And he won't let you play with your winky.

Goodbye to all the ward members,
To leave me alone they will not remember,
To Sunday school class,
You can all kiss my ass,
And I'll see you on the 40th of December!

Goodbye to those ugly ass garments,
To wear them makes me want to vomit,
Goodbye to visitng teaching,
And dumb ladies weeping,
To weird handshakes,
And all Mormon fakes,
My thoughts are much less than fleeting.

And now I must end this dumb rhyme,
First let me say Joseph Smith was a slime,
Many young ladies he did marry,
Some might have been hairy,
And he did commit many a crime.

Blabbertalky

09/22/2006 - by KimberlyAnn

This is a grotesque distortion of Carroll's "Jabberwocky", and a pathetic attempt at poetry, to be sure, but it's dedicated to all the brave Exmos who have extricated themselves from the cult and brought others into the freedom of reality in the process.

Note: If you are unfamiliar with Carroll's poem, please don't let this silly rip-off keep you from enjoying "Jabberwocky". It's one of my favorites to read to my girls - it's a blast to read aloud! Look it up if you've never read it, I think you'll find it entertaining.

Beware the Blabbertalk, my son!
The screeds that bite,
The lies that catch!
Beware FAIR's didactic tedium,
And shun the otiose Peterson!

He took his numinous sword in hand,
Longtime the Mo-pologist foe he sought-
So posted he on RfM
And reposed awhile in thought.

And as in silent thought he sat,
The Blabbertalk with reasoning lame,
Lumbered through the World Wide Web,
Spewing rhetoric as it came!

One! Two! Logic! Truth! And though and through
The brilliant blade went snicker snack!
He left it dead, and with it died,
The church of Joe, Mythomaniac.

And hast thou slain the Blabbertalk?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!"
Oh frabjous day! Callooh, Callay!
He chortled in his joy.

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

09/22/2006 - by kitschy

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road...
The way to Heav'n I was told,
Was to strictly comply,
With the letter of the lie,
And put my "real" self on hold.

Goodbye prophets and sin
This is the war that I win
To live as I may,
Heed only what I say,
List'ning to truth from within.

Goodbye, it's the end of this prose
Goodbye to pantyhose,
Feel a butterfies wings,
The song a bird sings
The touch of a velvet rose.

Goodbye to homogenization

09/22/2006 - by Noggin

(This could also be sung to the hymn "Dear to The Heart of The Shepherd"

Goodbye to homogenization
All thoughts in the state march in line
To the beat of the wrinkly old drummers
On your wallets of cash do they dine

Adios to the ban on consumption
of spirits and bottles of beer
Ceremoniously torching commandments
Before, to my heart, were so dear

Bon Voyage all you temple attending
Patrons both young and the old
Ne'er again will I sleep through that movie
Nor sit next to men quaffed of mold

Konichiwa to the bread and water
That I used to pine away for
Its lost its cleansing magic, and
Can't bleach out my sins anymore

I've stepped forward from out of that cave
Into the splendoring bloom
Unable to fathom just why
They choose to stay in that room

Elder's Quorum

04/16/2006 - by Don Bagley

Brother do you work with tools
Never at a desk?
Some work's good enough for fools
Struggling at their best

You've a special calling
You're to knock at doors
Clean out restroom stalls and
Mop up foyer floors

Will you fold some chairs today
Babysit the scouts?
You weren't busy anyway
When we called your house

We have here a little list
For a man like you
Jobs with that blue collar twist
Work we wouldn't do

Join the Elder's Quorum
You'll be there for life
Lacking in decorum
Quite the simple type

My Reluctant Sacrament

04/16/2006 - by Don Bagley

Sweat burning in my eyelids
Blank faces turning to see
Curt stares, murmurings

My feet clubbed and shuffling
One nervous hand clutching the tray
Passing out bread and water today

Why'd I have to go and be twelve?
Men laid hands upon my head
Why not someone else instead?

Joseph Smith the poet

03/22/2006 - by substrate

Who knew he was so poetic?

I boast that no man ever did such a work as I.
I will prove that the world is wrong.
When I have proved that I am right,
and get all the world subdued under me,
I think I shall deserve something.

There has been a great difficulty
in getting anything
into the heads of this generation.
It has been like
splitting hemlock knots
with a corn-dodger
for a wedge
and a pumpkin
for a beetle.

Man is that he might
have joy.
Whatever God requires
is right,
no matter what it is.
I think Emma wont
come tonight
if she dont,
dont fail
to come
to night.

The secret of masonry
is to keep a secret.
You don't know me;
you never knew my heart.
No man knows my history.
I cannot tell it:
I shall never undertake it.

In your hands
or that of
any other person,
so much power
would, no doubt,
be dangerous.
I am the only man
in the world
whom it would be safe
to trust with it.

Remember,
I am a prophet!

An Ode To Molly Mormon

03/16/2006 - by Protestant Daughter

(I wrote this poem in February, when the breakup with my True Believing Mormon boyfriend was still pretty fresh)

Thank you Molly Mormon,
For taking up my place,
'Cause you can be with my love,
And rule o'er time and space.

You will bear his children,
In this life and the next,
For this is your divine burden,
From which you'll get no rest.

So I thank you, Molly Mormon,
For filling up that family tree,
Because of your great sacrifice,
The burden lifts from me.

To The Bishops Daughter

03/09/2006 - by Seneca written in Sacrament Meeting while being bored

Here we meet each Sabbath Day,
To Listen, Learn and Pray
To contemplate the Holy Spirit True
And Pay our Tithing Dues

And to gaze upon the Lovely Face,
Of the Bishop’s Daughter,
With Eyes so full of light and grace,
Causing many a Man to want Her

I’ve been told it is a sin
To lust after a Woman in your Heart,
Then I look at her and Grin
Forgetting that Gospel Part.

How I long to hold Her close to Me.
To take away her Virginity.
I must control my Thoughts
This is not what Jesus taught

So I try to Listen to the Talks,
And Sing the Songs of God.
Then the Sacrament is at an End
She Stands. My Heart Rends!

Palms sweating, breathing faster
On a Date I’ll ask her.
So Gathering what Courage I have,
To her side I boldly Dash

Tapping her on the Shoulder
I imagine taking her to Boulder.
She turns and says “Yes?”
I can’t help noticing her Breath.

I try to keep my Face from Wrinkling.
But the Air she exudes is Stinking.
Smelling Like some Putrid Gasses
Like my Uncle Bernie Passes.

She is Swiftly Losing Her Attraction
I am having an Allergic Reaction
I swiftly say “Never Mind.”
She actually wasn’t my Kind.

In the land of Morridor (with apologies to JRR Tolkien)

02/27/2006 - theMoonRising

Three sacred undergarments always worn knee-high,
Six holy ox-butts to bear the font of stone,
Nine levels of heaven near Kolob in the sky,
All to honor dark Gord, and make him feel at home
In the land of Morridor where the prophets lie.
One scam to rule them all, Missionaries to find them,
With Recommends to bring them all and in the temples bind them
In the land of Morridor where the prophets lie.

Latter Day Tragedy

02/21/2006 - erinjo

It’s sad how people hide in facades of religion
Asking men when God says “Okay, your forgiven”.
What man has the right to play them like puppets,
To do all he says, and dare them to not LOVE it.
It’s a sick sad place in their shallow little minds.
They think they are SAINTS yet only fault with others find.
They fear their own mortality, and beg heaven let them in.
They know they will never measure up, because every man has sin
And perfection is expected, the rules they never end.
“Brothers and Sisters” to them they say, “ These rules, They DO NOT BEND!”.
Well Mr. Bishop, whoever you are. I can tell you this out loud,
God loves me just as much as you, so I call me as my Bishop now.

This Way Out

02/18/2006 - created by Stray Mutt

the door said danger
the door said destruction
and damnation
don't go near the door
don't even think about it
it's not even there

the room was airless
ventless
poorly lit
no comfort
no rest
only a constant mechanical whine
distant sobbing and
the door that said danger

the voice said listen
the voice said obey
and pay
this is the miracle and wonder
this is joy
here on this side of the door
that isn't there

the door
the door
ignore the door
ignore the ache
and the emptiness
and the dissonance
ignore the door
the door
the door
what door

But Wait

02/18/2006 - created by Stray Mutt

the path was clearly marked
well lit
worn smooth
walled in for my protection
enter here
stay to the right
use the handrail
don't talk to strangers

the answers were neatly arranged
highlighted
cross-referenced
pointing in one direction
this way
stay to the right
use the handrail
don't ask any questions

the promise was plainly told
happiness
fulfillment
heavenly selection
toe the line
stay to the right
use the handrail
don't take any chances

the image was bright and shiney
wholesome
happy
family life to perfection
say cheese
stay to the right
use the handrail
don't blow the illusion

the leaders were smartly dressed
starched
well rehearsed
worthy of my affection
follow me
stay to the right
use the handrail
don't look behind the curtain

Bubble Boy

02/18/2006 - created by Stray Mutt

gliding along upside down
looking through rose colored goggles
into backward binoculars
at a rear view funhouse mirror
with one eye closed
both ears plugged
and a mouthful of mumbled prayers
in the dark

rabbit’s foot crucifix
mutant clover horoscope
in my unhip pocket
flowing and knowing
the juju will see me through
get me over and around
the lumps and bumps and
sudden detours off the precipice

solidly grounded in erroneous assumptions
founded upon other erroneous assumptions
about things that never really happened
and never really could
or even should

I am certain
I am true
I am safely wrapped
in fluffy layers of
non-reflective self-deception
and a wrinkle resistant blend
of delusion and denial
all the while waiting
for the deus ex machina
created ex nihilo and ex post facto
to stretch forth its mighty hand
and save my sanctified bacon
making a happily ever after ending
to end all endings

but in the end
there is no man
with an inscrutable plan
behind the curtain
pushing buttons flipping levers
pulling strings
on my exceptional behalf

in the end
the anchor of faith holds me back
and pulls me down
to drown in flawed promises
and failed magic

in the end
the big answers
are to the wrong questions

in the end
is clarity
a clean slate
and a state of peace

in the end
is only what is
and that is enough

Christmas in Zarahemla - A poem for Smithmas

12/22/2005 - created by SL Slacker

Twas the night before Christmas, in fair Zarahemla
Where two seons of gold won't fetch half a limnah
Since the buildings all crumbled and smashed to the ground
Over dead, bloody people heaped up in a mound.

The children were strewn over sharp rocky beds
While visions of cureloms danced in their heads
And Mamma with her bleeding and my fractured thigh
Had just settled down to curse God and die.

When out in the rubble arose such a clatter
I strained my head up to see what was the matter
And peered o'er the stones - my eyes flew like a tapir
just stabbed in a battle with an iron-tipped rapier

The sky covered up by black clouds of debris
Hid the frenzied, cold wounded still trying to flee
When what to my wondering eyes should appear
But a pinprick of light growing steadily nearer

From a man clothed in white, his robe open in front
Like a pimp-daddy lounge singer pulling some stunt
When a voice still and small wafted over the snow
That pierced to my soul, "Folks it's time for the show!

"Come hear Jesus, my son, in whom I'm well pleased
Who helped ravage your cities with death and disease!"
So I looked and saw Him light down from the sky
Landing on top of and crushing some elderly guy.

I stared right into this holy hipster's breast
Which was shaven as freshly as his chin, legs, and the rest
His eyes, how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

He was fit as a stallion, and smelled of chlorine
From that Heavenly hot tub where he stashed Ann, Meg, and Doreen
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He'd scarcely arrived when he went straight to work
Proclaiming himself emperor, the self-righteous jerk
Then he invited the young and the old not yet dead
To forget their own wounds and check his out instead

Then he quickly got bored and started to rise
Up and lecture us all on how to baptize
He laid out every detail as if I should care
About proper procedures when one missed a few hairs.

Then to prove that he wouldn't leave us all in a lurch
He took care to expound on the name of his Church.
Then he healed some of the injured who had faith to heal
And suggested they forget dead friends who lacked zeal.

Now laying a finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up to heaven he rose.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he flew out of sight,
"Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!"

What if they don't finish reading the Book of Mormon by Christmas Eve?

11/19/2005 - by Jerry the Aspousestate

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

Not a saint was stirring, not even a spouse.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

Hoping their parents would get that book read.

When out in the street there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

When what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a great black limo and guards coming near.

The bodyguards surrounded a man old and sick,

I knew in a moment he's not our Bishop Prick.

And he wheezed and he gasped as onward he ran,

"Read Alma, read Enos, and read Hela . . . man."

He climbed up the porch, and almost fell off it,

Marched right in saying, "I am your Prophet!"

Papa was shocked, rose to give him his seat,

Mom just spluttered, "What would you like to eat?"

The Prophet just frowned, "There's not time for that!"

"I told you to read it, now where are you at?"

Papa said, "Mosiah" and "Moroni" said Mom.

"The Book of Baloney" said Crazy Cousin Tom.

Auntie Emma said, "Nephi" and the old Prophet looked,

"It better be 4 or your goose is cooked."

Grandma just stared at her embroidery work,

The Prophet spun and his eyes gave a smirk.

"I suppose you're finished my sweet sister dear?"

She blushed, said "Oh, yes." And then shed a tear.

"I know why you're crying," the old man exclaimed.

"Yes" she said sobbing, "I should have started again."

He stared them all down, then turned with a jerk.

"Don't stop reading. Get back to your work."

The big guards hustled, and returned to the car.

The doors all slammed, and they sped afar.

But I heard him exclaim, ere they roared out of sight,

"Speed reading to all, and to all a good-night!"

To The Polygamous God of Obedience and Hater of Wanton Appetite

06/26/2005 - by by Bill Dobbs

God of obedience,
He who knows appetites are only excuses for apostates
Do you desire?
You who collect goddesses and sow your seed so profligately,
Do you care about she upon whom you sow?
Do you look upon her heart?
Your bible says you look upon the inward parts, forget the outer form
I suspect that like your servants
You look upon her breasts
But forget the heart that weeps and nurtures.
Do you remember how you once were suckled,
And desire received its all?

Don Juan of the sky
Master of obedience
Hater of apostate passion
What is it that you really love?
There you go again with Mrs. God, and Mrs. God,
and Mrs. God and Mrs. God and Mrs. God--
Do you remember their names,
Do you ever cry out to Jezebel
When you are with Miriam?
God of Joseph Smith,
God of the swollen pants and secret handshakes,
The bloody God
Disemboweler of wanton appetites
God of the angel with the flaming sword
Who nearly cut Joseph
What would you have removed?
What member matters most?

You gave him Zina, whom you cut off
From Henry, a man in love both day and night.
Did you look on Henry that day and night?
You who have so many goddesses
Did you ever love like him?
God of the 14 year old bride who thought Joseph
Would love as pure and chaste as spirit
Do you know spirit?
God of the sister children you helped him bed under Emma’s roof
Those who were in his care and keeping
Are we in your care and keeping?

God of severed heads
Whose bloody servant slew Goliath
Who inspired Joseph’s giant appetites
Is there anything giant about you?
God of Samuel who thundered
“Obedience is better than sacrifice!”
Eternally there you are
Always in some goddess bed
A huge task, peopling worlds--
But what are they peopled for?
Are you really fulfilling your desire in your eternal embraces
Does a doubt as revelation sometimes slip through?

Do you remember King Agag
Who came before Samuel and mad King Saul
King Saul mad with disobedience,
A spirit that you sent
King Agag who pleaded for us all
Who cast his seed on rocky ground
And wept silently while he wondered
“Surely the bitterness of death is past.”
Did he think of you when Samuel
Hewed him to pieces in Gilgal
The sacrifice of a man
Whose words will pierce
Through all of us with broken hearts
Hewn to pieces before you in Gilgal
Surely the kindness of disobedience
Fills all our human hearts
With the sap of life that always flows
Have you forgotten it?

Is it you of whom we speak
When our hearts proclaim
“God is Love?”
God forbid
Bringer of true madness
Bring us a deeper divinity
Goddess come nurture us. Create new worlds
Where truly you will turn
Our tears to laughter
Our song of sorrow into gladness
Our mourning into joy
Of love in the night watch
When morning comes
And we understand
What we have made a god
What we have made the world
We will build altars to the rebel
The one who fights for all humanity
Inscribe it
“In memory of King Agag
And the God and Goddess
In true embrace within”
Our love and passion for each other
Our willingness to question everything
That respects neither heart nor mind
Will be our true obedience

Doin' the Masonic Shuffle: Ward Hoe-Down Night!!

03/05/2005 - by Scott Tippetts

Elders, bow to the purty little darlin' on your left....
You Sisters, give a curtsy to that baker-hatted gent!

Everyone face the front where the matron scowls real stern....
Pay 'ttention to the Man Adam or in hell ya gonna burn!

Now put on that green apron an' jes cinch it up tight....
Make sure yer hat-string's tied to yer white overalls on the right!

Women, show a little token to the gentleman on yer left....
There's a death penalty with it, so keep them handshakes deft!

Men, recite a cultic oath with a silly new name....
You women, be patient, it's yer turn to do the same!

Now allemande left with a left allemande....
Pay Lay Ale up & down like a palm leaf frond!

Everybody do-si-do 'round the altar up front....
Hold hands in a circle and pray fer Gordon, the gnarly runt!

Everybody up in in front go return back home....
Now line up single file behind the 80 year old gnome!

Step smart with yer pardner to the veil on the side....
Stick yer hands through them holes so you ken git cee-les-tia-fied!

Gimme five points of fellowship - but keep those boners down you men....
Whisper secret combinations and The Massa let you in!

Brothers, grab yer pardner with a Patriarchal Grip....
Promenade her into heaven now, don'tcha let her slip!

Pass on through, nod to that white suited man....
Be QUIET now y'all, hear a revvee-layshun if ya can!

Kinky sisters, ask yer pardners if they wanna uh-nish-ee-ate....
Nekkid washin' and annointin', don't nobody hesitate!

Now bow to yer pardner while I finish up my rhyme....
Lookin' smug to each other like ya been Masons all the time!

Back to the locker room, take off that costume slow....
Drive back home like nuthin' happened - normal folk will never know!

Yee-haw!

(With special credit to Quevedo, for coining the phrase 'doing the Masonic Shuffle')

Poor Martin Harris

02/24/2005 - by Crappy Lyric Man

Down on the farm I met Ole Joe
He was lazy and a mite slow
He scamed the neighbors from all around
Gold plates he claimed he had found.

I listened to Joe and read the book
My interest was gained and I took the hook
To publish the book that came from gold
Interest I would get when the book sold.

After five thousand copies were printed and made
On the shelf they gathered dust and laid
Ole Grandin said he needed the money now
I mortgaged my farm, my horse and my sow.

When the mortgage came due and I was poor
That wife of mine kicked me out the door
When Ole Lackey too my farm from me
I didn't have a pot into which to pee.

I slapped my wife with one last clout
Then she divorced my ass and moved me out
She laid her claim to the rest of the farm
She kicked me out to my dismay and alarm.

But at least I had the confidence of Ole Joe
He promised me seventy virgins in a row
If I just stuck to the story I had been told
So others would not leave the fold.

Escape

02/11/2005 - by Rich Johnson (Taylor Hawke)

The most difficult thing in my entire life--
nothing else comes close--

was finally, fully,
escaping the clutches
of the great demon,
the church.

Locked inside an unseen mental prison,
massive iron doors, thick black bars,
blinders of illusion and confusion,
hidden chains of unworthiness,
torture of sin and guilt,

The prison keeper is clever, deceptive beyond words.
Such insidious mind control.
feeding the prisoners a diet of self-loathing and shame,
fear of eternal hell.
Allowing only certain thoughts,
answering all my questions,
choosing my way for me.
But the way led around only inside the invisible prison.
I was born inside there,
I never knew the prison
wasn't the whole world.

They do all this from infancy, at night, in secret,
pretending to be holy and good,
so you do not suspect your incarceration.
They put the prisoners asleep to dream
that everything is nice, very nice.

Though invisible during the day,
I caught glimpses of the monster in my dreams.
It was a giant praying mantis like in the movies
that catches you, bites your head off,
sucks your mind out, your aliveness,
the joy bleeding down.

It was a phantom energy creature from outer space
that slithers into you as you sleep,
begins to grow in your blood,
its tentacles choking your heart,
invading your unsuspecting mind,
even thinking your thoughts by the party line.
There was nobody home,
Richard Robot Johnson standing in.

I wonder if the high holy ones really believe all that
--only we have the truth, everyone else goes to hell--shit?
Preposterous. It's hard to see how any intelligent person can.
But I did. Without question. For the longest time.
It probably would have been forever.
It took me getting ripped open collar bone to thigh to wake up.
Crashing chaos shocked me enough to begin to see
the massive illusion, the most perverse hoax,
the life-draining lie that infected my every sense and feeling.

It was a desperate escape
from that invisible prison of darkness,
from that monster that had taken me over mind and sinew.
It was bold and big, it took an explosion to rip out the tentacles,
to blast down the walls,
to purge the lies,
it took a revolution to loose
the iron bands, the constricting beliefs--
to shatter the consciousness of fear.
I lit the dynamite,
then in the blast, the smoke and diversion
I ran for my life.
The monster did not let go easily,
it held on tenaciously, tried to reel me back.
But I kept running
and cut and slashed more tentacles
and lit more dynamite,
and finally
I broke away
out of the dark fog
into the glorious shining light.
I am free.

To escape the church,
to awake,
to come alive,
the greatest miracle.
It is salvation.

Where were you when I was available?

02/05/2005 - by Joseph Smith, Jr. - created by AJM

I love them demur, beautiful and plain.
I admit I love them all the same,
I love them with a little fire,
I want them all I never tire,
I love them young or even thirty,
I love to hear them talk all dirty,
I loved Eliza, smart but plain,
I loved them all to keep me sane,
I loved that Fanny young and cute,
I court them all with tie and suit,
I tell them come and sleep with me,
I talk with God I'll set you free,

So Darwin girl, I doth implore,
Abide with me and be my w__re,
For I love women big and small,
Come unto me my beck and call,
And love this wayfaring man of grief,
And be my love, I'll make it brief,
And be part of hy holiness,
And dwell in sacred loneliness.

"The Night Before Christmas"--Mormonism style!

12/23/2004 - by Dr. Shades

The following is a poem in Anapestic Tetrameter. In other words, each line has a meter schema of " - - / - - / - - / - - / ", where " - " is an unstressed syllable and " / " is a stressed syllable:

'Twas the night before Christmas, and on Temple Square
hung a most hopeless feeling of awful despair.
while the Morg missionaries led tours of the grounds,
there was no trace of cheer to be anywhere found.

And inside of the temple the mood did persist,
as fifteen men assembled (my sources insist).
Now, the men were "apostles," or so it is said,
by the folks known as "Mormons" who might be misled.

Then they each took their seats, their heads heavy with gloom,
for their bi-weekly meeting in the "Upper Room."
When they all became seated, one man took the stand,
he was M. Russell Ballard--What speech had he planned?

"There's a new thing out there," he began with a frown,
"If it isn't stopped soon, it will tear the church down!
Now it's time that we faced an insidious threat,
it's the worst one in years: It's called 'the Internet!'

And the members--from old to the young, I've heard tell--
they can eas'ly get on it, Goddamn it to Hell!
They can read what they want just by typing key-words!
And the normal folks do this, not just geeks and nerds!

Now, I've heard many stories of members aghast
when they first read the true and unsanitized past!
Because now people see that the hist'ry's been changed,
and they know Brigham's sermons sound fully deranged!

They can read the true stories of Danites and such,
and then learn how the prophets were way out of touch.
They can read how much Joseph was really a nut,
then they'll know the false doctrines out there--so now what?"

And then Gordon B. Hinckley said, "Men, it is true,
I'm afraid that this time I don't know what to do.
Saying, 'That was a couplet!' did okay before;
but now I highly doubt it will work anymore.

'I don't know that we teach that' did good for a time,
but to use it once more wouldn't be worth a dime.
And so history we can no longer suppress,
'cause the 'net's put a quick stop to all that, I guess.

So now what is there left? what deception to ply?
Now we'd better think fast, or just kiss it goodbye!"
And then Dallin spoke up and said, "What will we do
when the members find out that the church isn't true?

And so now what comes next? Has our cover been blown?"
Then the men all looked down, their sad fate to bemoan.
As the fifteen thought hard, all their faces real grim,
they then knew at that time that their chances were slim.

So the men got to thinking but came up with naught
'cept a horrible scene of a tithing boycott.
And then just at that point, things did get really bright,
And then just as you'd guess, the apostles took fright.

Then the glow in the room coalesced to the shape
of a six-foot tall man who looked strong as an ape.
See, the sudden appearance took all by surprise,
so they trembled, then coughed, then they squinted their eyes.

So what was this strange specter they had to deal with?
Why, it's none other than the ghost of Joseph Smith!
"Holy cow!" Said the prophet. "This is a bombshell!
'Cause we all thought for sure you were burning in Hell!"

Then Joe said, "I should smack you, now show me respect
since I stared your church--it is what I expect.
Now, I've come here to help you out of this fine fix,
'cause you know that when living, I was full of tricks.

When the members find something exposing the Morg,
just you don't worry none 'bout dot-com or dot-org.
And so if they should find out the meat before milk,
just refer them to FARMS and to FAIR and their ilk.

You can say, 'That's not doctrine,' then watch their doubts fade.
Tell them 'he was misquoted,' then doubts are delayed!
'It was took out of context,' you can also say,
as you tell them to fast and you tell them to pray.

Those excuses work always; repeat them all when
any member returns to his doubting again."
"That's a real good idea!" Boyd Packer did shout,
"Yes, this spin-doct'ring surely will bail us all out!"

Joseph Smith cracked a smile, then he quick turned around,
'cause he knew he'd imparted a lesson profound.
And no more would the Brethren be worried at all,
'cause there wasn't a doubt that they couldn't forestall.

And then Joseph yelled out, "I have got to move on;
I have sev'ral young women to bang before dawn!
On Fanny! On Zina! And on Helen Mar!
On Lucy! On Patty!" (so many there are!)

The apostles were grateful, of that you could tell,
For this timely advice that went over so well.
And they heard Joe exclaim ere departing forthwith:
"MERRY SMITHMAS TO ALL, AND LONG LIVE JOSEPH'S MYTH!"

Twelve Days of Christmas

12/04/2004 - by PlayElder

On the first day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the second day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the third day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 3 Nephites appearing, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the fourth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 4 jello salads, 3 Nephites appearing, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the fifth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 5 points of fellowship, 4 jello salads, 3 Nephites appearing, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the sixth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 6 more wives, 5 points of fellowship, 4 jello salads, 3 Nephites appearing, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the seventh day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives, 5 points of fellowship, 4 jello salads, 3 Nephites appearing, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the eighth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 8 Paul H. Dunn baseball cards from Mark Hoffman, 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives, 5 points of fellowship, 4 jello salads, 3 Nephites appearing, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the ninth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 9 clever couplets, 8 Paul H. Dunn baseball cards from Mark Hoffman, 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives, 5 points of fellowship, 4 jello salads, 3 Nephites appearing, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the tenth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 10 changed revelations, 9 clever couplets, 8 Paul H. Dunn baseball cards from Mark Hoffman, 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives, 5 points of fellowship, 4 jello salads, 3 Nephites appearing, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the eleventh day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 11 percent tithing, 10 changed revelations, 9 clever couplets, 8 Paul H. Dunn baseball cards from Mark Hoffman, 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives, 5 points of fellowship, 4 jello salads, 3 Nephites appearing, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

On the twelfth day of Christmas the Mormons gave to me 12 old fart apostles, 11 percent tithing, 10 changed revelations, 9 clever couplets, 8 Paul H. Dunn baseball cards from Mark Hoffman, 7 Lamanites a'leaping, 6 more wives, 5 points of fellowship, 4 jello salads, 3 Nephites appearing, 2 elders knocking and a subscription to Playelder Magazine.

Here's wishing you and yours a happy holidays from the many absurdities of the LDS Church!!!

A realization of Mormonism

10/24/2004 - by Bill Kempton

Mormon Piety promotes superiority as credibility falls
LDS scripture whispers racism inside church walls
Seeking mainstream, the extra talk of racial equality
Is surpassed by a 140 year policy t’was discriminatory

New members first drink from milk filled cups, a doctrinal cover up
Later they seek the truth, and eat the meat, quickly choking, throwing up
The hierarchy would have you play the fool, insisting on endless prayers
Commanding you to ignore thy own conscience lest their history beware
Think and write your hearts delight being open to all communication
And watch the gavel slam and soon witness your excommunication

The goodness the church now imparts
Is impaired by the lies from the start
The sin of omission in the secret temple relations
Ethnocentric discrimination and self-righteous deification
A young boy only twelve is warned against masturbation
A book full of cursed black races and silly superstitions

Let the truth, here and now, be told
Unholy dogma remains in the fold

Polyphemus

06/05/2004 - by Watcher

Polyphemus, the one eyed giant,
Now what do you think he represents?
What the church calls the Priesthood
Or the narrow way you're told to take?

Polyphemus, one eyed, blinded by Odysseus,
In a barbarous act of Cyclopean genocide!
We too were blinded to the truth that sets us free,
bound and gagged and sealed for eternity!

Take a trip within the gut of your mind!
Do not be scared of whatever you may find!
Even Odysseus and the Lotos Eaters,
Chewing on their Cattle feed...

The Lotos Eaters have no eyes, which is one less
than Polyphemus... and his kin, the wheel-eyed men,
but the Lotos eaters are content in their fiction...
as the crows of the advantageous wind.

Geriatric Authorities

06/05/2004 - by Watcher

Smiles on their faces, the geriatric tribe, come to see me,
and to bribe,
me with their silly stories they don't believe,
but which our Savior makes us receive.
Hail Gordon full of Grace, with that smirk upon your face,
you are no seed of Mary's mind,
nor of Christ and his kind...
but of the taxmen, and the pharisees.
Necromancy, necrobaptist, oligarchy!

Don't hate me for my garments

05/24/2004 - by Mr. Charlie

Everyone keeps asking
Nobody understands
They just want to know
about my funny underpants.

Sometimes I get offended.
Sometimes I think it's rude.
Perhaps I should start asking folks
what they look like in the nude.

They're clean and white
and covered with crosses
they make me feel cool in the summer
and when I'm feeling stylish, I'll wear golashes.

I like to wear them in the kitchen
and also to bed
and sometimes I will get drunk
and get my shirt stuck on my head.

So see, just because you don't see
all the wonder they are to behold,
don't blame me because
in your underwear you get cold.

Don't hate.
Congratulate.
I take my funny underwear creed seriously,
don't hate me for it.

My butt is pure.
Like a white bleached sheet.
You can check my garments
if you don't believe me.

Mystery Babylon

05/22/2004 - by Watcher

The Mormons have their own secret rites,
which they keep under lock and key,
but it is not for them to tell me what I can and cannot see.
I can see all, remote and void,
spilling over into my expanded consciousness,
and I can see what I am not meant to,
and I know the things they will not tell you!
They are not sacred, and never secret!

Babylon where Saddam stood at the gates,
and the tin pot ensconces himself
in the popular consciousness.
And can you prove that MYSTERY BABYLON is not here again?
Or is that this is not the seizure of the citadel
for bizarre rites to resurrect PAN
or his people, and our minds are putty
in the line of media fire

Bleed My Sheep

05/22/2004 - by Watcher

Tankers of all things,
Carrying the Illuminati to their goal
in BABYLON with the lizard help
And what is their object there?
No one knows,
and hardly anyone seems to care!

It is the seizure of the cradle of civilisation,
where the Annunaki rose from the sea,
with their fish gills, and taught human sapiens
the secret of writing and civilisation,
and they will come again, to protect us from the lizard men.

In Funland, but not of Funland

04/22/2004 - by MySongAngel

So blessed am I to have finally found
the golf course by the merry-go-round.
I’d wandered through Funland all of my life,
riding the fun rides night after night.

When one day I passed by the miniature golf.
Some players laughed, while some players scoffed.
When I asked them why they were bothering me,
they said, “Come on! Join us and you’ll see!”

They showed me the clown and the little windmill.
I was so thrilled, I couldn’t sit still.
They gave me a club, and showed me the grip,
A secretive grip, so the club wouldn’t slip.

They told me the secret of plaid golfer’s pants,
and gave me a hat and a shirt that would match.
It was right then that I realized,
I knew a lot more than the folks walking by.

They didn’t know all the things I’d been told,
like the sins of ice cream, or the secret golf code.
They played at the pool and the rides that they had,
‘cause they didn’t know that Funland was bad.

My golfing friends shook their heads and would say,
“They think that they’re happy, but wait ‘til the day
when all of Funland will burn to the ground,
leaving just those who like to play rounds.”

I felt kind of sad, but mostly relieved.
For some reason the truth had been shown to me.
“We’re in the Amusement Park,” they said to me.
“But not of the Amusement Park.” I nodded, “I see.”

Playing golf, I learned, was the only way
to live happy forever, I could never stray.
I could never return to the merry-go-round,
though it was so close, I could hear its fun sound.

I lived happy and safe in my little golf bubble,
‘til I reached the sixth hole, I ran into trouble.
I wanted to hide, I wanted to run.
The sixth hole, I thought, just couldn’t be done.

95% had failed
and 5% had lied.
They hid that little fact from me
and said I had to try.

“You want to get to heaven, son?”
They asked me fervently.
“You have to make it past this hole,
if that’s where you want to be.”

I tried all day and cried all night.
I couldn’t understand.
Was I not good enough to stay
on the golf course in Funland?

I watched the people walking by,
and envied secretly,
their ignorance of the hole six
that had been placed on me.

They didn’t know that Funland
was soon to be destroyed.
They rode their rides and
bought ice cream for all their girls and boys.

I held my iron club so strong.
I knew just what to do.
With all the knowledge that I had,
I had to follow through.

I tried and tried and tried again,
and then I tried some more.
Until one day, our leader
called me in and closed the door.

He shook my hand and sat me down
and then he asked of me,
“Did you make it past hole one,
hole two and then hole three?”

I nodded proudly, “Yes of course!
I’d never let you down.”
I thought about the first hole,
the windmill and the clown.
“And son, I have to ask you
if you wear your golfing pants.”
I nodded yet again,
and he confirmed it with a glance.

“And did you make it past hole four,
and what about the fifth one?”
I nodded proudly once again,
our meeting almost done.

But then he asked the question
that made my blood run cold.
“And how are you, I have to ask,
on the sixth golf hole?”

I started feeling dizzy,
and I just wanted to die.
He stared at me accusingly,
and then I told a lie.

“Hole six?” I said, “I made it past.
It’s really not that hard.”
That’s when he grinned and signed for me,
a brand new golfing card.

I shook his hand and turned to leave,
knowing I’d done wrong.
I’d be the only one out there
who’s lying all along.

I looked around at everyone
that had their golfing cards.
They’d made it past hole number six,
even though it had been hard.

I wiped a tear from off my face
because I learned that day,
I couldn’t leave the golfing course,
but I really shouldn’t stay.

I picked my iron club up
in my dirty little hand.
At least I wasn’t riding rides
or swimming in Funland.

That’s when it hit me as I wiped
the tears off from my eyes.
I was still superior,
even with my lie.

I watched people riding on
the nearby carousel.
They hadn’t even tried hole six,
when I’d tried hard as hell.

So I stood up tall and
looked down at my golfing shirt.
I was better off right here,
even with the hurt.

If I tried hard enough, I knew
I’d get what I’d been told.
for staying here until I died,
I’d make it to the pros.

Where's The Resurrection?

11/01/2003 - from Daniel F Mitchell

Where's the resurrection?
It's time for insurrection!
Listen, all you seers!
I don't want to blow your optimism.
I have no use for moral schism.
But, God, it's been two thousand years!

Blanket of Ignorance

11/01/2003 - from Daniel F Mitchell

Whimpering at the searing lights shining round their heads,
Wondering at the heated truths that roll them from their beds,
They hold tight to their blankets, quite torn in tiny shreds,
And curse the souls that dare to speak their deepest, darkest, dreads.
It says here in my book!
Take a look!
How can you deny?
You dare ask why!
Oh, no!
Long ago, it was so!
Never doubt!
If I weave my story well enough, you'll never sort it out.
Peering through the blanket holes at all their dreaded fears,
The whites of their wide eyes glistening,
Their fingers in their ears,
They pray, "I'm not listening. I'm not listening."

The Gospel Gag

09/06/2003 - from anonymous True Believing Mormon

I only had to read a few lines
to see your real intent
And I don't need any illustrious signs
to know you need to repent

I feel so sad for one like you
who tries to marr the beauty
of the light of a gospel true
And my intent is not to be 'snooty'

Learning and following God's will for me
through scripture, Prophets and leaders too
Has filled me with more joy than I thought could ever be
I KNOW THAT THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST IS TRUE

And because I care about you as a brother
I could never feel malice or hate
Jesus did say "Love One Another"
All I can do is pray you repent before it's not too late.

Ole Joe

05/29/2003 - from Nephihaha

Joseph Smith was often laid,
three times a night or so it's said
by different women, in different positions,
especially while their husbands were away on missions.

Papa Tried to Baptize Me Blues...

03/11/2003 - SD

Papa tried to baptize me,
When I was only eight.
He didn't realize or see,
It was already too late.

When he pushed me under,
I thought I might drown,
I cried out like thunder,
But he kept holding me down.

I got those Papa tried to baptize me blues,
He never asked me, I didn't get to choose.
He said well now you got the spirit, boy,
It's time to start paying your dues.

He made a deacon on the Sunday after Easter,
When I resisted, I got a pounding on the keister.
He said now you've got the priesthood boy,
Just be glad you're not your sister.

At nineteen, he sent me on a mission,
Never asked my permission.
He looked at me with a tear in his eye,
And said you're grown up now, it's time to learn how to lie.

I got those Papa tried to baptize me blues,
He never asked me, I didn't get to choose.
He said well now you got the spirit boy,
It's time to start paying your dues.

I love to wear garments

03/10/2003 - Theo Hirsch (Formerly known as tedd)

I love to wear garments because of the sweat
that oozes from my pores, and makes me all wet.
100 degrees in the summer I endure,
because heavenly father wants me spiritually pure.

As I walk down the street while the weather is blazing,
I dig in my ass and find it's simply amazing.
Because I cannot seem to dig those things out,
from within my ass crack I get pissed and shout!

But then I remember the promise I made,
inside the temple, I would never get laid.
Of course if I marry then it is ok,
to give her my ding-dong and play sexual games.

But what happens when she takes off her clothes?
Those garments she wears makes me cringe to my toes.
A woman so pretty and right underneath
she's wearing those garments, I can't help but heave.

I will be protected I will not get hurt;
I will be in god's care wearing the bottom and shirt.
They're long and they're ugly, and not designer gracious,
and hang out my backside while tying shoelaces.

They have special signs that are there for a reason,
just wear them Goddamn it, don't matter the season!
Wear them all day and wear them all night,
wear them with holes and pants that are tight.

Do not remove them and always be good,
do as your told just like Joe Smith would.
We wear them and wash then every six months,
go over to beehive and then pull real stupid stunts.

We buy some more new ones and put them right on,
we don't even think of the physical harm.
A heat stroke, no sun, and a down right white bod,
just go to the new stake center and help lay the sod.

Remember to wear them and remember to suffer,
because this is what makes us spiritually tougher.
You wouldn't want comfort not shorts or tank top,
just wear your damn garments the questions now stop!

For only six dollars per pair you can be,
in spiritual safety and without any worry.
The spirit will guide you and keep you from hurt,
just put on your garments the bottom and shirt!

The Night Before Christmas---Mormonism style

created - Dr. Shades if the Recovery from Mormonism bulletin board - 12/21/2002

This is a is a satirical poem in Anapestic Tetrameter. In other words, each line has a meter schema of " - - / - - / - - / - - / ", where " - " is an unstressed syllable and " / " is a stressed syllable:

The Night Before Christmas--Mormonism style

'Twas the night before Christmas, and on Temple Square
hung a most hopeless feeling of awful despair.
while the Morg missionaries led tours of the grounds,
there was no trace of cheer to be anywhere found.

And inside of the temple the mood did persist,
as fifteen men assembled (my sources insist).
Now, the men were "apostles," or so it is said,
by the folks known as "Mormons" who might be misled.

Then they each took their seats, their heads heavy with gloom,
for their bi-weekly meeting in the "Upper Room."
When they all became seated, one man took the stand,
he was M. Russell Ballard--What speech had he planned?

"There's a new thing out there," he began with a frown,
"If it isn't stopped soon, it will tear the church down!
Now it's time that we faced an insidious threat,
it's the worst one in years: It's called 'the Internet!'

And the members--from old to the young, I've heard tell--
they can eas'ly get on it, Goddamn it to Hell!
They can read what they want just by typing key-words!
And the normal folks do this, not just geeks and nerds!

Now, I've heard many stories of members aghast
when they first read the true and unsanitized past!
Because now people see that the hist'ry's been changed,
and they know Brigham's sermons sound fully deranged!

They can read the true stories of Danites and such,
and then learn how the prophets were way out of touch.
They can read how much Joseph was really a nut,
then they'll know the false doctrines out there--so now what?"

And then Gordon B. Hinckley said, "Men, it is true,
I'm afraid that this time I don't know what to do.
Saying, 'That was a couplet!' did okay before;
but now I highly doubt it will work anymore.

'I don't know that we teach that' did good for a time,
but to use it once more wouldn't be worth a dime.
And so history we can no longer suppress,
'cause the 'net's put a quick stop to all that, I guess.

So now what is there left? what deception to ply?
Now we'd better think fast, or just kiss it goodbye!"
And then Dallin spoke up and said, "What will we do
when the members find out that the church isn't true?

And so now what comes next? Has our cover been blown?"
Then the men all looked down, their sad fate to bemoan.
As the fifteen thought hard, all their faces real grim,
they then knew at that time that their chances were slim.

So the men got to thinking but came up with naught
'cept a horrible scene of a tithing boycott.
And then just at that point, things did get really bright,
And then just as you'd guess, the apostles took fright.

Then the glow in the room coalesced to the shape
of a six-foot tall man who looked strong as an ape.
See, the sudden appearance took all by surprise,
so they trembled, then coughed, then they squinted their eyes.

So what was this strange specter they had to deal with?
Why, it's none other than the ghost of Joseph Smith!
"Holy cow!" Said the prophet. "This is a bombshell!
'Cause we all thought for sure you were burning in Hell!"

Then Joe said, "I should smack you, now show me respect
since I stared your church--it is what I expect.
Now, I've come here to help you out of this fine fix,
'cause you know that when living, I was full of tricks.

When the members find something exposing the Morg,
just you don't worry none 'bout dot-com or dot-org.
And so if they should find out the meat before milk,
just refer them to FARMS and to FAIR and their ilk.

You can say, 'That's not doctrine,' then watch their doubts fade.
Tell them 'he was misquoted,' then doubts are delayed!
'It was took out of context,' you can also say,
as you tell them to fast and you tell them to pray.

Those excuses work always; repeat them all when
any member returns to his doubting again."
"That's a real good idea!" Boyd Packer did shout,
"Yes, this spin-doct'ring surely will bail us all out!"

Joseph Smith cracked a smile, then he quick turned around,
'cause he knew he'd imparted a lesson profound.
And no more would the Brethren be worried at all,
'cause there wasn't a doubt that they couldn't forestall.

And then Joseph yelled out, "I have got to move on;
I have sev'ral young women to bang before dawn!
On Fanny! On Zina! And on Helen Mar!
On Lucy! On Patty!" (so many there are!)

The apostles were grateful, of that you could tell,
For this timely advice that went over so well.
And they heard Joe exclaim ere departing forthwith:
"MERRY SMITHMAS TO ALL, AND LONG LIVE JOSEPH'S MYTH!"

"Twas the Night Before Smithmas"

created - by workingfather on the New Order Mormons bulletin board - submitted by mrs_gracie - 12/02/2002

'Twas the night before Smithmas, when all through the house
Not an apostate was stirring; even Mike Quinn, the louse;
The peep stones were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Joseph soon would be there;
The members were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of decaf danced in their heads;
And ma in her pantsuit, and I in white shirt,
Had just settled down with our Jell-o dessert,
When up on the podium there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the pew to see what was the matter.
Away to the aisle I flew like a flash,
Tore open the hymnbook to hide up my stash.
The moon on the breast of Eliza R. Snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature church with some prophets and seers,
With a charismatic leader, so lively and beau,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Joe.
More rapid than eagles his followers came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Brigham! now, Parley! now, Hyrum and Oly!
On, David! on Peter! on, Martin, by golly!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now pray away! pay away! obey away all!"
As dry leaves that before the great apostasy fly,
When met with a gentile, mount to the sky,
So up to the church-top the leaders they flew,
With a sleigh full of scrolls, and St. Joseph too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
Them prancing and pawing and spinning the truth.
Wanting to leave, I was turning around,
When down the steeple St. Joseph came with a bound.
He was dressed all in brown, with his face in his hat,
His clothes were quite ugly and made him look fat;
A bundle of scriptures he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes -- how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
He had no beard—he was a Mormon, you know;
No pipe either, for smoking is bad
And saying mean things ‘bout the wives that he had
He had a standardized face and a diminished belly
That got smaller each year thanks to the curriculum committee.
He was slender and tall, a right jolly young guy,
Though he’d been digging for treasure sometimes on the sly;
With a wink of his eye and sleight of his hand,
He said he’d seen God, in person, firsthand.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Translating and marrying (not a bad perk).
And laying a peep stone in front of his nose,
He told fancy stories no mortal composed.
And then giving a nod, up the steeple he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like a ballistic missile.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Smithmas to all, and drink lots of Sprite."

Mormon Couplet Medley

11/25/2002 - from Axe Hero

Here are some Mormon couplets -- I don't know that we teach that:

Love the prophet, serve the Lord.
Go to Church and don't be bored.

Twist and squirm, wiggle and writhe:
The only way to heaven is to pay your tithe.

Packer, Faust, Monson, Hinckley:
Rack 'em fast -- they're gettin' wrinkly.

Church of Jesus, Church of Smith,
Church of Business, Church of Myth.

Fifty polygamous wives have I,
Fifty more I'll have when I die.

Father in Heaven's tool ain't jelly.
Mother in Heaven's got a big belly.

Every member a missionary,
But nary a one a queen or a fairy.

Deacons are boys, Teachers are teens,
Young girls are toys, maidens aren't seen.
Elders are young men, High Priests are old,
Women are timid and do what they're told.

Oaks to Manila! Holland to Chile!
The Morg's desperation gives me the willies!

Meeting House! Stake Center! Temples? Lots!!
My House! Shopping Centers! My wad's shot!!

Egyptian Gods in my quad?
Smells a lot like big time fraud.

A Slither Through Mo-Slime

10/11/2001 - by Kelly Jean Blanpied

T' was brillig; and the slithy toves
did gyre and gymble in the wabe,
Afore sala - manders slither o're

a newt tour out-grabe!

With your recommend, to the garment house, 
around Kolob and back again!
A souvenir? perhaps another spouse,
To the secret vault, we peek in!

To escort you round and round, up and down the town,
Are Heber C. Gull and TechnoGod,
TechnoGod - he knows everything,
and Gull's got the keys!!

I Thank Thee O Lord For A Divorce

(based on a traditional ditty)

10/10/2001 - by Utah-ma-Brush

I had sworn to be a bachelor.
but she had sworn to be a bride,
but I guess you know the answer
-- the Church was on her side!

We went to Salt Lake Temple Fair
Where the marriage was made eternal
but that night when she let down her hair
the rest became infernal

Sure of course there's Mormon love
but it's seldom, if ever, from above,
I even doubt it's from below.
as old singles more desperate grow

Therefore all you brides to be
be not frigid in eternit-ee,
hearken to my warning stern,
if that is ...you ever learn.

"There Was An Old Mormon"

09/29/2001 - Nephihaha

There was an old Mormon named McDurnal,
Who claimed that his marriage was eternal,
in his ninety ninth year,
he dreamt of his dear,
and had an emission nocturnal!

"Sirrah"

08/02/2001 - by Gazelle

Scholar: "Why art thou, sirrah, seeming pale and wan?
I deign to hazard one shrewd guess in haste:
This...BYU has put a bitter taste
Into thy mouth; from thine eyes light is gone
Because of hags as these, that o'er thee fawn."

Athlete: "Your honor speaks aright; indeed I've faced
Such sights and horrors as have never paced
The long, dark halls of sickened minds!  Ah, sawn-
Away would I see these, my precious jew'ls--
Yea, and my with'ring-though-yet-worthy tools--
Before to such an evil-visag'd strumpet
Be giv'n unfetter'd use of this, my trumpet!"

Scholar: "What voids lie in the heads of bloody fools
Succumbing to the grov'llings of such ghouls?"

I Stand All Amazed

07/19/2001 - by Ted at theodore1111@yahoo.com

I stand all amazed that I have to fork out 1/10th.

In order to cross through and pass by the temple fence.

I have to fork out six bucks for ugly underwear.

Three hours in meetings my ass sure hurts in this chair.


(chorus)

Oh it really sucks ass, the cult mentallity that I let brain wash me. Oh it really sucks ass, really sucks to me!


I sit here and wonder how much more that they will ask.

Perhapes I will have to tell bishop about my past.

I`ll tell him of the time when I banged that laural chick.

And then he will tell me to not take the sacrament.

(Chorus)

Oh it really sucks ass the cult mentallity that I let brain wash me. Oh it really sucks ass, really sucks to me!

"Also thus sprack..."
or "When immutable doctrine meets irresistable pressure"

07/06/2001 - by Poisein Pen

Olde beliefs tucked away in the attic
Truly often behave quite erratic
Moth nor mold can corrupt
Dear old treasures laid up
But a press release works thin air magic

Plural wives, yeah we had 'em, now shant
"Plural gods start with Adam," recant
There's a man in the moon
Quaker clothes will change soon
To Cain's seed give the pow'r if they rant

Low about a deceased Brother Follett
To the press thusly spracketh a Prophet
Now the olde-timers groan
"Adam's blood can't atone"
For belief that becometh a Couplet

Women leaders and queers just might fit
On East Temple we could see them sit
Since tomorrow comes soon
Please don't think me a loon The release on the wall will be writ

"She's Kin" or "She Skin"

07/05/2001 - A Monkey's Uncle

Shekinah moved the waters
Then said unto her daughters
Lo as ye have heard me say
Yea "ehyeh asher ehyeh"
Go ye too, forth from the sea
Be where, and when, ye will be

References
1) Exodus 3:14
2) The Zohar
3) Quantum Evolution: The New Science of Life by Johnjoe McFadden

Crabby Fodder's Day

06/17/2001 - Poisein Pen

There's a price to be paid for belief
Unending meetings without relief
Load the kids in the car
Say "the chapel's how far?!"
If I nod off, I'll try to be brief

There's a price to be paid for belief
Deacons, teachers and priests cause him grief
For the Scouts he will Master
Yet another disaster
(An activity plucked from his briefs) Scout camp version
(From a problem of too many chiefs)Sac Meeting version

There's a price to be paid for belief
Loving sisters sure get no Relief
Mutter's flowers will wilt
She's no shortage of guilt
What she wants most of all is to sleep

There's a price to be paid for belief
Lots of babies that pee, poop, and sneeze
There's no doubt that this plan
Was made up by a band
Who've made off with my watch like a thief

One or Two

05/20/2001 - by Mac

One or two it's up to you,

The Eternal God,

Or His son too.

Joseph's memory improved with time,

But that don't help this story Rhyme.

Not that it matters, the truth came out

But was it from his ass or out of his snout.

A Whole new meaning to the term: "Hold to the rod!"

by Matt - 11/15/2000
It is about the changes from the Book of Commandments to the Doctrine and Covenants, when Oliver's command to dowse is changed to the "gift of Aaron."

Oliver, Oliver, hold to your rod,
You know that this is ordained of God.
Oliver, Oliver hold to your gift,
though the name is changed, to lessen a rift.

For some of the folks hear about,
When they hear of dowsing, scream and shout.
Preachers mark it as the devil's tool,
So we'll play it by there more formal rule.

But Oliver, Oliver, where is it now?
I don't think the rod is something they allow.
Your gift, dear oliver, is no longer here,
For a church so stable, these changes seem queer.


If I Could Fly To Kolob

by Kokaubeum@webtv.net - 10/06/2000

If I could fly to Kolob, On expedia.com I would be,
Booking full fare first class tickets,
That's one place I'm dying to see.

But alas, no one will tell me,
where this star of God is found,
So I'll search the Kokaubeum maps,
For to Kolob I am bound.

There is no end to madness,
or to scams of pie in the sky,
But somehow I know there's a Kolob,
If only I could hie yon or fly...

Remembering Why

by R.T.P. - 09/16/2000

This is the poem I read in Sacrament meeting the day I "officially" left the church. Nobody took my point "officially", but seven of the parasites wrote me requesting copies of the poem!


cradle emotions softly;
they are like teacups
full of freshly-brewed dreams.

this is one thing I keep on
learning but also
how to ignore callousness;

the criticism given
only to inflame
should burn the one who sends it.

Do not let any make you
justify your heart
when it gives its dreams freely;

the one who would make you pay
for daring to love
should be chastened like a child.

Better to be reviled
than to be loved for
only part of what you are:

happier to love the dream
than to live a life
in which you are not yourself.

There is beauty in knowing
your good and your bad
and admitting it freely.

Better than this dance with masks
that never allows
love to move past some limit;

no dream shared or cup given
meant a thing to them,
Goldilock's spurned dish of gruel.

I could not live with the thought
that who I am is
not quite what they were seeking.

I could not live without
expressions of self
untouched by expectations

of others, or their endless
judgemental demands,
parched tongues draining others' cups.

Punchline

Now, here's the poem I SHOULD have read. Read the far right column up 'n' down...


I tried to give my whole soul: to . . . . . . . . adorn
the altar of organized
codependency. I still . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . receive
wheedling missives,whining
in terms of sheeply . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . understanding
how it was just too big,and how
to cut it to fit,or . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . messages
by machine expressing dogmatic
concern and wistful . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . pleas
to go back religiously every Sunday
and help them all stuff their . . . . . . . . . . . .god
back into its box, that brutality
they term faith and . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .transcendence
avoiding the slightest caress
of true feeling toward others or . . . . . . . . .self
or to touch the endlessly open
vistas of this expanding . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . universe:
unauthorized emotion strictly
prohibited by a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . priesthood
automatically castrated by hypocrisy,
not daring to name its . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . goddess
for fear She might laugh it all
to shame if She . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . comes!
I tried so hard not to
nail Lamb . . . to . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Tree
that suddenly I found the cross
of torture inabited by my own . . . . . . . . . . soul,
afraid of sensation
injured . . . . . . .by . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . feeling
a true handtowel of an alien lord.
An . . . . . . . empty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vessel
allowed neither spout nor handle which
everyone felt obliged to break . . . . . . . . . . open
and subsequently cast down --
a broken vessel,nothing . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . more.
I should thank you for condescending
to explain to me exactly what
the -- still small -- voice dictated
you(so I realize . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Now
that your acquaintance with this is
purely vicarious) yea after all this endless
sanctimonious starched-shirt shit,
I give your authoritarian illusion gratitude
for providing me the impetus
to laugh as I move on, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . dancing!

Deep Dark

by R.T.P. - 09/16/2000

Thought we'd learned this
when they pushed us down, beneath
the moving carousel, where
loneliness and fear of beetles
calls the other voices, their panoply
strange self-loathing mixed with pride,
and the cry in the night when no one hears.
But reach and love again so
that you might learn to hate
as deeply as you yearn, a soft heart
nothing but a blood orange
to them who smile once, then spit
on the head bowed in offering.
Now I long for the dark, instinctively
to hide from them, who lurk
in their finer clothes and best wishes,
who prey so righteously they cannot
learn to feel.

Copyright 1995, RoseMarie Taylor

09/08/2000 - anon

Poor Utahns, never been tested
Now their puny testimonies have been bested
While those in the strive and strive
Weak Utah mormons strut and jive
Grow up, Utah wusses face the judge
Anyway,utah lake is full of sludge

08/19/2000 - anon
From "Pickup Man" by Joe Diffe:*
"...I met all my wives in traffic jams,..."
Maybe he was on I-15
*TRUE (you can look it up)

08/16/2000 - steve - razorblade@uswest.net

Sweet Betsy from Pike

I just found out the lyrics to the song "Sweet Betsy from Pike"

I particularly like this verse:

They stopped at Salt Lake to inquire of the way,
Where Brigham declared that sweet Betsy should stay; But Betsy
got frightened and ran like a deer
While Brigham stood pawing the ground like a steer.

(Text From The Western Women s Reader Edited by Lillian Schlissel and Catherine Lavender)

08/08/2000 - Todd M

We thank thee oh god for our profit
And our interest increased everyday
We thank thee for giving us the power
To deposit our cash on sunday
The members are not allowed to do this
But we're big and our money must flow
We always are counting our blessings
And watching our dividends grow

07/25/2000 - anon

Ode to Bull K Packer and Pahl H Dung

Do as I'm doing...
follow, follow, me.

Do as I'm doing...
follow, follow, me.

If I lie, cheat or steal,
It don't matter if done with zeal.

Do as I'm doing..
follow, follow, me.

Do as I'm doing...
follow, follow me.

I can Lie when I'm bored,
Just so long as it's for the lord.

Do as I'm doing..
follow, follow, me.

Do as I'm doing...
follow, follow me.

Faith promotions what it's all about
keep those numbers, is all that counts.

Do as I'm doing..
follow, follow, me.

Do as I'm doing...
follow, follow me.

07/19/2000 - Claudia
To enjoy the spirit of digression, here is a poem for dating non-mormons:

Date 'em,
Dunk 'em,
Drop 'em.

06/22/2000 - theodore111

I Want to feed the temple(money)

I want to see the temple, I`m going there in may.
to marry my new boyfriend, who`s supressing the fact he's gay.
For the temple is a house of money.
and it ant very funny.
I`ll pay three bucks when I get in.
Those clothes are F****** ugly!

06/21/2000 - Natalie

Poem For A Prophet

I cannot breathe today,
stagnant air burning my lungs,
my mind mired in sorrowful yesterdays,
So
many
wasted
days and anger cemented in my mind,
spackled mud on the toes of a child
who is carefree laughing full of joy
Not me, anyone but me.

Your dark and twisted philosophies of love and life
shadowing me throughout my days and I cannot
shake
them
off
no matter the care I take
in long sandpaper showers and scrubbing
my skin raw with soap,
it bleeds between my fingers
and sticks in my mind.
The mud won't wash off.

Why I cannot rid myself of this darkness you call glory
and mockery you sing hymns about,
seems most apparent in your everyday life, when
time stands still and you dress up in
your
blue
suited
Sunday best and make your way to
a building I cannot even fathom,
to a world I will not join
and a life I cannot embrace.
I don't belong.

You cannot touch me there, anymore, that deep
abyss I reserve for truth and you
amaze me still that giving up is the last thing
you will ever do, trying once again to
swallow
me
whole
in your words and your ironies and your
twin knives of love and harmony,
your temple is my nightmare, your endowments
the very last thing I will ever touch.

I will destroy myself first, slowly and methodically,
drink acid from a rusted cup, recite nonsensical
prose and utter foolishness, and pass it off as
bright,
glorious
praise.
I shed my clothes and revel in a naked dance
of sex and lust and bodies intertwined and only
now does my future appear before me,
possible at last.

04/10/2000 - Randy J

Lament of a Young Nauvoo Girl

I looked out the window, and what do I see?
The Prophet Joseph making eyes at me.
It shouldn't come as a complete surprise;
The angel told him 'Try her on for size.'

I could take a powder and leave the scene;
But he'd probably send Port runnin' after me.
I guess it must be so
But I don't wanna be
The Prophet's wife number thirty-three.

03/13/2000 - Nolan

The Mormons Are So Nice
The Mormons are so nice
so awfully nice
they're the nicest people in the world.
And what's more, they're very nice about being nice
about your being nice as well!
If you're not nice, they soon make you feel it.

Baptists and Catholics and Lutherans and so on
they're all very well
but they're not really nice, you know,
They're not as nice in our sense of the word, are they now?

That's why one doesn't have to take them seriously,
We must be nice to them, of course,
of course, naturally~
But it doesn't really matter what you say to them,
they don't really understand~
you can just say anything to them:
be nice, you know, just be nice~
but you must never take them seriously, they wouldn't understand
just be nice, you know! oh, fairly nice,
not too nice, of course, they take advantage~
but nice enough, just nice enough
to let them feel they're not quite as nice as they might be.

03/09/2000 - By Jerry the Aspousetate

A True History of the Rise and Fall of the Mormon Empire

Apostates, go back in time with me.
Back to an age, twas Mormon free.
All the way back before Mormons began,
Before a Smith farm boy was a man.

There was a void, no temple sheets;
No rented slippers for your feets.
Back past your great-grandfather's youth,
Where everything that was -- was truth.

The sun gave grapes, and they gave drink.
The land was free for all to think.
Back when birdies, sweet did sing.
Back when wife was a singular thing.

The whitesome clouds and delightsome snow,
Brought love to all, to those below.
In those old days the air was sweet
Life was good and near complete.

Into this world was born a boy,
Who had a plan that gave him joy.
He said he saw some golden plates.
All must bring tithing, girls for dates.

Virgins did come, by the dozens,
Some were Sisters, some were cousins.
Then, babies fast as falling rain,
Into the cult they were to train.

And they with secret names begat.
Dreaming of planets and such as that.
The men were horny day and night,
Testosterone, their guiding light.

Red grapes ruptured, their blood, atoned.
They had no purpose; no one was stoned.
And on Fast Sundays starvation spread.
Saints became the living dead.

Sadness spread like a funeral pyre,
Not dispelled by the Tabernacle Choir.
Death and darkness ruled all the land.
Only the Tanners would take a stand.

The Mormon world was one big flaw,
Then Bill gates came with his new Law.
The Internet, as all could see
Might set the Mormon Zombies free.

An old Mormon did hallucinate,
And led his masses, computers to hate.
But through the dark and dank of it,
A ray of sun shone through the pit.

The light was named, I think Lampoon.
Repression shrank and withered soon.
The folks saw through the Mormon stuff
And knew their leader's brains were fluff.

And once again the earth was right.
Along with knowledge came the light.
The leaves did fall, then grow in spring.
The world was free, a beautiful thing.


02/22/2000 - anon

Ode to Boyd
He clasps the craig with crooked hands;
Close to the Son in desert lands,
Ringed by the wicked world he stands.

The wrinkled swamp beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

02/16/2000 - Jerry the Aspousetate

Missionary's Lament
Last night on a star I was wishin'
I wasn't on this stupid mission.
I could be in Las Vegas, I know.
With all those apostates, Oh, Ooh!
I'd drink and gamble in freedom,
And toss wisdom books, not read 'em.
But for now I'll keep on lyin'
And peddlin' this crap about Zion.
Next year I swear, to Vegas I'll go.
My cult books and dice I will throw.

02/16/2000 - Jerry the Aspousetate

New Category: Aspousetate Poetry (I am not an apostate so I may not be qualified to enter this contest. I have never been a mormon, however, I did the next worst thing - I married one!

Ex-mormon International Peotry Contest

In the annual world finals for Apostate Poetry the hushed crowd in Las Vegas waited for the two finalists to compete. The Judge said,"You will take turns and have exactly one minute to compose a poem using the word I will give you." On the toss, the contestant from Rexburg won and stood facing the Judge and the packed room.

"Your word is Timbuktu," the Judge said and started the clock. With the time almost expired the contestant spoke.

"Across Missouri, plains and sand,
Trekked the Mormon caravan.
Zealots on horseback, two by two.
Destination, Timbuktu."

The crowd went wild and knew the other contestant, from Provo, could never top that! The Judge started the clock again. At the last instant the BYU graduate blurted out:

"Me and Elder Tim on a mission went;
Met three girls with a sinful bent.
They was three and we was two,
So I bucked one and Timbuktu."

Reply From "Aspousetate's" Wife

02/16/200 - I am Cheryl, the aspousetate's wife. I love Lampoon! However, I am tired of my husband constantly bragging about his revelations of late. Since I discovered these web sites, he claims to be an Apostle, a Profit, God of the family Etc. I sometimes wish I could just go back to hearing his comic renditions of Guadalajara! [I think it is sad that a person who has never been a Mormon tries to upstage an authentic pioneer bred apostate. Don't you?]


02/04/2000 - "Light" - light@xmission.com

Confession at Carthage Jail
By Joseph Smith, Jr.

Once upon a midnight dreary, trying to devise a theory
as to how I could extract me from the debt I did deplore,
I was suddenly aware of an ingenious racket whereof
I could snatch a decent share of that which dearth of made me poor,
grab a grand and goodly share of that which dearth of made me poor.
Riches mine for evermore!

Bolt upright I sat there, trembling, with excited brain assembling
pieces of that puzzle which would bring me that which I adore.
In my mind had formed a picture of an olden, golden scripture,
an enticing bible mixture of god-speak and ancient lore.
Yes! A long beguiling scripture of god-speak and ancient lore.
My own words and nothing more.

I imagined that this new book could become a tempting fish-hook
which would lure unknowing victims from their churches shore to shore.
New church I would then for greed found, prophet soon I'd see myself crowned,
on the pulpit would my fist pound, my own fancy I'd outpour.
Ahh, yes! from my pious pulpit my own fancy I'd outpour.
All for riches, nothing more.

Years went by and I began to act upon my devious plan to
goad and trick the faithful masses, to build up my saintly corps.
I convinced the townsfolk to buy first my story of Moroni
who revealed upon a hill nigh scriptures penned in days of yore,
gave me on a lovely hill nigh golden tales from days of yore.
Poor I would be nevermore!

Presently I found I needed persons who with faith conceded
every lie and fabrication, for this kind I did search for.
Promptly I deceived my first three, eight more then with faith believed me,
all then signed their testimony: "These Gold Plates are true!" they swore.
Earnest faith produced those ghost-plates, on the truth of which they swore.
Only faith and nothing more.

Shortly I commenced to dictate; face in hat, I jabbered the bait
which in time would send me through that opulent, luxurious door.
Then at last I took my fiction, notwithstanding its rank diction,
to the printer with conviction that at last I'd be not poor,
bore it with a firm conviction that at last I'd be not poor.
Wealth was mine for evermore!

With my opus, downright spurious, I did lure the faithful curious
souls aplenty from their churches, my new sect they did explore.
Swiftly did my little church grow, then God said that "to avoid woe,
ten percent you will henceforth owe, unto Smith your wealth shall pour".
Ahh! those words I forged with relish: "unto Smith your wealth shall pour".
Ten percent for evermore!

By and by my lust for lasses caused me to make ardent passes
on which frowned my jealous Emma: "you debaucher!" she would roar.
I played God and told my faction: "It is not the least infraction
to wed to your satisfaction-- take two wives or three or more".
Those words straight I put to action, scoring over twenty four.
Still she shouted "nevermore!"

I must quickly end this writing, for my life I'll soon be fighting,
I can hear a mob approaching-- here to even up the score.
There is no time for reflection, jailers were our last protection,
but they've fled this insurrection, knowing full well what's in store,
feared and fled this insurrection, knowing full well what's in store.
Mob and we, and nothing more.

On my shoulder gloats the Devil, in my fate he now does revel,
every shout we hear now brings me closer to his fiery door.
No way now to stop my frying --to my Saints confess my lying,
there's no sense in even trying, all of them the truth ignore.
Henceforth will my faithful millions, all of them the truth ignore.
Blind faith binds them evermore.

The Devil's epilogue:

It took just a moment's flurry for the mob to quench its fury
Saints will soon his body bury -- he whom demons now watch o'er.
For him I'll conclude this bleak dirge, with his pen tell of the grim scourge
from which never he will emerge, locked at last behind my door,
locked at last behind my scalding, seething, fearsome, fiery door.
Smith is mine -- forevermore!


01/18/2000 - Boyd K Packer (recovery bbs handle)

SIDE BY SIDE

On the table, side by side
the Book of Mormon and the TV guide.
One is well worn and cherished with pride;
not the Book of Mormon, but the TV guide.
One is used daily to help folks decide;
no, not the Book of Mormon, but the TV guide.
As the pages are turned, what will they see?
Oh, what does it matter, turn on the TV!
So they open the book from which they confide;
No, not the Book of Mormon, but the TV guide.
The word of God is seldom read
maybe a verse or two before they fall into bed,
exhausted and sleepy and tired as can be,
not from reading the scriptures, but from watching TV.
So back to the table, side by side
the Book of Mormon, and the TV guide.
The plan of salvation is full and free
but is found in the scriptures, not on TV.


12/22/1999 - title by Sundanse, lyrics by Joe, courtesy of Those Darn Mormons,

3 A.M. Ambush

It was three in the morning; I wasn't even awake
There was a knocking on my door like some earthquake
I Opened up that door and what did I see
There were two mormon missionaries, and they were looking at me

"We're from a local church"
They told me their names
They asked if they could come inside
I must have been insane!

Elder Ed; Elder Fred
Those darn mormons
They're back again--in my head

They asked how I was doing. I replied "alright"
Pulled out a flipchart-- kinda blurry to my sight
Pictures of Jesus and Joseph Smith, too.
They said I could be like them.
I said "woo hoo"!!

"We're here from a local church"
They told me their names
They asked if they could come inside
I must have been insane!

Elder Ed; Elder Fred
Those darn mormons
They're back again--in my head

How many more studies? six, seven or eight?
How long will it take to get "righteous" for "jesus' sake"?
They'll just come back over and over in my dreams
Until I get baptized--or until I scream!

Elder Ed; Elder Fred
You darn mormons
Get outta my head!!!

I know how to get rid of you, I know it well
I'll get some coffee cookin; your head will swell
It'll turn blue and purple
and red and green
You'll explode all over the place; that's how it's gonna be!

You darn mormons
You are dead
Elder Ed! Elder Fred!

Woo Hoo!!


11/27/1999 - William Underwood

Ode to a Testimony Meeting by William Underwood
(With grudging thanks to Edgar Allan Poe)-

Once upon a Sabbath morning, while myself I was adorning, Washing, shaving, brushing, coiffing, dressing up to serve the Lord. Donning polyester necktie, from the corner of my right eye, came a horror so revolting as to leave me nearly floored. "Tis fast Sunday," I muttered, seeing the calendar's accord. This day only, I abhorred.

"Ah," said wife, "you look forlorn." I wished that I were never born, Dreading the fate that awaited me upon entering church door. As I slouched toward place of seating, the Bishop stood, began the meeting, Hymns were sung, God's grace invoked, announcements by the score. Bread and water's passing ended, cold sweat oozed from every pore. This meeting would last forevermore.

The Bishop rose and soon invited all of those who were excited To share their tales of faith, of hope, of miracles galore. Next a herd of folks descended, the smell of sweat and perfume blended As this mass of thankful worshipers threatened to crack the floor. A line of teary testifiers stretching out the door. I'm seated here forevermore.

The first two hours were uneventful, those Saints were happy, none resentful Of any real, imagined, or perceived offense they bore. Bishop and counselors were grinning, many converts they were winning >From investigators and visitors who had not been here before. Souls and countless income would swell the Bishop's store. Salvation would come forevermore.

Like San Francisco before the quake, I was really not awake When he stepped behind the pulpit to address the hallowed corps. The obese man's nose ran, he cried, his pants half zipped, his lapels wide. His voice was shrill, unpleasant, like a banshee who was sore. His sense of humor lacking, not unlike one Pauly Shore. He seemed to talk forevermore.

He told of strange perverse obsessions, sordid sexual confessions, Drugs and debts, his favorite shows, vacations at the shore. No care for time, his discourse ran, I'm sure I'd never seen a man Whose litany of problems could amount to such a bore. A man for whom to pity would create a mammoth chore. Him I loathe forevermore.

Little children became twitchy, bottom ends were numb and itchy As this sweaty, bloated cretin carried on til half past four. His racial views were crude and numbing, It seemed that mercy was not coming, His use of common language would shake sailors to the core. With face in hands the Bishop stared a hole straight through the floor. Torment comes forevermore.

At six o'clock the man relented, many butts to chairs cemented. I heard grunts, a sneeze, some wheezing, and a periodic snore. As he sat I had to ponder, why each month this time we squander, Giving time to overzealous, weepy, self-indulgent spores. I'd rather spend my Sabbath at a bar or at the store. I'll return here nevermore.


BUTT PRINTS IN THE SAND
written by Kikki Planet - courtesy Kelly Jean - 09/23/1999
One night I had a wondrous dream,
One set of footprints there was seen,
The footprints of my precious Lord,
But mine were not along the shore.

But then some stranger prints appeared,
And I asked the Lord, "What have we here?
Those prints are large and round and neat,
But Lord, they are too big for feet."

"My child," He said in somber tones,
"For miles I carried you alone.
I challenged you to walk in faith,
But you refused and made me wait.

"You disobeyed, you would not grow,
The walk of faith, you would not know,
So I got tired, I got fed up,
And there I dropped you on your butt.

"Because in life, there comes a time,
When one must fight, and one must climb,
When one must rise and take a stand,
Or leave their butt prints in the sand."

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