Untamed Wilds » poetry

The Truth if a Shifty Bitch

Thomas J. Webb — Tue, 22 Jun 2010 02:20:43 +0000

The truth is a shifty bitch
The one who will build you up
The one who will cry your name
And just as soon, your ass ditch

The truth is a crafty witch
She will make the path easy
She will render the path not
She will make poor you feel rich

Beware the cheap seduction
Don’t feel you needn’t cover
Your each and every base
Though she found you paths verdant
It will just as soon deface
And you find you have nothing

Spring Haiku (春の俳句）

Thomas J. Webb — Wed, 09 Apr 2008 23:09:44 +0000

Spring Haiku

The air smells of pine
The grey squirrels are fucking
It shall rain again

春の俳句

松匂い
リスがやってる
雨ふりそう

(okay, I just wanted to post this picture of two squirrels going at it I took… look!)

Religion Is…

Thomas J. Webb — Mon, 31 Mar 2008 13:48:25 +0000

“Religion” is a flag
fuck the flag, says the wise old hag

Religion is a form of art
embrace art, or you’ll be as depressing as Sartre

The Ethic of Stinge [sic]

Thomas J. Webb — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 14:50:02 +0000

Wise men sing, the praise of largess,
As do kind men say, but surely they jest!

I can only save one bloated African,
I durst not save the unattractive one!

In my day, I have only so much time,
Woe would be I, if I just analyzed a dime!

Christ boasts oft about his love for all
But love is a heart cut out of a sheet
Am I the heart, or am I the sheet?

Can I Jesus a thousand women,
when one exhausts my money, and 5, my semen?

For to belong, you see, is to be included,
While the universe of others is excluded

(for I desire not, but a sip of your wine,
Unless I can have a goblet that’s mine)

Nature, too, is a masterful miser,
from great bear to wily spider

No creature takes shape that fills all space,
nor all of time, beyond its own race

Look around, and see:
Much enters, but none leaves the sea
and
The three toes of the sloth,
The dull colour of the moth,
The useless eyes of the mole,
The numbered days of the tail on the tadpole,
The small size of a chigger?
Realize, my friend, that God is a niggard

My Cyclopean, Fire-Breathing, Cider-Swilling Llama Friend

Thomas J. Webb — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 19:44:30 +0000

Once upon a time I took groats to my groat-loving llama friend
And often I mistook shadows for my child-saving llama friend
To one such shade I talked and I, by my local school teacher, stalked
“So you took our oats, oaf”, pointed to rotting pile, angrily, quoth
Only a fool could think! my humble offer does the llama eat!
For groats and oats are food fit only for horse and man and meals, crude
No, my llama friend be with or without my sweetened gift of feed

Oh, the days I do miss he’d make a bully crawl, or a girl kiss
It cost only a call to wish, to will, to watch the teacher fall
But one meal was not sweet not cabbage, nor beans, but a loathsome beet
I wished as I might call but none unsweet, not even beets, would fall
Only a fool could think! a llama greets me from the kitchen sink!
For far and forgot be for him as near as cider and glass be
Yes, my llama friend be though nary a place you can hope to see

Absurdity

Thomas J. Webb — Thu, 29 Dec 2005 03:40:00 +0000

We can grow quintillion times again
And we can know more than the ancients many times again
And still be dwarfed by the nearest star

We can understand the universe many times more,
And still never understand our increasingly complex selves

I love the flimsy wills of men, Amor fati
We shall forget the lessons of the ancients
And the great leviathan shall rise again

We shall destroy every last God again
Become them ourselves,
And it will never become absurd