“Let’s kill all the lawyers,”
Shakespeare said in his play ‘Henry VI.’
“Let’s kill all the infidels,”
Radical Muslims say in real life.
These Muslims aren’t the only ones who want to kill the infidels.
I say, “Let’s kill all the preachers.
Let’s kill all the Southern Baptist preachers.”
Why didn’t Satan kill God when he had a chance?
Shakespeare referred to corrupt lawyers.
Radical Muslims to pure infidels.
I refer to corrupt and pure Fundamentalists.
I’m the Bible and I approve this message.
Preacher’s kids are the worst. I’ve often heard. I’m one myself, but I’m pretty good unless I’m writing poetry, at least as far as my Dad and Mom know.
I love my Dad. Mom too, maybe more, even though Dad is a radical himself. Of course, to most Americans, he is as normal as they come, just an ordinary Christian. But, to a slim minority of us in our little North Alabama town, he is a fundamentalist pastor, a radical.
Dad would probably die if he read my rather revolting poem. He probably doesn't know that a poem isn't necessarily true, or that it doesn't have to reflect the view of the writer. After he read it he would say, “Ruthie, this is sick. I didn’t know you were so messed up. How have I failed you? I thought you believed in God, loved God, read your Bible, believed your Bible? What happened to you? You better be glad tomorrow is Sunday and you have to go to church.”
I guess I would have to say, “Dad, I do believe as best I know how. But, I am also curious and creative. Reading, poetry, words, these things are my breath, my bed, my ball. It’s a little safer than basketball, football, or hockey. Don’t you think? Can’t a girl have a little fun without a ball or a puck?”
I do like a lot of the stories and passages in the Bible. I really like this one from Chapter 4 of Song of Solomon:
“You’re so beautiful, my darling,
so beautiful, and your dove eyes are veiled
By your hair as it flows and shimmers,
like a flock of goats in the distance
streaming down a hillside in the sunshine.
Your smile is generous and full—
expressive and strong and clean.
Your lips are jewel red,
your mouth elegant and inviting,
your veiled cheeks soft and radiant.
The smooth, lithe lines of your neck
command notice—all heads turn in awe and admiration!
Your breasts are like fawns,
twins of a gazelle, grazing among the first spring flowers.
The sweet, fragrant curves of your body,
the soft, spiced contours of your flesh
Invite me, and I come. I stay
until dawn breathes its light and night slips away. You’re beautiful from head to toe, my dear love, beautiful beyond compare, absolutely flawless.”
I say a soon-to-be ninth grader can not only be revolting and revolutionary, but also romantic. Well, I don’t know much about romance, but my Dad might quickly repeat his three questions if he learned my interpretation and application of this beautiful passage from his inerrant Word.
Yes, I’m curious and creative and know that experience and imagination are about all one needs to write a good poem.
Richard L. Fricks, Author
I became a private fiction scribbler in 1994 while I was in law school. In November 2015, I took the NaNoWriMo challenge to write 50,000 words towards a book. In May 2016, I published God and Girl. Over the next nine months I wrote over 140,000 words towards another novel. It is now on life support in a desk drawer. Since then, I've written The Boaz Scorekeeper, The Boaz Secrets, The Boaz Stenographer, and The Boaz Schoolteacher. I’m currently working on my first series: The Boaz Sleuth. The first book is called, The Case of the Perfectionist Professor. Thanks for reading my little stories.