Kolob and Oliblish
it sounds like a strange Asian dish.
God sits on his throne in facsimile #2 with an erect penis for all to see
Egyptian god named “Min” who is the god of fertility and sexuality.
Couldn't find remains of horses in Book of Mormon times with its fictitious prattle...
Mormon apologists tell me that they rode Tapirs into battle!

There once was a bishop from Manti
Who drank up caffeine like an anti
His attention was fleeting
Through sacrament meeting
And yelled, "I can go pantsless! Can't I?!"

Give me more time and I'll try to come up with something better.

I am come here by the grace
Of angels and the Lord
Never would I dare disgrace
Your honor by the sword

That burns for ancient cherubim
And so holds Eden's gate
I'm here to take you from within
Despite your father's hate

So let my hands massage your face
The rest of you as well
Lest demons ever give us chase
Into unloving hell



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/15/2013 11:28PM by donbagley.

I find the doctrines of the church
Like gypsy fortune tellers
There's a counter to ever offer
That is given by the sellers.

If any of you lack wisdom,
Just go and ask in prayer.
If you don't get an answer
In the next life God will share.

God will never command you
In something that can't be done
Unless you're Eve in the garden,
Then you've no choice, you must break one.

The prophet is God's mouthpiece
For Him he truly speaks.
Except the times he doesn't
For you know he too is weak.

Individual worth is prized
As a true young women's trait.
That is until she's married
Then only motherhood is her fate.

One must obey the word of wisdom
If you would be fit and strong
Now please bless the donuts and hot cocoa
We've provided for the throng.

But they are a peculiar people
Though conformity is their crown
They are christian, they are loving
Unless your homosexual, liberal or brown.

Joseph Smith's Confession from Carthage Jail
After "The Raven", by Edgar Allan Poe

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 forevermore!

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 bad 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 forevermore!

With mine 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 God your wealth shall pour".
Ahh! those words I forged with relish: "unto God your wealth shall pour".
Ten percent forevermore!

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!

All Awesome poems. Thanks.

Stephen