No Rhyme or Reason - Former Mormon Poetry ExMormon

With you red pill round: I see you thick,
curvy and wide. But with you, angular
blue pill: I taste your iron and bromide.

Which pill now? With life today
vibrant; hot, sunny and bright-red is
my new favorite color, and for me just right.

Blue Pill: I tried you, but you did not
work on me. I needed Red Pill
to help set me free.

An active relic in our time. An interesting
conversation piece, but you never swept me
off my feet, and today you are not my peace.

So no longer dancing with you, Blue Pill,
no longer in this constant fight, I dance
with Red Pill, with her eyes in plain sight.

Now with no apologies for sometimes
missing my cue, to you, Blue Pill,
I say, Adieu!

Cold mojito drink on, no shaded glasses pink on-I sit in a cantina
enjoying my vacation. Sunday brunch and people about, I want
to order something different. No lake trout.

Napkins tucked in-forks and knives out-I look around and see people
eating something by the mouthfuls. "Waiter, what did they order?"
"Big fish," he replies. "Heating eyes for survival, struggling

populations. Big fish revival." I will have that, please. Moments later,
I vaguely remember warnings about eating certain big fish. Cold
mojito drink on, no shaded glasses pink on-I wait for my order.

Napkins tucked in and forks and knives out, I look around and
smell trimethylamine released as big fish is crushed in between
teeth. Chins dripping with contaminants. Sin.

Guests chewing away at the contaminated skin. The waiter comes
out with my order. "Here you go, Sir. Big fish. Heating eyes for
survival, struggling populations. Big fish revival."

Displeased, I see Big Fish with bleeding gills, misleading size
and reeking. As the body rots from head to tail, I poke at the scar
skin. I smell the contaminants. Sin.

In contaminated waters, big fish eats tiny particles with no regard
for borders. Far and wide-naked to the unassisted eye-now
underneath our own skin, saturating body tissues with contaminants.

Sin. Now infused into our body systems with no respect for special
places. Again, I see forks and knives upright and feet stomping
left and right. Guests chanting, "We want more, we want more!"

Wait a second ... I've heard this line before. The waiter says,
"Okay, remember our fish is rare. You can't find our fish just
anywhere. It will cost you an extra share." The guests respond,

"We don't care, and we'll leave in a nice tip. We love big fish taste
between our lips!" With no cutlery limbo, I put down my fork and
let go of my knife. Excusing myself, I leave through the back door.

Zion's international brick-and-mortar showcase,
hedging and speculating in the marketplace.

Corporate warriors-chasing invisible dragons-
told by superiors to start circling the wagons.

At the boardroom table; in business with the best
sharing successful models of where to invest next.

Earning quarterly profits, watching stocks that split.
Legal tax-free revenue, legally disclaiming as legit.

Top-down hierarchy with proven designs; robust and divine.
Top-down patriarchy, from older men intimidation refined.

Semi-annual financials undisclosed, unseen, invisibly elite
money swiftly in the vault, with nifty issuance of receipts.

Corporate C, with the most important master passwords-
ready to unlock Heaven's door, only after filling its coffers.

Touting goodwill, and intentions not green-
all loaded up into a reliably complex machine.

Convincing others that what is complex is so
evidence of God's hand, conspicuous and articulated.

Zion, oh Zion -
Sliding back down your upper asymptote's slope,
I see you now looking for new s-curve rope ...

There is still much good that can be done responsibly-
goodness seen in action, and good words heard audibly.

So don't be afraid of real apologies,
and for Christ's sake, change your policies!

How do you feel when you leave a cult? Anger, despair, and grief. How do you feel as you walk away? Truly immeasurable relief.

How does it feel to lose closest friends, confidants, community? It is like having your heart ripped out daily. Unceasingly repeatedly.

How do you reconcile new found facts with indoctrination you've received? Gradually. Painfully. Slow at first. Then with ever increasing speed.

When your religious home has shown its colors, black with spiritual death It's sad to see those you love Defend it with every breath.

The blind will chatter, defame, debate, tell me I'm simply "anti". Yet they never answer my actual questions. Is there any wonder why?

Cults demand your total soul Your money, talents, time. And when a member leaves they protect the flock Ensuring they continue to make a dime.

Cults can build temples, win converts, and send out an army to recruit. But how will you respond when you are met with smiling eyes in a crisp clean suit?

Now that I am free at last after researching every angle and every tome I find myself at rest, at peace I have my new spiritual home.

There are no signs, no tokens here I'm hoping and leaning on grace. Yet I feel good, and clean, and without a doubt Know I can meet my maker face to face.

Who He Be, or what may come I don't pretend to understand. But having left lies and errors behind I can now confidently stand.

I find a cult home no more And with each passing day rejoice. But those left behind, stuck and blind May never hear my voice.

If you're in the cult, know you have friends. Pioneers who have gone before. And we're standing here, cheering you on. We want you to leave with us through the door.

This poem was created in the aftermath of a panic attack I had due to M. Russell Ballard's talk "To Whom Shall We Go" from this past October 2016 General Conference. It became part of a dance major's thesis combining dance, poetry, comedy, and stories about mental illness and trauma. TW for discussions of sexual harassment, mentions of suicide, and lyrics to some church songs.

"If any one of you is faltering in your faith, I ask you the same question that Peter asked: "To whom shall [you] go?" If you choose to become inactive or to leave the restored Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, where will you go?

I'll go where you want me to go, dear Lord
Over mountain or plain or sea
I'll say what you want me to say, dear Lord
I'll be what you want me to be
Or not to be, that is the question
You asked me when you said "just stay at home,"
And I cried myself to sleep in what I thought would be my tomb,
The stress from carrying a womb I never wanted
The pain from an open wound in my psyche
The trauma from the accident and random chance of being your child.
I may be a child of God but I was never your daughter
No matter how much of my body you lusted after
"Quite frankly, I'm surprised," pealed like laughter
And dinging church bells at marriages near easter
Even though there are no bells in our temple steeples.

My body is a temple, a place where I-- could be safe,
Were it not for the amount of times I'd been frozen in place
Terrified of your eyes, my eyes, noticing my pelvis get wide
I would run away in haste so that I didn't feel my words turn to paste in my mouth
At your mentions and suggestions of your blood flowing south.
How am I supposed to feel your house is made of holiness
When I feel like I'm being preyed on like a mouse?

Be still my soul, the waves and wind will know
And it certainly seemed like they knew better than the priesthood,
Your blessings left me sick at home and in Manhattan neighborhoods,
You claimed that the prayers failed based on my mood
And I was obsessed with the idea that it was because I wasn't good,
I wrote tally marks of every curse I said that was lewd
And pleaded for forgiveness that you would treat me like you should.

Fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness.
Do you know how many times I had to google those words?
Love: an intense feeling of deep affection,
But you never seemed to give me attention,
I didn't demand your attendance at meetings and presentations
Even though I felt lonely at other people's mentions of family,
And yet you never show any hesitation at letting me know
How much you needed me to adhere to every tenent
In order to repent for a death caused by random chance before I was born.
Righteousness: the quality of being morally right or justifiable
You got a law degree but already knew how to swear on a Bible
Scriptures littering your vocabulary in order to make your power carry
I could never hold up to any argument and I became wary
Because something as innocuous as existing
Was an automatic trigger for a listing
Of how many ways I was misrepresenting you.

Fathers are so special, with a special kind of love
I used to sing childrens hymns and think about you,
Now the ritual of hugs, hand shakes, and tickle fights
Would keep me comforted during nightmarish nights.
When you did handiwork around the house, I would hold your flashlights,
And one day I hoped that I might date someone like you,
But I didn't expect to hear you critique my attitude
By comparing me to the "thousands" of women you dated,
And how I epitomized everything you hated
And even made your voice sound jaded
When you said I was being indoctrinated by science the same way
That, somehow, a church you praise and adore indoctrinated you.

And maybe it did! maybe the elders' question of "where will you go"
Hurt you as much as it hurt me, blow by blow,
And every time I hear of a good thing you make your goal
I can't help but wonder if I was the one that poisoned the bowl.
You screamed that I labeled you an abuser
And sometimes I wish I could take an eraser
To every angry word I said about you
And maybe me being dead would have saved me
From your eternal damnation.

High on a mountaintop, a banner is unfurled
And i used to look up and sing praises of our world.
Sandwiched between two mountain ranges
I used to turn those shiny-lined scripture pages
Proclaiming that the small desert was a Mormon Zion,
That one day the lamb would rest with the lion,
And that one day maybe you would stop lying
And using our mutual faith to keep denying
That you were hurting me
Now, I shudder at the thought of returning home,
To a mountain range and fault line
That will bring many neighborhoods into decline
When the earthquake hits,
To valleys and fossil shores filled with bones
Not of long lost relationships, but of animals
Who brought me to life when nothing else could.
I want to come home, I want to reside
In a place that will always be safe from high tide
But I cannot, probably will not, until my pain has died.

When I found out the newest members of my family could never be considered a family there was a crack heard around the world. Maybe, at the time, it was only in my mind but I swear I could of heard it from space.

When reality seemed to flip I thought it might have been the right time to take a dip into the deep side of the pool. I left ground and plunged headfirst into waters that seemed icy and cool.

As I kept swimming, gasping for air I felt the sting of the truth biting at my lungs. I cried out in despair, a prayer that that I knew couldn't be answered.

I reached out a hand for something, anything to hold onto, then I found it. It was dusty and worn but familiar, a song I had born deep down in my heart that was true. A piece of me I had left behind the one that yearned for the truth.

I let it carry me, like a ship with a rudder I learned more and more and left more and more of me behind, replaced by more and more of what was still me, some worn and torn, some fresh and new.

It's been a year now and there's no going back, I can't hide from that which is true. I've found a new point of view.

If you want to start a cult,
You're gonna need a myth
That will grow in time to ennoble a name
As bland as "Joseph Smith."

People will react to it,
As people always do.
Most seeing through your shit
But a few will follow you.

Now you have some fellows,
A few disciples' minds to mold
Be sure to frighten them witless
Into doing as they're told.

Remind them that delusion
Is really just secretly revealed knowledge.
Now scare them away from family,
Critics, rivals, and even secular college.

Laden them with tasks designed to numb their brains.
Teach them they must come to you
To get out all the spiritual stains.

And when you have them in a place
Where they'd take a bullet for thee,
Tax them 10% or more
And tell them suck your wee wee.

They'll do it dutifully for the ways you've changed their lives.
Even after you're dead and gone,
They'll still be offering you their wives.

They'll take common tunes of their day
And overwrite them with retarded lyrics
About how you commune with gods
And the world will learn to fear it.

They'll change the story over time
To where they forget your bastardry
In the versions they tell their youth
And the converts led into the baptistery.

They'll send their youth abroad to preach
The whitewashed story about valor
So that even if they fail miserably,
They'll at least see every critical objection as a howler.

Behold the mighty stone cut without hands
By he whose course is an eternal round
Until the digital age of information comes
And razes it to the ground.

Have you heard that Mormon Archeologists have found in the secret treasure room inside the Hill Cumorah that Joseph and Oliver visited (the Church didn't say whether it was in New York or Central American) a fifth verse to the Mormon Hymn "We Thank Thee Oh God For A Prophet"? I understand they are going to unveil it at the October General Conference.

"We thank Thee oh God for our Joseph
to con us in these not so latter-days,
and we thank Thee for sending the Brethren
to lighten our wallets in so many ways,
We thank Thee for all our delusions
and for all our stupidity as well,
we feel it a pleasure to believe nonsense
and pray those who seek truth burn in Hell."

'Twas the night before General Conference, when among all GA's
Every one craved the vacant apostleship preening with praise
Their garments were washed and ironed with care,
In hopes that dear Thomas soon would declare;
Them to be nestled all snug in Perry or Packer's steads;
While visions of second anointings danced in their heads;
And Dallin with his legal brief, and I in my temple cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long conference nap,
When outside of my office there arose such a chatter,
Kate Kelly's Ordain Women dot org were demanding to matter.
Away to the window I flew like a big dodo,
Tore it open and hunched over like Quasimodo.
Like a goon on the moon on I began to bellow,
Flapping my jowls as a righteously angry Danite fellow,
When what to my swollen baggy eyes did appear,
But the resurrected Elder Packer out of he closet and queer, With a twinkle in his eye so lively and quick,
Swaggering his newfound Supreme Court SSM schtick,
He whistled, and shouted, and called out his brethren by name:
"Now, Dallin! now, Dieter! now Russell and Jeffrey!
On, Quenton! on, David! on, Neil and Richard G.!
On to the temple! to the top of the Moroni!
Now blast away! dash away all that bigotry and baloney!"
As our embarrassing history before Twitter and Facebook fly,
Embrace public relations, social media and the Internet or die;
So up to the rameumptum the apostle wannabees flew
With the resumes full of noise and financial success too-
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
T'was Tommy prancing and pawing, bellowing a whoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the staircase Robert Kirby came with a bound.
He was dressed all in polyester, from his head to his foot,
And his Mr. Mac two-for-one suits were all so caput;
A bundle of church jokes he had loaded for smack,
And he looked like Pat Bagley cartooning a wise crack.
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,
And the beard on his chin was pure white a la Lorenzo;
The stub of a rolled up SLTrib he held tight in his teeth,
The spirit of satire and parody encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a plump full face for such a mischievous odd fellow
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of Jell-O.
He was a studied ol' chump, some thought full of himself,
And I loud-laughed with him, in spite of my solemn old myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Filling all the teleprompters with his editorial smirk,
While laying his middle finger aside of his ears,
They began to wiggle, even Monson gave cheers;
Kirby sprang to his feet, like ancient Paul delivered an epistle,
All cried, all laughed in relief, only Dallin demanded dismissal.
And I heard him exclaim, "Being the newest GA is so out of sight - General Conference is now cancelled so to all a good night!"

I do not think it very cheery
But rather find it kind of eerie,
And so I tend to grow quite leery
If others deem my verse Shakespeare-y.

When someone calls my poems funny,
I sniffle and my nose gets runny.
Still I could never ask for money
For that would be too Paul H. Dunn-y.

1.
Perhaps you know of Joseph Smith, my keen receptive reader;
These verses shall attempt to narrate somewhat of his rise
From small-town boy through many stages to deceptive leader,
And finally, his fall from grace and well-deserved demise.

2.
Through generations in New England, Joe was a descendant
Of rustic Yankee forebears, toiling hard to earn a dime.
Because of this, while growing up he came to be dependent
On common daily labor, but preferred to waste his time.

3.
One sunny day young Joseph walked into a grove of trees;
His pa had said to him, "Go chop some wood" - a thankless chore.
He tripped upon a root and tumbled to his hands and knees
And hit his head, dropped as if dead, and soon began to snore.

4.
Awaking from his slumber as the sun dipped out of sight,
His head was aching, plus he felt some dizziness and languor.
To make it worse, he knew that to return back home at night
With empty arms would, without doubt, arouse his father's anger.

5.
So Joseph told his parents he'd been seeking buried treasure
Around the homestead. Then as all the Smiths began to mock,
He pledged to show the way to win them riches without measure -
And proudly he displayed his money-finding magic rock.

6.
To Joe's surprise, that shut them up. His ma said, "It would grieve me
To think that you were lying, so I take you at your word."
The rest agreed; Joe whispered in amazement, "They believe me!"
And snickered, knowing that his ruse was totally absurd.

7.
So just like that - in no time flat - he had a new career:
The art of gazing into stones to search for hidden bounty!
His services were advertised as "Joseph Smith, the Seer"
In Manchester, Palmyra, and then all throughout the county.

8.
As time went on, he played his trick as often as he found
A willing sucker, glad to pay to take part in the game.
The loot was always cursed and therefore moved itself around
So none was ever seen, and Joe refused to take the blame.

9.
But finally, in Bainbridge, Joe was hauled before a judge
Regarding his extended con and those whom he had cheated.
He vowed to stop the practice, but His Honor wouldn't budge
And brought the guilty verdict; thus he hurried off, defeated.

10.
Soon afterward, he landed at the home of Isaac Hale.
"You see," said Joe, "I want to wed your daughter. But will Emma
Consent to marry me? I swear to stay away from jail!"
To end his stress she answered "yes," resolving that dilemma.

11.
The nuptials over, even though a known convicted crook,
He had to find a method of providing for a wife.
Examining his options, he devised to write a book;
It beat the thought of working, or an honest way of life.

12.
He sent word through the grapevine to his distant cousin Ollie
Who, when he heard of Joseph's concept, threw a huge conniption:
"This - Book of Mormon, as you call it - what a monstrous folly!"
"Relax," Joe laughed, "We'll say it's written in reformed Egyptian."

13.
They plagiarized from many authors, sometimes copied whole,
The peepstone dropped into a hat so Joe could "take a peep."
But when the job was done, they realized that it was full
Of deadly boring prose that made one quickly fall asleep.

14.
To give the book an aura of propriety and fitness
For reading, Martin Harris, Hyrum Smith, and Joseph's friends,
The Whitmers, signed a statement testifying that each witness
Had seen the golden plates (which Salt Lake City still defends).

15.
It wouldn't sell at any price! The drumbeat of rejection
Was just about too much to bear. At last, when Ollie said,
"This simply will not do; I'm nearly worn out from dejection,"
Then Joseph's eyes grew wide; he cried, "Let's start a church instead!"

16.
Plan B caught on and spread without delay beyond the borders
Of New York State. The rotten fruits of Joe's religious pillage
Increased so quickly that he was obliged to issue orders
To travel west to Kirtland, then a small Ohio village.

17.
Canoeing on a river, Joseph fell in, thought that maybe
He might go under, panicked - and then came up with a notion
To cover up the fact that he'd been bawling like a baby,
Declaring Satan rules the waters, stream to lake to ocean.

18.
A mob dragged Joe and Sidney from the Johnson farm together;
The brothers there were certain that their sixteen-year-old sister
Had been seduced by Joseph, so they went to tar and feather
The both of them as Joe screamed out he'd barely even kissed her.

19.
Their acid failed to work, yet Joseph faced a world of hurt:
Some "implements" were brought as he lay stretched out on his back.
The doctor lost his nerve; although left prostrate in the dirt,
Joe counted himself lucky that he got to keep his sack.

20.
The so-called "Word of Wisdom" was distributed, demanding
That all obey its senseless rules in order to be healthy.
(It's now a weapon, used to grade each member's righteous standing
Against their fellow Pharisees - unless, of course, they're wealthy.)

21.
By this time children had been born, so Emma sought a nanny.
She found a girl of sixteen, Fanny Alger, who could stay
As help - but one night, Emma stumbled in on Joe and Fanny
Together in the barn and making whoopee in the hay.

22.
It hit the fan for Joseph then - a storm he'd never known
Engulfed his sad, pathetic soul as Emma's wrath was poured
Upon his head. She had no doubt the fault was his alone,
Despite his plea that it was a "commandment from the Lord."

23.
He left with Zion's Camp; one time they spied an elevation
In Illinois. When Joseph went and climbed the mound himself,
He claimed to all those present he'd received a revelation:
The bones within had come from a white Lamanite named Zelph.

24.
Some mummies and papyri were exhibited in town;
"By Abraham's own hand," Joe wrote. (This put the church in crisis
Much later, for they proved he was no prophet of renown -
The figure he described as Pharaoh should instead be Isis.)

25.
In time the Kirtland Temple was complete and dedicated;
The members filled the building from the basement to its tower.
Because of all the wine supplied, they'd been self-medicated
Enough to see Elijah float in with the sealing power.

26.
Joe testified that God had shown him Quakers on the moon
Who lived a thousand years, and any visitor would find
That they were six feet tall. (What a ridiculous buffoon!)
The congregation loved it, though it seemed he'd lost his mind.

27.
Now running low on money, Joseph opened up a bank
On worthless assets - nothing but another way to rob
The locals, who were so enraged that Joe had made it tank
That he and his confederates were chased out by a mob.

28. They scurried to Missouri, though they didn't stay for long -
About a year or two - because they boasted to the neighbors
That God would confiscate their homes; the land would then belong
To Mormon settlers, who would reap the harvest of their labors.

29.
In Jackson County, Joe asserted that the Eden story
With Adam, Eve and magic trees, the talking snake, and all,
Had been located there for real - not just an allegory
Of sin, but the precise spot of the Garden and the Fall.

30.
The Law of Consecration couldn't furnish Joe a living,
And therefore he concluded that he ought to skim a portion -
Like ten percent - off members' increase (nowadays this "giving"
Is based upon gross income, which is out-and-out extortion).

31.
Predictably, the citizens became disturbed and fed up
With these moronic doctrines and attempts to steal their land.
A group of them decided to fight back in court, which led up
To Joe's four-month imprisonment, despite his Danite band.

32.
The Danites stormed around Clay County, drove up to Far West,
Then thundered north to Daviess, while inciting fear and hate
Among the population - stirring up a hornet's nest
Until at last The Order forced them all to flee the state.

33.
Joe drifted east along the road, back into Illinois
To make a place to rule at will. He never thought to pity
The dwellers of his fetid swamp: "I know it will annoy
Those who maligned me to behold Nauvoo, my private city."

34.
Intending to become a lethal force throughout the region,
Joe raised a standing army knowing that would throw a scare
Into the Gentiles. On his horse before the Nauvoo Legion,
He swaggered like a conqueror ascending to his chair.

35.
Unchecked there, Joe exhibited licentious misbehaviors
With married women, even sending husbands out on missions,
Explaining that by "marrying" him, they could act as saviors
If they would only try out his new "doctrinal" positions.

36.
He slept with Zina Jacobs, Patty Sessions and her daughter;
With Mary Lightner, Sarah Cleveland, and Marinda Hyde.
He tried seducing Sarah Pratt; because he never caught her,
He smeared her, driving Orson to attempted suicide.

37.
As Joe gave out the signs and tokens, he was far from loath
To mention garments, secret names, or baker's hats - a tip-off
That veils and Pay Lay Ales, plus acting out a bloody oath,
Were obviously parts of a direct Masonic rip-off.

38.
Joe taught that if a spirit wanders by to share some news,
A simple handshake will determine if he's on the level.
If he's legitimate, then he'll disdainfully refuse;
But should his hand pass through yours, he's a minion of the devil.

39.
When plates were found near Kinderhook, and Joe was asked to take
A look, he claimed they came from the posterity of Ham.
But sadly that discovery turned out to be a fake;
In spite of Joe's prophetic might, he'd fallen for the scam.

40.
Now Joseph turned to fresher flesh - young women in their teens:
The Lawrence girls, the Partridge sisters, fostered in his house!
His promises of love and care, all blown to "Smith"-ereens;
These clearly were the actions of a lewd, immoral louse.

41.
He summoned Heber Kimball, sending word he wished to speak
In private: "Don't oppose me even if your faith is fragile,
For I've had thoughts of Vilate, bare as nature, all this week,
And picturing her body I'm convinced she's very agile."

42.
"I'm sorry, Joseph," answered Heber, "now you've gone too far,
Expecting me to hand my dear wife over to your lust."
He paused and added, "You can have our daughter Helen Mar
Instead; I hope you don't view this arrangement as unjust."

43.
A gleam was in Joe's eyes as he imagined Helen's roses,
Not caring that to take a girl of fourteen is appalling.
He led her to his chamber, far away from snooping noses,
Then sat her on the bed and issued her a special calling:

44.
"An angel with a flaming sword commanded me on Monday,
On pain of death, to raise more seed. Do this and you'll be able
To save your kin from hell and sin. You have until this Sunday."
Duress drew Helen's anguished "yes" - another in the stable.

45.
A noxious product of his self-indulgent attitude
Was D-and-C One Hundred Thirty-Two, a sordid credo
Designed for grinding Emma down; it proved to be a shrewd
Contrivance often used for sanctifying his libido.

46.
When some among the members asked of Joseph, "Can you tell us
About the Second Coming?" He returned a swift reply:
"I counsel all those standing here, do not be over-zealous,
For Jesus can't appear if there's a rainbow in the sky."

47.
His sermon for King Follett, an occasion to define
The nature of the afterlife, instead made heaven seem
To be a corporation, with gods up and down the line,
Like supervisors in a cosmic multi-level scheme.

48.
The rumors flew around Nauvoo about Joe's pack of ladies;
He gave a speech denying them: "Those traitors may go run
Away and hide, yet - in the end - they all shall burn in Hades
For saying I have seven wives, when I can find but one."

49.
The end began with public charges brought by William Law,
When his "Nauvoo Expositor" called Joe out as a liar
About his vile polygamy. In three days William saw
The rubble of his printing press consumed in smoke and fire.

50.
While on the run and hiding out, John Taylor said, "If we go
To Carthage without weapons, our lives won't be worth a cent."
But true to form, when Joseph and his narcissistic ego
Pronounced divine protection on them, all four gladly went.

51.
The Prophet sat in Carthage Jail, surrounded by his cronies;
They passed around the alcohol, and then both he and Hyrum,
Although quite drunk, got weepy as they bore their testi-phonies.
When Willard Richards took the flask, Joe shouted, "This is MY rum!"

52.
Joe stared around the prison cell, the drink still on his breath,
And slowly spoke, "For all I've done, I feel no shame or guilt.
But what I'm most concerned about is, if I meet my death,
That heap of dung named Brigham Young will ruin all I've built."

53.
The Greys rushed in as they were still partaking of the booze;
Then gunshots rang out. Hyrum fell amid a spray of blood
As Joseph toppled from the window, splattered in the ooze,
And spent his final moments choking down that putrid mud.

54.
The moral of the story: If you claim to see a vision,
Persuading hordes of followers that you converse with God,
Yet act the sleazy pervert, you'll be treated with derision
Like "Evening Joe," now known to be a pure and perfect fraud.

[#12] JS and OC were in fact related - third cousins, once removed. (Cowdery was a 3rd cousin to Lucy Mack Smith.)

[#14] I know about the three and the eight. Since the claims are all phony anyway, it would have unnecessarily complicated things to make the distinction.

[#21] Two children were in the home at this time: son Joseph III (1 year) and adopted daughter Julia (2 years). However, two sons and a daughter of Emma's had previously died, as had Julia's twin brother.

[#36] Marinda Hyde, wife of Apostle Orson, was born Marinda Johnson and was the "sister" referred to in #18. A full 10 years had elapsed, proving that JS well knew the value of perseverance.

[#40] Eliza Partridge was actually 22 years old; the other three referenced here ranged from 17 to 19 years.

[#44] I'm well aware that JS claimed the angel held a drawn sword only, not a flaming one. A flaming sword is more dramatic and is a better fit to the meter, so I took some poetic license.

[#46] This is a useful but not well-known church doctrine. I, Book of Mordor, can affirm authoritatively that JC will not return in the clouds of glory during 2015 to usher in the Millennium, for I personally witnessed a rainbow on February 23. Another year of unrepented eating, drinking and merriment lies before us.

[#51] Okay, I took a liberty here. They drank wine at Carthage. My reason for using rum should be obvious.

For the sake of rhyme and reason
I hereby feign derision
For the sake of rhyme and reason.

There's a sequel to be told
As this story thus unfolds,
That old Joe Smith with all his fibs,
His dastard deeds made known.

Profit not prophet,
As the latter day hoax
Turns fake golden plates
into gold spun from a web
of deceit,
So the story goes ..

In summer, winter, fall, and spring
Some funny things are happening.
There is this thing she's called a wife.
She loves this husband all her life.

There is this husband loved by her,
who's causing her to smile and purr.
Loving, kissing, billing, cooing
Who know's what they'll soon be doing?

Husband, wife, father and mother
Both are married to another
But to each other they're also wed
The angel insisted--now hop in bed!

Women all quivering under his spells
Even young girls this man compels
But keeping it going is quite a dilemma
So Joseph hopes no one ever tells Emma.

Mormon told me there's a hell.
Joseph told me t'is a sell:
a slant in words to make 'em fear,
an unkind way to say
"listen hear!"

But that was ok with me, I guess.
It's only the plainest book, the best
I'm told, in all the world,
So if I had to make it spin,
I would.
I kept on reading as it twirled, 'til...
At last against my tough chagrin,
I sold myself the book again.

I forged ahead. My faith was bright...
Until they set Abinadi alight.
"He is the Father and the Son!"
the lunatic cried.
"And they are one Eternal God!"
Then he died.
I read the verses one through four
and tried until my head was sore,
from rapping my head against the door
. The Trinity's not supposed to be true!
But there it was in the book that's blue.

I read agape-- no, it couldn't be right--
As God turned all the Lamanites white.
I flipped back to 2 Nephi chapter five
And realized racism was well and alive.
What another shock I did receive,
when I realized this I had to believe.
So I did... or tried, at least.

I duped myself rather well I'd say,
I got along just fine until the day:
Off to the temple to learn a higher way!
Throughout the ritual, I tried to suppress
thoughts that were causing me some distress.
Didn't Helaman, Alma, Mormon and Moroni
forbid signs and tokens
and oaths to keep secrets or die?
It must not be bad when God does it,
I told myself, but inside,
I cried.

It was on my mission,
somewhere near towards the end,
I sat there pondering upon
the book I called my friend.
In two years I'd come up
with lots of ways to reconcile
every hair-pulling page,
though it took a while.
But there was one glaring flaw,
one last thing to explain away--
this book had not made me happy,
not even one day.

I threw the traitor across the room.
My mind, with voices, consumed,
from all the doorsteps where I'd testified,
only to be rebuked that my church had lied.
Through teary eyes I felt forsook
and realized my religion wasn't in that book.
At first I was angry, and then a halt,
as I tried to spin it one last time,
by telling myself it was all my fault.

As I search the Holy Scriltures,
The ones I learned on mother's knee,
The familiarity feels like home,
Even when I think: such things can't be.

"I grew up in a church,"
Doesn't seem to say it all.
I wasn't just taught the scriptures:
I was spoonfed them when hungry,
Wrapped in them when cold,
And bid goodnight every night
With those tales of days of old.

They are in my thoughts.
They are my thoughts.
They stocked my little dreams
with imageries
Of Heaven and truth unfurled,
And guided my earliest grasp
Of the ways of the world.

Like an ex I never truly
Could leave behind me.
I spurn its memory daily
And whisper its name nightly.

Wrecked on vodka
On a Sunday night
Realizing that no matter
And with how much might
I share the truth
With those that I love
They will never acknowledge
God was never a dove
And there will always be strings
with that thing called love
So instead of the truth
The lie will live on
I will split who I am
Until I am gone

In me I am whole
Peaceful
And true
And to all others
Never, ever blue

Its enough
I suppose
To know that in me
Is truth,
O how I miss you, integrity.

Hopsilophodon hops along.
On three toes he goes; grubbling.
And the hummina-hummina hums and numbs
And hums and numbs like summoned drums,
As Hopsilophodon hops along.
On three toes he goes; grubbling.
And the hummina-hummina is all around him.

Kind of a metaphor for my life I guess.
A tiny little nocturnal dinosaur who goes about in the dark (grubbles) to avoid being eaten by predators.
Hummina-hummina is what I say when I encounter really cool stuff ... 'hummina-hummina!'

Hopsilophodon reaches home; - continued by elderolddog He cuddles his wife,
Reflects on his life,
Eats a home cooked meal
Watches Lets Make a Deal
And then smiling and giggling
Tthey head for the bed
And quite humbling the grubbling
Leads to humina humina happy-ning.

This is a story
The story of Horny Joe
He couldn't get his fill of lovin'
The girls would just say no
He tried and tried and wracked his brains
To figure out a way
To get the freshest meat in town
Until one fine spring day -