Jesus Christ: and a Sense of Humor

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Making It Happen 

By Kenneth Pobo

He’s almost here

but for one thing—

He demands a temple

on Temple Mount. 


No big return

till then.  Jesus won’t budge.

He’ll stay up in heaven

with twittering angels,


blissfully happy, while

971 Palestinian and Israeli kids

have been killed

in seven years.  No problem.


A holy war--destroy Islam--

grab the Mount--build a temple.

Presto!  Jesus gets off his ass

and dashes down.  Oh, 


happy day! 

Slaughter, carnage, ruin!

More children dead.

But the temple!  Look,


there it is.  Blood-colored walls,

magnifico!  And Jesus,

with Bush’s smug grin,

says Well done!


Bio:  Kenneth Pobo has a new book of poems forthcoming this year from WordTech Press called Glass Garden.  His work can be read online at:  2River Veiw,, Pemmican, Adirondack Review, and elsewhere.  He teaches Creative Writing and English at Widener University.  Catch his radio show, "Obscure Oldies," on Saturdays from 6-8pm EST at


Editorial Comments:  As a Christian, at least while in private prayer, one could take offense by the above poem.  I personally love it!  Here you see a combination of:  truths, irony, creativity, strainge alliances.  Great job Kenneth.


The Farmer's Dream

By  Eddie Dowe

The farmer is dreaming

of his blue tractor

as if it were a woman

pulling off her blue panties

and climbing into

the windy field of his bed.

Bio: Eddie Dowe is a high school English teacher in Norfolk, Virginia and an MFA student at Old Dominion University. Previous publications include Trillium, the strange fruit, Facets, Lunarosity, and Simply Haiku, among others.

Editorial Comments: Sometimes short, sweet, with a tight image says it all. Especially

In Illinois where we have a lot of farms riding those tractors all day. Now I know what

they are really doing.


The Luxury Afterlife

By Doug Holder

A state of the art mausolem.

A place to die for,

to be dead in.

Doric columns,

Cathedral ceilings,

Stained glass,

Surrounded by

Designer coiffed

And trimmed grass.

Why lay among the masses

In close quarters

Pressing all that decaying flesh

All that white trash.

Rest in peace

As your body turns to ash.


Doug Holder's works has appeared in The Café Review, Flashpoint, Word Riot, Heeltap, Poet’s Page, Pegasus and many others. His two recent collections: “Of All The Meals I Had Before” ( Cervena Barva Press), “No One Dies at the Au Bon Pain” (sunnyoutside) were released in 2007.  He is the founder of the Ibbetson Street Press.

Editorial Comments:  Here we have a wonderful combination of imagery, an unusual insight, crafted words, and a constrast between the common burial grounds and the elite grounds of the rich or prominent of society heightened by architectural adjectives.  A history of life and death in about 15 lines of poetry.


Jesus Knelt In Grief Over

The Death of Children


by Michael Lee Johnson


Breaking out of silence,

Jesus knelt to his knees

in moist desert sand,

wrote messages

with his fingertips

to children-

“water is water, toys are toys,

but by my fingers burn with life,

though I toil over tombs with grief and tears-

I’m the living and I am the dead.

I was born to life to bring

new hope into the death of children.

I’m the messenger of the morning sun

the prayer book between the morning dew,

the play fields of your daily adventures.

When I kneel here again, the end will be the end.

Fire will be willed into my words.

Driftwood and sand will turn to stone.

I drag my fingers across hot sand once more;

morning will come without a daybreak.

Birds will no longer sing, and crickets

lose their songs.”



Church Pew Romance

By Toby Nelson

They moved their heads close; his lips touched her hair

(I fought down the bile, and tried not to stare)

His hand on her shoulder, her rapturous face

(Trapped, I beheld it with deep’ning disgrace)

They whispered, they giggled, they gossiped and whined

(Sitting behind them I’ll go out of my mind)

Through the songs, through the sermon, through the prayers did they schmooze.

(If the service were longer I’d for sure blow my fuse)

They’re happy, they’re comforted, free and refreshed

(To think of next Sunday just makes me depressed)

Bio:  Toby has none.  He is a good father, I sense a man with a God spirit, a nice wife and 3 lovely children.  Are you this lucky?  I'm not.  Now he is a published poet-that is good enough for me!

Editiorial Comments:  I sense several things here-a sense of God, a sense of family, a good father, an amateur poet, and some damn nice funny stuff!  I also sense potential.  I believe in my writers, I believe in Toby, Michael Lee Johnson.

Use the Bathroom Please?

by  Reginald Walker

The sound of my alarm clock wakes me.
I swing my feet over the side of my bed.
Honey brings me the paper and coffee.
I yawn, stretch, then I rub my bald head.

I stand up and go to the bathroom.
My paper, under my arm, in tow.
Just as I am coming out of the bedroom.
My daughter closes the bathroom door.

So I grab myself and cock my knees.
I quckly run for bathroom number two.
Just as I am coming down the stairs.
My darling wife closes that door, too.

I am amazed by what just happened.
I turn and rush out the backdoor.
‘Damn, ’ in anger, I shouted aloud
‘In the garage, there is one more.’

Through the kitchen and out the backdoor
To the garage, as I fast as could, I ran.
I open the door expecting I would finally sit.
I have been holding this as long as I can.

Just as I enter the garage,
All my plans are undone.
I hear the bathroom door slam shut.
I just got beat there by my own son.

I say to myself, ‘I wish we only had one kid.’
All right, I know where there is one more.
Across the street I hurriedly went.
To the neighborhood convenience store. 

Editor Comments:  Reginald Walker is not going to like me much; he sent many serious religious poems, and his faith in Jesus Christ is steadfast beyond doubt-but it was the humor within his daily living conditions that caught my ears, eyes, and heart to this poem.  No matter how spiritual we are, we are human, with shortcomings, displayed, then a prayer.