Poetry-Styled Writing

by H.G. Peterson

H.G. Peterson

“Nail it to the Door in the Park”

During the Black Death the pilgrimages stopped
With half the folks dead, the land value dropped
As the priests could do nothing to stop the evil plague
Love for Mother Church hopped on its last leg

The Church’s legitimacy was basically gone
With one pope in Rome and one in Avignon
With bank accounts falling, his spirits were low
And the Pope figured he had one way to go

If good works could your sins wipe away
Instead of good works, why don’t you just pay?
Good works take time and since time is money
Just give the Church gold and everything’s sunny

Was paying gold for forgiveness what God had in mind
When the rules for good life He clearly defined?
One fellow in Wittenberg wasn’t quite sure
That writing a cheque would make your soul pure

So Martin Luther, the above-mentioned priest
Realized the sell of indulgences should be ceased
In 1517 on Halloween night
He decided that he should set this thing right

He nailed to the Wittenberg church’s door
Ninety five things that told them what for
German jaws dropped seeing this information
And thus began the Great Reformation

Soon after that Rome’s power did snore
And now Papal Bulls you can safely ignore

It Was My Last Hour in the Park

by H.G. Peterson
H.G. Peterson

May I offer several lines
On behalf of fireflies?

Summer evenings, don’t you know
They add magic with their glow

There is something most ethereal
‘bout bugs full of lit material

With their flashing merriment
They’re stars reborn to firmament

So enjoy them, as they hover lightly
When out to play, they come nightly

If fireflies could converse
I feel their message would be terse

They would say “Oh don’t be vicious,”
“C’mon my friend, now please don’t squish us.”

While I Was Flying a Kite on the Beach

by H.G. Peterson
(for President Roosevelt)
H.G. Peterson

Across this Earth there are a great many cultures and nations
From the richest country to those with lowest station
There are colonies, territories and even satellite states
But they all have in common, this of all their traits;

From Russia to Bulgaria to the Mongolian lands
And down to Mississippi and the Hawaiian sands
All the different lands have one thing in common
They all have comely women, with curvy little bottoms
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H.G. Peterson: Extraordinary Poet

H.G. Peterson

The Sensuality of Pleasure and Pain

From kindergarten to the day I got my B.A.
Seventeen years I wasted away

Pay attention now, for the following is truthful
No thing I learned in school was useful

Algebra won’t come up in any situation
Forget that quadratic equation

Geometry is pointless and rather old-fangled
Too much time spent fondling triangles

In English class they forced us to read boorish old tales
Symbolic, boring, filled with white whales

History, for some reason, they felt we need to know
Drought, plague, the battle of so and so

Civics attempted to teach me voting makes the man
Now I get paid to clean up the can

Music was fine if you sat in good order
If you ever needed to play the recorder

I will be honest here and say that reading is nice
I’m homeless, hungry, covered in lice

Chem. taught some atrociously useful things for a class
Seeing some ions and finding their mass

Ever use the color wheel? I thought you would say not
Art class was also completely rot

In P.E. the only knowledge that I acquired
Be appropriately attired

Biology is hacking up bodies long deceased
Great for psychos from prison released

All those times I sat bored, dreaming of panties in school
I did not learn, I was a great fool
I should have cut the class and gone marauding instead
You just can’t keep knowledge when you’re dead

H.G. Peterson: The World’s Greatest Poet

H.G. Peterson is the world’s greatest living poet. His work “The Fall of Prague” is the official poem of the NASCAR racing circuit.

“Tawdry Lemons Parked Inside”

On planet Earth you’ll find a teeming cornucopia
Stuff like bats, cars and trains, that Thomas Moore’s Utopia

Trees, dolphins, meringue pie. Tasty Bavarian nurses
The buildings, art, soda- oh yes, those poetic verses

Several ways these things will break. They you will never mend
Our little Sun’s nuclear cycle, someday comes to end

That shiny outer atmosphere will redden and expand
Our planet’s seas boiling, steam and death roam ‘cross the land

As for other inner planets: Mercury, Venus, Mars
Like the filth they are they’ll disappear in our closest star

Our lovely, blue, little planet that we have grown to trust
Will become just a bunch of flaming debris, ash and dust

Ev’rything we know and love will forever cease to be
Pyramids, Napoleon, the great game of Clue and bees

No record of your first kiss, no one to eat cold ice cream
The Universe will soon forget each last man named Kareem

Don’t fret and don’t worry, it’s all going to be all right
One day our world she’ll be destroyed by supernova light

Keep in your mind this fact, this truth, so that you’ll know it’s not
The end of this world of ours, when your parents find your pot