While not exactly a genre, I wrote a few poems for my and my son’s poetry book, published in 2012. Not everyone’s cup of tea, I get that, but fun for those like my son and me. I’ll be back at the helm next week. Until then…adieu.
“Heavy Metal”
By Rob Weddle
To those in the know:
I know you understand
Heavy metal’s a crow
Resting on a frail hand
A dashing skullcap
Sporting two metal horns
A black rose in the gap
On a sidewalk of thorns
It’s a demon of madness
Who hates what he dreams
Or a chick who hates sadness
And rocks ‘till she screams
For some it’s a Bible
For others a blade
For all it is tribal
A primal campaign
These itching eyes hear
Sweaty bones in the heat
It’s heart-pounding fear
We can set to a beat
It’s devils and imps
Dragging perverts to Hell
Or a cage full’a chimps
Retching on their own smell
It’s guitars and drums
Purple lights and white fog
It’s millionaire bums
And their pentagram blogs
It’s ugly and loud
Yet it’s beautiful too
It’s pungent and proud
Like a cell with a view
It’s an ear-bleeding shriek
From a parasite child
A demoralized freak
Wading in his own bile
It’s a dog with a limp
Flashing vampire fangs
It’s a golden-grilled pimp
Mocking teenage birth pangs
It’s a twitch and a spasm
A mountain of sound
It’s a mass of sarcasm
Incensed and unsound
It’s blood on the floor
It’s an angel on high
I’m a fan, I’m hardcore
And will be till I die
“Omen of Impending Righteousness”
By Rob Weddle
Flailing, thunder-crashin’, sweaty pandemonium
Hyena’s laughing at bloody-eared decibel levels
We’re foster children in a stained-glass museum
Takin’ the fight to the very throne of the devil
Delighted ditch-dwellers smile like monkeys
While blood trickles and supplications shriek hard
We’ll meditate upon prayer requests later
But for now – let’s molest Hell ‘till we’re fearlessly scarred
No disgrace in a pit-fetched punch in the face
Ain’t nuthin’ but a throbbing twinge of metal
Gotta keep thrashin’, bro, aggressively slaying darkness
‘Till Armageddon’s golden dust has finally settled
Bringin’ belligerent harmonies to demonic gangs
Yielding rusty, blood-encrusted, double-edged swords
Slicing and dicing every branded teller of vice
Bangin’ heads and castin’ out devils for our Lord
Slaughter murky thoughts in a river of pure crystal
Assassinating hate with songs of massacre and bliss
Sinister religions beware – I ain’t takin’ no prisoners
Crushin’ brimstone fiends with a sanctified kiss
I won’t threaten any quantity of violence I can’t deliver
Screamin’ at gravel-faced hellions like full-on homicide
Proud to be a part of Heaven’s obliteration of doom
Executing holy heavy metal ‘till force and destiny collide
While awaiting the sacred hammer’s fall, I’ll be all up in your face
Like a hard rock of offense on that spacious, wicked path
Don’t give me that Satanic “sheep are meant to be slaughtered” rap
I’m the hand of doom, man – A harbinger of God’s wrath
Call my art what it is: an omen of impending righteousness
I’m a brilliant, blinding light – I’m a holy-metal rebel
Laying down bloodthirsty tracks of heavenly rage
With all the vein-poppin’ spit I’ve got I’ll shout at the devil
Just another day in the trenches…
“Spider-Vibe”
By Rob Weddle
There…
Can you feel it?
That wicked spider-vibe
Cooper-crawlin’ down your greasy spine?
A slow burn
It starts with a brain-thwacking bass guitar
Flat-out shattering windows and teeth
Insert drums that rattle and hum
A compelling flame who seethes
Encircle the mix with honeyed, ear-piercing guitars
Moving you in ways nothing else can
Add the sundae-cherry vocals, sweet and livid
And then you have it
A wall of noise, man
A band
(Let’s throw a monkey-wrench in the mix:
Rhyme one/four, two/five and then three/six)
It’s a light born of a youthful spirit
Spit/exploding out of your eyes
Out of every pore of your being
You must suffer it, not merely hear it
Hell revolts and Heaven sighs
Cuz with heavy metal, hearing is seeing
Engaging every muscle, every sinew and bone
It grates your teeth and boils your blood cold
Gutting enemies and wrapping love-arms about your soul
Melodious chaos – a whisper-crushing moan
A beast with teeth, an idol of gold
A malevolent ballerina; stunning, stoned and out of control
(Mix it up; give ‘em two that rhyme
Then do the intro a second time)
It’s coffee can clamor by rickety boys
An angry step-child with precarious toys
There…
Can you feel it?
That wicked spider-vibe
Cooper-crawlin’ down your greasy spine?
(Done; good job! Let’s hope that they
Accept us as we are one day
But for tonight there is no doubt:
We jam ‘till the cops’ve kicked us out)
Broken People 
I’m an old metal head. When I was young people called me a hippie sometimes. I would say, no man. I am not that old. I’m an old metal head!
I tried writing a couple poems. Not a musician, but I always wished Metallica would do a metal version of Psalm 88. Bible scholars call it the psalm of NO HOPE. It is the only one of its kind. There are other psalms with harsher moments in them, but they all end on an up note. But not Psalm 88. It is the Bible’s version of Fade to Black.
Actually, I think it is the psalm of most hope in the final analysis. If you read it with a Christian lens, it is. But it was written way before Christ, and so the psalmist who wrote it (this one was not by David) wrote in utter despair a last cry to God and died. But the questions, the shrill questions he raises along the way are stunning in their own rite, but become very hopeful in a Christian light.
“Do You work wonders for the dead?” “Will the shades rise up and praise You?”
Before the risen Christ, the answer was NO. But with Christ the answers to these shrill questions changed.
I have a deal with God.
On the final day of resurrection. I have asked him to raise me before he raises this psalmist. I want to be there to see the look on his face when he finds out God heard his prayers after all.
My own pen has produced this:
I am the son of two fathers
But a father to no one.
I live to serve both
Like a loaded gun.
I am a wayward soul…
And I am known to none.
But I ask my father questions…
Even the wrong ones.
Thanx for the cool heavy metal poetry.
God bless…
Agent X
Fat Beggars School of Prophets
Lubbock, Texas (USA)
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Thanks for the feedback! I’m 51 and still into metal. Many of my family and friends grew out of it but I never did. Inspired by your comment, I reread Psalm 88 and agree: it would make a killer Christian song, or even a concept album. I can relate to the verse about being sickly since youth. I began having back problems as a teenager, and depression soon followed. But God is good, man. I’m going to talk to my son about Psalm 88, as he has an extreme Christian metal band and may be able get a song out of it. Hopefully get to talk again soon. Blessings!
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I was almost done, I promise, when I was cut off by my lame computer…
As I was saying…
That psalmist dies scorned. And as far as I can tell, he is still dead in the grave having no idea that his cry was heard by heaven. That it was worthy to make it in God’s Bible. But it was. But even that is nothing compared to the Resurrection of Christ.
So when he asks those penetrating questions of God about death and whether God works wonders or cares for souls in Abaddon and so forth, Jesus brings God’s answer to him… which is YES! YES the shades will rise to praise Me. Yes I work wonders for the dead! I am God the Almighty, and with me comes life and hope, and I wipe away every tear!
And thus, I think the first time you read 88, you are meant to sit with the psalmist and get real with God. But then you read it a second time and God gets real hopeful with you.
Hey, man…. I apologize for hijacking your comment section like this. But I have a lot on my mind about these things, and I hope you find blessings in them. I will not do this to you again. If it bless you, then be blessed. If not, rest assured I will not hassle you with it again.
God bless you, bro.
Take care.
X
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Wow, I’m much too tired to digest all of this so I’m gonna take a look again tomorrow. I greatly appreciate your thoughts, seriously. Most people are in such a dang hurry that they can barely type a response. Thanks.
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