Poetry Corner - Song Parody: "My Foreskin Home"

This is the third in a series of poems and song parodies that I wrote for a contest that centered around male infant circumcision. The contest encouraged original songs and poems, as well as parodies of other works. For my last Poetry Corner entry, I posted a haiku and an explanation of its meaning. This time, I'm posting a song parody based on a song called "Greenfields" by an older group called "The Brothers Four."

I suppose it's appropriate to talk about the original song first, as many of my readers will probably not know it. The Brothers Four was an American folk singing group of four men, which had its heyday in the 1950 and 60s. I only became aware of this group relatively recently, through a friend of mine who has an appreciation for American folk music. He is fond of playing various music from the 50s, 60s and 70s in his car, and through him I also came to like music from those eras. It was through my friend that I came to like music by Simon and Garfunkel, the Carpenters, Peter, Paul and Mary and the like.

My friend and I were on a road trip when I first heard this song. When I asked him who the group was, he told me about The Brothers Four. He had a CD with the group's greatest hits. I was hooked. There were other songs on the CD such as "Seven Daffodils" and "Try to Remember." For many reasons, the song "Greenfields" stood out.

Here are the lyrics to the song:

"Greenfields"
By The Brothers Four
Once there were greenfields
Kissed by the sun
Once there were valleys
Where rivers used to run
Once there were blue skies
With white clouds high above
Once they were part of
An everlasting love
We were the lovers who strolled
Through greenfields.

Greenfields are gone now
Parched by the sun
Gone from the valleys
Where rivers used to run
Gone with the cold wind
That swept in through to my heart
Gone with the lovers
Who let their dreams depart
Where are the greenfields that we
Used to roam.

I'll never know what made you run away
How can I keep searching when dark clouds hide the day
I only know there's nothing here for me
Nothing in this wild world left for me to see.

But I'll keep on waiting
'Til you return
I'll keep on waiting
Until the day you learn
You can't be happy
When your heart's on a roam
You can't be happy
Until you bring it home
Home to the greenfields and me
Once again.

When I first heard "Greenfields," the song gave me a feeling of loneliness, of longing for what was once there. This was reflected in the minor key in which the song was written, as well as the lyrics themselves. I couldn't help but think of circumcision and the feeling a man who resents this unwanted intrusion on his body might feel. The lyrics in the original song also seem to lend themselves to allow me to reference foreskin restoration. I decided to write a parody for the poetry contest.

Here is the song reinterpreted in my parody:

"My Foreskin Home"
Parody by Joseph Lewis

My Foreskin Home
Once there was foreskin
And I was one
Once there was tissue
Where veins and nerves used to run
Once I had a foreskin
I would have been proud of
Once it was part of an everlasting love
I was born perfect when I
Had foreskin

Foreskin is gone now
Shorn by someone
Gone is the tissue
Where veins and nerves used to run
Gone with the cold knife
That cut into my heart
Gone with the doctor
That tore my skin apart
Where is the foreskin my glans
Once called home

I'll never know why it was torn away
How can I keep searching, I'm ridiculed all day
I only know, that it was robbed from me
No one in this world could give it back to me

But I'll keep on stretching
'Til it returns
I'll keep on tugging
Until the day they learn
I can't be happy
While my glans is exposed
I can't be happy
Until my glans is home
Home in the foreskin I had
Once again

I hope you enjoyed it. Please check out past Poetry Corner entries in the links below.



Related Posts:

Poetry Corner - Poor Little Guy

Poetry Corner - Haiku

Poetry Corner - Haiku

This is one of a series of poems that I wrote for a poetry contest which centers around the topic of male infant circumcision. For my first Poetry Corner, I posted a poem inspired by a Bruce Springsteen song.

This time around I'm going to publish a haiku.

A haiku is a type of Japanese poetry that follows a syllable pattern of 5 - 7 - 5. The idea behind a haiku is that poets have a very limited set of parameters to work with. The effective haiku poet invokes an image, feelings and thoughts. To achieve this, he must choose his words carefully.

To unpack so much with so few words; that is the idea behind a haiku.

Without further ado, the poem:

Circumcision rite
Music, dance, and food, and drink
Blood and pain remain

This haiku was inspired by the picture for this post.

Few Americans know this, but in countries other than the United States and Israel, boys are circumcised at later ages.

Particularly in the case of Islamic countries, boys are circumcised at major ceremonies, where boys are dressed in elaborate clothing and given consolation money and gifts.

Huge parties are held where the boys' circumcisions are "celebrated."

It is similar for Jewish boys, where their parents throw parties with food drink after they have their foreskins cut off.

Who is celebrating?

Who is the party for?

Not for the boys, that's for sure.

While the adults have their party with music, dance, cake and punch, the boys sit there, stunned, trying to process the betrayal that had just occurred.

Look closely at the picture of the Turkish boy in "royal" garb above; there is blood on his hands.

After the party, after the food, after the drinks, the blood and the pain remain.

Even when the blood is gone and the wound is healed, the mental and physical scars, both indelible, remain until the boy's death.

The blood and pain remain until death.

That is curse of circumcision.

Men who resent their circumcision are often told "It was so long ago. How can you even remember?"

A man touches his penis when he urinates, masturbates, makes love and takes a shower. The question is not “How can he remember?”, the question is “How can he forget?"

I end this post by quoting a poem written by Antwone Fischer.

Who Will Cry for the Little Boy?

Who will cry for the little boy?
Lost and all alone.
Who will cry for the little boy?
Abandoned without his own?

Who will cry for the little boy?
He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy?
He never had for keeps.

Who will cry for the little boy?
He walked the burning sand
Who will cry for the little boy?
The boy inside the man.

Who will cry for the little boy?
Who knows well hurt and pain
Who will cry for the little boy?
He died again and again.

Who will cry for the little boy?
A good boy he tried to be
Who will cry for the little boy?
Who cries inside of me.

Muslim boy, about to be circumcised.

All the money in the world could never buy back

what is about to be stolen from him.
Notice where his hands are.

Related Post:

Poetry Corner - Poor Little Guy

Random Thought: Is Circumcision Human Ikebana?

Poetry Corner - Poor Little Guy

Some time ago, I would participate in a poetry contest which centered on the topic of male infant circumcision. The contest encouraged participants to write out their own original poetry, and even to parody other works, including poetry, songs etc. I found it therapeutic, in a way, to write out my feelings. I'm going to start publishing what came of that poetry contest on here.

The first poem I ever wrote was this.

A lot of people don't give too much thought, or seem to forget the fact that in most cases, circumcision happens to a newborn baby boy. They fast-forward several years later and say "See? Most men don't remember it and they're fine. See? They're OK. They get over it."

It's almost as if they're admitting that what has happened is wrong.

Why else would a person need to "get over it?"

As humans we must overcome all kinds of things. All victims of all forms of abuse, be it verbal, physical or sexual, must find some way to cope. With the right therapy, anyone can become a well-adjusted survivor. We've got to; we can't stay in the same place for ever. We've all got to move on.

I wrote the following not because I feel bad for older men, but because I feel bad for the newborn baby boys who have just come into the world.

When it comes down to it, the number one thing I feel is wrong with male infant circumcision is that it is the violation of the most precious of basic human rights of a healthy, non-consenting baby boy, at his most fragile, most vulnerable state, in most private, most intimate part of his body, his being, his identity as a human male.

I wrote this to express not only the sorrow and the helplessness of not being able to do anything to stop what's going on, but also the hope that through activism, through bringing awareness to this issue, one day this practice will end.

The resilience of the human spirit is no excuse to abuse and mutilate a child.

At the end of the day, abuse is still abuse, and wrong is still wrong.

Poor Little Guy
Hey little boy what happened to you,
Looks like someone took a knife and mutilated you…
Your poor little wound is still purple and fresh,
Who could do such a thing to a baby’s flesh?
Poor little guy…

Were you offered up, or were you stolen away,
From your mother’s side by which you peacefully lay?
Did they spread you open did they tie you down,
Did the man that hurt you wear a mask and gown?
Poor little guy…

Did he care you screamed and did he care you bled,
As you struggled strapped to the restraining bed?
Were you wishing you could end your new-born life,
As you felt the cold sear from a steely knife?
Poor little guy…

What did you feel when your screams weren’t heard,
That your parents stood by and didn’t say a word?
Were they even present, could they even hear,
Their little boy’s screams or see his falling tears?
Poor little guy…

Did the doctor tell them, did they even know,
The unspeakable pain through which you had to go?
Was it something your parents had to decide,
Or did the doctor fill their heads with baseless lies?
Poor little guy…

Pity whether these lies were true or not,
A man can’t decide to have what he’s got,
When your parents were thinking of their little son,
They neglected the man that he would become…
Poor little guy…

I know when you’re older you probably won’t mind,
But what they did to your body is still unkind.
That you won’t remember doesn’t make it right,
It can’t be defended under any light…
Poor little guy…

Sadly, you are not alone in your pain.
Every day boys must suffer again and again.
I fervently pray it’s a dying trend,
To maim little babies; that this madness ends.
Poor little guy.

Edit 7/16/2018:
I totally forgot to say that the inspiration for this poem was the lyrics to the Bruce Springsteen song "I'm on fire."

I want readers to read the lyrics. I wonder if there is some sort of connection, some unintended connection back to day one...

I'm On Fire
Bruce Springsteen

Hey little girl, is your daddy home?
Did he go away and leave you all alone?
I got a bad desire
Oh, oh, oh
I'm on fire

Tell me now baby, is he good to you?
Can he do to you the things that I do?
Oh no, I can take you higher
Oh, oh, oh
I'm on fire

Sometimes it's like someone took a knife, baby, edgy and dull
And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my soul
At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet
And a freight train running through the middle of my head
Only you can cool my desire
Oh, oh, oh
I'm on fire
Oh, oh, oh
I'm on fire
Oh, oh, oh
I'm on fire

Why is he eyeing a little girl and wondering if her daddy is home?

Why a six-inch valley? With a knife through the MIDDLE OF HIS SOUL?

(Where is the locus of a man's soul?)

Who did it?

Yes, I know the intentions of this song are more along the lines of the insatiable lust a man might have for a woman he likes.

And yet I wonder if the words of this song are somehow a Freudian slip...

They say that first cut cuts the deepest.