Poems

Un-Prose

All the lies I let myself believe, will they someday haunt me, be whispered in my sleep? Tell me true, for there is there is value in honesty. I realize that I shoot myself in the foot with the same regularity as I eat, and I’m not foolish enough to believe that that’s mostly for the cause of enabling others, though it is occasionally.

I’m more selfish than I want to be; sometimes it’s hard to believe there is yet goodness in me. Once I had convinced myself I was artsy, but now I know that I’m just angsty… the drama queen I always strove not to be. Are we ever who we want, in reality?

Fame is fleeting, as is beauty. I’ve been lucky enough not to be granted either in excess. Nor do I have great knowledge, though I once thought I liked philosophy  Philosophists’ agonizing over-analyzing killed that theory. Yet, even in these words I seek to be more known. In everything I am the antithesis of all I hoped to be. I show, in all things, too much of my humanity, which I’m told is tacky…but I always admired vulnerability.

There are moments I wish I could freeze, but really nothing is all that we remember it to be. In conclusion, I’ll refrain from over-speculation on where I see myself, let alone our nation in any span of time: a month, a year… Though, through ash colored glasses, I see myself not much closer to my destination, yet closer to death. Make what you will of that prediction. Kind salutations to you on your trek, whose path crossed with mine on this occasion. Fare thee well.

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Poems: Experiential & Elaboration

Camp was good. Life has been busy since then so I’m behind. Maybe eventually there’ll be a post here about camp, but maybe not. I make no promises. Anyhow, for now, here are two poems that I had written before camp, but hadn’t had a chance to put up. The first is based on experience, the second is an elaboration on this Pinterest quote about an oxymoron we moronic humans often live.

I miss you every day,
Both in ways I know and can’t explain.
Remember when you said
I’d forget,
No one cared,
That the world would be better off without you here?
You were wrong.
You took your life (relatively) long
Ago,
And I know
That my grieving will never end.
The world’s a darker place without you, and
I know reliving choices…regret,
I know regret won’t help me get
Better.
Bet whether
You’re in Haven or Hell,
Well,
That’s at least partly my responsibility
I can’t help feeling your choice was affected by disability.
It’d be fine
If we could switch eternal destinations,

Your past versus mine…
But, much to my frustration,
Things don’t work that way.
Everyone pays for his deeds.
God, please,
Did you help him see at the last instant?
I can’t
Handle life with a smile as I used to.
People ask if I’m ok. Do
I need someone to talk to?
But talking doesn’t help me get over you.
I hate depression like some people hate cancer.
As with that there is no answer,
No cure.
I watch depression’s vicious cycle take more
Into its grip.
I watch as they slip
Beyond where I can reach,
And I die a little more each
Time.
Not all truths rhyme:

I’m beginning to think there’s nothing I could change even if I could rewind.

So I’ll drink another draught from the cup of sorrow,
Sleep, awake, and face tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And she wished upon a dream
That her secrets would be seen
For what they were by some wild, keen
Man-child.

And that he would excavate her soul
Unearthing pieces, sketching a whole
Portrait of her true person
He heart in the nude, un-shrouded from role
Playing.

And in her fervent prayers and fears
She hoped his heart would ever steer
Closer to the truth of her feral, rearing self.

That someone be less afraid of
Her ugliness than she.
That man-child, made of tender persistence
Could see in her beauty…
Mine her depths,
Find something to cherish
In the wreck,
Fight and not perish
Against inner battlements she’d set up.
That he might, somehow, fall in love.

I tend to like the first one better. I’d love to know your thoughts and/or critiques!

 

 

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Poem

Once in a while I’m good for a poem, and it’s been a while since I last posted one, so here for good measure is my once in a while poem.

 

Words fill all the pages.
I finally closed the book…
End to a season brimming
With tragedy and hope.
Each page bears a story;
I can go back and look
The places that I’ve come from,
My past, and all that took
The pieces of my heart
And then ran away or died,
The people that I’ve loved,
The occasions that I’ve cried.
To me it’s sacred ground,
or rather, pages there inside.
Chapters of my journey…
Tell me, what is yet to come?
What will the final page say
When my life is gone and done?
One journal is complete now.
Another will soon begin.
I wonder, oh I wonder,
what stories will it hold within?

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Poem

A rather depressing, wry take… I wrote this during the final month of the long winter, during March. Things are getting better since then in more ways than one. Don’t worry too much, Mom. Writing is based off of the emotions of the moment, and even in the low moment when I wrote this it turned out even more calloused than I felt. But, it’s been quite a while since I’ve posted poetry, so I thought I’d put it up regardless. I’m hoping to post more regularly than I have been, and posting this is a part of that attempt.

 

“You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free.”
Or choke you like a collar attached to a leash as you run in the opposite direction.
“The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak”
The spirit is willing…sometimes, but sometimes it flees His protection.

“Ye of little faith.”
I believe, actually. I’m just afraid of dying to myself.
“Acknowledge Him, and he will make your path straight.”
My crooked ways please me so I put God on the shelf.

“Why do the nations rage,
and the people plot in vane?
The kings of the earth
have all joined together
to turn against the Lord and his Annointed saying
“Let’s cut the ropes and set oursleves free.”
But the one who sits in Heaven laughs,
He scoffs at them.
Then, in His anger, He rebukes them.”

Categories: My Life, Poems, rants | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

My People –Character Sketch

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAWho are we? The broken youth, simultaneously seeking and avoiding meaning, altogether wary of anyone who claims to know purpose and hope, convinced that truth can be neither easy nor complex. Oh yes, we’ve sat in the churches of our parents and grandparents. We’ve seen the shams of both our forefathers and our peers who claim the title “Christian”. Claim religion Sunday mornings and live the opposite every other hour of the week; pray when life gets tragic. Does your god hear you? Do you even really, fully believe he exists? There are some who follow the rules the rest of the week too, but even they are empty. Will they be saved by doing good?

ΞΞΞ

No, spirituality, and Wicca, and Hinduism, and Native American beliefs are much more appealing. I’ve never been sold on the ritual and tradition and rigidity of the church. Time to try something else. Positive energy, oneness, gems, karma, incantations, incense, symbols and nature are much more compelling then a regimented system of belief derived from an ancient book. Connect with what I feel, with my emotions, and I’ll be much more convinced. Explain the vibes, the spirits, tell me of the goddesses and fables. Let’s connect with what I feel, with the mystery of the universe. That appeals to me.

I casually study herbs and purchase pendants with deeper meanings on my electric device. I’ll research crusades which led to the brutal death of many. I’ll read of witch trials conducted by the ancestors of those who taught me their Old English hymns, and the cynic in me will be even more convinced. I’ll strive for Nirvana. I’ll light a candle in my dark room–fire, a basin of water for liquid, an open curtain–air, a bit of soil sprinkled about. Life essences. Or how about a traditional dagger for my ceremonies? Lead me on with the tangible in my search for meaning. Maybe I will find my way.

ΞΞΞ

These are the stakes. This is the mindset of my people. How do we defend the truth? This isn’t a system, this isn’t about fighting the people, this is about fighting the darkness. Mark Twain said “It is easier to fool people than to convince them they have been fooled.” Pulling back the curtain of lies of the Serpent is next to impossible. In ways I’ve had very little success, so I’m probably not one to give suggestions. But here are my thoughts:

  • Be genuine
  • Know apologetics
  • Be accepting
  • Share (food, etc.)
  • Truly listen
  • Don’t disregard their beliefs
  • Don’t disregard their pain
  • Try to be like Jesus

 

 

 

 

Categories: My Life, Poems, Ponderings | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Truth vs. Tradition

Watch me dis the tradition

You’ve held to so long.

Your tightly clenched fists are missing 

The point, though tradition’s not wrong.

 ¶

Wrap yourself around the pointless.

You are turning people off.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

It’s your fault you’re a dying breed–

We see through your chatter, we block

You out. You aren’t real, just an empty shell.

 ¶

I want more.

 ¶

Where is the God

You buried in ritual and recitation?

We need a renaissance:

To break free from these trappings,

Go back to The Book.

 ¶

I’ll unmask the power you’ve run from.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Keep hiding, concealing, cowering behind your wall;

I’ll unleash the avalanche,

For somewhere amongst these ancient ashes

There is truth.

 ¶

Incant behind your alters in assemblies.

I’ll unveil Veritas.

You are strangling society…

Separating them from substance.

Your loath-ness to change

Dooms humans to Hades.

 ¶

Tradition doesn’t matter.

Retain truth, and dismiss the rest.

Don’t sacrifice souls for comfortable complacency.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

The Savior died for their salvation,

But you can’t alter your sermons, your songs…

That would be an abomination.

 ¶

Addicted to amenity;

Averse to alteration.

Tradition over truth

Imprecates society.

 ¶

Get over yourselves

Before you are blamed:

The cause of the casualty.’

Categories: Poems, rants | Tags: , , , , | 7 Comments

Who I Am

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA I am
A saint and a sinner–
A study in contrasts,
or contradictions,
or compromises.
I am
In no man’s land
Where people from both sides
ignore,
dissociate,
shun.
I am
Apparently terrifying because
I don’t fit the boxes.
I am
Slightly terrified because
I know I never will.
I’ll be
Forever alone,
Respected from a distance:
Feared,
Mocked,OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Ignored
Always.
I am only (mostly) accepted by the open sinners
I love them.
 
I was
Once known as the awkward child among the saints.
They now make me as uncomfortable
As I make them.
I am
Too ‘good’ to be a blatant sinner;
Too bad to be a stained glass saint.
I am
Stuck
For Eternity
In between
Extremes.
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A Poem & A Pondering

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
The poem…
I wish I had common sense,                                               
A nickel or dime would do.                                                    
But my Mama says I trust too much–                            
An empath through and through.                                   
 ¶                                                                                                          
I let their hurts kill me                                          
‘Cause His love fills me.                                             
They try to ignore the pain.                                  
Maybe they’re more sane?                                  
 ¶
I couldn’t stop if I wanted to                                 
‘Cause this is who I am.                                      
I love the people–                                            
You can’t stop that on demand.                            
 ¶
I cry their tears; take night watchDSCN1058                      
They try to numb the scars                              
I may have botched common sense,                 
But I love them as they are.                         
 ¶                                                                                         They’re drowning life out with relationships;      
I’m praying that He’ll get through.                    
Only He can fill their voids.                         
I’m praying He’ll do that too.                            
It hurts sometimes
When I don’t see results,
And they’re running away with my soul,
But His love binds.
 ¶                                                                                                          
I’m committed; I’ll fight their battlesOLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Or die trying.
 I can’t heal mortal wounds;
I can’t slow their dying.
 ¶
He can save them, though.
If they’d only ask.
Is He working?
I can’t tell.
 ¶
But I can hope against hope
That morning will come
That they’ll see the light,
Come to the Son.
 ¶                                                                                          
What seems hopeless isn’t.
There’s an army by my side. 
I don’t know what God’s doing,
But I’m along for the ride.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The pondering…
Being a lover of lost causes sounds much more exciting and artsy than it is. Really it is discouraging. Really it tears my  heart in a thousand different directions as people take parts away with them. I never hear from them again, though I still pray for them from time to time. It is disheartening to never see results.
I read Revelations, and it makes me weep because I know many members of ‘Babylon’… the sinful and sexually immoral. But I sin too. Jesus loves me. He loves them. They misuse His name, though He died so they might live. They just don’t understand! Jesus, open their eyes. Would some, even if they understood, still turn away? My heart says yes. That makes me sad.
All I can do is pray and befriend them. That doesn’t seem like much. That doesn’t seem like enough to do for them. They have been hurt by the world; they know no other way.’They’ could so easily be me had I been born to different parents four houses down the street.
My mission field…the lost causes. Why me God? Surely someone else could have don’t a better job? Surely someone else could have won more, and could have planted more seeds by being less afraid? But You have put me here, so I will try, even though I am discouraged and I feel like I am failing You. For Your sake I will keep trying.
The end.
Categories: My Life, Poems, Ponderings | Tags: , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Mini Rebellions

I shut down my calculator and begin a post of poetry. How ironic. It’s been long enough since I’ve written one of these. Honestly I’m not writing poetry as much lately as I’m stuck in the world of school and exact answers, but words are still ever so much more important than numbers to me. Maybe I’m rebelling against the exactness with all this free verse. I never used to be able to pull that type off, but these are half decent if I do say so myself. We shall see what ya’ll have to say (and it better be honest.) So, with no further ado I present to you my mini rebellions against rigidity and routine. Enjoy.

Maybe fun is just denial.
Maybe happiness only delays the inevitable.
Maybe playing is worthless because it is ‘ignoring the heart of the matter.’
Maybe laughter is an insubstantial relief for the weak.
Maybe I am the weak because I won’t let go.
 ¶
Of little moments, small connections, and inconsequential banter,
Of people who—even though they won’t display hurt—pillow fight to the death,
Of days I look forward to filled with sarcasm and temporal pleasure,
Of childlike abandon,
Of the things that keep me alive.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
 ¶
Maybe growing up is overrated.
Maybe not.
——————————————————————–
 Interwoven into…
Infusing lives with meaning,
Expressing feelings for us.
 ¶
Ascribed to memories–
We pick our favorite groups.
Words plus rhythm equals power.
 ¶
Why?
 ¶
Each generation claims a type.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Voice of rebellion,
The stuff of movements,
Stuff of dreams.
Impossible to forget. 
 ¶
Music,
Melodies,
Backbeat,
Song.
 ¶
Imperative to the human experience.
Universal: embedded in our genes.
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Not All Better

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAIt would be nice to say that everything is all better now, but it wouldn’t be honest. There are good moments and there are bad hours. Such is life. These last days have been busy without much time for thinking, and I’m still not sure if that is good or bad. There has been much laughter with people, and many unshed tears of frustration without them; the laughter was real, and so was the frustration. I’ll never figure me out, though I do know small things. I know I like to play hard, and I know that I am horribly selfish. I know that I like people, and words, but especially sarcastic words and people. I usually dislike numbers. I know that I enjoy good food almost too much, and that I’ll never stop wishing to fly. I know that I am loved by God. Well that was off topic, wasn’t it?

What I really came to share was a poem I wrote recently because I thought I lacked the words to write a blog post. I’m beginning to doubt that I lack the words, but I still hold that I have nothing new to say. So I present you this poem in all it’s imperfection, not because you need to know more about where I am or say nice words about it, but because maybe it will touch you, and maybe the brokenness of art will stir your soul. That’s what I would like to hope anyways. Before that poem I’ll share some words that belong to Rich Mullins, a fool for Christ, which helped me make it  through this past week.

    “We don’t ever understand what we’re praying.”

Simple faith and wonder
Back when all wasn’t based on me.
They say we only progress through times of despair;
I say I want to see.
I want God to quench my longing,
to fill my cup over.
The desert sands are calling
For a sip of living water.
 
He said drink and you’ll never thirst again,
But I am as the deer-
Panting, longing, yearning when
The water must be near.
Just Beyond my grasp it seems,
Spirit and tongues of fire.
Will I ever glean
Why He ways wait to my desire?
 ¶
Jesus, Savior fill my cup.
I need to feel your nearness.
If You don’t come I might give up,
For nothing can match your dearness.
Categories: My Life, Poems, Ponderings | Tags: , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

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