Rhyme and Reason

June 19, 2009
What does a blind man see when he dreams? What does a deaf man hear when he reads silently to himself? Poetry can be many things.


Rhyme and Reason

Pictures for a blind man,
voices for the dumb;
recordings for the deaf man,
feeling for the numb.

Rhythm for the paralized,
partner for the solo;
Substance for a hollow heart,
passion for the soul.

Morals for the heathen,
compass for the lost;
roadmap for the dreamer,
living without cost.

Reason for an insane world,
mem'ries once forgot;
purpose for a shattered mind,
beauty that was not.

It's Still A Mirror

June 19, 2009
I'm currently taking a couple of college courses, working toward my first degree. In English Composition II we recently read the poem "Mirror" by Sylvia Plath. Somewhere in our analyzation we briefly discussed what a man might see. Well, needless to say, the creative juices started to flow and I thought "what if a man had been the person in this poem?" It may be helpful to read her poem first (click the link above).


It's Still A Mirror
(If Sylvia Plath had been a man)

I am polished and precise. It is
     what it is.
I devour what is before me
Regardless of form or fashion.
I just show it like I see it.
My days are spent pondering the wall
     that cannot see me.

Now I am a still running stream.
A man stands beside me, searching
     for the spring, looking for the outlet.
He could take me or leave me.
He doesn't remember what he saw,
Only what he thinks he saw.
He still sees the youth within the ripples on the surface.
And the terrible fish hangs as a trophy on the wall.

I see the wall more often.

Addiction: Living Death

November 24, 2004

Not sure how this one slipped through the cracks. Couldn't find it in the folders it should have been in. Fortunately, I have a hard copy.

I am not now, nor ever have been, addicted to any narcotic or drug (except cigarettes, but I quit them). The poem is about a variety of addictions. Let's face it; our favorite sin is our addiction. The Bible tells us that sin is death. So while we are committed to sin, we are walking around dead. Check out Romans 8. I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything in that chapter.


Addiction: Living Death

Flies swarmed about his head
     screaming curses in his ears.
Sickly sweet stench invaded his nostrils
     like the impotent rage of a rapist.
Grainy blurred images
     imprinted on fading brainwaves.
Caked eyelids clenched shut,
     anal retentive against the light of day.
Collapsed and drying lungs
     heaved and hacked breathless sighs.
Lukewarm mucous clogged the vocal cords
     that may have spoken if they had something to say.
Internal organs oozed precious fluids
     flooding the chest cavity.
Flesh clung to brittle bones
     like an insecure lover.
Standing in the loosened waste of his bowels
     his feet could not, would not move.