Write Me a Poem

January 11, 2010
Found this one in a worn pocket notebook of mine.


Write me a poem;
write me a poem.
Write me the words
     that I want to hear.
Put it in words
     that are nice to the ear.

Write me a poem;
please write me a poem.
I don't care what it says,
     it's the thought that counts;
how long doesn't matter
     it's not the amount

of words that you write in a poem.
Write in my poem
because it's my poem
     and nobody else;
because it's my poem
     I don't care if it sells.

So write me a poem—
just write me a poem.
It's a need that I have.
     I don't understand why,
but the poem fills a void
     with a thought, a laugh, or a cry.

So how about it—
you going to write
     me a poem?

The Cleansing Power of Fire

November 2, 2009


I wept until I could weep no more.
          The rainbow did not
          appear in the sky.
          The ground was still rock hard.

I cried out so loud my vocal cords were raw.
          The wind did not
          blow or breeze.
          The trees did not yield their fruit.

I beat my fists bloody against the wall.
          The stars did not
          hold the answers.
          The earth continued to move.

Where else can I go?
Who else can I turn to?
          Let it burn.

Do Not Deal Harshly With My Tender Lambs

(Psalm 18:4-24)
October 14, 2009


What happened to your heart
          when your baby (insert name here)
got sick and cried all night,
unable to tell you what was wrong?

How did you feel
          when your child (__________)
bruised their knee or
scraped their elbow,
and came running to you crying?

Where did your mind go
when that bully,
where-are-his-parents, brat pushed
          your boy (__________)
on the playground?

Why did you think
what you thought
when that no good,
holding-my-tongue, boy broke
          your daughter’s (__________) heart.

Stir up and recall the feelings you get
when you see the faces on the posters
at WalMart, when you hear an Amber alert.
          They all have names.

Arouse and remember the emotions that arise
while watching crime drama or the news on TV
about child abductions and pedophiles and
oh, what you would do if you had five minutes alone with them.

Whose face
do you see
at the mention of
infant mortality,
diseased babies,
beaten and abused children,
child porn,
children used as drug mules,
“adoption” slavery,
my God, how could this be,
this is the twenty-first century?
          God knows their names.

You (__________)
are His children.

Epic grams: A Word Picture Book for Adults

Here are some epigrams.


CAUTION!
These poems contain highly concentrated language!

My Poems
I'm just feeling my way around the elephant.


Commentary on “My Poems”
The elephant is an elephant, regardless.


Jesus
The whole elephant.


Christ
Simply divine.


The Glory of God
I can't see


Listen
sometimes a tune
          hummed
sometimes a word
          spoken
cool of the day
still of the night
connection


Sharp Truth
I've come to the conclusion
that my happy delusions
are more of a fatality
than the pain of reality.


False Humility
i


True Humility
You.


Violence
Silence
VIOLENCE
silence

Cobweb in the Church Rafters

August 11, 2009
The inspiration actually came from a cobweb in church. I kept seeing this cobweb from week to week in the steel beams and ductwork and conduit, all painted black, of our church sanctuary. Our worship service is fairly modern with stage lighting and songs/graphics on two large screens, and the lights would make this cobweb glow. And for several weeks it was as if the Lord kept pointing it out. It made me laugh.


A single thread
of dust clothed cobweb
cluttering a corner of the ceiling
     of the sanctuary;
stretched
from one indeterminate spot to another;
glowing in the spotlight
amidst the twinkling dust motes;
swaying in the breeze
     of air conditioning

in                                   the light             and out of
bending, curving                                   moving in the darkness
like an optic fiber                                 hidden, invisible
carrying the light                                  in the dark

this fine filament
eluding the scientific mind
     from being
     recreated;
its tensile strength and elasticity
unmatched in the material:
yet, the flick of a finger,
the wave of a hand
can cast it down.

Someone needs to dust.

Advice to J. Alfred Prufrock…

July 24, 2009
This was written while I was taking English Composition II. We had read T.S. Eliot's poem "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" and the discussion centered mostly on the sexuality of the poem. I was intrigued by the second half of line 121:
"Do I dare to eat a peach?"

from God:
     Taste and see
     that the fruit is good.
     Just don't eat the fruit
     from that tree.

from the serpent:
     Has God said
     thou shalt not
     eat a peach?

from a Puritan:
     Thou shalt not eat of the peachtree,
     nor the fruit thereof;
     lest thou become as one
     of the fruiteaters
     who bare not fruit.

from a nutritionist:
     0g fat
     cholesterol, 0mg
     0mg sodium
     dietary fiber, 3g
     go ahead

from Hamlet:
     To eat or not to eat: that is the question:
     Whether 'tis favorable for the tongue to satisfy
     With the savory juices of this sweetest of fruit,
     Or to ingest the fibrous flesh and
     To suffer in the end? To eat: to squat;
     More and more; and by squat to say no end.

from Freud:
     You are titillated and fixated
     upon your mother's breasts.

from a poetry critic:
     To Prufrock,
     the peach
     is merely a metaphor
     symbolizing a sweet life
     that is unattainable,
     since you rouse to reality when
     “human voices wake us” (line 131).
     Therefore,
     whether you dare
     or no, you will not.

Listen

July 18, 2009


sometimes a tune
     hummed
sometimes a word
     spoken
cool of the day
still of the night
connection