Blather

A Demonstration of Genius

2006-05-16T14:39:00.000-07:00

this is one of the few poems that i really like without much editing. i wrote it last night.

"A Demonstration of Genius"

I only called it that so you would read it.
I have a problem with titles. I don’t know
why.
The body of a poem is so easy
to fold and knead and eviscerate;
it’s any shape you want.
But the title is like set in stone.
It’s immutable. It’s gravity. It’s death.
Once that line is set above the body
of the poem that poem’s destiny
is irretrievable.
Bukowski knew that and
he didn’t give a shit and a half about his titles.
I guess booze gives you that freedom.

If I tell you my poem’s about genius and
you want to read about genius, then
you have to read it.
If by the end you realize that I was full
of it (shit, not genius), then you would
have read it anyway and I still win.

I can write ten lines or a thousand and each
word is precious and every single one of them
is expendable. I could
change every word in this thing and it would
still be a demonstration of genius cause that’s what
I SAID
it would be.

A Musing

2006-04-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

not sure this constitutes a poem, maybe more of a rant.

"A Musing"
Or
"Treatise Against Nonsensical Abstractions"

There’s no such thing as integrity. Kindness is an accident, honesty a mere mistake. When we are good, it is simply a momentary lapse of cruelty. Like when a dog shits outside instead of on the carpet just because he was in the right place at the right time. We don’t do things out of love; we just use that phrase to describe what hate looks like outside—a steaming pile of sentiment curled on the lawn because for a few sublime moments we forgot about contempt. Those of us who know better steer clear, others choke that shit down and pretend it is the best thing they’ve ever known. What’s worse, we all of us think that we are capable of love at some time. We think, sure, we can do it. Why not? We can ignore our own mindless self-indulgence and give our whole selves to someone who deserves it. Hell, what’s so hard about that? But we should know better. We can only hurt; we can only destroy. We’ve done it since the first caveman stole food from his brother. Since Eve bit the apple. Since the Universe collapsed on itself and deposited intelligent cosmic fallout on Earth. We are fallen; we are dark; we are human. We cannot create beauty; we cannot create life; we cannot be whole. We. WE. Hell, maybe it’s just me.

reading it just now, i notice there is an overt shift in the middle...hmm...

Rock Bottom

2006-04-19T17:01:00.000-07:00

this one's akin to the poem about the island.

"Rock Bottom"

A writer—a real writer, not someone who prostitutes
his vocabulary for a pittance dangled in front of him
by the media—a writer knows he’s hit the bottom
when he tries to write a poem exposing his depth of
thought and his lust for truth and all he comes up with
is some sputtering collection of misquoted clichés
under the name “Platitude Adjustment” (i.e. “A penny
saved is a waste of time”) which would be well-suited
for a spot at the end of some heart-wrenching story
of recovery in Reader’s Digest. Or maybe he was
actually trying to be funny. Either way, maybe it’s
time he hang up the whole poetry thing (cf. “Can’t
never could, but what did can ever do?”). Better
yet, maybe he should quit writing altogether to avoid
putting forth the same witless tripe that pervades
today’s insight-starved literature (see also: “Genius
without education is like silver in the mine, neither
of which is a renewable resource”). Then again,
maybe he should keep writing and forget about this
one embarrassing little misstep (e.g. “If at first you
don’t succeed, then it wasn’t meant to be”).
(“You can do anything if you just don’t care”)
(“If you think you can’t or you won’t, you’re right”)
(“Failure is not an option; it’s an inevitability”).
See also: Laughter, the Best Medicine. Maybe
He has to hit the bottom so he has a basis for
Comparison when he’s on top later. Oh well,
all in a day’s work…

i hope all the reader's digest allusions are clear enough...

Absolutely Perfect

2006-03-27T11:36:00.000-08:00

this is one of the latest (i've actually written quite a few in the last day or so). it's uncommonly rough; it must be the three-month drought that has pressed me to post this before i'm satisfied with it. i think the even the title leaves much to be desired. nevertheless, here it is.

"Absolutely Perfect"

What you see is a row of perfect white teeth and smooth bronze skin and deep
cold blue eyes.

What you don’t see is the stockroom of chemicals and the makeup artist.
You don’t see the lights aimed and tested and dimmed and moved and relit and adjusted.
You don’t see the photographer changing lenses and switching to a low-speed film, something like 100 or 200 to make the texture softer.
You don’t see the beads of sweat on the model’s face from the lights and the cigarettes and the metabolic surge.
You don’t see the craft services guy talking on his phone to his friends about the shoot he’s working on with this hot girl.
You don’t see the hundreds of man-hours it takes to make this girl a goddess for 1/100th of a second.

But that doesn’t mean she’s unhappy.

After all, she is prettier than you.

What you see is what you are not.

Flip-flops and Diet Pills

2006-01-20T17:49:00.000-08:00

i did it again! i finally got around to writing something new. this is about a couple of incidents that have happened at the high school where i teach. you can probably guess by the title what the causes of the incidents were.

Flip-flops and Diet Pills

A mound of sandals, the spoils
Of a war between an army of pride
And a proletariat of defiant naivety.
Bare feet stepping on the toes
Of men and women trapped
In shoes ankle-deep in self-
Righteous authority. They fight
For freedom, they fight for no
Reason other than to fight for
Something. They fight against
Those who punish an innocent
Exchange gone wrong and ignore
The misdemeanor deals gone right.
They fight against the very shoes
They will fill in ten years, and they
Will forget how to fight and what
to fight for.

without knowing the stories, this poem may make little sense, but i think the attitude is clear.

Silent Slaughter

2005-11-26T07:08:00.000-08:00

this is not directed at anyone in particular, just my preferred technique in dealing with hateful people.

Silent Slaughter

Indifference is the blade with which I will remove
your hateful tongue. I do not arm myself with rage
or spite. No, my weapon is apathy. I will not fight
fire with fire, but with patience—time will extinguish
you. You will curse my name and lash out in frantic
bitterness, and I will defend myself with but a smirk
and a deaf ear. And I will relish my silent victory; I
will laugh to see your face twist with loathing; I will
celebrate your violent self-destruction. Love is out
of the question, but you are not worth even my hate.

She's

2005-11-18T23:17:00.000-08:00

this one took a little work to "shape"...

She’s

too thin. She’s
too perfect. She’s
too interested. She’s
too immature. She’s
too jealous. She’s
too pretty. She’s
too safe. She’s
too fat. She’s
too smart. She’s
too intimate. She’s
too calculating. She’s
too menacing. She’s
too modest. She’s
too careful. She’s
too feisty. She’s
too sharp. She’s
two in the bushes.

i don't know, is it too contrived in that alignment? i think it's a little similar to the grapes poem, just a little more fragmented and specific.

2005-11-10T14:39:00.000-08:00

sorry all, i've been a little buried at work. i haven't had a chance to tackle the hallmark assignment, but i'm definitely thinking about it. for now, check out this little doozy. i really like it, but still working on the last couplet.

Sonnet 1

When the crickets strike up their choir and the night
Is peppered with hundreds of yellow flashbulbs from
Fireflies bursting like a silent stadium, and streetlights
Wash the cooling pavement with a glowing amber hum….
When whispering waves lick the shoreline, and the wind
Carries the salt around, leaving it in clumps in your hair
And on your tongue, and a billion burning stars spend
The night watching you listen to see if God is still there….
When the sunrise melts all over the foggy mountains—
Dripping, running shades of violet and gold, and the trees
Wake up stretching their brand new leaves like fountains
Of green, and the campfire yawns, shivering in the breeze….
It is then I find peace with all the dreams on the shelf,
And I find something else. It is then that I find myself.

luuuuucy, you got some esplainin' to doooo....

2005-10-24T21:30:00.000-07:00

i guess i should take a moment and talk a little about my writing. my new fan--or rather, my new reader asked a good question. i don't want to water down any of my writing, or over explain it, but it's not a bad idea to address my muse(s) every now and then. i would not consider myself lonely, though i have found myself battling with it from time to time. i do enjoy being by myself, and i think that's because of how i define 'alone'. a lot of people confuse being alone with being lonely, which i think is unfortunate. see, to be alone simply means to be out of the company of other people, which implies independence. to be lonely means to pity oneself because of the lack of such company, which implies dependence. i have found that pity is one feeling that i do not allow myself to have, whether it's directed at other people or myself. the reason for this is simple: pity is a product of unhappiness with circumstance, when circumstance is simply the sum of chance and choice. if chance treats us unfairly, any ensuing unhappiness is a choice. likewise, we have the option of embracing it and choosing to be happy. thus, when a circumstance arises, regardless of how good or bad it may seem, its effect on us is purely a matter of our own decision. will we cry and moan when a hurricane blows away our house, or will we rejoice at the cosmic nudge we've been given to make a better life or to go where the world needs us more? if our boyfriend/girlfriend dumps us, will we cry and beat ourselves to death with questions about self-worth, or will we rejoice at the opportunity to spend some time alone reassessing our priorities and bettering ourselves?
granted, all this is coming from a 24-year-old protestant white male perspective, and it's hard to speak confidently about the world through such a 'priveleged' lens. i know that i have much more to learn in the next several decades, but i feel that i've experienced quite a bit in my first quarter century. anyway, to answer the question, yes, i do allow myself the unhealthy indulgence of loneliness, but for the most part, no, i find it difficult to be lonely when i have such an incredible base of friends that, even when i am less than diligent in keeping touch, is always available to me. romantically, yes, i would love to find someone with whom i can connect and fall in love, but i'm in no hurry. being a bachelor certainly has its downfalls, but i'm rather enjoying my singularity for the moment. well, that very quickly turned into a nice little st. john tirade.

By Ben Folds

2005-10-20T15:17:00.000-07:00

i did this for my poetry class. basically, i just took a bunch of lines from ben folds songs and compiled them. is that cheating?

By Ben Folds

I’ve been thinking a lot today. Do you not hear me anymore?
I poured my heart out right before you dumped me on your front
porch. For two weeks I sat here in this mess I have made, balled
up on the couch and

I’ve been thinking a lot today... I just can’t get rid of you like you
got rid of me. The world has more for you, don’t change your plans,
you don’t owe me. I just want to walk away, cause you know I
remain selfless, cold and composed. This is why I’d rather be alone.

I’ve been thinking a lot today, what if I’d been thrown head over
heels into the traffic coming on? I never understand these things
I feel, but then, all is fair in love. Sometimes I wish we were talking
about something easy and free, is that so wrong?

I’ve been thinking a lot today, I say to my reflection, “face the facts.”
I know you went straight to someone else—another one, another one.
Everybody knows it hurts to stare like you never cared (I know you
did), but this will cheer you up for sure: I will consider you gone.

Want On

2005-10-13T21:05:00.000-07:00

adam once said that my most honest stuff was my best. this is the latest outburst of honesty. moderately offensive, but good nonetheless.

Want On

I want to learn how to pray from an atheist.
I want to read a book and actually get it. I want
somebody to call me daddy and crawl into my
lap during a thunderstorm.
I want to solve a dispute with a fistfight, you know, really
fuck somebody up.
I want to make a stupid person feel smart, even if it
makes me look like an idiot. I want to take pictures
that someone can explain to me. I want to be
recognized on the street and left alone.
I want to date a girl—no, I want to date a guy
who treats me like I’m worthless
just so I can feel better than him. I want to steal from one
charity and give the money to another one.
I want to be on a game show and lose bad. I want
to be afraid of something that can’t hurt me.
I want to get on an airplane and not care where it lands, even
if it’s the middle of the ocean. I want to find
a pot of gold without ever seeing a rainbow.
I want to die just to see what it feels like, but not yet.
I want what everybody else does sometimes. I always
want things I can never have.

to my random reader: as far as i know, the only way someone can find this site is the same way you did--simply by accident. in any case, feel free to drop by and read my entries and comment if you wish.

a revision

2005-10-08T19:29:00.000-07:00

i went back and revised an old poem. i think i posted it back in april of this year. i only changed the last stanza, but i like it a lot better now. maybe because i like closure...who knows?

Laid To Rest

It’s not like losing your watch, cause you find it the next day
under the seat of your car, next to a Sprite can and the picture
your girlfriend took of the two of you at the softball game.

It’s not the same as losing the softball game, though it was
your fault because you were the last batter and hit a pop fly
when you were ahead in the count and should have walked.

It’s worse than losing your temper yelling at your best friend
and third baseman because he made fun of your swing, but
you know you should not be so angry over a softball game.

It’s more painful than losing touch with your best friend because
of a petty fight over a softball game, and it sure would be nice
to have him around when your grandmother is in the hospital.

It’s unlike losing anything else, because she’s the only one who
saw you cry and she held your hand while you begged her to
stay and all she could do was smile and breathe one more time.

Sonnet 2

2005-10-01T11:11:00.000-07:00

so i was teaching shakespearean sonnets a couple of weeks ago and decided i'd try my hand at some. this is (obviously) the second one i wrote.

Sonnet 2

The faces pass one another with feigned
Importance, looks of business and haste.
The faces pass nothing they ever deigned
To consider important enough to be faced.
The feet march steadily along paths unseen,
Together in time, a rhythm solid, complete.
The feet are ever separate, though, in clean
Parallels to avoid the fear of learning defeat.
Our lives tick by, and we never seem to want
Any second opinion that friend or foe gives.
Our lives melt like candles, the waxy taunt
Of time that forever dies and never lives.
So if the world ever shudders to a stop, will
We finally be living, or simply standing still?

Drought

2005-09-24T18:46:00.000-07:00

finally, i can get back on here. apparently villa rica high school found the need to block this site with their firewall, so this is the first time i've been able to access the site. here's one i wrote this summer. i'm starting to think i need to write more cheerful stuff...

Drought

Collapsed on this desert shore, I can
only drag myself across scalding sand.
I look to the empty sky and pray for rain,
Just one puddle to wash my filthy hands.

I never thought I’d want to be underwater,
But I’m starting to think I’d rather drown
Than wither away. Dust to dust never
Scared me before this sandstorm came down.

My life was almost too easy when I was
So fiercely protected from any fear or doubt.
When it rained it poured, but the sea is all
dried up now and I’m left with only drought.

Now, gasping for my last scorching breath,
I beg in desperation for just one drop
From the heavens to cool my swollen tongue.
Lord, please make the burning stop.

I Wanted to Write a Poem About an Island

2005-09-05T06:47:00.000-07:00

as with all of my writing, this one could use some tinkering, but i like the first draft.

I Wanted to Write a Poem About an Island

But that seemed so inanely metaphorical. I wanted
To illustrate my loneliness and isolation through an
Analogy fraught with pretension. Fortunately, before
Ink smeared paper, I mentally filtered the self-piteous
Rubbish and decided to forego the condescension and
Banality of such a poem. It was more for my readers’
Sake than my own, inasmuch as life offers precious little
Time to interrupt the demands of commerce and fettered
Domesticity for the common man (or woman, damn the
1960s) to relax and lose himself (or herself) in a captivating
Transcendence of human consciousness in rhyming
Couplets or terza rima. And so, while I ask no gratitude
From my audience for sparing them such an abhorrent
Display of mediocrity, I should expect that they would at
Least consider themselves lucky to have avoided being
Subjected to some putridly ordinary lament on the
Emotionally and psychosomatically taxing life of a
Young bachelor. Not that they would necessarily mind
Poring over lines of exquisite relevance and subtle social
Importance, but poems about islands representing
Isolation are almost invariably filled with parenthetical
Asides (which are usually quite unnecessary) and rely
Heavily on multisyllabic words in a transparent attempt
To fool the audience into crediting the poet with
Authenticity and a gift for expression. Or, even worse,
The poet makes reference to a bygone great like Eliot
Or Keats or Coleridge to purport an intimate knowledge
Of classical (read: overbearing) poetry, and succeeds only
In marinating the poem with unbearably pompous self-
Deprecating irony. Needless to say (an embarrassing
Contradiction in terms because it always prefaces a
Comment, which, if said, is obviously not “needless”
To say), I refuse to write a poem about an island and
Thus avoid the aforementioned perils of such writing.

Two Sentences About Virginity

2005-08-14T10:41:00.000-07:00

WARNING!! This post contains some explicit language and thoughts which do not perfectly align with Christian dogma.
This poem just fell out of my head last night in about 15 minutes. I made very few changes to it, so it's still a little rough in terms of rhythm. It sounds really angry, but it really reflects what I feel is only mild frustration. This is quickly becoming one of my personal favorites. Ye be warned.

Two Sentences About Virginity

True Love hates! Just hates
To see how God and fate
Get blamed for lack of mates
By those who can’t find dates
And never consider apostate
Tactics in a world where debates
Are held to see which states
Treat gay the same as straight
In marriage, which is to consummate
As prom night is to copulate
And sorority is to fornicate
As one-night-stand’s to fuck, oh wait
I can’t do that or say masturbate
Because God decreed we all must bait
Our breath and wait till He instates
To us eternal love and so I grate
My teeth and try to contemplate
Ways that will at once placate
This Protestant campaign to deflate
Unwed passions and generate
The ability to at last communicate
Myself to some woman with a great
Laugh and a brain that I can penetrate
With questions she can explicate
Like what the hell does True Love wait
for?

Coward's Throne

2005-07-03T21:11:00.000-07:00

this is brand spanking new, written just yesterday. i rather like it. it's a little unique in terms of perspective. um, that's all. enjoy!

Coward’s Throne

I sat through a green light again today,
can’t get you out of my mind lately.
Don’t try to hide, I’ll dig you out.
Don’t try to run, I’ll figure you out.
The walls you built will tumble down
And leave behind a pile of rubble around
What you thought was so secure.

I want to be the one to bring you home,
The one you prefer over being alone.
I’ll never be anything close to perfect,
But I can be everything you never knew you wanted.

I sat through a green light again today,
can’t seem to get home in time lately.
Won’t try to hide, I want to give it out.
Won’t try to run, I hope you’ll find me out.
The halls I’ve built will someday be home
And you’ll leave behind your coward’s throne.
What you fought couldn’t be cured.

I want to be the one to bring you home,
The one you prefer over being alone.
I’ll never be anything close to perfect,
But I can be everything you never knew you needed.

I sat through a green light again today,
can’t seem to pay much attention lately.
Don’t try to hide, I’ll dig you out.
Don’t try to run, I figured you out.
The falls you took are all behind you.
You can leave behind the broken view
you sought to learn from the hurt.

I’ll be the one to finally bring you home,
The one you prefer over being alone.
I’ll never be anything close to perfect,
But maybe you’ll find that I’m everything you wanted all along.

Alarm

2005-06-30T17:31:00.000-07:00

this is a song that i wrote. i have music to go with it, but i really suck at creating melodies. anyway, i was trying to write something a little disturbing, kind of radiohead-esque. turned out pretty good....

Alarm

Verse 1
Just relax, this plane is going down,
Just lay back, it’s all over now.
There’s nowhere for you to go
You might as well enjoy the show.

Don’t worry, this ship is sinking,
Don’t waste a moment thinking.
Get on deck and see the storm
The ocean will keep you warm.

Verse 2
Let the car spin out of control,
Let your hands calmly fold.
Open your eyes and laugh at the way
You fight so hard to die another day.

Be at peace when skies are falling
Be still when God is calling.
It’s just a game, catch all you can
Bullets like fireflies in your hand.

Bridge
The alarm screeches, the siren blares,
but don't look for help, because no one cares.

Chorus
What are you fighting for?
A world that doesn't want you here
What are you fighting for?
A world that doesn't even know your name
What are you fighting for?
What are you fighting?

Rehabilitation

2005-06-25T15:46:00.000-07:00

Ahh...the wonderful art of metaphor... This is one of my favorites.

Rehabilitation

The doctor set the cast and said "Six months," but
I tore it off myself, without help. I was walking
after two weeks. "Let it heal, don’t hurt it again"
my friends warned, but I ignored them. I walked as
much as I wanted, smiling in spite of the throbbing,
crumbled leg. The bone never set properly, it is
still disjointed and I cannot run now. I haven’t run
since she walked away, though I don’t much care.
What good is running when it only hurts?

What the River Knows

2005-06-20T16:06:00.000-07:00

here's another one i found tucked in a folder. i kinda like it, though i'm starting to think i have a problem with titles...

What the River Knows

I don’t care how the sun shines.
I’ve seen it rise a million times
And it’s just going to set again, anyway.

I don’t care how the rain falls.
It can’t get inside these walls,
But it’s pouring harder outside every day.

I don’t care how the fires burn.
There’s a lesson I just cannot learn;
Smoldering earth is no place for me to stay.

I don’t care how the wind blows.
It cannot take me where it goes,
My heart’s too heavy to be carried away.

I only care how the river flows.
The one thing the water knows
Is how to keep going day after day.

Get Thee Behind Me

2005-06-16T21:22:00.000-07:00

Okay, calm down people, here's another one. I found this tucked in a notebook the other day. I wrote it some time last year and forgot about it. I added the third stanza yesterday, and I think it turned out pretty good. A couple of good double entendres, too. Not sure about the title though...

Get Thee Behind Me

I used to love you
Till you ate me alive.
Now I’m starting to think
That you must be the devil,
Come to devour me
Like a roaring lion.
Devour me.

If Sunday told you
How Monday would be,
Then maybe you’d think
About talking on the level.
Remember the power you
Left hanging on the line?
Devour me.

I never called you,
My phone must be down.
Now I’m starting to think
You unplugged yours to revel
In singularity. The hour
Is here, open wide.
Devour me.

Storefront

2005-06-11T19:47:00.000-07:00

During my student teaching, I had my students write a piece of social criticism, and I wrote this poem as an example for them. It's decent. More decent than the previous poem, anyway...

Storefront

I hate this storefront window.
The monitors behind the glass
spew forth images of what
they think I’m supposed to be.

This guy with elastic bronze skin
Stretched out over bulging piles
Of muscles telling me just how
Easy it is and how much I need it.

This guy with his head buried
Under the hood of his ’67 Mustang,
Climbing through its greasy engine
like a fish swimming through coral.

This guy with a curtain of blond
Hair to his shoulders, whispering
Sonnets to the vixen at his side
Who can barely contain her passion.

This guy on his couch slurping the
Potato chip salt from his fingers
And resting his umpteenth beer
On the gut that will send him packing.

One by one, the monitors explode,
Showering the window with their
Glassy lies, the incriminating shards
Falling impotently to the ground.

Now with only smoke behind the pane,
I see my reflection, brittle hair, flabby
Stomach, dull brown eyes, and I can’t
Help but smile and walk away, satisfied.

The First Time

2005-06-04T12:17:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is by far the most personal poem I have written, and probably the least edited. I wrote it down, and only made a few adjustments to it. I'm not going to explain it, as I think it's blatantly obvious. It actually did stem from a dream, but of course I embellished some parts of it and added others entirely. So, here it is.

The First Time

I awoke disappointed, my lover was gone.
Oh, but what a dream! Had I known
it was only a vision I most certainly would
have slept for days. By the door she stood
poised, waiting for some invitation, eyes
begging for something I did not recognize.
Through a doorway, in a candlelit bedroom,
shadows wavered like the uncertain groom
and bride. By the bed, deafened by two
hearts thundering over Coltraine, I moved
to her and fell headlong into her kiss. Those
delightful lips which go as far as sweet goes.
Through closed eyes I could still see her face
pressed to mine, both afraid of the place
yet to go. My trembling hands traveled
through her hair, across her disheveled
dress into worlds that cannot be described
but only felt. We parted briefly, and thrived
within the climbing heat. With fumbling
hands we began to undress, and like rumbling
thunderstorms that ignite the skies above,
her eyes were blazing with a passionate love,
an appetite that no other man had seen.
We kissed again, then she began to lean
her trembling body closer to mine, and I
gladly conceded, not daring to ask why
or how or when, but knowing that we’d
soon find out. After we were freed
from our garments; we all but floated
to the bed; I could not feel the coated
hardwood floor moving underneath my feet.
Peppering the fearful excitement were discreet
embarrassed laughs as our hands swirled about
unknowingly, searching the new territory without
the luxury of maps to guide. The tiny room grew
hotter, she perspired so gently like morning dew.
I, however, began sweating like summer rain,
but neither noticed, for, after a brief gasp of pain,
there was a joy like no other. We danced as though
without music, looking for a rhythm we didn’t know
at first, but soon discovered our own melody
that rocked like a harbored boat, steady--
rising...falling...rising--and as silent too,
our labored breaths bashfully subdued.
Then all the heavens burst, leaving us
startled and weary, but nothing less
than blissful. As we lay there, pulses slowing,
she shuddered a deep sigh, as if showing
that the two had become one flesh. And
then I woke, almost still feeling her hand.
But she was gone, and I was left to wonder
how and when I was ever going to find her.

You don't know me!

2005-06-01T16:16:00.000-07:00

You don't know me! Or do you?
http://www.quizyourfriends.com/yourquiz.php?quizname=050601191317-440784

Hands

2005-05-30T17:48:00.000-07:00

so my parents' anniversary is coming up in august, and i wrote them this little poem. this is only the second draft, so there's a lot of stuff that needs work (especially the last line...) any suggestions? i like the rhyme scheme, but it almost makes everything sound forced, like i was trying to hard. let me know what you think...

Hands

Her hands possess a mighty power, forged
by years of trials and errors made in love.
The fingers point only to show the scourged
feet on errant paths back to ways borne of
better judgment. There is neither blame nor
condemnation, only a promise to understand
and comfort. They are tools of healing, for
when the world becomes too big for band-
aids, her hands caress the wounds that are
carved into the spirit, the deepest of scars.

His hands possess a mighty power, built by
by a liftetime of toiling and scarred by wars
waged for loved ones. Calloused hands belie
a tenderness unscathed by countless chores.
His hands have wielded both the implements
of discipline and patient correction. They
have proven time and time again instruments
of service. They can crush fear and create
hope. The bent and broken fingers cradle
his beloved, protecting wherever he is able.

And hand in hand, they bravely molded four
children of strength and wisdom and fortitude.
Four warriors who are intolerant of cruelty or
selfishness. Four servants who are imbued
with passion. Four emissaries through whom
He speaks, for it is He who operates through
the hands of this family. A bride and groom
who are small of body, but rise above as two
pillars of faith and service. This couple stands
assured that their whole world is in His hands.

Grief

2005-05-26T21:18:00.000-07:00

so, i'm going to stray from the usual poetic fare for a moment. as some of you may already know, my cousin, kasey, was killed in a car accident early tuesday morning. he was driving, and one of his four passengers was also killed. they were all rising seniors, between 16 and 18 years old. apparently, his friends had gotten really drunk at a party and called him for a ride home. he made it to the party safely, but on the way home, he missed a curve and hit a power pole. maybe he was asleep, maybe distracted, maybe drunk. no one knows yet, but his friends insist that he never drank.
anyway, i went to the viewing last night, not really knowing what to expect. i hadn't seen kasey for at least two years, and was not especially close to him, but seeing his family going through such pain was gut-wrenching. the funeral was also unbearable. dad performed the graveside service (beautifully, i might add), and my brother and i were on hand in case he couldn't finish. fortunately, he made it through without needing help; i was choking back sobs before they even brought the casket, so i would've been no help at all.
i've been to several funerals, and they are all (obviously) sad events, but this is the first time i've been to one for someone who died so young and tragically. the conditions of his death seemed to make it that much worse. his parents are of course devastated, but i don't think the reality has completely set in. what happens when all the food and flowers are gone, and the phone calls stop?
we tend to forget our own mortality sometimes, and it takes an unexpected tragedy like this to remind us that we aren't promised a damn thing. some people think they are granted an 80 year run, and get angry when things like this happen. they blame god, they blame the drunk kids, they blame uncle steve for letting him drive that late, but all these factors combined to produce what we call a tragedy. the officer quoted in the paper mentioned all of the things kasey had stacked against him, and that the accident was totally preventable. no kidding. all accidents are preventable, that's why they're called "accidents". this hole was carved into the flanagan family for a reason. it sucks, it hurts, and nobody really understands it, but they can't change it either. kasey's death will leave a scar, and there is no magic potion or combination of words that will lessen the pain. time will help, but when christmas comes and they send out the cards, kasey's absence from the picture will provide a subtle, crushing reminder that he's gone forever. how many years will kevin celebrate his birthday knowing that the anniversary of his brother's death is only a couple of days away?
i'm sorry, i don't mean to ramble. i guess i just needed to say this, and would rather say it to a computer screen than a person. i helped dad write the eulogy, and my favorite line (which he wrote) was "even though he was small in stature, kasey was a giant in spirit." i love my dad.

Ode to Old Blue Eyes

2005-05-20T12:07:00.000-07:00

Talk about bitter. Yikes.

Ode to Old Blue Eyes

Who are you to fall in love? You think
those old blue eyes see better than mine?
You are blind, fool. Your sweet comic
valentine is no different from any other.
She’ll run her fingers through your hair,
kiss your ears and rip that smiling heart
from your chest with razor fingernails.
She will whisper, swoon and eat you
alive. She is a carnivore, stalking your
naive devotion with grisly passion.
Funny valentine, my ass.

Hungry

2005-04-21T19:17:00.000-07:00

Here's one that's short and sweet. It's not bad, but nothing to really write home about.

Hungry

Somehow you don’t see it, though she’s standing
right before you. Unbelievable how you miss it,
but again you let her walk away with that hunger
in her eyes. As though you could look at a starving
child, whose face begs for life or at least bread, and
not see the hunger, not feel the pangs in your own
stomach. Yet she leaves again, not saying a word,
but with her eyes begging for life or at least love.

First Samuel, Chapter Seventeen

2005-04-16T12:10:00.000-07:00

This might be one of the hardest poems I wrote. There is no rhyme scheme or steady meter, but each line starts with the next letter of the alphabet. Not as easy as it sounds. Anyway, here it is. Incidentally, this was my professor's favorite that I wrote.

First Samuel, Chapter 17

A giant standing more than 9 feet tall is of course no match for a
boy who has never even seen a battle, much less held a sword or
cut into the body of his enemy. Yet this young shepherd, blinded by
dust, and stinking of wool, answered the challenge of that ungodly
enormous beast, rebuking the fear of the Israelite army. Because
fitting into Saul’s armor proved impossible, David decided to
go forth without so much as a shield to face the giant. Just one
hammering blow would annihilate the boy, but he calmly bent and
inspected some stones, choosing five smooth ones. Facing armor and
javelins with a child’s slingshot seemed suicidal; everyone knew
killing Goliath would be next to impossible, requiring nothing
less than a miracle. Yet as David approached his enemy, the giant
mocked him and the Israelite army for sending a shepherd because
no other man was courageous enough to fight. But David replied only
once, confident that God would deliver the leviathan into his hands.
Prepared to fight, he raced to the line to meet his enemy, then
quickly loaded his sling and killed the man with the first shot. He
reached down, lifted the sword from the giant’s cooling hand and
sliced off his head. The giants, after seeing their leader killed,
turned and fled in fear. The emboldened Israelites attacked them
until every last Philistine was dead—the soldiers strewn in bloody piles,
vanquished by a mere shepherd. David was brought to the King, who
wondered where the young hero had come from, marching like
Xerxes the Great into a hopeless battle and emerging victorious. The
youth had proven the LORD to be infallible, so that Baal and even
Zeus would have to bow before Jehovah, the almighty God of Israel.

Laid to Rest

2005-04-03T07:16:00.000-07:00

okay, here's another piece that i kinda like. i wrote this poem shortly after ben's grandmother passed away. it's not about her specifically, but just a general kind of reflection on the loss of a loved one. i really don't care much for the last stanza, i don't think it's a strong enough ending, but otherwise, i like this one.

Laid To Rest

It’s not like losing your watch, when you find it the next day
under the seat of your car, next to a Sprite can and the picture
your girlfriend took of the two of you at the softball game.

It’s not the same as losing the softball game, though it was
your fault because you were the last batter and hit a pop fly
when you were ahead in the count and should have walked.

It’s worse than losing your temper yelling at your best friend
and third baseman because he made fun of your swing, but
you know you should not be so angry over a softball game.

It’s more painful than losing touch with your best friend because
of a petty fight over a softball game, and it sure would be nice
to have him around when your grandmother is in the hospital.

It’s unlike losing anything else, because you know that after she
is gone, you lose the part of your heart that you gave her when
she baked brownies and showed you pictures of her husband,
and you held her hand when she tried not to let you see her cry.

Bryce on the Boat

2005-03-05T17:01:00.000-08:00

hey all. i guess it's time for another blog consisting of something i've written. this particular piece i think is my favorite. it's not exactly a poem, but not a short story either. just a very short narrative of one afternoon. i wrote this a couple of years ago, summer of '03 i think. just a simple family outing at the lake, but it turned into something i'm quite fond of. see for yourself.

Bryce on the Boat
The sun is battling the clouds, alternately winning and losing every few minutes. We’re not going very fast, but the wind rips past us on the open pontoon boat. My young nephew has climbed into my lap and flopped his tiny head on my chest. I look ahead and see rain clouds, but right now I’ve forgotten what a miserable night at work I had and how I’m going to make rent next week. Right now all of that is in another place and time. My nephew fidgets, pressing his nose against my chest. I run my fingers through his curly brown hair and I’m happy. I look behind us at the spraying water from the motor and for some reason that I can’t pinpoint I think of Jill. I never emailed her back and I don’t even know if I want to anymore. As I wonder if I’ll ever talk to her again, I look forward again and see that the clouds are darker and Jill’s gone. My nephew slides down off my lap and ambles over to his mother, who for a moment has managed to recline. She is no doubt tired from holding him, but reaches down anyway and lifts him up and he is immediately asleep atop her breasts. My dad sits next to me and every so often he’ll slap my knee and tell me what a great time it would be to go fishing and points out which fish would be where. But even he is lulled to sleep eventually by the droning outboard motor and the undulating water beneath us. I look at his face and I can almost count the things he regrets but I know that he too is happy now. I think to myself that I could write a great poem about all this if only I had a pen. But I don’t and I know that I’ll never remember how I feel and even if I did I wouldn’t be able to make words of it all. So I relax and think about how much I love my nephew and watch as he wakes from his nap again and demands to drive the boat, to which his father agrees and lifts him up to the wheel. He happily takes hold of the new toy he’s been given and devotes his attention to the dials and instruments in front of him. I wonder if he knows that one day taking the wheel will mean more than just pretending.

Feel free to comment.

Another poem

2005-02-21T08:05:00.000-08:00

this one is actually one of my favorites. it took me a long time to get this one just right, though it could still use a few revisions. hope you enjoy it.

The Flight of Cupid’s Arrow

Invisible, then back again
The crowd swells in time
With the explosive din
Of speakers in surround.

Skin changes; blue, green, red.
Hands with stealth that creep
From leg to waist to back of head
Of nameless bodies found.

Throbbing rhythm, feet colliding
Beneath men and women blinded
By flashing lights and liquor, inviting
Chaos and ignoring all the dangers.

The girl, always alone she sits
Safely distanced from the frenzy
But still trapped in the midst
Of intoxicated strangers.

The boy, among the miniskirts
And tank tops approaches her,
But in his haste he alerts
The lovely, frightful sparrow.

The girl senses the hunter
And flees the perilous club,
Once more ducking under
The flight of cupid’s arrow.

Grapes

2005-02-13T10:22:00.000-08:00

i wrote this poem several years ago and completely forgot about it. this is one of those things that i wrote without even really thinking about it, and i never went back and changed anything. my roommate richard read it a few weeks ago and loved it. i didn't much care for it at first, but it's starting to grow on me. i'd like to share it with you.

Grapes

It’s a wonder that I like grapes at all. My selective
nature tends to heighten itself in the presence of that
particular fruit. Before I even touch one, I visually
inspect each candidate. My criteria: firm skin, healthy
color, few blemishes. I don’t concern myself with
size and shape, they are unimportant. After picking
one up, I must determine its consistency, a grape too
soft is no good for me. I enjoy squeezing the firm
sphere in my fingertips, watch the skin split, revealing
a glistening mass of sweet flesh. Of course, without
eating one, I have no way of knowing the status of
seeds, in which case I am careful not to bite into them,
one taste of bitterness will ruin the whole experience.
If I determine there are no seeds, I can relax and enjoy
the flavor swimming over my tongue, the soft fleshy
viscera disintegrating between my teeth. It is unfortunate
how seldom I am ever satisfied by grapes. I try so
intently to remove all possibility of a substandard grape
that I actually eat very few of them. It is certain that
in my slavish selection process, I have discarded more
than one near-perfect grape for what I thought to be a
disqualifying feature. It’s a wonder I like them at all.

this is definitely not my favorite poem, but i think it speaks volumes about me. what do you think? maybe i'll post some more stuff later.

The Bible continued...

2004-07-26T23:40:00.000-07:00

wow, those were really good responses. how bout we carry the question a little deeper.... regardless of the "fallibility" of the bible, what exactly does it mean for us as christians? how are we to take this book? are we to base our lives and decisions on the words therein? i know the common argument among more conservative christians is that we should not or cannot 'pick and choose', but is everything in the bible independent of time and culture? what about leviticus? it is a book almost entirely devoted to laws, some of which are impractically strict. in leviticus chapter 14, there are about 20 verses devoted to the proper handling and cleansing of mildew. now, as we are not under the law because of christ, this is kind of a non-issue. but if i can disregard this passage as unnecessary to my life, what else can be disregarded? only those things which existed for the health of the people? or anything that was based on culture? can i even disregard these things? like i said in the last question, i'm in no way trying to discredit the bible or its importance, but if we are going to allow this book to be such an important part of our lives, we should at least be clear on the protocol to applying it. right? frankly, i think that the bible is indeed the word of god, given to us as part of a system in which we are able to communicate with him and fellow believers. i believe that there are certain levels of interpretation needed when reading the bible, and part of the holy spirit's job is to aid in interpreting. i like brian mclaren's metaphor: instead of picturing the bible as the foundation of a building, it should be more like an anchor point in a spider web. the other points are formed by things like the counsel of wise friends, god's voice, the holy spirit's nudges, etc. that way, any "weakness" the bible has cannot threaten the stability of the building because there are many other facets of faith that balance it. sounds good to me.

The Bible

2004-07-21T14:15:00.000-07:00

is the bible infallible? most christians will immediately say yes without even considering the question. i'm not sure the question even makes sense. a lot of unbelievers say that the bible is just a collection of stories from a bunch of other religions and the new testament is purely metaphorical. believers usually say that the bible must be true because it is composed of 66 books written over several thousand years by dozens of authors (some of them unknown) and there are no contradictions in the text. so in their eyes, it is infallible. however, while the writings and their canonization are believed to be inspired by god, they were written and compiled by men. men make mistakes. certainly god could preserve his word one hundred percent over thousands of years, but did he? there have been cases where a press was done wrong, and several thousand copies of the book were released with typos. in one case, one of the ten commandments was missing the word 'not'. it then read "thou shalt commit murder" or something like that. now, if one mistake like that could completely change the meaning of a passage (albeit anyone reading those ten commandments would probably recognize the anomaly and assume it was a typo), how much could one scribe screw up in copying or translating or editing to fit his own cultural and social views? don't get me wrong, i believe the bible is indeed the word of god, but is it really the final authority? people tend to act like the bible is the only source for god's word, but what about c.s. lewis? what about max lucado? what about billy graham? are their words less divinely inspired because they were written more than a thousand years after the bible was put together? maybe this whole thing is a semantic argument about the meaning of the word 'infallible'. i don't know, i just think people are mistaking the bible as the cornerstone of christianity, when in fact it should christ, right? in no way am i trying to make light of the bible or its importance, but i just want people to think about why they believe it is "infallible".

This is getting interesting...

2004-07-18T20:07:00.000-07:00

i knew adam would comment, and his answer was slightly predictable. he just loves to play devil's advocate and try to incorporate the two sides of the argument into one. i love it. i do agree with him that we tend to ask too many questions for our own good, that we "lean on our own understanding" but my question was simply for the sake of discussion. (though i must admit, the answer to that query could be quite frightening). oh, caroline has also thrown her hat in the ring, but it's not posted as a comment to mine, it's under her own blog. www.ramblingkoala.blogspot.com will take you to her comment. i must say that i miss this kind of discussion, because i cannot seem to find anyone who would be interested in questions like that. anyway, i'm sure i'll have another fascinating question to ask in the next day or so. stay tuned!

Love...

2004-07-16T12:33:00.000-07:00

well, so meagan made some pretty good comments. i think i pretty much agree with her that god can choose to not love us, but he just doesn't. it's within his power, but not in his will. however, this dicussion has made me think (perhaps this should've come first) about human love, and whether or not we actually choose it. it does seem more important to know that you are a chosen subject (or object) of someone's devotion, but i must say that in my experience, the one time i was in love was completely out of my control. in fact, i tried to "get over it" many times (of course, my level of commitment to "getting over it" is subject to question), but regardless, i really felt like my feelings for her were completely out of my grasp and no matter what she did, i couldn't stop loving her. ultimately, i did get over her, but only after the time and distance became sufficiently great to allow me to accept her abundantly clear message that we would never be together. that said, where does that kind of uncontrollable love fit into the spectrum? is that the kind of love that would quickly fade, or would it be the emotional adhesive to a relationship which is otherwise based solely on the merits of each lover? i feel like my point of view in this matter is very limited because of my lack of experience and the relatively short amount of time i was in that situation. however, i think the love i did have is either extremely powerful or just a really deceptive level of infatuation, because it's been over a year since i've seen or spoken to her, but i recently saw a picture of her and it made me kind of catch my breath, as if i'd forgotten what it felt like and just seeing that image brought back all those feelings at one time. even though i'm no longer in love with her, i still have a strong attachment to her, one that i hope will only strengthen the love i feel for someone else in the future. wow, that quickly went the wrong direction. oh well, i guess that's why it's stream of consciousness writing.

god's love

2004-07-14T11:20:00.000-07:00

i have a question i'd like to ask. within christianity, we say that god loves unconditionally. that's a very comforting thought, but does he love by choice? what i mean is, if god is love, does he even have the option of not loving? or can he withold his love at will? when we talk about love between human beings, some people say that you don't choose who you fall in love with, and others say that you have to willfully decide to love someone. i guess it's difficult to equate human love with divine love, but it seems that if someone loved me by their very nature and could not lose that love under any circumstances, it would be less special than being loved by someone who chose to love me. i don't know if any of this makes sense, but maybe it'll spark some thought. what do you think?

First timer

2004-07-12T23:58:00.000-07:00

I saw that meagan had started this journal type thing. my roommate also has a similar site. i think these things are seldome read, but it could prove to be interesting. so without further ado, here is a place for me to say things that people may or may not read or care about. i just got off work a little while ago, and talked to a friend from high school that i haven't spoken to for several months. it's nice to catch up and see what's happening with the people i thought i'd always be friends with. anyway. in the future, i will start writing things to inspire thought and perhaps a little debate. as for this entry, it has reached its conclusion. i will return with more interesting fodder. godspeed.