Here are some of the poems I have written over the years. I am a big fan of freeform poetry and haikus. I am not able to post my freeform poetry which has been shaped and twisted because of formatting issues with WordPress, so I will post them later as pictures on my Facebook page.
Without further ado, my poetry:
The Lost Ones
Pale as the moon’s light,
drifting here and there. Alone
To the next world
Confined you were once
in a bowl of crystal glass
death took; heaven freed.
a train like force.
whisper a secret
as clouds move.
then snow swirls.
This is originally a freeform poem built to look like a snake, but I like it just as much without form as well. This was written for a project on Job in college.
Who is Satan?
At the very beginning, the Adversary was there.
With his twisting and churning,
lustful looks and burning.
At the very beginning,
dressed like a serpent, clothed in animal flesh.
Writhing, plotting, twisted actions and lies. Surmounting, building, hounding.
Downfall of mankind; the Liars’ greatest joy. A small bite of fruit ripped the world in half.
The serpent grew wings and Dragon he will be known in The End, but his lies; oh his lies.
They do not end.
The demise of mankind.
And where else can we see who the Dragon is?
Perhaps in the story of a man named Job.
Known for being blameless and upright, so much so, God presented him to ha sä·tän’.
Clothed in majesty, God proclaimed, “Have you considered my servant, Job?”
“You protect him and keep him safe, of course, he will never curse your face!” The Deceiver muttered and scowled.
“Very well.” God announced, “Do what you will, but do not harm him yourself.”
And what did that Fraudster do?
He killed, he maimed, he pillaged, he claimed
all the lives of Job’s children, animals, and men.
Yet, Job did not curse the face of The One Who Has Always Been.
Adversary of God
So once again adorned in heavenly grandeur, God presented Job to the Swindler.
“Have you considered my servant, Job?”
The Serpent sighed, “Skin for Skin!”
“He will curse you if you take his stamina!”
God announced “Very well. Do what you will, but spare his life.”
Quickly the Trickster pounced.
He afflicted Job with abscesses from head to toe,
every ounce coved with oozing, bleeding, draining, pustules.
But, not a word was spoken from Job to curse the One Who Always Will Be.
With that, the final bell rang and God won over the Dragon’s claim.
Doomed to lose to God
So what is the moral behind these tales of the wicked Deceiver flexing his ails? That the great Deceiver, no matter how great, will never trump God’s Amazing Grace. For all the Serpents’ lies and deceit, God’s own bloodshed made them obsolete.
The musky smell of smoke drifted over the small clearing. It slithered and shifted through the long grass, building until only foggy shadows remained. Trees over ten men tall, surrounded the small patch of grass, their thick trunks ghostly from the smoke. Soft whispers of the wind were personified in the swirling of the smoke. They twisted and turned in patterns too complex to separate. A movement, which was only surpassed by the rustling of the leaves high above.
Softly, the smoke drifted and combined, as the sky began to turn a hazy light blue. No sound could be heard, no whisper of warning. Night, was fast approaching, not by any natural cycle, but by the accumulation of the smoky haze. Like thunderheads from the east, the smoke, compiled upon itself, writhing and twisting in the, now present, hot wind. Burring wood cracked and creaked, as the biting flame found its foothold in the forest.
The fire advanced like a river in spring. Slowly gaining a foothold, then breaking loose into a rushing, roaring, downfall of ferocity. Embers ignited even the smallest particle of green. Inferno blasts from the groaning wood, ate up the air and poisoned it. The tall fire-trimmed giants, full of exploding pine and sizzling sap, gasped and grumbled, their final moments captured only by the rushing of the wind.
Calamity paraded its ugly handiwork. Its twisted, lifeless, pale corpses, all too telling of an unnatural firestorm. Where green once held in vibrant display, now charcoal ashy ghosts remain.
Formless from the start.
without light or guidance
He found us.
He molded us.
He saved us.
This was written during a time when there was a lot of media pressure to ban children’s content on Youtube and other media stuff. This poem personally makes me laugh.
Ban the corn!
Ban the cows!
Ban the only plow in town!
Ban the trees!
Ban the leaves!
Ban the movement of the breeze!
Ban the hope!
Ban the fear!
Ban the truth in every ear!
Ban the wind!
Ban the breeze!
Ban all flowers for the bees!
Ban all joy!
Ban all fun!
Before the world is overrun!
Ban the children!
Ban the toys!
Ban all of the girls and boys!
Ban our souls!
Ban our minds!
Ban all of mankind!
Ban the very ground we walk!
Ban them! Ban them!
Until we can ban no more!
Ban them for our sake and yours.