Holier Than Thou

I read
Those idle words
And pondered what had bred
The evil force which always herds
My peers to drunken pastures to be fed.

I know no other way to phrase the pain,
The anguished sting of staying tall
And watching paths of Cain
Consume them all,
Their bane.

I throw
My hands aloft,
And then this hope I sow
Must take root in the soil soft,
But flocks of greedy ravens keep in tow.

“Unfair,” the bitter voice inside me shouts,
“To have to keep the torment in.”
Decisions given clout
Should start within,
Not out.

For all the good it does or does not do,
While you roam 'round, I'm holier than you.

Carpe Vita -- Seize Life (4/28/07)

Verse 1:
I used to ignore you,
You people of the world.
I blinded myself to
Their painful lives unfurled.

These poor souls, unaided,
They struggle throug this strife.
Corrupt by my culture,
I went about my life

Chorus:

I need something.
You just needed me.
The world may be struggling, struggling,
But I reach my hand out.
The world may be struggling, struggling,
But I reach my hand out.

Verse 2:

I travelled to serve you,
you people of the world.
You showed me the value,
Like pollishing a pearl.

These poor souls unaided.
They struggle through the strife.
Ignoring my culture,
I redefine my life.

Coda:
I've got all I need, all I could need.
I've got all I need, all I could
Give...it...all...a - way.

Rocking (4/26/07)

poor Horsey's sighte has gone from him
he was my Bestest friend
i loved my Horsey way bak then
it had to Go and end

Poor Horsey's sight has gone from him,
Away through agéd eyes.
He once obeyed my will and whim,
now musters but a sigh.

that box right they're is awful big
it must get in his way
he keaps on staring right ahed
he'll talk again sum day

The boxes in this storage room
Consume poor Horsey's sight.
He stares at labels dim with gloom
And ponders days of might.

id stair and look down at his legs
those seamed to come alive
pulled his ears and poked his nose
and singed my favrite rime.

His wooden frame is heft on legs
Of sinew rich and strong.
His ears of cloth perked up to beg
To hear my playful song.

i like to say he'll be back soon
it lets me feel OK
i dont think he'll be quite the same
cuz i have gone away

I promise Horsey I'll be back
To re-live all our fun.
But even so I fear I lack
Old Horsey's fleetfoot run.

The Reading of the Old Class Log (4/25/07)

The inspiration for this poem (it's title) will make a lot of sense to anyone who has had Mr. Hickerson and has therefore been exposed to the painful delights of the daily class logs, or minutes, as most sapiens would term them. I enjoy the oft-employed line "The reading of the old class log," so I snatched it into an unrelated environment.

The Reading of the Old Class Log

And yes, the dappled, lighting rays
Bespeckle pads of mossy green.
And always trees of cavern height
Besmudge the brightened sheen.

But this rich scene is centered on
Bespectacled eyes and silver brow
Bent low above a block of wood
Begrudging ancient vows.

Cool shadows play across the mead,
Consume the geezer's tipsy head.
Caught up by thoughts, he of past days
Consults the wooden thread.

Blackened edges smooth with soot,
Condensed from tribal fires spent,
Border words, engraved and cut,
Concealing power pent.

Deepened burns obscure some words,
Each a loss to those who read,
Depending on tradition's voice to
Ease their wisdom's need.

Elaboráte designs these aren't;
Every word instead contains
Eden's promise kept in grain while
Evil here remains.

Finally, the old man stands,
Forward holds The Old Class Log.
For he has quite discerned at last
Four messages from fog:

Equal men will always strive.
Fervent work will always yield.
Even poor will change the world.
Justice is our shield.

My Music (4/15/07)

Who could truly live
Without a warm chord,
A minor touch, a resolution
That reaches the soul?

I travel with every song,
Washed away and washed clean,
Comforted and calm.

The real world tugs to
No avail as waves of
Melody mask and melt
The concerns of my present.

On the blasted, battered
Beach my scalding feet
Are cooled and cleansed.

Grains of measured salt sting
Exposed edges of my mind,
But in the pain of guilt and grime,
Truth radiates through guilded rhymes.

I think in time with the driving,
Primal pounding; my mind dances
With weaving, wild riffs.

My music is inseperable,
Engrained and twisted together
With when I stare
And when I blink;
With who I am
And how I think.

To Engage in a Duel

For several years I have been sliding down that well-known (and unequivocally slippery) slope towards obsession with crossword puzzles. I'm not good at them, but I long for them, particularly Monday and Tuesday. I can get completely lost in a puzzle, slaving over a single crossword for hours without losing a bit of focus. I've gotten better, as well, and the satisfaction of finally figuring out that last tricky hint is more exhilarating than...almost anything.

As my good friends will attest, I tend to be possessive about my crossword puzzles. I take each one as a personal challenge, and I get great pleasure from every clue I decifer on my own. This is why I do not share my crosswords...unless I'm stuck on some insignificant popular media icon. As those same friends will likewise attest, I have no use for most of the idolized celebrities and their mindless affairs. Puh-leeze, hand me a paper and I won't pause for even a glance and the entertainment page; oh, no, I'm going for the crossword.

And yes, I realize you'll be laughing when I'm stuck on "'idol' judge with Randy and Simon." But I don't care.

The moral fiber of my world is at stake...and that just barely overshadows my crosswords.

To Engage in a Duel, you ask?........... Crossswords. :)

"lol...omg, ur my bff <3" (4-10-07)

"You wanna walk the dog?" I say,
But know how she'll reply.
We grab the leash and start away
From home, my friend and I.

No mind it's night, forget the rain,
We'll share the company.
I'm warm and dry, though it seems vain,
Because she's next to me.

Our friendship stretches years behind;
We're tighter now than then.
Two best friends like beacons shine,
And guide each other in.

My ship is anchored firm at bay,
Hers wanders time to time.
As always, I am here today
To cleanse away life's grime.

Remember this: my stolid course
Will not defer to life.
That "time to time" I will be harsh,
But on your side through strife.

So take this lyric as a Rose,
To pluck and keep nearby,
It shall not fade nor wilt nor doze;
No, neither more shall I.

The Competition (3-30-07)

Fan Blows hard; computer hums.
The Sony numbers slide along
As, with raw spite, tomorrow comes.

But no one lies where she belongs;
She's with her Teddy, rich with age.
Here! Am I jealous? Am I wrong?

His stomach's torn, with no rib cage;
His limbs hang on with waning drive;
His eyes are glazed, worn down, but sage.

So she may squeeze that bear, make live
His gentle love and loyalty,
And I'll sleep here, but will not thrive.

But tomorrow, she's mine again.
And Teddy will form a poem in his head,
A poem quite like this one.
He would love to jot it down for
Old Times sake, but his arms...
Aren't quite what they used to be.

So Teddy, my friend, I appologize
For taking her...
But I'm NOT giving her back.

The Holy Rollers (3-27-07)

Wave your hands and tip your bowlers;
Here they come, the Holy Rollers.

See? Where blue meets green and brown?
There’s something moving, coming down
From yonder hill, and moving fast
In no time flat they’re flashing past.

I’ll wave my hand and tip my bowler;
There’s one now, a Holy Roller.

The purr of rubber, clank of chains,
Pursue the riders down their lanes.
Their pedals pushing ever on
You mustn’t blink or they’ll be gone.

So wave your hands and tip your bowlers;
On those bikes they’re Holy Rollers.

They’ve got a mission to fulfill
(Once they make it past this hill),
For wearing spandex truly can
Elicit funds from fawning fans.

So grab your bikes and toss your bowlers,
You should join those Holy Rollers!

College (4-6-07)

I know. I know. It’s looming there.
There.
I can see it:
Sickly yellow mountains of steam
Towering in thunder, ripping asunder
The grounded scrub which fights, fails, and falls.

I didn’t plan, I didn’t think
About the storm driving nearer.
I saw it, you saw it.
The first strikes of rain
May have wet your face
But you didn’t pause.
You grabbed up your raincoat
And forgot. Just forgot and ignored
The billowing blasts of wind,
The ominous offense of rolling
And crackling thunder.

The storm moves with time’s pace,
Pulled by the constant, corded muscle
Of twin horses: God’s great gyrating galaxy
And Man’s manufactured months.

I know the outcome of the storm,
But I cannot prevent it. It is His will,
I suppose, but I will close my windows
When it cuffs my world, vain as it may be.
It will blow me off to Whonosware,
Tear my hands from my life and my love.

In Whonosware I will sit stunned,
Still struggling to fill the gaping…
You may visit me in Whonosware.
That will help.

Well.
I know. I know. It’s looming, looming.
See?
We can both see it.

And we can hold each other until it gets here.