A Warm Welcome

Like Abraham stands fate with thee,
Atop a mount with unheard plea,
No beast to give, resistance down,
Abandoned but with sober crown.

"How easy now," forked tongue inquires,
"To live with cain 'til breath expires?"
Red plastic bounds each week to next,
Its hemlock dew the mind perplexed.
Great oil of speech, grave action's soap,
With basic grip it coats the slope.
An acid will, the taught core's bane,
Is equal cause of heady pain.
For matters grey dissolve, erased,
And brightest minds take mundane's place.

A lonely aisle presents itself
To one sealed jar upon the shelf.
While shards of neighbors grace floor tiles,
Spoiled, ferment, traitors defiled.

But at the head the trail is mine;
I've room to yield to one devine.
Good luck, warm welcome to the right,
And keep my love within your sight.

Heat (5-30-07)

The hot, still air stifles all conversation,
Save the droning ad for winter outfits—
Odd to think about snow boots and parkas
When the sun beats down, melting the farm house.

Shimmers of molten air invade the shadows
Missed by the sun’s blinding will.
Grandpa sleeps, propped up in his chair,
The cat purring weakly, its fur matted and scorching.

I can take the stillness, the burning silence,
The creeping, sweating boredom, no longer.
Nothing shifts when I rise from my sticky chair,
Except the cat which glares at me with glinting suns.

No breeze will touch this farm today, but I stand
And gaze at the cows dancing in the heat.
My shirt pastes to my back…some fires are hotter…
And I thank God for the hope of salvation.

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.

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.

"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.

Past Parting (3/18/07)

Ah, what times we had back then!
Would that this elegiac song
Might sweep us back around that bend,
To when our parting made us strong.

You left today with five farewells;
I gladly matched embrace with hug.
If I dumped snow way down on Hell
It might have made the Devil shrug.

But you, sweet you, kind you, sad you
Were not inclined to give a smile
When I gave all to tug it through.
I ran in vain five parting miles.

And in my sprint I chased your tears,
Those drops of sorrow, tainted dark,
Condensed of bitter loss and fears
of pining for and yearning stark.

Ah, what times we had back then!
Would that this elegiac song
Might sweep us back around that bend,
To when our parting made us strong.

I know, my love, that what I write
Is striking something deep inside.
My one request is that you fight
To loose the vines that have you tied.

Resist that rising flood of grief
and turn it back, prevent a spill.
You can win for yourself relief
by calling on your strength of will.

The water rises steadily
But you can watch its frothing arc
and beat it back most readily
whene'er you hear its call and hark.

Ah, what times we had back then!
Would that this elegiac song
Might sweep us back around that bend,
To when our parting made us strong.

I will not stand aside and watch
You struggle with this liquid foe.
From range I will this arrow notch,
Loosed lethally at your sorrow.

Ah, what times we have ahead!
When this sweet elegiac song
Does sweep us back around that bend,
Our parting once again made strong.

To a Swallow that Must Return (3/07)

This poem requires some background. This is the only poem that I've posted that was written for a school assignment, but I'm rather fond of it. The premise is that the Romantic poet Byron wrote this to my great-great-great-great-grandmother, and it was just discovered in some old papers. Byron spent much of his time in Italy, as did many poets of that era, even though he was British.


To a Swallow that Must Return

The wind turned cooler as the clock
Wound towards its wintry end.
The sea’s warm air by Naples’ dock
Did battle with that wind.

You came without a warning sound,
A silent flap of wings.
And gazed with eyes both sharp and round,
Too foreign yet to sing.

I reached my hand to lend that aid,
One new arriving needs,
You gladly seized the proffered strand,
And pulled yourself towards me.

For two months now, my constant friend,
My heart has been with yours,
But know I now, your wings will rend
that love on distant shores.

The cold that grips that isle of yours,
The Thames a sheet of ice,
Must surely melt and in those hours,
Your heart it will entice.

So with the coming of the Spring,
The swallow turns its back
Upon the most beloved thing,
To trace again that track.

Pseudo-Epic, Chapter 1 (6/06)

For many weeks and many months
I’d worn my boots to naught but runts.
My legs and back drew pain.
The night approached, to stress my wants,
Since long ago began my hunts
To garner fame and gain.

As drizzling rain soaked to my all,
A shred of hope fought ire and gall,
My heart grew stronger yet.
The battlements and hulking wall
Of castle grand and towers tall,
Its windows glist’ning wet.

Great oak and iron gates loomed tough.
I hobbled nigh, ‘twas close enough
To sound aloud the portal.
Ere long came keeper, gaunt and rough.
Agape went gates, with creaks a-muff,
Revealing halls immortal.

The torch he held cast pitch and light
On walls cloaked thick in looming night.
Our footsteps echoed on.
He said no word, showed not a fright,
But swept along, ignored my plight.
I followed as a pawn.

At last a glow ‘round yonder bend!
My guide stopped short, alone to send
This cold and weary soul.
I came upon doors firm to defend
What must the history books append,
Or change them in the whole.

The crowded room that towered vast,
Could swallow galleon, hull and mast,
With room again to spare.
My eyes, barraged by great a blast,
Of light from millions candles cast,
Beheld magnificent fare.

The feast for kings, for lords, for God,
On wooden tables long and broad
Revived my appetite.
But front, and high, the king sat, shod
In boots of war, with staff and rod,
Did awe and fear invite.

His cuirass strong, his greaves like stone,
His crest on shield like fire shone.
This armored lord of war.
His sword lay propped against his throne.
An army was this man alone,
A king of myth and lore.

A guard approached to learn my need,
Distinguish must from want and greed.
I made my business plain.
Ere asking lord the guard agreed
To offer food and chair and mead,
Which slowly soothed my pain.

With guests all supped and filled to brim,
The king arose, spoke o’er the din.
A silence fell like night.
“I prithee all liked meal and gin,
With no ado we shall begin
To act out tales of might.”

And now the lord’s attire made
Some sense as epic tales were played
In spaces cleared for acts.
All heroes were by him displayed,
Of fights and battles, quests and raids.
He was, at end, intact.

For hours ‘pon hours the tales were spun,
Of knights and dragons, kings and sons.
They held my focus rapt.
A comedy was shown for fun
Of heroes who could naught but run,
Pursued by wolves that yapped.

At last, with epic stories told,
A task was set for fame and gold.
My interest soon was piqued.
“My men have shared a story bold,
Of riches in a dragon’s hold,
Not open to the meek.

“The morrow holds the time to leave,
But those left here are not bereaved,
The gold will be hard-earned
Of great a trek is this the eve,
Of those who join, I do believe,
Far fewer shall return.”

The scrape of chairs and stomp of feet,
The general din did not entreat,
A mood of concentration.
I stayed steadfast and in my seat
My stomach full of bread and meat,
Mind gorged on thought of action.

‘Twas to my shock to look around,
And catch the king’s glance, which in frown
Beheld a spark of interest.
He rose, approached, and fast sat down,
To quiz me on my foreign gown,
As these first probes attest:

“Good man, whence hail thee through this storm,
To wind up here, to eat and warm?
It’s surely not nearby;
Those haunted eyes that smudge your charm
To many men would send alarm.
Your travels are awry?”

“Right you are m’lord,” said I,
And deigned to mark the how and why,
I found myself then there.
“The challenge offered caught my eye.
Perhaps I’ll ride and give a try,
To take the dragon’s ware.”

“Indeed you may, but warned you’ve been,
A harder task you’ve never seen,
‘Twill likely be your last.
But if your mind is set and keen,
You’ve my consent, though not the queen’s,
To prove you’re strong and fast.”

This interview complete and done,
He marched through doors to join with fun
Society without.
Ere time allowed for me to run
Behind my valiant lord new-won,
I heard an uproar shout.

“Hail to the Queen, her most-high might,
Hail she whose foes do quail with fright,
For she is near at hand!
Hail to the Queen, who day and night,
Protects us from all wrong or slight!
Hail Queen of all the land!”


With cat-like speed aroused by awe,
I honored she who shaped the law
By leaping to my feet.
Her skin like snow, her hair like straw;
One look, my frozen heart did thaw,
Ere I had chance to think.

I bowed my head in fierce tribute,
Then seeing neighbors follow suit,
I bent my torso low.
The Queen’s soft step, ‘gainst thumping boot
Of men in royal garb, was mute,
Poised high but without show.

“In preparation of our trek
On which we choose to prone our necks,
Her Highness stoops to speak.”
The spokesman stood aloft, erect,
To bring that regal call and beck
Which did our notice pique.

“Good men, brave knights, and loyal squires,
You’ve glimpsed in part your hearts’ desires,
And we’ll to this pursue.
You need your rest, but don’t retire
With minds-eyes burning white with fire.
This counsel I give you.

“Be wary of the greed that stalks,
The mound of jewels and snake which talks,
For they will see you dead.
The last are first when danger walks
Nearby to gobble him who balks
At leaving cache fast stead.

“Take up this quest, but mind you keep
A thought towards good, lest you should weep
from fire on Earth, then low.
For scaly beast that will not sleep
Is one with him who from the deep
All sins of ours doest know.

“The last remark that I’ve to give
Reflects my hope that all shall live
By showing well what’s right:
Be moral, kind, and substantive
To aid those men who’re cohortive;
Forsake not those in plight.”

Her speech complete, the message cast,
Her Highness rose and, first to last,
Acquainted with the crowd.
I was the end, so time had passed
And hall was nearly clear, when fast
The Queen neared, strong and proud.

I bowed again to certify
For her my humble stance and shy,
For here pure power ran.
If men corrupt when strength doth lie
Within an easy grasp, then I
Stared surely not at man.

Her two tall guards were not so full
Of grace as she, but built like bulls,
Would batter most to pulp.
She glanced around and saw the hall
Devoid of men, the candles dull.
Her look, it forced my gulp.

Modernism, Chips and Salsa (12/06)

This once-small nation shrugged away the years
Of blood and smoke and bitter anthems sung,
And faced a world with new-found might, sans fears.
We dreamed of aiding all good folks far-flung.

The power of the world was ours to wield.
And sure we were that Heaven placed its trust,
In our strong will, our might, our ores, our fields.
We’d keep our strength and shrug off blow and gust.

But years of strife in rice and sticky mire,
Took chips out of our armor green and black.
Our gleeful neighbors salsa danced through dire
And grim assaults against our deals and pacts.

We’ve come to see that we lack such great pow’r
To fight the world’s wails and tears in show’rs.

Orion Soars (1/07)

Orion soars in ready stance to fight
The march of Time’s vast hordes that will not cease.
His knife on glimm’ring belt is swift and light,
His bow held high and poised to win us peace.

He sets so tall, not live but not deceased,
And raises club and blade to free our hands
From fetters set by Time, whose dread, obese,
And rav’nous gut consumes our days on lands.

With pow’rs that strive to match Time’s tough demands,
Orion brawls for us in stellar shows.
But should the massive force that Time commands
Prevail against that star who for us rows,

We must not pause or grieve, for we remain,
and stronger only for Time’s rope and chain.

Plaster and Clay (2/06)

It lies, alone, with naught around,
On boxes yellowed with age.
Its plaster jaws agape in a frown,
Its eyes both sharp with rage.

A neck extends, supports a head,
The clay dried out and cracked.
Its silent bulk a dull, dark red.
The broken tail lies slack.

The fearsome beast of children’s tales
Brought to its knees at last
No more a threat than hardened bones
Of those from eons past.

If clay and plaster mouth could tell
The glory of its kind
We’d get a glimpse, for just a spell,
Beyond a fossil find.

A world of jungles and sprawling land.
A world of danger rife.
A world with giants alive and grand.
A world packed full of life.

So listen sharp to hear a roar
Escape the withered throat
From well before the birds could soar
Or history we wrote.

Its hide bears scars of battles fought
And ages under sun.
Perhaps it’s only recently wrought
But it bridges time’s long run.

It makes me sick (10/06)

There’s a ringing in my ears.
Or maybe it’s just the stereo,
Belting out its filth.

Oh, can’t get enough of you so I think we should all get high and drunk and then I can drive you back to my place and you know what happens then and there’s nothing anyone can do about it –oh, they’ll try to catch me livin’ dirty, like the flee-ridden scum that I am but who cares, cuz I have more money than God (who isn’t real anyway) and you just gotta live for today, and feel good feel good feel good.

There’s a ringing in my eyes.
Or maybe it’s just that show,
Spewing forth our culture.

Hey let’s be Friends (if you know what I mean), or if you won’t be you have 24 hours to let me know so I can just get Lost, maybe make u my Idol but first u need a serious Makeover because anyone can tell you with a Ride as Pimped as mine I cant let the Pap get a shot of me with you and don’t tell me im Blind to Date that what’s-her-name, just cuz of her attitude, because after all whats cussing but just some more flavorful words.

There’s a ringing in my mind,
And it’s the alarm clock that never
Wakes me up. So I’m stuck.

I can’t get out of the desert.
I don’t even see the water anymore,
Until I force myself to.

But then it floods in and I can’t breath.
Katrina couldn’t touch this,
The government?

Can’t save us this time. No,
It’s not money or tax breaks,
Or better police, or better schools, or better economy, or better security, or better civil rights, or better roads, or better congressmen, or better food, or better weight-loss, or better healthcare, or better handguns, or better intelligence, or better free government handouts.

Because you know what?
It’s you. And you, and you and you and you and you and you.
And me. And it makes me sick.

To think that I can’t do
ANYTHING by myself.

A walk through the woods

A walk through the woods,
Though it lasts just a while,
Can show me the power
Of two lowly smiles.

My world redefined
In the speech of a phrase;
My yearnings and fancies
Fulfilled in a gaze.

I’d stay here forever,
While Earth fell to dust,
If I knew you’d remain here,
Come high gale or gust.

I’d stay by your side
Through night and through day,
Watch leaves fall in autumn
Then sprout new ere May.

So, if you abandoned
Your spot by my head
As we marvel at stars,
Warmed by tea and by bread.

I’d creep back inside
And crawl deep in my bed,
Where at least I could dream
About all that you’ve said.

But hoping and trusting
To faith and this love,
I’ll be here forever,
Like stars up above.

This forest is home
To an alter of mine,
Precious ground where your voice
Is ever enshrined.

Like an angel descended,
Butterflies overcome,
You said to me simply—
I’ll say it again as a kind of renewal. Each time that you read this…
“I think we should go out.”
Me, too.
New life—A fresh, blesséd start.
Calmly and smiling…
Respond in your heart.

Dagger's Twin (3/07)

A flash of anger, white hot rage;
With sultry ire, my ink melts page.
My trust was felled by drunken hands,
Ensnared in Godless battle plans.
I offered her my castle high
Where demon’s drink could only try
In vain to tear the walls away,
Repelled for yet another day.

It seems like only one day past
I strolled these woods and rich green grass.
When peace had power for the day,
This girl clad black in knight’s array
Could travel free from fear of drops
Of Satan’s liquid, ripped from hops.
But now I flee behind my wall
Where I alone watch kingdoms fall.

I had been high and mighty perched
And yet that one confession lurched
My ideal world and stolid stance.
My focus lost, I watched my chance
To stop those closing doors and trust
Dissolve in bottles of liquid lust.
This hollow wail that no one hears
Is gorged and full of silent tears.

By that same light who guides me past
The noose which grabs and holds men fast,
I’m told to love and overlook
The solace that she slew and shook.
So who am I to twist the blade,
She buried in my back today?
For should she reach her arms behind,
I know this dagger’s twin she’d find.