Originally Posted by Randman
Are you writing songs or poetry? Awfully long and almost all are in the same vein. Anything different? Different styles? Shorter? BTW, I have had some my poetry published before, so I am trying to make a constructive yet critical comment.
Sometimes I get in certain moods for poetry. I'll post some of my more varied ones
Cat's Left The Cradle
Left foot,
Right foot,
Left foot,
Not the right one.
Falling on swollen knees.
You weren’t there.
Down stage,
Up stage,
Stage right,
Gaze into the crowd.
The lights hide your dosing eyes.
Your heart wasn’t there.
And the cat’s left the cradle,
And the spoons gone to rust.
The boy’s lost his colour.
And the moon is face is dust.
Recounting tonight,
The tale of a boy.
Recounting tonight,
The absence of a father.
Remember the sky,
Twas bright bright blue.
Remember the ball,
Twas bright bright white.
Remember how the two never met.
As baseballs lay grounded.
Someone else has called your name.
Remember the laces,
They were long, so very long.
Remember my hands,
They were small, so very small.
Remember how I wore Velcro
As lessons remain untaught.
Supplemented by kind sitters.
And the cat’s left the cradle
And the spoon’s gone to rust.
The boy’s lost his colour.
And the moon is face is dust.
Remember the days, we’d sit outside and talk?
Or fix my wagon together?
Remember how we’d laugh and you’d hold me?
Remember that it was because I was your son?
Yah, neither do I... guess it never happened.
I do remember the video games,
And trips to Mc Donalds.
I do remember toy dinosaurs I’d play with.
I do remember it was while you walked away.
I remember everything but a hug.
And the cat’s left the cradle...
Your shoe prints filled with a child’s tears.
And the spoon’s gone to rust...
Your seat at the table empty.
The boy’s lost his colour...
The drawings you never saw.
And the moon is face is dust.....
The back of a head is all I remember of your smile.
Memories fade, but the scars remain.
-
As I fell, another lifted me up.
When I looked above the crowd, I saw a light so bright.
And while you were gone, I learned of a love brighter than the sky,
A love that lasts longer than shoe laces.
The Lion was in the manger,
20 pieces of silver.
Blood dripped red,
From the man on the cross.
When can I come home Father?
I don’t know when,
But we’ll be together then Dad.
I know we’ll have a good time then.
You know we’ll have a good time then.
His Humanity
The wind blew cold that night,
It had been blowing cold so long.
The the sun’s face lay hidden, and the wind blew cold.
That night was just one night in a human blizzard.
It had been going on so long.
Cold, frozen, numb people, fell, and fell, and fell.
Walking over them in the street,
Walking over them so long.
The wind blew warm that instant.
As a fire flickered deep in the heart of history.
It burned as the sun ever so slightly touched the earth.
And in that moment.
And in that instant, Faith revived.
Hope was born again,
As Love came in.
On that, the coldest of nights,
The sun smiled down on all generations.
Generations who would mock, ignore, and mutiny.
On that, the coldest of nights,
A little boy was met by herdsmen,
Who were just like those who he would shepherd.
On that, the coldest of nights,
A young man would submit to fathering his creator.
On that, the coldest of nights,
Tiny sun bright hands grasped for a mother’s hand.
Hands that on the darkest of days would spill red hope...
A poets words die far short.
A singers song falters to start.
A preacher’s voice goes hoarse.
A scholar’s mind goes numb.
Entering the courts,
Greeted by the same corruption condemned by Malachi.
Hearing voices that could not compare to Miriam.
Songs from hearts nothing like David.
Prophets who ignored Moses.
Priests not of Aaron.
Hearts empty of the voice in Jeremiah.
Sages blind to Solomon.
Kings still ignoring Samuel.
Men still drenched in Adam’s stain...
Standing by the alter,
He could still taste their insults on his lips,
Standing by the incense,
The cheapness haunted Him.
The oldest still to young to have them listen,
Brought into the covenant He created,
Shut out from the Holy of Holies, where he had dwelt so often.
As he grew:
Legs who’s footstool was the very earth,
Went through growing pains.
The hands which crushed Goliath,
Were washed before dinner.
The face that brought death at a glance,
Grew oily and pimpled.
The mind that crafted galaxies and water falls,
Learned carpentry.
The eyes that saw the end in the beginning,
Grew heavy as sleep drew near.
The heart that longed for humanity’s hand,
Was broken in his first crush.
The God who swallowed up Pharaoh's armies in the Red,
Ran from school yard bullies.
A poets words die far short.
A singers song falters to start.
A preacher’s voice goes hoarse.
On our darkest day,
We took hands that reached out for a mother,
And nailed them in brutality.
We took feet that took their first steps,
And pierced them without mercy.
We took a back that was swore after working with His father,
And scourged it red.
We took a brow that dripped after playing with friends,
And twisted in a mocker’s crown.
We took lips that kissed grandparents,
And gave them gaul.
We took eyes which could light the world,
And wrung them dry of tears.
We took a heart that beat faster when a pretty girl paid attention,
And made it stop in agony.
A poets words die far short.
A preacher’s voice goes hoarse.
We took this man,
We took our God.
And we nailed Him to a tree.
...
...
...
The wind blew cold that life,
It had been blowing cold so long.
The the sun’s face ignored, and the wind blew cold.
That night was just one night in a human’s blizzard.
It had been going on so long.
Cold, frozen, numb person, falling, and falling, and falling.
Alone in the street,
Alone so long.
The wind blew warm in an instant.
As a fire flickered deep in the heart of one soul.
It burned as the sun ever so slightly touched one heart.
And in that moment.
And in that instant, Faith arrived.
Hope was born,
As Love came in.
In that, the coldest of lives,
The sun smiled down on one of a generation.
One who would mock, ignore, and mutiny.
In that, the coldest of lives,
A little boy was met by a Father,
Who would teach him to shepherd.
In that, the coldest of lives,
A young man would submit to his creator.
In that, the coldest of lives,
Frail hands would grasp for a Brother’s hand.
Hands that on the darkest of days had spilled red hope...
I took this man,
I took our God.
And I nailed Him to a tree.
And then I took... this pardon, he offered...
A poets words die far short.
The Ball
Somewhere far out of sight,
Lays a dark curled little ball.
And everything, is it’s fault.
The rise, and fall of Communism.
The sick and dying in Africa,
The sad and lonely in Canada.
Nobody’s sure when this little ball did all these things...
Or even how a little ball could do so much.
But everything is it’s fault.
Suzy’s break up with Billy.
And their half Manatee lesbian son.
The irritating kid down the block,
As well as the one it’s never met.
The fact that someone wears all black,
The fact that I ran out of deodorant.
It’s all the little ball’s fault.
Somewhere hiding right in plain sight,
Very much so out of sight.
Lays a dark curled little black ball.
And everything is it’s fault.
The destruction of Herod’s temple
When flowers wilt and die,
When any small children cry.
I don’t understand how this little ball does it all...
Is this even possible?
Oh well, I hear it’s responsible, and everything is it’s fault.
Someone feels bad.
Must be the ball.
Someone’s heart is broken.
Blame the ball!
Someone wants to end it all!
Kill the ball!
Somewhere inside you,
Hiding in plain sight,
Very much out of sight.
I see the little ball.
But I think we’ve been wrong all this time...
You weren’t alive during the Communist revolution.
The Romans destroyed the temple.
And everyone knew Suzy and Billy wouldn’t work out.
People need to go through pain,
People need to get broken,
And sometimes the pain will be really bad.
But... I don’t think this ball did all that...
I don’t think you could have...
I don’t think that’s who you are.
Perhaps the ball is just a ball...
And perhaps it is not the size of this world...
And perhaps even if it were, it does not belong on your shoulders.
Perhaps everything is not this little ball’s fault.
Forgetting The Young One: Philippians 2
If you had any encouragement,
if any comfort,
If any fellowship, if any tenderness, compassion,
if you had anything...
Why did the young one never see?
Didn’t His “love” matter?
Quoting the 13th till your blue face shines off your golden gilded edges.
Didn’t the “spirit” matter?
Caring more about the technicalities of gifts than the Spirit that gives them?
Where’s this “joy” he kept hearing about?
Happily ripping down the church, unable to bring it back in three years.
How bout that “purpose”?
To sit idly by while those he loves go to hell, because of your politics.
Why were you better than him?
Why is it your’s and not his?
Why should he worry about your interests,
While crying in the corner,
Nursing the bubbling skin, from your boiling oil baptism.
Aimless he wanders away, in your peripheral vision.
Your concerns are far more pressing,
after all “there are banquets and potluck to plan!”
“You must be this tall to ride” was not posted above our crucified savior.
“That’s your interpretation” was never taught on a the mount.
“The top ten ways to decorate your house” never shared a page with “I and the Father are one.”
Your plaques swing back and forth, as they hang on the nail you drove into his hands.
His hopes pour from his side, as you jam another coat rack though his side.
The cloth you’ve ripped from his scabbing back, makes the perfect table cloth.
He stands teetering on legs you’ve left unbroken.
No one will record any last words, his tongue was never able to stand up to you.
He will not complain
Only walk on, to finish his race,
This Young One,
Forgotten by you.
Lady In White
Racing from my sight,
Down the wrinkle in my cheek,
Formed by the wincing,
Of my own heart.
Soaking again tonight,
My pin striped pillow,
The heart's confidant in this darkness.
The fire place crackles,
In the eye of my mind,
I lay on the floor with my lady in white,
My hands gently easing her tired feet.
I am her muse,
Singing as in my own way, of any and everything,
That might bring a smile to her face.
She lifts her eyes to meet mine,
My hands continue to wear away,
The stress and trial of days past.
I speak of my dreams and hopes,
And of what I must do.
Her smile is my blessing from above,
That seals my confidence.
My heart stirs,
Indeed I thought it was dead,
Why must it bring with it,
These forgotten hopes and dreams!
If were possible I would kill it!
So my troubled soul could rest,
From the hope of her hand.
The fire still burns,
As I throw another log on,
In this story of my mind,
As it rains outside,
And on the pillow.
I remember her face,
And open the clouds.
Dear heart I plead with you,
Forget her and all our hopes,
Take your leave of this world,
And stir no longer tonight for your tears have been spent,
And the night has heard your sorrow.
Now rest broken one,
The darkness is all we have tonight.
Post Secondary
Cold spring nights, swirl in the dark,
Halogen light bulbs glowing faintly.
Turn left, then right, then back and forth.
Behind you, beside you, inside you.
Remembering the days gone past,
A year seeming all to short.
Oatmeal caked memories,
They taste like cheese pizza.
An introduction to confusion,
Cheesecake socials, and 70's nights,
Coffee houses, and course selections,
Five thousand down,
Learning the meaning of syllabus.
Recognized for an Apple,
Remembered for a volume.
Late nights in dorm,
Pizza pops for sale.
Walking in, walking out,
Showing up late, sleeping in.
Fighting with proxies,
Fighting with Mennonites.
Rooming with mind games,
Rooming with a new past.
Shaking faces,
Seeing hands,
Get it right next time.
Remember names,
Forget faces,
Check for a wife,
Nope not just yet.
Meet your dorm,
Turn away from the nudity.
Question backgrounds,
Question commitments,
Never hearing an answer.
Attach yourself quickly,
Don't be left behind now!
Greet those flying the clouds,
Avoid those who play in the mud.
Be spiritual formed, or deformed,
Take your pick.
Learn of textual criticism,
But don't be critical.
Learn to be someone who you're not,
Or learn to hold out against something you're not.
Learn not to judge a text by it's cover,
Nor friends by theirs.
Drown out noise in stereo.
Drown out people with locks.
Watch social criticisms fall down stairs,
Watch soccer during supper.
Learn to love hockey.
Learn to abhor Plantingua.
Shiver through the showers,
Learn to recognize Laura's laugh in a crowd.
Realize you'll never remember what epistemology means.
Make friends you'll never get to know.
Make friends you'll never let go.
Learn the feeling of being pried away anyway.
Check for that wife?
Still not there.
Learn to eat lunch with anyone.
Learn not every has learned this lesson.
Get used to meal plans.
Invest in a mini fridge.
Fall in love with the people,
Who earlier you couldn't stand.
Learn the value of Christian education.
Sleep through bible study methods.
Assault your stereo.
Assault the guy down the hall.
Sign year books,
Sign lifes.
Down another 5000,
Gary's happy.
Sleep in a hamster cage
Open the window to air it out.
Procrastinate during the playoffs.
Pray during the exam.
Learn the Deuteronomic History.
Fill in a bubble sheet.
Study apocryphal works in New Testament.
Wait... we studied in New Testament?
Let yourself be accepted,
Even though you don't want to.
And love people despite their turtle necks.
And always remember,
Andrew broke the sub-lounge light
With a water jug.
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