Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Ten Poems for Final

Poem Set 1

Icicles 

The hang,
Rooted in unity.
One by one,
They drop.
Freedom's short life.


Sun 

The beauty that no one looks upon,
But always feels.
Faithful, each morning,
The Son guides our daily path.

Mountains 

Oh, to have faith like a mustard seed,
I'll see the mountains dance.




Poem Set 2

Running Shoes 

Tattered, rugged,
soles worn out.
Tossed in the corner,
soon, the trash.

A Drop of Dew 

On the deep green leaf,
it waits.

Roses 

layers upon layers rest
fanned out teardrops.
they tear so
easily.




Sonnet (#3)

Life without You 

The first steaks of light peek through my curtains.
I lie in bed, despondent for the day ahead.
I choose to dream of times we spent together.
When will you return? How long will you stay
This time? Our nights are getting briefer
As the days without you elongate.
I close my eyes and allow you to flood
Over my thoughts, till the world becomes still.

I cannot wait for your presence anymore.
I must move on and live this day without you.
With reluctance, I open my eyes and rise
Out of bed, knowing our time was short-lived.
But throughout the day, I think of you--
Please come back in my life, my precious sleep.



Occasional Poem (#4)

The Hunt for Christ 

When I was young,
it was about the sweets--
Gathering at the start line,
waiting for the signal.
leaving everyone I knew
behind me, dashing off in pursuit.
The chocolate, the candy,
Chocolate bunnies, Easter eggs.
It was the thrill of the hunt
and the treasures inside.

As I grow older,
it's a different day,
not a special day.
Sit through a church sermon,
go shopping, and cook.
relatives, even those unfavorable ones,
make a trip to my house,
where we laugh through conversation.
When finally, the last guest leaves,
the cleaning begins.
I hunt for a reason to even be excited.

As I look toward my time of dying,
I finally see the importance.
I peel back the way society
has portrayed Easter. I look
beyond circumstance
and fabrications of this day.
I reflect on the resurrection--
salvation from the cross,
the love of my Savior.
I know there is life after death.
My hunt for Christ has been satisfied.




Villanelle (#5)

This Moment 

On bended knee, he gave himself to thee—
his heart, his promise, all disguised in gold.
And reality replaced fantasy. 

He knew that together their life would be
whole. Whatever path that would soon unfold,
On bended knee, he gave himself to thee.

She stood there speechless. She did not foresee.
This moment she would remember and hold—
And reality replaced fantasy. 

He reached for her hand, and in jubilee,
told how together they would grow old. 
On bended knee, he gave himself to thee. 

Flustered, tongue-tied, excited, and giddy,
With one last look in his eyes, she was sold.    
And reality replaced fantasy. 

We joined together on a new journey
Where we would write a story yet untold.
On bended knee, he gave himself to me,
And family replaced fantasy.       




Ekphrastic Poem (#6)

She Did It (medium, thread on paper; by Emily Williams





All my life, I blended in. 
What you did, I did.
How you spoke, I spoke. 
What you wore, I wore. 
I conformed. It was comfort.
It was joy. It was easy. 
But it wasn't me.
It wasn't real.
I needed to be me,
Fully.
And so,
Here I am,
Not blending in with you. 
I stand out. 
I’m different. 

Will you join                                                                                                               me?




Ekphrastic Poem (#7)

Wreath 
       "Ever" by Merritt Becknell.  
       Medium: Digital print 


You said we’d be together,
That we’d make it through,
        It never had an ending.
Because nothing on earth,
Could make you as happy as I did.
                                And was filled with lush green needles. 
Moving in together was only the beginning.
You brought home a wreath.
                                But without tender care, attention,
Hung it up on our door—
Said it was a symbol of our undying love. 
                                With time, the end reveals itself.  



"You" Poem (#8)

Empty-Handed

You come empty-handed to the diner on the corner. 
The sign outside reads “Come in and enjoy a fresh batch of pancakes.”
You clench your stomach as it grumbles—it already digested
The apple you ate for breakfast yesterday. 
Though your pockets are empty, and you own no shoes,
You enter in, hoping grace will abound. 

The waitress spots you immediately—you stand out among others. 
She wipes her hands on her stained apron and weaves
Through the crowd to get to you.  You took a seat at a booth. 
“No shoes, no service,” she says, pointing
To your calloused and cracked feet. 

“Oh, Ma’am,” you begin.  “I’ve been traveling so long. 
Isn’t there something, anything, you can give me to eat?”
She wrinkles her face and lets out a snare.  Without even a pause,
She shoos you out.  “Out with you now, you piece of filth.”
You trip over your feet as you rush out the doors. 

You’re hungry and tired and just want to rest. 
You’re broke and you’re homeless and quite smelly, too. 
But, you continue walking, slowly, because
Walking is the only hope you have left. 

Then, up ahead, you see the bright lights.
The vast parking lot, the grocery store sign. 
Maybe, just maybe, you think to yourself,
I can get a job and provide for myself again. 
You tuck in your shirt and straighten your hair.
“May I have an application?” you ask the manager. 
He stands there, staring at you. 
You begin to feel uncomfortable. 
Finally, he says, “No.  We aren’t hiring.”  He walks away. 
You slump out of the store, gloomy and sad,
And there you see it, hanging in the window. 
A “Now Hiring” sign in yellow and orange. 
Your stomach tightens as you realize what happened.
He doesn’t want you—it seems no one does. 

Broken, ashamed.  Weak and hopeless.
You sit on a park bench and begin to think.    
You know you made mistakes in the past—
If you could, you would change them.
But you know you can’t.  A tear
Begins to form and falls down your cheek. 
With no one to turn to and no one to love,
You look at the ground.  You blankly stare at the pavement. 

You don’t see it at first, or rather recognize it—
It’s been so long since you’ve seen that image,
That symbol, that perfect sign of hope. 
It forms on the ground from a shadow
Of the light post above.  It lays at your feet—
The shape of a cross.  More tears
Form as you think about the cross. 

You fall on the ground, coming to the feet of Jesus. 
Crying, you can’t speak, but you know Jesus hears. 
You lay down your sins, your guilt, your anger.
Your sadness, your hurt, your betrayal, and shame. 
“God,” you cry out.  “I have nothing.”  “I am nothing.”
And audibly, for the first time, you hear His voice.
“I love you.  You’re mine.  Accept my grace.” 



Narrative Poem (#9) 

 Jack Nichols—NBA Star

They said they was only gonna sign me for 20 million. 
That ain’t enough to feed my family. I got four children. 
I gotta provide for them. They deserve the best from their dad. 
So if you want me, you gonna have to pay me more than that. 

I spend my weekends on my yacht—it's a break from my family.
For only one million, I couldn't pass it up.
I divide my time between my four houses, but spend most
of my time at my house on the east coast.

But my children, man, they mean everything to me. 
My family, they are my top priority. 
I'm only trying to protect them, that's why
there's no yacht and only one house for them.      

I know that I’m not allowed to see them anymore. 
But I still send them money once a year—50 dollars each. 
I work to give them a good future.  I treasure them,
All three of them--um--I mean four.  
  



"You" Poem (#10) 

Action Required 

We all have them-- 
whether we want to or not. 
You do it on a regular basis. 
Don't even know you do. 

You try to change; 
You're tired of doing it. 
But breaking a habit 
doesn't come easy. 

It's the biting of the nails 
or watching of Netflix. 
It's the late night snacking, 
or impulse buys. 
It's the gossip at work, 
or procrastination. 

I have them,
You have them. 
And though we don't want them
they are ever present. 
The won't go away
 on their own.  
It's up to you.  


Empty-Handed

You come empty-handed to the diner on the corner. 
The sign outside reads “Come in and enjoy a fresh batch of pancakes.”
You clench your stomach as it grumbles—it already digested
The apple you ate for breakfast yesterday. 
Though your pockets are empty, and you own no shoes,
You enter in, hoping grace will abound. 

The waitress spots you immediately—you stand out among others. 
She wipes her hands on her stained apron and weaves
Through the crowd to get to you.  You took a seat at a booth. 
“No shoes, no service,” she says, pointing
To your calloused and cracked feet. 

“Oh, Ma’am,” you begin.  “I’ve been traveling so long. 
Isn’t there something, anything, you can give me to eat?”
She wrinkles her face and lets out a snare.  Without even a pause,
She shoos you out.  “Out with you now, you piece of filth.”
You trip over your feet as you rush out the doors. 

You’re hungry and tired and just want to rest. 
You’re broke and you’re homeless and quite smelly, too. 
But, you continue walking, slowly, because
Walking is the only hope you have left. 

Then, up ahead, you see the bright lights.
The vast parking lot, the grocery store sign. 
Maybe, just maybe, you think to yourself,
I can get a job and provide for myself again. 
You tuck in your shirt and straighten your hair.
“May I have an application?” you ask the manager. 
He stands there, staring at you. 
You begin to feel uncomfortable. 
Finally, he says, “No.  We aren’t hiring.”  He walks away. 
You slump out of the store, gloomy and sad,
And there you see it, hanging in the window. 
A “Now Hiring” sign in yellow and orange. 
Your stomach tightens as you realize what happened.
He doesn’t want you—it seems no one does. 

Broken, ashamed.  Weak and hopeless.
You sit on a park bench and begin to think.    
You know you made mistakes in the past—
If you could, you would change them.
But you know you can’t.  A tear
Begins to form and falls down your cheek. 
With no one to turn to and no one to love,
You look at the ground.  You blankly stare at the pavement. 

You don’t see it at first, or rather recognize it—
It’s been so long since you’ve seen that image,
That symbol, that perfect sign of hope. 
It forms on the ground from a shadow
Of the light post above.  It lays at your feet—
The shape of a cross.  More tears
Form as you think about the cross. 

You fall on the ground, coming to the feet of Jesus. 
Crying, you can’t speak, but you know Jesus hears. 
You lay down your sins, your guilt, your anger.
Your sadness, your hurt, your betrayal, and shame. 
“God,” you cry out.  “I have nothing.”  “I am nothing.”
And audibly, for the first time, you hear His voice.
“I love you.  You’re mine.  Accept my grace.” 





Monday, April 27, 2015

Wreath

"Ever" 
       Medium: Digital print, by Merritt Becknell 


You said we’d be together,
That we’d make it through,
        It never had an ending.
Because nothing on earth,
Could make you as happy as I did.
                                And was filled with lush green needles. 
Moving in together was only the beginning.
You brought home a wreath.
                                But without tender care, attention,
Hung it up on our door—
Said it was a symbol of our undying love. 
                                With time, the end reveals itself.  

She Did It

"She Did It"
      Medium = Thread on paper, by Emily Williams



All my life, I blended in. 
What you did, I did.
How you spoke, I spoke. 
What you wore, I wore. 
I conformed. It was comfort.
It was joy. It was easy. 
But it wasn't me.
It wasn't real.
I needed to be me,
Fully.
And so,
Here I am,
Not blending in with you. 
I stand out. 
I’m different. 

Will you join                                                                                                               me?





Action Required

I believe we all have them—
whether we want to or not. 
You do it on a regular basis.
Don’t even know you do it. 

You try to change it;
You’re tired of doing it.
But breaking a habit
doesn’t come easy.

It’s the biting of the nails
or watching of Netflix. 
It’s the late night snacking,
or impulse buys. 
It’s the gossip at work,
or procrastination. 

I have them,
You have them. 
Though we don’t want them,  
they are very present. 
And they won’t go away,
with the way things are.


It’s up to you.    

Wednesday, April 8, 2015

Villanelle Poem Revision 1

This Moment

On bended knee, he gave himself to thee—
his heart, his promise, all disguised in gold.
And reality replaced fantasy. 

He knew that together their life would be
whole.  Whatever path that would soon unfold,
On bended knee, he gave himself to thee.

She stood there speechless.  She did not foresee.
This moment she would remember and hold—
And reality replaced fantasy. 

He reached for her hand, and in jubilee,
told how together they would grow old. 
On bended knee, he gave himself to thee. 

Flustered, tongue-tied, excited, and giddy,
With one last look in his eyes, she was sold.    
And reality replaced fantasy. 

We joined together on a new journey
Where we would write a story yet untold.
On bended knee, he gave himself to me,
And family replaced fantasy.       

The Hunt for Christ Revision 3

The Hunt for Christ

When I was young
It was about the sweets—
Gathering at the start line,
waiting for the signal.
Leaving everyone I knew
behind me, dashing off in pursuit.
The chocolate, the candy,
Chocolate bunnies, Easter eggs.
It was the thrill of the hunt
And the treasures inside.


As I grow older 
It’s a different day,
not a special day.
Sit through a church sermon,
go shopping, and cook.
Relatives, even unfavorable ones,
Make a special trip to my house,
Where we laugh our way through conversation.
When everyone leaves, the cleaning begins.
I hunt for a reason to even be excited. 


As I look toward my time of dying, 
I finally see the importance.
I peel back the way society
has portrayed Easter.  I look
beyond circumstances
and fabrications of this day.
I reflect back on the resurrection—
Salvation from the cross,
The love of my Savior.
I know there is life after death. 
My hunt for Christ has been satisfied.




Monday, March 30, 2015

The Hunt for Christ Revision 2

 The Hunt for Christ

When I'm young
It’s about the sweets—
Gathering at the start line,
waiting for the signal.
Leaving everyone I know
behind me, I dash off in pursuit.
The chocolate, the candy,
Chocolate bunnies, Easter eggs.
It's the thrill of the hunt
And the treasures inside.


When I'm older
It’s a different day, but not a special day.
Sit through a church sermon,
go shopping, and cook.
Relatives, even those unfavorable ones,
Make a special trip to the house,
Where we laugh our way through conversation.
When everyone leaves, the cleaning begins.
I hunt for a reason to even be excited. 


When I'm dying
I finally see the importance.
It's peeling back the layers that society
has covered Easter in—looking beyond circumstances
and fabrications of the day.
I reflect back on the resurrection.
Salvation from the cross,
The love of my Savior.
I know there is life after death. 
My hunt for Christ has been satisfied.

Friday, March 27, 2015

Sonnet Revision #1

Life without You

The first streaks of light peek through my curtains.
I lie in bed, despondent for the day ahead.
I choose to dream of times we spent together.
When will you return?  How long will you stay
This time? Our nights are getting briefer
As the days without you elongate.
I close my eyes and allow you to flood
Over my thoughts, till the world becomes still. 
  

I cannot wait for your presence anymore.  
I must move on and live this day without you. 
With reluctance, I open my eyes and rise
Out of bed, knowing our time was short-lived.
But throughout the day, I think of you
Please come back in my life, my precious sleep.

Villanelle Poem

This Moment

On bended knee, he gave himself to thee—
his heart, his promise, all disguised in gold.
And reality replaced fantasy. 

He knew that together their life would be
whole.  Whatever path that would soon unfold,
On bended knee, he gave himself to thee.

She stood, there speechless.  She did not foresee.
This moment she would remember and hold—
And reality replaced fantasy. 

He reached for her hand, and in jubilee,
told how together they would grow old. 
On bended knee, he gave himself to thee. 

Flustered, tongue-tied, excited, and giddy,
With one last look in his eyes, she was sold.    
And reality replaced fantasy. 


They joined together on a new journey
Where they would write a story yet untold.
On bended knee, he gave himself to thee,

And reality replaced fantasy.  

Thursday, March 19, 2015

The Hunt for Christ Revision 1

 The Hunt for Christ

When I'm young
It’s about the sweets—
Gathering at the start line,
waiting for the signal.
Leaving everyone I know
behind me, I dash off in pursuit.
The chocolate, the candy,
Chocolate bunnies, Easter eggs.
It's the thrill of the hunt
And the treasures inside.


When I'm older
It’s a different day, but not a special day.
Sit through a church sermon,
go shopping, and cook.
Relatives, even those unfavorable ones,
Make a special trip to the house,
Where we laugh our way through conversation.
When everyone leaves, the cleaning begins.
I hunt for a reason to even be excited. 


When I'm dying
I finally see the importance.
It's peeling back the layers that society
has covered Easter in—looking beyond circumstances
and fabrications of the day.
I reflect back on the resurrection.
Salvation from the cross,
The love of my Savior.
I know there is life after death. 
My hunt for Christ has been satisfied.


The Hunt for Christ (rough draft)

The Hunt for Christ

When you’re young:
It’s about the sweets—
The chocolate, the candy,
Easter eggs, chocolate bunnies.
The thrill of the hunt
And the treasures inside.

When you’re older:
It’s just another day
To sit and attend church.
Shopping for candy, visiting relatives,
Cleaning and cooking—it’s just a checklist.
You hunt for a reason to even be excited. 


When you’re dying:
You reflect back on the resurrection.
Salvation from the cross,
The love of our Savior.
You know there is life after death. 
The hunt for Christ has been satisfied.

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Sonnet

How I miss the way you make me stable,
Always putting my mind and heart to ease.
Just the thought of you alone can make me
Melt with satisfaction, anticipation.
Why have you wandered astray from me?
And when reunited, you push me away?
A love suffocated from demands, work. 
I long for the love we had when I was young.

But no, I cannot take this any longer.
The past behind us, let us make a new future,
Where you and I are together each night,
Sharing in dreams, in hopes, in desires. 
I just may weep, for I have missed you dearly.

Please come back in my life, my precious sleep.  

Friday, March 6, 2015

Narrative Poems Revision 1

 —NBA Star

They said they was only gonna sign me for 20 million. 
That ain’t enough to feed my family.  I got four children. 
I gotta provide for them.  They deserve the best from their father. 
So if you want me, you gonna have to pay me more than that. 

I spend my weekends on my yacht—with a bunch of women.
For only one million, I couldn't pass it up.
I divide my time between my four houses.  Not evenly though—
I spend most of my time at my house on the east coast.


But my children, man, they mean everything to me. 
My family, they are my top priority. 
I don’t let my children on my yacht or go to the other houses—
I’m protecting them, having them stay on the west coast.    

I know that I’m not allowed to see them anymore. 
But I still send them money once a year—50 dollars each. 
I work to give them a good future.  I treasure them,
All three of them—um—I mean four.  




...



Professional Basketball Player 

Women are just an object. 
         I have been married five times.  But I was the one to file for divorce twice.   
         I have seven children.  But thankfully I don't have custody of them.  
         Monthly child support payments suck.  But I have enough money to cover it.

Money is everything. 
         I have a six car garage.  They are stocked with six cars, two motorcycles.
         I have two acres of land.  There is a regulation size basketball court in the back.
         I have money to buy whatever I want.  The newest iPhone, laptop, or TV—it's mine.  

Age is just a number. 
         They say I am too old for basketball.  I’m 37. 
         They say I can’t run as fast I used to.  I only had one knee surgery. 
         They say I can’t shoot layups as well anymore.  If everyone moved out of my way, I could. 

What am I worth?
         Only $150,000



...


Professional Boxer 

Upper cut, jab, hook, round kick—that was my move. 
Living in the rink, beating men to a pulp,
No police ever knocked on my door.    

The crazy thing?  I actually got paid
For something considered crime on the streets.
For a living, I knocked out men claimed stronger than me.    

With the money, I did what any other person would—
Spent it on new obsessions of cars and motorcycles. 
4.5 million was all that it cost,

Whatever I wanted, I bought for myself.   
And it brought me joy to brew jealousy in others,
Watching them drool at the life that I lived. 

But one night everything went down the drains.
I took my career to the streets and this time the police were there.
The drug bust didn’t help—got sent to prison for the next three years. 

Then my wife divorced me, married for six years. 
Said I changed since we first met in 2000—
Now a liar, a cheater, disgusting to be around. 

The IRS is constantly on my case,
Saying “Where is your payment?” and “Time is ticking.”
My money went fast—now 27 million in debt. 

I’ve got nothing left, but my houses and cars,
But soon the IRS will be after those too. 
I’ll cling to my possessions, that’s all I have left. 

Upper cut, jab, hook, round kick—that was my move. 
Ain’t nobody gonna fight me.  
I’ll give anybody a fight for my money.








Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Narrative Poems

 NBA Star

They said they was only gonna sign me for $20 million. 
That ain’t enough to feed my family.  I got four children. 
I gotta provide for them.  They deserve the best from their father. 
So if you want me, you gonna have to pay me more than that. 

I got my yacht to take care of—or rather pay someone else to. 
For only one million, I couldn’t pass it up. 
And with having four houses in four different states,
I’m constantly traveling from one to the other. 

But my children, man, they mean everything to me. 
My family, they are my top priority. 
I don’t let my children on my yacht or go to the other houses—
I’m protecting them, having them stay right where they are.    

I know that I’m not allowed to see them anymore. 
But I still send them money once a year—$50 dollars each. 
I work to give them a good future.  I treasure them,

All three of them, um, I mean four.  




...



NBA Star

Age is just a number. 
         They say I am too old for basketball.  I’m 37. 
         They say I can’t run as fast I used to.  I only had one knee surgery. 
         They say I can’t shoot layups as well anymore.  If everyone moved out of my way, I could. 

Women are just an object. 
         I have been married five times. 
         I have seven children.
         Monthly child support payments suck.

Money is everything. 
         My garage is stocked with eight cars.
         My house has a regulation size basketball court.
         I can always the afford the newest gadget.     

What am I worth?
         $150,000








Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Poem Set 1 Revision


Running Shoes

Tattered, rugged,
soles worn out.
Tossed in the corner
Soon, the trash.    

...


Behind a Glass Panel

One never feels
the glistening snowflakes on bare palms  
or the radiant heat of the sun
or the shrill gusts of wind
that numb from the inside out.  

Set 2 Revision

Winter

Bare trees clothed in snow—
Summer’s masquerade.

...


A Drop of Dew

On the deep green leaf
it sits,
waiting,
to be absorbed,
or left out to dry


...



As my eraser shrinks,
     my failure grows. 
          Writer’s block.    

Poem Set 3 Revision


Roses

layers upon layers rest
fanned out teardrops.
they tear so
easily.

...

Zebra

Intricate black streaks
painted on a white canvas--
Maybe the only place
with complete unity? 

...


Icicles

They hang,
Rooted in unity.
One by one,
They drop.
Freedom's short life.


Poem Set 4 Revision


Sun

The beauty that no one looks upon,
But always feels.
Faithful, each morning, 
The Son guides our daily path.  

...


Mountains

Oh, to have faith like a mustard seed,
I’ll see the mountains dance

...


Ant Hill

It’s as if heaven were stored up inside.
Many look at the narrow opening,
And crush it with their soles.

...


Offering Bowl

Wicker basket passed pew to pew.
Rubbing the twenty between his fingers,
he slips it back in his wallet.   

Tuesday, February 10, 2015

Poems Set 4 -- Spiritual


Sun

It’s the beauty that no one looks upon,
But one always feels its Presence.
Faithful to rise each morning dawn
The Son guides our daily path.  

...



Mountains

Oh, to have faith like a mustard seed,
I’ll see the mountains dance

...


Ant Hill

It’s as if heaven were stored up inside,
With all its rich rewards.
Many look at the narrow opening,
And crush it with their soles.

...


Offering Bowl

Wicker basket passed pew to pew.
Sweaty palm grasps the $20.
Maybe next week.