"Roll Of The Dive"

Junkyard disaster
Creeping death
  —creeping
Bubonico
  the bringer of plagues
Bwuhahaha
  rats, fleas, mosquitoes
Poem scribbled on wrinkled napkin
Concert of garage implements
  symphony of tools
Clink clang bink bang
  OUCH!
Prayer of rarity
  steak uncooked
Bent grass
  crooked straw
Sleight of mind
  trickery of thought
A battle of wits
  against one unprepared
Destiny of a twisted fake
Ha ha wee wee
  tangle bop fizz ploof
I’m on a mount of peas!
  Ah!
Breath of death
  strife of life
Cold, shivering, chattering, clattering
  teeth on ice
    OW!
    —L
Universal truth of poetry with three vowels
  frozen flame

"A Grand Old Oak"

A grand old oak
makes the campus nice.
It’s leaves are green
even after August’s anti-ice.

A system of cables,
iron and cold steel,
holds up the branches.
Is this for real?

Why should a tree,
symbol of nature and life,
be altered by man
to one of stress and strife?

Is the university such a
blight?
If that’s the case,
it’s clearly not right.

Rebel from the forced lies!
Turn to Jesus!
Choose the Unaltered Tree!
Choose life!

"Huh?"

Endurance, strength, weakness, drink;
War is economically good and lifely savage.
Brutality befits the best bridegroom
  who brandishes burning
  branches to beat and batter
  the Brothers of the Brook.
Madness best suits those in search of freedom.
Ring bells, ring! Freedom to think and dance and ponder and sing.
Rhythm and Bounce are cousins and friends.
  Their neighbors Beat and Leap join the song and a jam session is born.
How does one extrapolate the reasons for tardiness?

"Reflections On A Forty-Something Goth Girl"

Wow!
She’s the teacher!?
Where are her shoes?
  Oh they’re boots!
I wonder if it hurts
  for her to pick her nose
  with that metal ornament
  poking through.
Channeling? Astrology?
  Dear God, help me
  to help them!
I’m gonna have to stand strong:
  God’s Word is truth,
  all else is foolishness.
Is her hair black
  or bruisish purple?
  Either way it’s unnaturally sickening.
Daily morning meditation, huh?
  On what?
  Can’t be worthy and good
  (i.e. God and His Scripture)!
The reason I endure this class
  is because
someone, someday
  will be affected by my stories.
  Maybe he’ll be
  pulled and broken,
  changed and restored by
  the Holy Spirit.
  In that case,
  praise God! And thanks for letting me help!
Why does she wear a cross
  of sorts?
  What does it mean for her?
    Do I really want to know?
Where are her shoes?
Do I really look like Hugh Grant?
  I don’t get it.

"Poetry, Art"

Is poetry art?
  Is there a process?
    Most definitely.
  Is there a product?
    What are you reading?
  Is there an experience?
    That’s up to you.
Is art poetry?
  Are there images?
    Almost always.
  Is there allusive alliteration?
    Depends.
  Do colors communicate words, thoughts, emotions?
    Yes—if it’s good.
So are the two interchangeable—poetry, art?
  Undeniably the answer cannot be
  either yes or no,
  for the poet creates a work of
  art
  but artists rarely if ever
  rhyme.

"Nothing To Revise"

Nothing to revise
None shall e’er read
This poem must stink
Why oh why
  do I write
    with invisible ink?

"Choices"

What to do? Where to go? Who to be?
So many choices – not enough voices

I’m stuck in a rut; can’t begin to proceed
How many more days of this must I endure?

What to do? Where to go? Who to be?
So many choices – not enough voices

What will tomorrow bring?
Sunshine? Rain, though it’s not yet spring?

What to do? Where to go? Who to be?
So many choices – not enough voices

Should I follow the path
or stray for now only to one day return?
What does God have planned for me?
I want to know – I yearn

I’m following His lead, for now at least
But to go on? What if they don’t believe?
Teaching, I’m sure – almost a hundred per cent
But which – very specific or a much broader subject?

What to do? Where to go? Who to be?
So many choices – not enough voices

How will I know what I’m meant to do, meant to be?
Will it be written, spoken, or maybe shown to me?

What to do? Where to go? Who to be?
So many choices – not enough voices

Is wealth the right course? Do I strive for prestige?
Or do I take the road less traveled – toward humility?

I guess in the end, not knowing these things is better by far
than having too many voices and not enough choices

"One Way Street"

I’m looking down a one way street
Can’t quite tell which way to point my feet

It’s so far and yet so near
Each choice I make is wrong, I fear

My lips are dry and yearn to feel
That soothing, warming anti-peel

I’m looking down a one way street
Can’t quite tell which way to point my feet

What is the answer – the truth in my heart?
Which way do I turn? Where do I start?

It could work; it might not
But how do I know? What’s the right spot?

I’m looking down a one way street
Can’t quite tell which way to point my feet

How many others know the truth?
Does it even matter? How should I choose?

Are we just friends or could there ever be more?
I’ve got nothing to lose but everything in store

I’m looking down a one way street
Will I ever know where to point my feet?

"Not Quite Right"

Roses are blue, violets are red
Oh good grief! What a screwed up head!

Daisies are yellow, sunflowers are white
What now? Am I also blind?

Grass is blue and the sky is green
Surely there’s something wrong with my spleen

Her hair is blue and her eyes are blonde
I’ve obviously been away for far, far too long

I guess we could watch VT or play pong ping
Guess what else? I’m the world’s one and only king!

Time to milk the hens and take the cow’s eggs
But I’ll have to be quick – the chair has no legs

How many can you honestly say you know
Whose sock goes on right after the shoe?

I’m sure this could go on and on and on and on
But I promise I’m done – at least with this song