This first poem is about a man I know (no longer a friend) who is a convicted child molester. His name? Michael Dunn, who is posted on the Internet among other child molesters in Maryland. He turned himself in and spent four years in prison. I knew him since he was a small child. He was repentant, or so he said. I am not so sure. This is a poem I wrote when I was pondering his strong feelings of guilt and God. It is a difficult situation to be faced with, isn't it?
Molestation:
The awkward moment: the cunning deception.
To yield to my lust without one exception.
To grasp and to feel without knowledge of guilt.
To touch the extremes from the point to the hilt.
To feel the softness of this part and that,
(To gently caress is like petting a cat.)
Satan's inside me. I know all along.
The good part inside me does know that it's wrong.
But still my soul tinkers with nature awry.
Lascivious thoughts, ogling eye.
There stands my victim with tender, young age.
God's angels in heaven are filled with his rage.
The energy builds, my mind gains ascension
The damning climax, the release of my tension.
Can such a soul again fly so high
To glitter, like gold, in God's sacred eye?
Will blood so exotic and divinely scarlet
That's saved wretched felons and many a harlot
Cover my crimes without an exception.
Can this man receive God's sweet redemption?
Will Jesus save me? Do I want to be saved?
With sackcloth and ashes, with dusted head shaved?
With mind so confused and with soul so depraved?
With hands filled with guilt, ones so misbehaved?
Yet in the secret hole in my mind
That craves for the sweetness of bad things, unkind,
I know I'll repent, sweet prayers, heaven send.
I'll swear off my evil, my honor defend.
Before I turn fully to exit the door.
I'll trip on myself and will sin yet once more.
Were I a killer, a pimp, a drug user,
Were I a wife-beat with forethought to bruise her.
There would be hope, if I venture to tell,
That I'd be spared from the fires of hell.
And so I wait for my savior to reach me.
I wait for his strong hand and grand voice to teach me.
So I will face him with shame and regret.
Yay, Jesus' blood, can cover my debt.
One day I will know this, not now, not just yet.
Lullaby
"Some will grow up strong and tall.
Some will grow to be just small.
You will be a watered tree.
Doing what God chose for thee.
Mamma's here to guide you now.
She will teach and show you how.
You'll be tender as a flower
Filled with love and spiritual power.
All you need is love from me
And your dad. Just wait and see."
My son, Thomas, has epilepsy. My heart goes out to him. I pray to God to heal.
Heal My Son
I can not budge so to handle this matter.
Like roast pigs bound, my head's on the platter.
Pain claws my heart as my hand would the sand.
I can do nothing to take the command.
Helpless, useless, I pray to my God.
"Please, by your scepter, by your ancient rod
"Help in my desperate, heartrending need.
"Let me depend on the strength of your Seed.
"Let my prayer saunter to your waiting ear.
"Let it caress you - like music you hear.
"Maybe my words will be right, pure, refined
"Perhaps my sweet missives will all be aligned.
"Maybe my timing is perfectly spread
"Perhaps with honey and oil it be wed."
Though I speak praises and phrases of awe
Though I obey every tittle of law.
Yet will you answer my heartbroken plea?
God, oh my God, will you listen to me?
When I was a little child
I did some youthful things awild
On slippery ice, I fell toward sin
I practiced evil on a whim.
I may have had a lust or two
I made carnality my brew.
I ambled, gambled, risked and lost
I know I never counted cost.
So dirtied was I, so soiled was I
So tarnished, varnished, ungarnished was I
Perfectly steeped in childishness - error
The incarnation of blight, curse, terror.
And yet I plea, undo what is done.
God, oh my savior, please heal my son.
If not for my sake, then for sake of the One.
For sake of Lord Jesus and souls he has won.
If not for that? Then for butterfly cries.
That babbling waterfalls heave in their sighs.
And sun spots are black as this light-bringer rises.
Each shedding its tears - in various sizes.
And nature, herself, is kneeling and weeping
Soft vigil watching, prayers for him heaping.
So I create now this invention
That you provide your intervention.
Heal, my God. I'll not have rest
Until all your love, sweet, you manifest.
Heal, my God. I'll not have rest
Until all your love sweet, you manifest.
I study quantum physics. This is a poem about the queerness of photons. They don't age. They stand still in time.
The Photon:
Photon, oh photon! Why fast do you run?
The place that you end up is where you begun.
Photon! You give all your time-space away!
Now you have nothing to move in, I say.
Photon! Why quick do you speed through the night?
Where will you find substance to shine forth your light?
Forever you travel without any wage.
Forever existing yet never you age.
Still as a moment! With ultimate speed!
Tell me, oh prophet, your wit and your creed.
Are you a particle? Are you a wave?
Do you still vex Einstein in his earthen grave?
This is a funny story for children.
Sneider the Spider
A frisky little bug named Snider
Was a happy-go-lucky spider.
Perched atop a pile of leaves
Enjoying the mid-autumn breeze.
Snider started in the mood
To spin a web to catch some food
But as the spider sewed to angle
Flies and fleas in sticky tangle
What should chance upon his sight
A little puppy dog, in fright.
“Oh, poor puppy,” Snider thinked
A tear dropped from his eye. He blinked.
“Tell me pup, where is your owner?
A puppy mustn’t be a loner.”
Puppy yapped and said, “Don’t know!
My master, little Billy Joe,
Was giving me my morning walk.
We went just about a block
Then I saw a girlie frog
(She wore a flower ‘top her nog)
I pounced quick upon the critter!
Almost caught her, nearly bit her!
She hopped fast, I sprinted toward her
(She croaked, ‘stop’ but I ignored her)
Then she leaped and got away.
I lost myself near you that way.”
“So you did,” the spider jested.
“I can help you,” he suggested.
So to find the master Billy.,
He leapt on doggie willy-nilly.
“Onward” ordered furry spider
“Onward” yelled the tiny rider.
From street to street the two friends trotted
Round the hills that houses dotted
Past each house they ‘xamined slowly
‘Long the humble valley lowly.
‘till they spied the tiny dwelling
Doggy recognized by smelling
“It’s my home!” He leapt with jolly
“Great!” said Snider “Gee, by golly!”
And there was Billy, in despair
‘till he saw his puppy there.
Snider watched the gay uniting
Dog and boy! T’was so exciting!
But now was time for Snider’s dinner
So he started up his spinner.
Drew a strand of webbing sticky
From his belly (yes, that’s icky)
Started weaving sheets of webbing
Daylight slowly downward ebbing
“Spider friend!” a voice arising
Pup called out, “I have surprising
News for you!” He said all yappy,
“Look a dog house! We’ll both be happy!”
So Dog lived in his house with ease
While Snider got fat on puppy’s fleas.
Happy life and long he lives
He that learns to love and gives.
If I Were the Dew
“Bless my cheek,” the rose bud said to heaven’s morning dew.
That it may remain soft and sweet, my lover e’er true.
Said the dew to rosebud red,
“Sure thing buddy. That’ll be $25 cash.”
Nosense
Hoping he would have the fickly
Fate that yonder cactus prickly
Wouldn’t roll to-ward his shelter
As the truck drove helter-skelter
Through the township avenues
Past awesome churches filled with pews
With people sitting quite sincerely
Lis’ning to the sermon drearily
While springtime pollen though the windows
Made the ‘llergic clergics blow nose
And the sleepy children yawn there
Sitting next to Mommy, on their
Best of Sunday good behavior
As they worshipped blessed savior.
Written just after the massive college killings by a deranged student at the technical institute.
To the Rare and Radiant Children.
We can do nothing to persuade the sun
To reverse his course in this wintry sky.
We can't make downward the direction of up
We can't make what’s Gospel a meaningless lie.
We can't change the course of a fierce, mighty wind.
Atone a mean man who has stumbled and sinned.
We can't make a frown, the Cheshire Cat’s grin.
No. All we can do is to heave a grand sigh.
We can see the side of the coin that was tossed.
We can take grasp of the line we have crossed.
We can surely mourn for the loves we have lost
And give to our loved ones a solemn good-bye.
And let their sweet echo still our sad cry.
We can let their sweet echo heal our sad cry.
Various scientists have had various opinions of the Universe. Each line shows a different view. You must be familiar with science to understand.
The Meaning of the Universe:
Socretes
“I think, therefore I am” he knows.
Syllogist:
”It’s what my imagination grows.”
Theologian:
“Its a stool for godly toes.”
Newton:
”It’s exactly what my data shows.”
Einstein
“It’s how my new equation goes.”
String theorist:
”It’s sort of like a garden hose.”
Student of science:
”Whichever way the wind now blows.”
The Truth:
”It’s all of these and none of those.”
Freshly Written With My young Daugher in mind who was going through trials.
No one knows
The cold wind blows
It knifes through my jacket
It’s hard to hack it.
No one knows the cold rain as it falls
Its teeth as it mauls, tears through steel walls
None knows like me, the scorching hot sun
The horror it’s done. It’s rays makes me run.
No one can tell the flames, hot from hell
On which I, tired, fell - and currently dwell.
Yet I open my eyes and see what it spies.
My fellows my brothers and all sorts of others
They share the discomfort and strengthen my will.
Stand right beside me and comfort me still
It’s then that I see that they are in the rain
They share all my pain. Sun’s wrath? It’s the same.
Hell is as hot. It’s everyone’s lot
We all must go through it. And that’s how we do it.
And strength, not from pleasure,
But from trials we measure.
And we all are emboldened
By friends all engoldened.
And peace finds its way. God’s Spirit prevails
And I enjoy life in all it entails.
And I see the purpose! Like Jesus! We suffer!
But God will not hurt us. He gives us a buffer.
He won’t let us suffer above what we’re able
He gives us family when times are a-tougher
Gives us his Kingdom with happiness of her.
And we, all together, will find we are stable.
But we must remember, divided we fail.
With pain, with faults, we must all prevail.
For we have in us Jesus in spirit.
That is the power for all we who hear it.
I question my faith here.
Enigma
How can I know the state of my faith.
Is it a daydream I hold as the truth?
No God will show me the factors configured.
The level of strength that, by God, is delivered.
The measure of strength that God will afford
Of how much I grow toward the love of our Lord.
How can I test God’s Spirit within me?
I’m not a detective with cunning and sleuth.
Nor am I born with the wholeness of Ruth.
The answer, enigmaed, is no one’s to know
Our thoughts are destined to run to and fro
Trying to search for the meaning of truth!
Until we age grey from our birth through our youth!
The definition of being a poet:
We Are Poets
We see and hear in this world what others can’t see and hear.
Birds are tweeting notes swirling in the air.
Dogs are sounding base drums or yap like babbling brooks.
Blades of grass are the heart of greenness and the beautiful soul of life.
We see with our heart what our eyes can not see.
There is love in trees, laughter in swift brooks
There is crying in eroded beaches
But chuckling clowns in a happy snow.
We are made of the Universe and all that is in it.
We miss nothing that is real and find reality where others can not.
We are complete in our knowledge of what is around us.
We can tell it all.
But only other poets can truly hear what we have to say.
But they don’t need us to tell what they already know.
