Beyond
spider’s silk,
diamonds,
and graphene,
it is the composition
of souls
that is the strongest,
most impenetrable
material,
unrivaled in its
integrity,
indomitable
in its endurance.
Category: poetry
Ricochet
I ricochet
between
the feelings of
depravity
— the shame
of seeing God
yet still
choosing myself —
and the majesty
of there ever
being a moment
during which
self-interest
was conquered
at all.
How we
are irredeemable
and redeemed,
all at once.
On Spirit
I find it difficult
to write
poems of
spirit and faith —
a challenge
that surprises me,
for there are, truly,
few moments
more poetic
than casting my heart
onto the ground,
crying out to my Creator,
in desperate hope and distress,
for relief from the boulders
that burden me to the earth.
What do you carry in your heart but struggle to write about?
Firestone Friday: Poem XIII
I can tell
by my heartbeat
that there’s
something in you
that makes my body
to slam
against its very walls.
Wordsmith Wednesday: Poem XIII
Thrown by your howling wind
and soaked in your tempest rain,
I reach for you,
wondering how you put
this thunder
in my ears.
Touchstone Tuesday: Poem VIII
A poem is not a poem
if it doesn’t rhyme.
And a song isn’t music
if it’s out of time.
Language isn’t proper
if the grammar falls,
and a piece isn’t literature
until a publisher calls.
But, the listener laughs,
for he knows
that art is actually
full of shadows —
without rhythm
and without form,
art isn’t order
but, instead, a wild storm.
To burden word
with prescriptive rules
and to press down expression
as if a footstool
is to empty art
of its power,
to pluck to death
a vibrant flower.
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Painful Paradox
We’re creatures
so paradoxically made
that we need
pain
dishealth
and heartbreak
to compel us
into self-discipline,
consequences so
grave and horrifying
that we
almost reach out
to good behavior.
Imagine a beast
so depraved
that it cannot
even act
in its own
favor.
What’s Art Good For?
“What will you do
with your degree?”
“Create art.”
“And what’s art good for?”
Preventing your lunch break
from remaining the most interesting
thought to captivate you today.
Firestone Friday: Poem XII
I think we’re drawn
into cold, unilluminated humans
because we believe there is
— there has to be —
something greater
unseen beyond
that shadowy veil,
something
inestimable,
protected,
inaccessible.
So, our imaginations
run unchained:
the more unyielding
the object of desire,
the more alluring,
the more opulent,
we fashion the world
that must flourish within them.
And we scale the walls,
taking daily pains
to climb a little farther,
until we crest the edge,
only to find a flickering street lamp
suspended above a littered lot,
with Sadism leaned up against a rusted barrel,
taking a long drag of her cigarette
and picking at old scabs.
Talismans
Words are talismans
from the places
we’ve traveled
and the people
we’ve been,
and the word
I carry in my chest,
favored above all,
is your
name.
Faith, Health, and Other Musings 