Archive for the 'Poems' Category

Wedding Poem

February 5, 2014

I must confess to you, my wife, my jewel, my star,
the lack of gifts that I’ve prepared for you
except the memories I’ve formed thus far.
A solemn oath to share our future too.

“What gifts are these?” the bride may ask the groom.
“What uses will they have for you and I?
What purpose served, in this our nuptial room,
are memories and oaths to til we die?”

Our memories can tell us who we are.
What is a man without them? He is lost!
Our oaths are what we hold near to our hearts.
My oath to you I’ll keep at any cost.

So will these two suffice for you, my wife?
For with these two I’m giving you my life.


All things that rise must converge or fall

December 15, 2012

All things that rise must converge or fall.

Every good deed must turn divine or forgotten.

A hardened heart is no heart at all.

Every egg must hatch or else become rotten.


A seed must be buried to truly live.

Selves need point outwards or become it.

One will only have the things one gives.

For all things must under one name be collected.

(Apologies to Ms. O’Connor)

Regina v. Dudley and Stephens

April 8, 2011

Upon a vast and lonely sea
the trade winds did not blow
and left the sails hang lifelessly
on a deathly quiet boat.

No cloud was traveling ‘cross the skies;
no storm was raging there.
Yet all four souls and minds were tried;
eternal struggles flared.

The two of them, there on the bow,
conspired in measured tones,
while one opposed them on the grounds
that they were not alone.

The weakest, on the stern did lie.
He faintly smiled and sighed.
“By wicked hands I’m sure to die;
yet I will save their lives.”


The Tale of the Toads – The Search

April 4, 2011

The Search

The toads have spread into a tribe;
their chief – they called him Sixth.
He was a goodly toad who tried
to have their problems fixed.

The biggest snare they now did face
was that of harmony.
They could not sing with much of grace,
the beauteous melodies.

Instead, they sung in croaks and gasps
cacoph’nous clashing dins.
For blown away were songs of past,
by cold, forgetful winds.

The Sixth did send his toads to search,
to hear the songs again.
The bravest of their toads sprang forth
with all their given strength.

And all the while the rest took care
of old, of tads and poles.
They fixed their anxious, starry stares,
beyond the murky pool.

The Tale of the Toads – The Beginning

March 31, 2011

The Beginning

When earth was formed and saith He,
“Let toads be thus and thus,”
a ball of dust with water weaved,
collected into mud.

The slimy marble, glistening green
now faintly carved with life,
Unfurled its arms, its legs, its dreams
and deeply breathed a sigh.

The toad shook off eternal sleep,
and bowed his ugly head.
“You shall be called the First of Chiefs”
was what his Maker said.

The First then filled his sac with air,
and bellowed out a song,
a blissful tune, without a care,
he sung it all day long.

Then joined along did other toads
who came forth after him.
In harmony, they sung and chose
the joy of life in them.

The Tale of the Toads – Prologue

March 30, 2011


My children come and gather close,
and listen carefully
these words of wisdom of the Toads,
our fathers taught to me.

This story that I’ve memorized
and written on my skin
will serve you as a surely guide
in times of wanderings.

Let moonlight shine, illuminate
this dark and murky pool.
Let the gentle breeze, gentle waves
refresh and keep you cool

to fight the sleep that falls upon
your round, and plumply eyes.
This story’s why we sing our songs
with love, with all our lives.

Broken People

February 14, 2011

God loves broken people. We are broken; we are loved.

I. The Dagger

The sound of silence stills the storm,
and shocks your consciousness
with candid clamor of the calm
that beckons you to rest.

Despite this present, piercing peace
you feel the wound within –
a dagger wedged, and stuck so deep
inside your bones and skin.

The wound that bleeds and leaves a trail
of drops of greenish red,
won’t kill you though your heart is frail,
won’t kill you ’til you’re dead.

But pull the dagger from its place
to purge the pain entombed,
then surely you will die disgraced
by self-inflicted wounds.

When shadows follow silently
and whisper all your names,
oh who will set this dagger free,
and pull you from this pain?

II. The Cry

From far away, a voice calls out;
it calls you by your name.
At first, you stand to look around
for shadows that remain.

This name you hear, you’ve never heard –
your mind begins to doubt.
“Could this be me? This precious word?
Could such a soul be found?”

Oh can’t you hear this cry of pain
that clears away the blur?
That wipes away the tears and shame
with hope that’s not deferred?

III. The Heart

With gentle hands, the Surgeon took
a look inside your heart.
“I cannot pull the dagger – look,
you’ll just be pulled apart.”

“The only thing that I can give
may hurt you even more.
You’ll die before you truly live,
than you’ve ever lived before.”

“For sin is such that only thing
that cures a sinful heart
is nothing less than a whole new being
that’s holy, set apart.”

In fear, you tightly shut your eyes,
and gasped as darkness came;
in lifeless silence, vaguely tried
to recollect your name.

You dreamt the echoes of the cry,
the promise of the voice:
“You are my heir, for I have died
to take you by my choice.”

If you are given this new start,
a wholly different heart,
why would you stab yourself and scar
what is not yours to mar?

Flying High

February 1, 2011

A friend of mine asked me to write a poem about a falcon that flies high in the sky.  I think I know what he wants me to write about.  It is that when we are doing what we are meant to do, we feel God’s pleasure, like in Chariots of Fire.  I’m having difficulty writing it because this was an emotion, state of being that I haven’t felt for a long time.  The last time I can remember feeling this was when I was eating McDonald’s in my car with one of my youth kid past midnight, reminding him of the Gospel.  Good times.  I will try to write this poem anyway.

These wings can ward me from the winds,
Providing comfort, warmth in storms
But they were meant for so much more,
for they can help me fly and soar.

These wings repel the fiercest flings,
Protecting my entire being,
But with them, I’ll do so much more,
for they will help me fly and soar.

These wings outstretched do praises bring
for strength they show, and tempt a sin
to think, that there is naught within,
when I was made to fly and soar.

Perhaps I’ll fly to distant shores,
explore the lands not seen before.
Fly oh so high, for something more,
up on the sky, I’ll fly and soar.

For Your Praise

January 23, 2011

Too well acquainted to the shades
And shadowy regions of my soul
Am I, to even dare to take
A step towards the One who knows

The deeper, darker secrets hid
That I not dare to search within,
For twisted shapes that men forbid
That morals, laws both label sin.

But for this wicked heart to win,
You sent your Son, his blood to shed,
For all my hidden sins you pinned
On Him who became my righteousness.

Then seeping in your precious flow
In gushing pour of boundless grace.
Untwisted every knot, made whole
And new, a creature for your praise.

No longer will I hide in self
But hide in Christ, and no one else

running out

December 6, 2010

running out of places to run to
running out of places to hide
i’m running out of excuses,
running out of air and time

the only way out, is to run out of me.
the only way to live is to love.

you knew that i was coming
knew that i would run out,
you saw behind all my cunning,
embraced and wrestled me down

the only way in, was when you ran to me
the only way to live is by your love.

i’m running out of choices,
i can only hold you so.
tell me who i am; my weakness
is why you will never let me go

the only way, is to hold on to you,
the only way is to be held by Love.


okay seriously back to studying