Pardon me for this flight of fancy. I don’t write much poetry, and I don’t publish a ton of it on the blog in the form of regular posts. But I do write poetry–at least I try. I suppose this page is for the extra-curious who don’t mind reading utter malarkey. If you have stumbled upon this page, do be kind–and feel free to critique if something seems confusing. I will warn you, though–my poetry tends to be a bit moody, and often portrays emotions that I may or may not actually posses. Part of the fun of poetry, you see, is to write from inside someone else’s head, and not always necessarily your own. 
 
The dashes (——-) between the stanzas are a formatting thing. The WordPress formatting software, for whatever reason, does not believe me when I say I want spaces between my stanzas, and eliminates all stanza breaks the moment I publish the page. Quite frustrating. So instead, I have substituted dashes for stanza breaks. Forgive me and blame WordPress.
 
 
 

The Earth Groans

There’s a fire at the door

Burning brighter than before

That crackles ‘round the house

‘Till the house can stand no more

——-

Ever higher runs the river

While the timbers quake and shiver

In the hull of our great vessel

And the ropes and bowsprit quiver

——-

Who will stand here in the gap

Where so few have stood before?

Who will bridge the gaping chasm

Between Earth and heaven’s Door?

Who will cry out in the darkness

As the world succumbs to death?

Who will stand at last for all things good,

If it steals his final breath?

——–

The whirlwind shreds the ceiling

Thunder with the clouds congealing

Booming by our lonely tower

The wind wildly appealing

——-

Earthquakes rattle rock from stone

And we’re standing here alone

While the fire, wind, and water

Tears the flesh away from bone

——-

Who will stand here in the gap

Where so few have stood before?

Who will bridge the gaping chasm

Between Earth and heaven’s Door?

Who will cry out in the darkness

As the world succumbs to death?

Who will stand at last for all things good,

If it steals his final breath?

______________________________

Lost Arts

Won’t you write me a letter?

I know the world is topsy-turny

And it’s really sort of nervy

For me to make this proposition

And put you in a strange position.

I mean, why should you write a letter?

Calling is much faster—better.

But if your words were down on paper

Perhaps I could save them for later

Instead of swallowing them whole

Like minty candy from a bowl.

If your words are more than candy,

Well, then, wouldn’t it be dandy

If I could take your words and hold them—

Not as if you’d bought or sold them,

But to take your words for what they are:

A gift of greater worth by far

Than all the diamonds and the gold

This tired old Earth could ever hold.

Every single word I’d savor…

I’m sorry. That’s too odd a favor.

Your life is so unruly.

But would you answer, truly,

If it’s too hard a thing to ask

For me to set you to the task

Of writing down your words to me?

Because it just occurs to me

That friendship’s words are so much better

When they’re sealed inside a letter.

______________

Deep

I will run

As a river

Runs

——-

Solemn, still,

Stormy, steady

Strong

——-

I will wear

Away mountains

Tall

——-

And nothing

Holds me back but

Me

——-

I will find

Rain in the dry

Rock

——-

Growing deep,

Daring; daring,

Deep

——-

Pouring all

I am into

Life

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