8.27.2010

A poem for the forgotten day

May we mourn
For the forgotten day
A day of useless
Horrid, bad poetry
Oh the sorrows
Oh the pains...
Of the Forgotten Day

Authors note: Yesterday
(August 26th) was indeed a national "bad poetry" day!

MIP~

8.24.2010

Luke 15: 11-32


he ran away, long ago
told his father
he wished he was dead
took his inheritance
everything he had
and journeyed far

he looked for pleasure
squandered recklessly
whirled from
party to party
was drunk on more than wine

but it couldn’t last forever

his money was gone.
a famine came.
suddenly, he didn’t know what to do.

he wallowed in mud and shame,
seeking to forget
to find solace in mindless drudgery

nothing satisfied,
not even the pods the pigs ate.

~~~~

he ran away, long ago
told his father
he wished he was dead
took his inheritance
everything he had
and journeyed far

now he asks himself
why?

wasn’t it better back there?

so now he rises from the mud
pushes through the grunting hogs
tells the farmer,
I’m going home.

He runs homeward,
unsure of what will be his welcome
but knowing anything
even being a servant
in his father’s house
is better than the pigsty.


~~~~

he ran away, long ago
but now he’s coming back
trudging up the dusty road
thoughts chasing themselves
around
and
around
as he tries to think of what to say

Father--
I am sorry?
no, that won’t work.
Father--
I’ve sinned against you?
better.
but still not quite right.
Father--

he realizes,
his sin was greater than he thought
not just against his father
but first
foremost

against heaven.

Father--
I have sinned against heaven
and before you
I am no longer worthy
to be called your son
Treat me as one of your...
hired servants.

satisfied, he rehearses it
perfects it
(or so he thinks)
and trudges onward

~~~~

he ran away, long ago
and now he's coming back
and as he nears home
his feet slow
he stops for a moment

afraid of what will happen

but
there is no time
for further fear

his father had been waiting
looking every day
watching for when
he would come home

and now he runs
to welcome back his son

says,
you, my son,
were lost and are found
you, my son,
were dead and are alive

and all the house rejoices.

8.20.2010

diet ice cream

falling slowly, into mire gloomy
the overseers sings songs of groovy
there is nothing more to lose
tossing heavy with humor, an ocean of gastric juice
what more hides behind the veil?
the grey fog gathers close to wail

hope dons a heavy iron crown,
while the people who pass wear the same frown
the mocking bird smiles slyly,
his garb, a choker of overgrown ivy
tomorrow will forget the wind
as society seems to be quiet blind
the rain is inclined to take a bold chance
so, let us all enjoy this hypnotic trance

tell me it is not a farewell you imply
even though elves have not an intimidating battle cry
forever's march is still yet never ending
however, it's all the rules we'll be bending
your lips are cracked and dry
bobby stole your rhubarb pie

bloodstained tears cover the skies
for, picking mushrooms blindly is unwise
every page falls to its death,
by the cringing hand of bad breath
hear the harsh tone of fire's crackling roar
the reality of everything dear is never spoken for
she weeps unheard in the cold moonlight
come, dance to polka's muse with me tonight

mcf.

8.19.2010

silver

She floats in nothing,
Hair swirling into her white dress
silver sparks surrounding her
She moves her hand
touches the milky folds--
they flee from her gentle fingers
then envelope her
swirls
loops
a scent beyond description
sharp?
sweet?
beautiful.
She looks through silver
sees gold
love, life, joy
(o sweet joy)
warmth, no cold
but cannot go there
Yet.

Don't put me back
she pleads
I cannot live in darkness more
Keep me in the silver light
The golden joy

but knows the beautiful promise stands.


-Del

There's Always Hope

Desolation
surrounds me
pounds into my eyes
upon my heart
this used to be beautiful
so beautiful
Where are the flowers?
dead.
Where is the sun?
dark.
Where are the people?
gone.
they used to be beautiful
so beautiful
this was my home--
no,
my home was here.
this could never be home--
no more
nothing.
yet
look there!
a child is standing amidst the rubble
tiny skirt lifting up
in the hot wind
and she holds
a heart in her hand
Life.
Hope.
this can be beautiful
so beautiful
again.

-Del

Listen

There's a glorious song
Weaving through all Nature
Listen close
You'll hear it.

The stars
scattered, sprinkled
across the deep rolling blue
of the night sky,
singing
voices clear and high
like silver light upon the ear
twinkling melodies
glimmering
glinting
Listen close
You'll hear it.

The trees
swaying gently, waving
branches, rustling leaves
of emerald green
singing
voices clear and strong
harmonies intertwining
like tendrils on a growing vine
glowing
gleaming
Listen close
You'll hear it.

The ocean
tossing waves, crashing
against the mossy cracked rock
of faded grey
singing
voices clear and rippling
like swirling frothing sea-foam
soothing lullabies
shimmering
streaking
Listen close
You'll hear it.

The sun
rising, setting
in golden sweeping swathes of fire
cast across billowing clouds
singing
voices clear and burning
dancing rhythms
like snapping, cracking sparks
flaming
flashing
Listen close
You'll hear it.

In the cry of the seagull
the gust of the wind
the wolf's mournful howl
the moon's pale rays
the snow-peaked mountains
There's a glorious song
Weaving through all Nature
Listen close
you'll hear it--

Then sing along.

-Del

oooohhh i have no idea what this is about

I come when winter's midnight dreams
When all the world have closed their eyes
When golden light begins to glow
I come to bind the silver skies
My face is hid by branches bare
My eyes are like the northern stars
My hair is wound through icy streams
My gaze is piercing, near and far
I seek the one who hears my song
The one who brings me to the sea
I seek the one who gives me rest
The one whose eyes will set me free.

-Del

8.09.2010

I hate my handwriting

I hate my writing
It looks so horrifying
Please don't look at it

~M-Dawg


Authors note: i really do hate my handwriting, it really is horrifying, and i really don't want anyone looking at it.

Apology note: Sorry for not writing in a long time... I had no inspiration around me.

8.07.2010

Trapped

It's dark here,
and I can't remember what sunlight looks like.
Is it yellow, green, or blue?
It can't be red, because I can't remember red.
What is white?
Maybe sunlight is white.
But it's dark here,
and I hate it.
Hate how the sound of water
is but a drip and trickle
maddeningly out of rhythm
Hate how the ground is cold
and wet, slimy,
slippery.
Hate how the only voice is mine
too loud, too soft
and strange to my ears.
Do I still speak?
Or is this just my mind?

Oh, take me home!

I remember home
Hugs, smiles, light
warmth.
friends (who were they?)
trees, grass, stars,
moonlight.
Mountains in the distance,
cool rivers laughing,
rushing by
clouds dancing in the sky,
thunder, lightning
thrills of speed.
But I can't remember sunlight.

I want to.

Oh, take me home!


-Del

Who Am I?

Who am I?
I am a girl,
One who likes to laugh
Who speaks in rhythm
Rhyme
But still can fly in dreams.
I am a child,
One who has not seen the world
Who looks for adventure
Excitement
But still knows the beauty of home.
I am an artist,
One who watched for years
Who has stepped forward
Drawn
But still watches, to learn.
I am an author,
One who tells a story
Who breathes out life
Action
But still loves to read.

Yet who am I?

It's strange.
simple.
For I am only me.

Yet who am I?

It's stranger.
simpler.
For I am only Him.

-Del

8.05.2010

po-tah-toes

starch perfume lazes
potatoes boil happily
the eggs are quite squished


-mcfogger

p.s. we're reverting back to orange
(oh, brings back memories!) momentarily while our maintenance crew works in figuring things out.heh heh.