what follows is a very random selection of some poetry I recently rediscovered on my computer...some written recently, some from years ago, some with more meaning than others.
I hesitate--
1. I don't want an appraisal of these poems. In a literary sense, they are lacking. I also don't want compliments. It's not about that right now. (I mean, every now and then, I need a cheerleader :]...but there is a time and place.) Writing is many things, but for me, it is more of an expression than a craft. I just do it.
2. I would love feedback with regards to personal response. Do you share experiences, emotions, etc?
3. this probably isn't the only poetry post I will make.
4. I am very angry that blogger won't let me format these in the way I want to. some things need to be indented, rearranged, etc. bah.
Lost and Found
I found my Bible in my laundry basket today
Along with other forgotten things:
A key, some money, a lost t-shirt.
I think I secretly pride my self in being spiritual
without needing what I might call
"the usual bonds of religion."
So, the Truth has been under jeans and underwear
For a week or two.
And my spirit has been empty
For just as long.
Lyrics
The unfamiliarity
And insincerity
Of hospital rooms.
The impersonality
And cruelty
Of needles, tubes, and trays,
drugs, bedsheets and magazines.
This is my summer vacation.
And also,
The Who playing as the soundtrack,
Who are you? Who, who?
Not to mention my father’s voice resounding from
A foreign body—in Spanish, the tongue
That rarely left his tongue.
Ay Dios, mio. Ay Dios, mio.
Oh, my God, oh my God.
Who are you? Who, who?
Oh my God, oh my God.
Who are you? Who, who?
These lyrics of my summer
formed not only my question,
But my song.
Untitled
For a while I was
Despairing—
Losing hope in
Beauty.
But then
The clouds gilded pink
Just melted into the sky
Like cotton candy
Pulled
By sticky spitfingers.
Funeral
I touched her hand and she took it, her
fingers colliding with mine with more power
than I had ever seen her muster. I looked down
and our arms were different colors, sizes, and shapes,
but our hands were the same hands.
She leaned in and her whole body throbbed
against me, as if tuned in
to the pulse beating between our fingers.
I finally had to lean down to see that
she was sobbing
big and guttural and strangely
silent tears.
Right there, it was not
the arrangement of our births that joined us.
Right there,
we were sisters.
Baylor Psalm
Praise the LORD.
Praise the LORD from the Brazos to HEB
Praise Him from the 5th floor of Cashion to the bottom of Waco Creek
Praise Him, all His Bears,
Praise Him, all his students and faculty
Praise Him, Bachelors of Arts, Sciences, Fine Arts, and so on.
Praise Him, all you who seek knowledge.
Praise Him in the works of your hands
Praise Him in your papers, your tests, your projects
Praise Him in the comings and goings of your being
Praise Him from the BSB to Common Grounds.
Praise Him in your laughter, in your friendships
Praise Him in the beauty of sunlight
Praise Him in the glory of His creation
Praise Him for the trees surrounding Old Main, silhouetted across the Texas sky.
Praise the LORD.
I hesitate--
1. I don't want an appraisal of these poems. In a literary sense, they are lacking. I also don't want compliments. It's not about that right now. (I mean, every now and then, I need a cheerleader :]...but there is a time and place.) Writing is many things, but for me, it is more of an expression than a craft. I just do it.
2. I would love feedback with regards to personal response. Do you share experiences, emotions, etc?
3. this probably isn't the only poetry post I will make.
4. I am very angry that blogger won't let me format these in the way I want to. some things need to be indented, rearranged, etc. bah.
Lost and Found
I found my Bible in my laundry basket today
Along with other forgotten things:
A key, some money, a lost t-shirt.
I think I secretly pride my self in being spiritual
without needing what I might call
"the usual bonds of religion."
So, the Truth has been under jeans and underwear
For a week or two.
And my spirit has been empty
For just as long.
Lyrics
The unfamiliarity
And insincerity
Of hospital rooms.
The impersonality
And cruelty
Of needles, tubes, and trays,
drugs, bedsheets and magazines.
This is my summer vacation.
And also,
The Who playing as the soundtrack,
Who are you? Who, who?
Not to mention my father’s voice resounding from
A foreign body—in Spanish, the tongue
That rarely left his tongue.
Ay Dios, mio. Ay Dios, mio.
Oh, my God, oh my God.
Who are you? Who, who?
Oh my God, oh my God.
Who are you? Who, who?
These lyrics of my summer
formed not only my question,
But my song.
Untitled
For a while I was
Despairing—
Losing hope in
Beauty.
But then
The clouds gilded pink
Just melted into the sky
Like cotton candy
Pulled
By sticky spitfingers.
Funeral
I touched her hand and she took it, her
fingers colliding with mine with more power
than I had ever seen her muster. I looked down
and our arms were different colors, sizes, and shapes,
but our hands were the same hands.
She leaned in and her whole body throbbed
against me, as if tuned in
to the pulse beating between our fingers.
I finally had to lean down to see that
she was sobbing
big and guttural and strangely
silent tears.
Right there, it was not
the arrangement of our births that joined us.
Right there,
we were sisters.
Baylor Psalm
Praise the LORD.
Praise the LORD from the Brazos to HEB
Praise Him from the 5th floor of Cashion to the bottom of Waco Creek
Praise Him, all His Bears,
Praise Him, all his students and faculty
Praise Him, Bachelors of Arts, Sciences, Fine Arts, and so on.
Praise Him, all you who seek knowledge.
Praise Him in the works of your hands
Praise Him in your papers, your tests, your projects
Praise Him in the comings and goings of your being
Praise Him from the BSB to Common Grounds.
Praise Him in your laughter, in your friendships
Praise Him in the beauty of sunlight
Praise Him in the glory of His creation
Praise Him for the trees surrounding Old Main, silhouetted across the Texas sky.
Praise the LORD.
