My Father

I remember hardly anything, except his love.

It’s ability to rupture my sadness. Bind my anger.

The way his lips kissed my peach fuzz cheeks,

Drowning the uncertainties of a 9 year old boy.

His laughter, a Godly thunder from below,

Reached into my soul, filling its empty spaces

My innocence defined by the contours of his hand.

And how I long to be molded once again.

If I only could feel his lips upon my cheek,

To soften coarse skin. To shape unfamiliar places.

No, they were stolen, never to be returned.

so I sit and think of how life would be

And then I realize all I know would be lost

A different life I would lead and it's then in that moment

I realize God's hands have always been around me.

My Life

My life is up in the air

Floating from cloud to cloud

I sway like the trees, in mid October

I scurry along without a care.

Floating from cloud to cloud

Taking some from here, some from there

I scurry along without a care

Such an important time.

Taking some from here, some from there

At times, seeming to just barely make it by

Such an important time

How will I ever become successful?

At times, seeming to just barely make it by

Life can do that, sweep you from under your feet

Will I ever become successful?

Surely the Lord has more for me.

Life can sweep you from under your feet

My life seems to be sweeping daily

Surely the Lord has more for me.

I guess I’ll have to wait and see.

Ars Poetica

A poem to me can be lifeless and bleak.

It fancy’s up the page, beautiful, yet sleek.

It’s beauty my shine

Or shiver up like a vine

It may touch your heart, or make you fall asleep

But it won’t ever heal the wounds that you hold so deep.

Not unless you let them all go

Dancing on the page, to and fro.

A poem does not have to rhyme

It can be like rain on a sunny day.

It’s your heart that is poetry.

It opens your eyes and teaches you how to see

So many things a poem is or is not

In deep thought, poetry is simply not

Not a way to win a girls heart

Not a way to be very smart

A poem is simply your life in verse

The Search - My First Poem

This is one of my first poems I have written. I wrote it while trying to write a poem, here is what I came up with.

Wrapped cold on the couch,

This is where poems are found.

Found like the loose change,

Digested by your furniture

A Poems that is real

As real as the goose bumps on my skin.

Not forced, not fake. An unstoppable flow

Like a damn opening what for so long it held back

Here on this coach a poem is found.

When form is forgotten and words flow,

forming a river down a page.

It is here I find you;

Locked away. With a key this poem only knows.

Hands stiffen, like the words I write.

Afraid to reach down to deep. Pull

Myself from inside.

Blood chills, heart slows. All is still.

My lips; icicles hanging from ledges

That can hold no more.

Where is my warmth?

This blanket wrapped around me holds nothing in,

Not even me. It’s as thin as the shirt on my back,

The skin on my bones.

Wrapped cold on this couch

A poem is what I have.

Side 2

There was a time in my life when I use to write all the time. I filled journals with my thoughts, feelings, and emotions. I've always loved to write and felt that I could best express myself through words. I took a few writing classes in college, poetry being my favorite. When we say the word "poetry" many of us think about poems such as "Roses are red, violets are blue." Sure that is a poem, but they are so much more than that. I love the way we can put words together and have them create brilliant pictures in our heads. Walt Whitman, John Keats, William Wordsworth, are all amazing poets that really moved me in college. They inspired me to write more poetry so this is what I am going to try and start doing again. This blog is more for myself, but if you happen to stumble across it feel free to read, but read with an open mind.