Skilled Dearth

i once set out and wrote a great poem
I flaunted rythm rhyme and verse
my vocabulary with no cap or lid
i wrote from my skilled dearth
I talked of romance, love, galore
death and heartache overcome
pain and sadness nevermore
love the never-ending drum
conquering, victory to those deserving
pain pushed underneath my big brown boot
good feelings, love, and joy enerving
uncovered from pop's love the soot
of two young souls trapped inside
a world they cannot both explore
together broken by fates long ride
but they shall be-- forevermore

The Ravens - a guest entry from Peter Saunders

A tribute to the Baltimore Ravens’ 34-7 victory over the New York Giants in Super Bowl XXXV

Once upon a night most glorious, the better side emerged victorious

in the thirty-fifth edition of pro football’s storied game

‘Twas a contest that was over with a kick of ol’ Matt Stover

ne’er a charm nor four-leaf clover could have quelled the losers’ shame

Baltimore, a city starvéd by a dearth of football fame

justified the winners’ name

The great G-Men were dominated by a defense widely hated

Lewis, young, though underrated terrorized New York’s O-line

Stokley, Lewis, Starks, and Dilfer scored to help the victors pilfer

Vince’s trophy cast in silver, champions of a game divine

Three-point favorites clearly proved that they deserved a higher line

in the sport’s spectac’lar shrine

Yes, ‘tis true, this was the team that fled from Cleveland’s awful dream

Victors now, at last they seemed like champions, dignified once more

The football gods hath smiled upon the Super Bowl’s bright hashmarked lawn

Its outcome signaléd the dawn of one team’s proudest final score

Proud, one city now could boast a thirty-four to seven score

home of Ravens, “Baltimore”

My gravestone (idea 1)

What the @#*! are you looking at!
Why are you sad
Why do you lay flowers at the feet of the dead
Go live your life mine is now over
so get your $#@ off my grave your hurting my shoulder

Counting my sheep...(Inquiries)

As my soul wanders...forbidding my sleep
From the heights of my soul to the depths of the deep
I look from above at this cold granite steep
It is hard to imagine that i underneath
scream out in pain: an inaudible peep
For there in the ground my body keep
o when shall i when shall i make my great leap
yet i lay here decaying i cant stop the seep
but God up above in his kind godly keep
has rescued this tormented soul from the deep
arise all broken you need not to leap
I take you my son from your mortal sleep
into heaven, dear child the place you shall reap
The place i have carved for my so precious sheep

Non ad astra mollis e terris via

As mankind lies in wonder, dreaming of stars, craving their eternal state, we may look upon Seneca’s statement, in depression, over applying its truth due to the lack of hope in our own worthy desires. Why must men attempt to be solely content with who they are, and yet still somehow believe that perfection is within even striking distance? Hope then, is clearly the most powerful force of spiritual government over this helpless body of men! Though we can’t obtain success via perfection, we must shoot for the heavens and fall among the stars. Must we be constricted to these feeble bodies and this minute world? No one can tell us that one day this world will not be our boundary, and that no star shall limit us. One day we will count our steps among the galaxies and our leaps among the universe.

As mankind’s steps now imprint the moon and satellites govern the sky, where do we go but up? Only once in the history of mankind has there been even a neutral era in learning and technological advancement, this era of course being the death and plague ridden Middle Ages that lorded over Western Europe. The only way to prevent this complacent lull in the future is to keep stepping and keep climbing. We must go up!

Both culturally and philosophically we are told that not everyone can reach a star, but I would challenge you, that of the over 1 septillion stars of this known universe, there appear to be enough for everyone. While it is rare to be that middle star of Orion’s belt, or the sun that shines over our diminutive planet, every man has the potential to be a star, for all are capable to hope and to strive. Determining the path taken our destined stars, as if you were literally going there, involves overwhelming amounts of focus and patience. When the methods to reach our destined stars become uncovered, you simply GO! As our path is uncovered, and we gain knowledge and awareness, we are able to reach our stars, reach for the sky and in reaching; we touch the galaxies, as no star is too far nor a path too hard, If we are willing to hope, to strive, and to wait, we can all reach the stars. So as you sit here in this apathetic critique, I challenge you today to reach, to hope, to dream, for the path may be rough and the journey long, we can one day reach the stars. As a wise man once said, “mankind’s reach must exceed his grasp”, for whether heaven or nirvana or whatever you believe, there will be an end to the road. There is a destination, and to get there we must go! Hope is neither lost nor dead and its power still has life and meaning, for the path can be uncovered and the journey be started. One day we all can rest on the tip of heaven’s brow, with victory won, star captured, and destiny unraveled. Thank You!

We insist to tear

Verse 1:
Broken, I lay silenced and wondering how love has past me by.

Cause I am burning in these holocausts that singe my wings of flight.

400 years enslaved will the captors ever be set free?

Anguish replaces love as dust becomes the heart in me.

Chorus:
We insist to tear our race apart

Have we lost our minds?

Humans are our own kind

Humans are our own kind
               <repeat>

Verse2:
Politics and money fuel this technological torture machine.

Chambers lacking oxygen suffocate the lives of those who breathe.

This iron fist constricts my lungs, as now I dance cause life has let me die.  

If dancing’s all we do not to hurt another, ill dance with arms raised towards the sky.

Chorus:
We insist to tear our race apart

Have we lost our minds?

Humans are our own kind

Humans are our own kind
               <repeat>

Bridge:
But He loves us despite all our failures

Yea he views us as innocent handlers

But now if we bind the wings of our kind

We all have a warning

No excuse can we cry

Yeah

Chorus:
I’ll resist to tear my race apart

I’ve not lost my mind

Humans are our own kind

Humans are our own kind
               <repeat>

I’ll resist to tear
I’ll resist to tear
I’ll resist to tear

I do not bear this burden of death

But someday still I will run out of breath

As I am not hunted nor burned in my flight

How do I comprehend this forsakenness of light?

Where was I when they suffocated without?

Where am I now proudly flaunting about?

This complacent lull and evils we speak

Are no match for my Savior who death did beat.

Redemption is here as death gives way

Such sweet release as their souls fly away

A cold and broken hallelujah

As sorrows away do flood

Destinies sour tune has finished

Earthly pain will now diminish

400 years now I’ve been slave to sin

Redemption I feel though, freed from within

My screams and shouts silenced by death

Were heard by my God and eternally I rest.

Immortal and Illegal Paradise

A halo girded with diamonds, covered in the most extravagantly radiant colors of purples, yellows and reds. High in the sky a rainbow made of Ice took the time to show me that immortality that is beauty. Such immortal things one cannot attempt to try to eventuate. As the thunderous percussion radiates over the black sky and Zeus’ mighty lightning bolt screeches down to scorch the earth, what does one so mortal, so lifeless have to know of such wonders. Prometheus, our creator made us breathing his titanically undying breath and we all are then able to glimpse this magnificent and unenlightened force of eternity. As on the dawn of a frosted Ianuary morning deep beneath the mountains that protect my inglorious valley I look up and in shock drop my jaw at the wondrous sight of the rainbow that stretches endlessly horizontal across an early morning sky. I look and a moment it is gone, but as the thin crowd of steamy clouds drift along the sun of Helios pierces them to show his affection for the ambrosially lustful Iris: God of the Rainbow. I may have gotten ahead of myself as I tale this tale, for I neglected to inform you of the unstoppable, and purest essence of love that embraced these two young deities: Helios and Iris. You see it was many an age ago that Helios participated in the almost schmaltzy and over told story of the boy Icirus and his futile attempts to fly led him to the sun where wings of wax melted him to his doom. However at this time, Helios was too young to control his heat and save the proud, yet ignorant child, Icirus. Helios stretched out his beams till they near touched the earth, in the vain attempt of locating or saving this fated child. In failure locating only the maimed and mangled mess of the adolescent, his emotions soared and he shone bright through the storm that fell upon the morning as the sky wept its child. Helios was a flustered fury of fire, uncontrolled and as his beams stretched further than they ever had, he glimpsed the goddess Iris who swept him off his horse as he stared awestruck at her extravagance. Helios was never one to be humble, and he would not fail to get his fated bride out of her colorful and messengerial rainbow and into his arms. Almost instantaneously did Iris fall for this smooth-talking god of the sun, but her mother Elektra, desired only for her to be with Dinsydion, a cloud nymph like herself, while her father desired for her to marry Nauticanus, a marine war lord. This bitter acridity stirred the water over cities and poured hurricanes over the seas. All of the water kept Iris out of her duties, but more importantly out of the eyes of Helios, who sulked in his high cavern of the sky assuming that Iris had left him for another. When in the great hurricanes, Nauticanus perished, her father shrinked into the depths away from his daughter and in an incessant terror of his stubborn wife of the clouds. Iris having now given up on their winter romance, agreed to be married to Dinsydion, but even so, her beauty was immediately recalled by her lover, and the fiery passion burned again. Dinsydion moved across the Earth’s plane always, but remained over his home during the spring, summer, and fall. Thus during the winter Iris would twirl into the heights of the sky hidden by a veil of uninterested clouds from the gods, and her love affair began creating the icy halos that govern the winter skies every so often full of lavish diamonds of ice that radiate the most beautiful and passionate colors in the universe, and create the fire shaped halo that represented the burning passion and desire, and the ironic angelicness of true love. Though she couldn’t be left unpunished for her affairs and sins against her innocent and unknowing husband, so when one day the veil of clouds was not so thick, Hermes was sent to check out what was going on, for the fire rainbows if you will, could be seen even from Mt. Olympus’ peak. When Hermes had gathered and caught on to what was going on, he flew on his flying helmet back to his throne to inform the gods of these affairs. Iris was sentenced by Athena the goddess of wisdom to only appear in the storms of her husband, but as Aphrodite felt sorry for the true love wasted she seduced Zeus with her lustful and exotic words that if he would hide Dinsydion once a decade that this true love could be seen by the human eye, that she would hide Hera’s eyes with love during Zeus’ many mortal mistress affairs. This was never a promise kept, but even Zeus could not resist seeing the infamous yet glorious fire rainbow hearken the spirit of love and blossom over the mortal sky. Even in their aging deific years, there love is so passionate and makes such a spark that it is revered as one of the most extraordinary natural phenomenon this world has ever seen, and in a way such a simple love story doesn’t seem to capture the word extraordinary, there is always one thing that forever captures its ambrosial essence and that is true love itself my friends, and every time you see pictures or by chance catch a glimpse of this sky bound love making, remember this, remember love.

The Willow who Billows

There in the yard was my willow, who billowed underneath the stars. Ten years have passed since we placed her in the yard. At her birth she was just an obstacle for my lawn mowing machine not to gropple. Now she stands tall with her children in arms. 10 years old and flaunting her charm. Every wind that winds and breeze that breezes couldn’t break her billowing leaveses. She grew and grew though the sky fought hard to push her leaveses right back in the yard. The winters they came and blanketed her n snow but it melted right off of her brown, rustic glow. Spring, summer, and autumn went, but not a move as she stands there bent. She stands with her children bustling in her arms through many a storm not one were harmed. She plays first base as cleat wearing young’uns trample her roots giving her bunions. Her bark is worn and blackened with tear, but still its fragile garment she wears. Her feet are dug deep, beneath the ground as her million toes creep. Her shade gave protection for many a day from the sun’s one hundred degree double edged blade. A shelter from sun and a fort from flung snow, its protection my age only glimpsed to know. 6 years have passed since I have seen her elegant beauty. Now she stands beside her baby, another younger little cutie. There are new people there in my old home who she must now care. Six years it has taken for me to venture back to there. She’s taller now, her leaves on the ground as a frozen mist of rain is whirling around. I stand and marvel at her Excellency and began to realize this is no ordinary tree. Extraordinary, special, maybe even blessed, ordinary she’s not; not like the rest. This tree was mine, intertwined with my soul, and I would spare an arm and a leg, as long as my precious willow stayed whole. I was her keeper, this was my keep, in pricing her worth, a price couldn’t be too steep. Her branches still billow and her leaves still sway, I will meet my willow again in heaven one day. Her weaknesses, few provided her great as together we may walk right up to the gate. I and my willow, my willow and me, if you learn one thing, this is no ordinary tree! This willow that billows is sacred to me so take your laughter she’ll stand forever by me!

Ski a Different Snow

The snow burned my ungoggled eyes as I sped down the slope of Snowshoe’s icy white slide. The icicles cracked off only to refreeze on my eyelashes they trembled as so did my knees. My toboggan and scarf make me concerned by appearance, though it shouldn’t have made all that much difference. My sister, Morgan, just one step behind and my dad gets up from his skid down the slide. At four o’ clock the mountains would be stilled, this was our last ride for that year. As we slid down to an ice crackling stop, the ski lift was empty and the man asked us girls if we wanted to go up. What was it about that checkered hat that day I had lost my manhood and I was still cold in the heat of May. I started to defend myself as we waited for Dad, but he was nowhere to be found and the lift man said “Now!” and up we went scanning the blanket below, he was nowhere to be found and we didn’t know where to go. The icy ride ended and we slid off the chair, my foot was one big ice covered toe and my mind wandered. Where forth to go? Our hotel could only be a few moments away. In fact we were wrong as the snow mobile skidded beside us as we trod cross country lead feeted. He knew not from where we heralded and stayed but told us the bus station’s just a mile that way. I was going to die on that ice; a mile away, seemed much more miles more on that forsaken day, but as we trudged on through the birches and pine, I led us to the bus in the nick of time. Eons it took for the bus to come ‘round, but O what rejoicing was found in its sound. We stood among giants and drunken trees as we climbed to the resort half on our knees. Our skis now off and carried them we must, I couldn’t make it that far and I left them in the dust. Frozen so cold our lips wouldn’t budge we rode that gold elevator and into our room we trudged. As tears erupted like the Fourth of July My mother, my sister embraced as we cried. My Daddy was gone searching for we, how pleasant it is to be loved like me. As he opened the door panic gripped his eyes as his search had been hopeless and somewhat in vain, but as he looked in our faces and met our eyes, his face glowed, grateful for our lives. After this O, so telling a tale, we ate that night grateful for all on our plate, for all those around us, for eaters who’ve ate. That night was one of the best nights of my life as our family pulled closer and God held me right by his side!

Seizing Voice

That in this cold interior

I will personally lay waste

That all risks, not afraid to take,

Time is fleeting haste

Its incurable disease lay bare

The shadows of our ways

That I might rise to be so strong

To wake up and seize the day

And as I arise from this shied sleep

I awake to see my face

Divine in its immortal stead

With a breath I began my race

My walk, my own,

My path is choice

I set out to capture my piece

Of glory today forever more to come home with mute-less voice

And when you see my stone in 5 or 80 years

And kneel with eyes so heavy

I pray that in love so dear

You shall not forget that I, my friends, I have made it count

I am the benefactor, I am free, no price worth souls amount

I have seized the day, my friends, I have seized the day

And thus I walk in destined stead to find my own true sound

That when I’m home in glory

My voice shall still resound!