The Strike

Inanity galore
Momesphora ashore
Wrexk booming afore
On sandaintly poor

Vendralbigan of stealing
Destitutes reeling
Smock jibrish to king
Salivating crucid ring

Grouped cysts moralizing
Ashant the wrexk in unionizing
Blebber cashayin tantalizing
Cornice shrepped up frem now rising

Nay for smetch no frithery bray
Strappedy play frem now lay
Trippedy cleck furmur a shay
Shmat riddinty lay to the nex ed dra day

To Those Who Are Content

To all those who are content, go to Nineveh, look constantly in the direction your eyes hate facing, look through the Saving Grace of a Redeemer, and past the rationale of reason. Gaze at the wasteland, graze it with grain, it is not, as once thought, by civil disobedience that points are made, but rather how they are sharpened, for they are forged by civil obedience. It is by this conscious effort, that men turn in respect, rather than confusion. What is more attractive than the beauty of service? Jesus had nothing about him that man might desire, but there was, that immortal glow endemic to sacrifice: loves ultimatum, and thus its beauty. And that is glory, that is love, that is the Cross!

Ode to Contemplative

She prances gorgeous as the sun
Merrily, Completely her work, it is done
Her voice that of heaven,
Her lips that of gold
What i would do, do just to hold
You in my arms, my love, and  my friend
That we would no longer be two halves again

That by my side, you take your place
Walking to destiny face to face
Your love, something greater
No mortal could give
O, could there be better than by you to lay
To cherish, to have, to hold, and to stay

I do not deserve this dream in request
You being mine wholly--a jest
Your perfectly you
Far more perfect to me
How could you ever fall for this boy you see
But nor could I pass this hope--though lame
Rejection from you--expected--no shame

So say it you fool
Say those three words
I and Love and You
And maybe just maybe in the tumult of life
Yourself not alone you may possibly find
And she will be perfect a treasure most dear
For putting up with your jabbering and tear
Hold her for ransom
Hold her in close
Squeeze her in tight
Don't ever let go.

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