By One Rejected Once Before

Make your move, my dear, I would that you would,
For I have made mine and been declined,
And you have moved on; and since you were gone—
Though hope remained—prudence required
That feelings wane and soon retire.
But if, my love, you would remind,
I cannot help but think you'd find
In me as surely as can be
A love undead as yet for thee.

So do not wait of courtesy
If needed not is time to be,
But if your heart is yet unsure,
And e'en your thoughts be insecure,
Reach out for comfort, clarity,
And in my arms you'll know and see
That were there cause for doubt at times,
They're lost in moments past their prime.

My dear, please do not doubt or fear,
For I am eager and sincere
To be with you and to be true
To one so lovely as you.

That I Might Know His Might

I do not know the power of prayer,
Though I’ve heard stories told,
And never run to the hour of prayer—
More often seconds cold.

But I, by your great mercy,
Will come into your house;
In reverence will I bow down

Toward your holy temple. Psalm 5:7

I seek to do your will,
To know your word, to hear your voice—
For sin is perched to spring and kill—
And you provide a choice.

In my Anguish I cried to the Lord,
And he answered by setting me free.
The LORD is with me; I will not be afraid.
What can man do to me? Psalm 118:5-6

But my anguish persisted,
My sin carried on.
My God I resisted—
And depended on.

I was pushed hard, so that I was falling,
But the LORD helped me.
The LORD is my Strength and my song;
He has become my salvation. Psalm 118:13-14

Salvation eternal—
At once I’m set free;
But damn this infernal
Rebellion in me!

How can a young man
Keep his way pure?
By guarding it
According to your word. Psalm 119:9

And guard it I shall
By your strength, and that only,
With power endowed
From on high to the lowly.

Depart from me
You evildoers,
That I may keep
The commandments of my God. Psalm 119:115

I did not know the power of prayer,
Nor even the might of your word,
But discovered it, as through trial and error
You spoke and made yourself heard.

On the Shoulders of Giants

Where, O History, is your friend?
Tumbling backwards like fools we pretend
Our ideas are our own and too our success—

So progress is sacrificed at the altar of progress.
Illiterate children instruct in the classroom.

Let him who is without sin tear down the first statue.

Musings of an Empty Mind

When I sit for hours, waiting,
Hoping an idea will take hold—
When I search my thoughts and come up short—
I wonder how I ever wrote,
        ever created.

When I struggle to make even these words fit
"What has changed?" I groan.
But then it hits me, true I think,
That past works penned perhaps by me
I cannot call my own.

Lacking Nothing

When conflict great is overcome,
The triumph
  greater
has become;
So count it joy, the trials met,
And suffer through, you'll conquer yet.
These tests are blessings in disguise
With steadfastness the noble prize.

Contemplation of Grace

Grace, that fluid motion, done with ease—
Is it illusion or real?
Or is the illusion the essence of grace,
And therein lies the appeal?

The Conqueror

Lord, grant me peace.
Sure up in me the confidence
That you will effect my release.

Lord, grant me strength
That his attacks I will rebuff
No matter their time or length.

Lord, grant me yourself—
Your Spirit dwelling in my heart
That you would be my wealth,

My confidence, my strong defense
In sickness and in health.

Freebie

Where would we be
without the long e
for easy rhymes in poetry.

It Could Happen...

She told him once, "Please stow your devise,"
For the flight was nearly done.
She told him twice, "Stow your devise,"
But stubborn he carried on.

Delay, delay was the game he'd play,
For he'd done this many a time.
The attendant would say, "Put your laptop away,"
And he'd wait. Now is this such a crime?

The plane headed down to the strip below
And he worked and he worked, this chap.
But the landing was rough and his arms weren't enough
To hold the devise in his lap.

With a jolt from the ground, it leapt from his arms
(If only he'd not been so naughty).
In a freak of nature and all her laws
It severed his head from his body.

The stewardess screamed and the passengers too—

They never had seen such a sight.
Let this be a warning to heed before boarding:
Just follow the rules when in flight.

Unexpected Treasures

What a joyous surprise
     to spy with your eyes

     that lent has collected in your belly button.

To think even here,

     it would surely appear,

     there are dust mites at home, tucked within.

You brush them away,

     as if gently to say,

     be free my good dust mites, be free.

If all this is strange

     and must be explained,

     I suspect, friend, you may be an outie.

A Sight Like No Other

I have beheld sights that are truly beautiful—
       landscapes stretched out before me,
       cliffs and mountains and arches alike—
Each with its own magnificence.
But one thing that impresses me each time anew
Is the warmth and radiance and singular beauty
Of a woman's smile.

Passing Through

A passing stare is all it takes
For hope to flare up in your wake,
But passing by and passing through,
I don’t know why I fall for you.

A second only shared as one,
A gentle smile there and gone.
Without a chance of sight again,
This short romance is doomed to end.

Perhaps to board on the final call,
We can’t afford to stop and stall.
With planes to catch and work to do,
One can’t get attached when just passing through.

For You

This poem introduces the five poems that follow: "Pink," "Doubt and Hope," "Thoughts Unspoken," "You Are Beautiful," and "Distracted."

I wish I knew your name.
I wish I knew your face.
My love, please know I wait for you
And long for your embrace.

It’s fitting that I write of you,
E’en though we have not met,
For you consume so many thoughts—
On finding you my heart is set.

To you, my love, I dedicate
The many lines that follow.
They may have been written for girls in my past,
But all were composed in pursuit of you.

Pink

Today you wore a pretty pink
The sun had kissed upon your skin.
Still more I fell in love with you
As each day until then.

Doubt and Hope

I do not know your heart my friend,
And it disheartens me.
I love you but I can’t pretend
To know what thoughts you have for me.

I want to lay my heart before you
In case you suffer same as I.
But who am I, though I adore you,
To think for me, you bat an eye.

I fear your blank uncertain stare
As I confess my love for you,
And you to let me down prepare,
Saying, “I’m sorry, but I never knew.”

So here I write with mind conflicted,
Hoping one day I will share
These faulty words, my mind depicted,
With knowledge that you care.

For there are times when I indeed
Am caused to pause in doubt,
But planted in me is the seed
Of hope, eager to sprout.

Thoughts Unspoken

You look especially cute today
If that’s okay for me to say.

You Are Beautiful

Your hair, like threads of gold
     so long and fair.

Your lips caress each word
     that from them slips
     and pour forth laughter in a song
     and I can’t help but sing along.

Your eyes—regardless of
     how hard I try
     I can’t forget them shining bright
     and I rejoice at every sight.

Distracted

You say I’m easily distracted—
That’s not exactly true.
I am distracted quite a bit,
But mostly just by you.

Uplifting

On a crowded elevator, going up,
A girl stood next to me.
Now done with a run and dripping with sweat,
I probably smelled like pee.

It chanced on our rise, that the box emptied out,
So the two of us were alone.
I stepped away to pardon her nose
From my naturally scented cologne.

So I moved a few feet and apologized.
“Oh I can’t smell,” she said, unsure.
Then added, “Not now,” which was equally odd,
And I can’t say I understood her.

An awkward silence followed till
We reached her floor and said adieu.
I took this encounter as a welcome sign
That girls get flustered too.

I Hate Whitman

I dedicate this poem to Walt Whitman and his unique style; that is, tasteless, talentless, and totally terrible.

The dirt sinks lustily beneath my feet—
This ground is America!
I too am America and this ground is mine and I am this ground.

I see a bird above my head—
This bird is America!
And by the transitive property we can conclude that I am this bird.

A single branch hangs low from an evergreen tree
And blocks my path along the road
Two pine cones hang from the root of this branch
Like genitals swaying gently in the wind
I too am these genitals as surely as they are also America.