Food!

            Bodacious Dilemma

When eating a Bojangles meal,

There’s one problem with their fries.

It’s not the taste, you can be sure,

For therein perfection lies.

It’s certainly not the seasoning

Of those golden Cajun sticks,

Nor is it the size or the taters they use

That needs any sort of fix.

But of this only do I complain:

Their heat could evaporate a pool.

And herein lies the great dilemma—

Eat now or wait for them to cool.

To wait for the fries on top of the stack

To lose just a bit of their heat

Would let all the bottom fries cool far too much

Before them you’d have time to eat.

But eating immediately is risky too,

For your tongue you may chance to burn;

And then your enjoyment of all of the rest

Would decrease, as surely you’d learn.

What can one do in such a case

To ensure no fry to waste will go?

The answer to this questioning,
Alas, I do not know.

                 Ode to Cookout

                                               

Look how the road winds on and on,

Up over the hills and into the sun;

But no matter where I journey about

It will always lead me by a Cookout.

Oh! Cookout is a wondrous place

Where with food delicious I stuff my face.

I cannot resist their scrumptious shakes;

Such quality food is ne’er a mistake.

Their burgers are perfect, their fries seasoned well,

Their bacon, delicious and pleasant to smell.

How grateful I am that all roads will lead
Eventually to Cookout, a blessing indeed.

I wrote this while watching an incredibly boring movie:

        Do You Know the Pizza Man?

Is any man as loved as the pizza man?

I should say not,

For when pizza is bought,

He delivers it as fast as he can.

Does any receive such thanks as he?

I can think of none—

No, not even one—

For my face lights up when him I see.

So this I employ to all of my friends:

Order pizza when you can

To support this good man
And ensure that his service never ends.



        Peanut Butter and Jelly

What would I do without PB 'n J?
How boring would life be, how filled with dismay!
I would keep on writing but find that I can't,
For this topic's depressing...so here ends my rant.

Haiku Attempt

Why Haiku?

What’s haiku’s purpose?

I’d say more—prove it’s useless.

But I’m out of verse.

I’ll Try.

I’ll try to write one

So that I may possibly

Appreciate them.

            Here Goes…

Flowers of beauty

In the meadow so pretty,

I—oh wait, I’m done.

            Tough Stuff

This haiku is tough—

I can’t finish any thought…

And now I must end.

The Perfect Excuse

            The Perfect Excuse

My teacher asks me why I am so late

In giving to her my homework;

And looking at her in a child’s sheepish way,

I hide an impulsive smirk.

So many excuses I’d readily use;

They all run—no dance—through my head.

But what should I say upon this dreadful day

That I have not already said.

My dog ate my homework?—too boring by far!

Though I suppose in some cases it’d do.

But it's too common and so over used

And quite unbelievable too.

No that’s not my style; I cannot say that.

There is a much better way.

Consumption of homework—a solid excuse;

But blame someone else like this: say,

“My mom is anemic—quite dreadfully so—

With high iron deficiency.

A symptom of this is to crave paper’s taste,

And my work caught her eye so you see.”

Now there is a story quite craftily told

That I’d be most willing to tell.

But wait! That won’t work, for the teacher’d suspect;

I used it last Tuesday as well!

Then what should I say in this present dilemma;

What now could I possibly use?

Hmm…here’s one I thought of that might do the trick—

If I tell it right I can’t lose:

“While saving my peers from a burning school bus,”

(An excellent starting phrase)

“I dropped my backpack, and thus all of my work

Was burned in the fierce, deadly blaze.”

But didn’t I use those exact words last month?!

What else could I possibly say?

Ah, now I have it! This should work well indeed,

So I can dismiss my dismay:

“I went to the zoo, but my work was not done,

So I took it along with me;

And a man-eating lion broke loose from its pen—

A disaster I thought it would be!

So I tackled the beast, with my backpack still on;

It roared and it struck hard at me.

But only my backpack—my work there inside—

Did it manage to tear in three.”

A perfect excuse, not having a flaw!

Yes, none can deny it is so.

All blame on the lion who can’t testify,

And of me it makes a hero!

I open my mouth with this answer in mind,

But she cuts me off before words I amass:

“I only am teasing you—don’t look so sad.

I didn’t assign any homework last class!”

Of God and My Beliefs

            Once For All

I often sin, time and again,

Weighed down with guilt and shame;

And so let Satan seem to win

As still I sin the same.

I pray to God, His pardon seek,

And give my sorry plea.

I ask Him, rid me of the reek

That sin has left ’round me.

I hardly raise my head from prayer

When Satan tempts again,

And for the pleasure then and there,

I willingly give in.

This happens o’er and o’er till I

Feel retched, pitiful.

So to the Lord again I cry

That He would cleanse my soul.

And as before He pardons me,

For Jesus died for this—

That from each sin He set me free,

And none then did He miss.

But then—again—that same old sin,

Committed as before.

But with God’s help I’ll surely win

And conquer more and more.

            Declaration of Dependence

Can man live alone,

As oft’ he is prone—

No help from the throne

Of Christ to atone

For sins too well known,

The seeds death has sown?

To live in this way

Is dying I say—

No God to obey

(Though present each day);

No thought e’er to pray

Till things go astray.

But God, through his son—

Who o’er death has won—

Has paid full the sum.

So let us not run

From God, three in one,

But Gratefully come.

            God: My Guide

I’m just a boy without a plan

For what I’ll do when I’m a man;

But God will use me for His good,

And I will do the best I can.

            Sight Without Light

A stranger thing is hard to find

Than opening your eyes

To find no change in light or sight—

A frightening surprise.

But ’tis like this inside a cave

When manmade lights aren’t on.

Your eyes cannot adjust to this

O’er time however long.

But here’s a picture of the man

Who thinks himself quite wise:

Through science an philosophy

He opens up his eyes...

But oh! so little does he see

In light of all God’s made;

So seldom does he understand

The statutes God has laid.

The truly wise are humble, then,

And realize what they know

Is just a fraction of the truth

That God is pleased to show.

            Evil Envy

I have a sensitive conscience.

I know when I do wrong.

And when I do (so often true),

I pray my sins be gone.

To many sins I seem immune,

At least in my poor mind.

I seek a life of purity

As God would have designed.

But there is something in my heart—

An evil dwelling there:

I find I long for what is wrong,

Though such sins I’d not dare.

I envy Godless men so free

To sin not fearing Him.

While still of course I don’t foresee

Myself to be like them.

This love for wrong is simply sin,

Though not as plainly seen.

To do what’s right yet love what’s wrong

Is hardly pure or clean.

And so I ask my purging God,

Who sent his son to die,

To purify my craving heart

And righteous thoughts apply.

            Turn Around

What I need is a change of heart—

A turnabout and brand new start—

To leave the sin that round me lurks

And live a life of faithful works;

And this alone through Christ, my Lord,

Who pays the debt I can’t afford.

Perfection and Redemption

To think this wicked, selfish world

Was once a perfect place

Where humans walked and talked with God,

Their maker, face to face.

And all this godly paradise

Was lost with one small bite

When Adam and his wife ate fruit

To gain a godlike sight.

But oh! their eyes were opened then

To what they ne’er should’ve seen:

The knowledge of great evil all—

The vial and obscene.

And so the world lost all its right

Of fellowship with God,

Cast out from Eden’s paradise,

Unfit to tread its sod.

But God was gracious even then

And sent his Son to Earth

To bridge the gap that we had made—

To overcome the curse.



            No Record

                                   

God keeps no record of wrongs!

Do you realize what that means?

Though we live in a state of constant rebellion to what is right,

Through Christ, we’re perfect in his sight.

                                   

To see a wicked, wretched man,

I need only find a mirror;

But the reflection that I see

Is not what my Father sees in me.

                                   

This is the wonderful news of salvation:

That we are saved despite our sins;

Not that we deserve by works to live;

Yet live we may, for Christ Himself His life did give.

Thanksgiving Hymn

Praise to the Lord, our Father above

Gracious Redeemer and God of great love.

Thank you for all that you have given this day

And every day, that gathered we say:

Wonderful Savior and Father of Lights,

Majestic in power and justice and might,

You give good gifts and you know what is right

And this day we praise you and in you delight.

Aw Crap!

This is a true story:

            Aw Crap!

The story I am telling you,

Quite sad but very true,

Is of a bird that on my face

Did drop a load of poo.

It hit my forehead and my nose

Part brown, part white as snow.

Of all the random passersby,

’Twas I the rascal chose.

I wondered what I did that night

That ever would incite

Such actions from that little bird,

Above and out of sight.

When this affair was over, done,

I thought I’d have some fun

And wrote this poem for you all

Of one birds hit and run.

Some Short Selections

This first poem paints a picture of my life when I was around ten years old. (Even now, this still describes me at heart.)

  To Combat Summer’s Boredom

A boy of ten plays in a field.

A battered stick he seems to wield.

It is a sword, a bow, a spear.

He fights a foe that is concealed.

He battles and he shows no fear,

Though goblin cries he seems to hear.

He is not crazy or insane,

And yet he fights and is sincere.

What is this world that he can feign

E’en as the daylight starts to wane?

Imagination is its name,

And he, its king, will always reign.

He now is sweating from his game,

For he has played since dawn first came.

Amusement is his only aim,

That summer’s boredom he may tame.

Slightly Bored

I sit without much else to do

But write a rhyming verse or two.

Ideas of what to write are few—

It seems my muse has missed his cue.

Are muses male? I’m not quite sure.

I guess they can be him or her.

Oh well! Whatever. I don’t care.

I’m rambling? Yes, I’m quite aware.

The problem is I've naught to say,

But I’m still writing anyway.

I’ll likely stop about right now.

(What rhymes with now? Oh! How ‘bout “wow!”)

A Free Man’s Thanks

They fight in countries not their own,

They die on land not theirs;

But seeds of freedom they have sown

Throughout their grave affairs.

They leave a mighty legacy,

These women and these men

Who rule the skies and roam the sea;

On land they work to win.

They give their time and very lives

That we may live so free.

I hope that praise and thanks survive

In you as now in me.

Road of Destiny

I walk along a changing road

On which all human beings go.

What lies ahead I do not know,

Except the end—my Lords abode.

As I march to my Savior fair,

I see behind, but not ahead;

And so in faith I’m forced to tread,

Believing God will lead me there.

And with this faith, I am set free

From worry, doubt in actions all

For God will catch me if I fall

Along this road of destiny.

     Armed and Dangerous

I hop inside my car, but then

A thought comes to my head:

My actions in this vehicle

Could leave somebody dead.

And keys, like one now in my hand

Are weapons that we wield.

They kill as many, possibly,

As soldiers on the field.

This humbling thought is true for all

Especially for me;

And we do well to think on this

Before we turn the key.