Literary Rogues of Westminster

Seamless

2011-11-21T08:52:00.000-06:00

I wish I had seams to fall apart, but I'm stuck here solid with a broken heart.
Staring in a mirror that won't stare back
Ensnared by time, stuck in the past.

And the hand on the clock will not wave back to me;
He says he won't proceed until my
Heart starts to beat.
But how can I be cured when time won't move to heal my wounds?

The chase was cut short, all the words were few.
The goodbyes were botched between me and you.
Things I never said still stuck on my lips
Sinking in memories, drowning in regrets.

And the hand on the clock will not wave back to me;
He says he won't proceed until my
Heart starts to beat.
But how can I be cured when time won't move to heal my wounds?

Pulling forward, dragging heavy chains
Moving faster now, they slowly fall away.
Leaving time behind, never looking back -
Refusing to turn to salt or be stopped in my tracks:
Give a shock to my heart as the clock then waves back.

And the hand on the clock will not wave back to me;
He says he won't proceed until
My heart starts to beat.
But how can I be cured when time won't move to heal my wounds?

And the hand on the clock finally waves me bye;
Then the mirror at last looks me dead in the eye.
I get the words off my chest, and the world off my back
And all seems right again
And I'm all right again

I wish I had seams to fall apart, but I'm stuck here solid with a broken heart.

~ Mandy Scott

Who Makes Me Write

2011-11-16T13:34:00.001-06:00

Why do I write?

I write to hide myself from a world I have never longed to live in.
I like to make worlds.
I like to make words.
I like to design and destroy, organize and shatter.

Then I came to Literary Rogues.

And you all make me write.

Mandy, when I hear your music, I feel I'm seeing a little preview of what Heaven's like.
I sit there and listen to your lyrical genius and forget about the world.

Jake Hughes, thank you for being jaw-droppingly talented,
without even acknowledging your awesomeness.

Bree, your passion and pizzazz and laughter makes me want to make Rogues flourish
and to make myself a better writer.

Lucy Wynn, thank you for calling me by my full name in the hallway
and for smiling every single moment I see you.

Matt Sugg, thank you for shaking my hand after a Poetry Slam two years ago.
I had always wanted to meet you.

Grace Smith, thank you for being the epitome of coolness for my eighth grade self.
Thank you for inspiring me to aspire to use words as brilliantly and raw as you have.

Mr. Talley, I want to thank you
for taking away my first name. I want to thank you
for calling me 'different' when I associated poems with colors. Thank you
for reading my Bible essay out loud. Thank you
for being my poetry teacher for 2 years.

Dr. Gibson, thank you for letting an eighth grader enter your Poetry Slam.
Thank you for calling me different
when I likened gooey butter cake to icing.
Thank you for snapping after I read.

~ Catherine Bakewell

Orbit

2011-11-16T13:28:00.001-06:00

Circling, spinning,
Dancing around
Ghosts with wide faces
Feed don't touch the ground

A perpetual, habitual
Existence of distance
A silent oracle of order
Looks in at our sweet mess

So close yet so far
Each thing perfect aligned
These titans have fates
To which they are resigned.

Ring around the rosie
We're all spiraling down
Life outside of our heads
Is always around

Off by a few seconds
And we'd all be nothing
Gods could clash together
But stay their hands for something

So close yet so far
Each thing perfect aligned
Silent planets have fates
Purposefully designed.

Intricate choreography
Compassed out by mapmakers
And space keeping time
Gears aligned by clockmakers.

God set the needle to the turn table
Songs strung together by people that won't meet
The world spins, but don't spin out
Just redistributes light, love, heat.

~ Jake Hughes

Why Do I Like Words?

2011-11-16T13:24:00.000-06:00

Undefined but known, they
soak plain, bleached expanses,
scribbles organized
in strict single-file lines,
trooping from left to right,
filling page upon page.

Building common ground
and erecting barriers
they march along,
not to be thrown about haphazardly,
else or their lose meaning they.

They dress in armor
of ebony and ivory
singing in colorful, wild voices,
unearthing the unsaid,
forming new conclusions.

The thoughtless
order them off in pairs that
twist, bite and
evoke diseased smiles,

while others see their
feeble dependence
and weave them together scrupulously
with their eloquent tongues.

But whether parades of sounds
or silent, writhing rows
impatiently await discovery,
these forms, these mysteries
stream between us,
you and me.

~ Holly Sumner

Restless

2011-11-16T13:21:00.000-06:00

Restless I am
Till the ink flows freely
Scribbling unintelligible thoughts
And stories of magical lands
As I keep winding this poem out,
I might as well convey why I write

I write to praise my Savior, Christ
I am restless without Him

I am restless without penning my thoughts down
I am restless until I express my joy and pain

Without books or a pencil, I wouldn't be the same person
Writing keeps me sane

He gave me a passion to express the injustice or
Simply, the experiences of my life and how to learn
From them.

However small,
I know those intelligible scribblings have blessed someone
However small,
I want my endeavors to go to God's glory
Because He
and His matters in the end.

~ Nina Thampy

To This, I Say

2011-11-16T13:16:00.000-06:00

Words form on the page like a well-planned caper.
Blueprints for emotional outlets on paper.
When words are all that's left and prose is my ability,
I think I enjoy it because there's no such thing as liability.

You can dress it up nice and spin pretty prose
Like you're trying to hide what everyone knows.
The author, the undertaker... It seems he thought he
Could disguise the truth of the matter - it's still a dead body.

They can take it apart and feel totally free
To make their weak estimations during autopsy
Of the way that I drone, speak metaphorically.
Technicalities aside, it's just self therapy.

'And here we think he was saying...' 'And now we are citing..'
I need a minute to express myself without all the fighting.
'His choice of words here indicates of his writing-'
That I have something to say when problems start colliding.

And you will look and you'll look
For some deeper meaning
To the things that I'm saying.
A reason to keep dreaming.

Why burden my heavy heart with consigning reason
To bitter pang of the words I speak in this mad season?
The cruel weight of the world is more than enough.
This was never about you. Go write your own stuff.

~ Jake Hughes

I Create Only for My Selfish Pleasure

2011-11-16T13:14:00.000-06:00

My net of prose would ensnare you.
A helpless rabbit’s heart palpitating;
Petrifying shock and fear coursing
Through your scarlet/violet infrastructure
Of veins and arteries, nerves and synapses.
If my whims desire,
A flick of my wrist
Would tear away
Your scarlet veil of innocence,
Sending it trailing down
In a gossamer rain to the floorboards.
I can reduce you to your knees
Sprawled across the icy winter pavement—
Love, cruelty, guilt and pleasure
Weaving ideas together in you head.
Ideas I suggested.
Ideas no amount of forgetting could possibly purge.
My brush strokes would stain your eyes,
Amethyst and onyx drooling over canvas,
Platinum rivers curling in rampant embraces.
My music would wrench at your heartstrings,
Dashing hopes against the cliffs,
And raising emotions in immortal resurrection.
A letter, sealed with fragrant candle wax
And stamped with the imprint of my lips,
Would seal your fate forever, once read.
A single whisper, tickling the ears of your imagination
Would force you to love me forever,
Or despise me till the day you die.
I can mess with you
Until I bore,
And prowl the midnight streets again
Hunting my next victim.
You: already banished from my thoughts.
Me: ever-indulging my selfish romances,
Drowning ever-deeper in decadent apathy;
‘Cuz honestly, I never imagined any of it for you.

~ Bree Jennrich

Why I Write

2011-11-16T13:12:00.000-06:00

I write because I have eyes to see, a spirit to question, a soul to desire, and a hand to hold a pen. Because I have been granted a world and the fingerprints to leave on it. Because I walk along a barren paradise, and no one else will ever experience this place just as I do now. Because this empty beach is my stage, and the surf and shadows are waiting to hear my voice. Because I am running alongside the crashing waves, sometimes with and others against, tracing my name in the great messy loops that has become my signature, my dancing toes leaving a scattering of distracted depressions in the crystalline grains. Because I was born to sing my little heart out, just for the laughter of the sunrise. Because the sky is beautiful. Because the gulls are crying. Because all the pain and ugliness of the world cannot smother out this wistful wonder and still quiet melody on the wind. And because I was made to chase that song. I write because the world is still inhabited by Beauty and I see the memory of her kiss on these blushing clouds. I write, I create, because I can still see something divine in the fingerprints that paint this sky over the diamond sand. I see something wonderful, tragic, broken, and magnificent in the world I run through, and I was born to add my scrawling signature to that mess for the expression of my soul and the glory of my God.

~ Christine Bosch

This is Home

2011-11-16T13:09:00.002-06:00

Gray washes on a dark sky canvas
Stars long asleep and the morning just yawning.
A street without streetlights save one glowing window
In a little brick house, third door on the right.
This is home.
Light painted gold and chilled by the calendar page,
Gilding leaves and the smell of his skin.
Still warm here inside these familiar arms,
I smile and linger another heartbeat.
This is home.
This city sparkles if you can fly high enough above it
And take a glance down from the weary night air.
The firefly lights of the cars at the airport and those on the runway, calling me earthbound again.
This is home.
Footsteps wander this azure sphere, seduced by each passing fancy they might chase.
Light to the fluttering wings in the dark is entrancing, but is not home.
They say home's where the heart is but that's just the left half of my chest.
home is a melody barely audible, that tastes of memories, and cannot quiet be drowned out by the battering of moths
Home is a heartbeat, a window, a city, a room full of friends on a Friday morning.
Is the song of a spirit heard by your own,
Wherever love calls to you, here, this is home.

~ Christine Bosch

Bookmark

2011-11-16T13:08:00.001-06:00

I’m nervous.
It’s our first date.
Are you as funny as I hope?
Is the movie better than you—I pray not!
Oh, novel, which I have strived so hard to put on the reservation shelf, do not displease me!
The satisfying crinkle of your protective covering,
the care I must use in holding you—
for soon you will belong to the library again.

For now, you and me and the green circle chair
shall congregate and hear the story you have to tell.
And I’ll laugh and I’ll sigh
Because it’s kind of a funny story.

~ Catherine Bakewell

Why

2011-11-16T13:06:00.000-06:00

Weary night and traveler I
Under the empty socket void of watching stars
Charmed by vaporous whispers in the darkness
Chase to find them already flown.
Flick'ring thought to dance upon the troubled mind
Burns feebly in dying embers, hushed by the soporific lullabies of the hour.
Peace or sleep, the loosing armies in this war of other men, find happy shades beneath my lids.
Love that holds me here alone, colors the dark with tantalizing memories of such sweet substance I would feign to taste again by dreaming.
Christening grace "an ocean," that mistaken to believe I'd plumbed, discover I know but the flung flecks of its spume.
And left to smile unseen lay I
With nothing save to wonder why

~ Christine Bosch

Oz's Fields

2011-11-16T13:04:00.000-06:00

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
As I walk through them in my damp Converse
And then lay down to fall asleep.
The trees grow beside slabs of snow-capped stone,
Life adjacent to death in a lovely, mingling space.

In Flanders fields the children go
And sled down frost-covered hills
Atop icy memories and bitter feelings, of wars and enemies
Covered up by time and nature.

In Flanders fields the grass still grows
Like lush, long blankets to cover cold, washed-out, forgotten somebodies.
I lie outside the Emerald city, and tap my shoes together three times.
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow in Flanders fields.

~ Catherine Bakewell (and John McCrae)

Autumn

2011-11-16T11:42:00.000-06:00

Grass-green eyes, jade skin, Spring doll,
Wither, die, at Nature's call.
Plummet to the calloused ground.
Settle with a silent sound.

Orange, red, gold, and brown
Crunchy carpet beaten down
Shining like a million suns
Broken, brittle skeletons.

Ground into oblivion
Their fragile veins come undone.
Strewn about by wind, a gust
Crumbling into worthless dust.

Smell the musty, autumn air
Inhale deeply, if you dare.
Nipping chill, refreshing knife
Revel in the death of life.

~ Bree Jennrich

Selah

2011-04-13T12:22:00.000-05:00

You cannot help but look at her
Covered in mystic, unspoken, black and green words
Selah is a work of art
With white tiger-stripes that consume her arm
Or purple ovals that are painful reminders.

She has a voice like a hallowed murmur
And she has tattoos with meanings - to us, they just look like birds
She's got her lovely brown eyes that are forever safe from harm
You cannot help but look at her.

Childhood memories always a blur
She doesn't dream of the things that were
When the Band-Aids on her arms were the only colors
When the bad words and bad thoughts could always submerge
Not a sad girl, not a bad girl, never a girl lovelier.
You cannot help but look at her.

~ Catherine Bakewell

Grown-up

2011-04-13T12:19:00.001-05:00

I could count to ten when I was two
And Teacher taught me my letters:
U-n-c-o-n-t-a-m-i-n-a-t-e-d

Mommy read classics to me in elementary:
Burnett, Verne and Louisa May Alcott.
I begged her for one more chapter before I was banished to bed.

I'm a big girl now,
With my big girl shoes;
I can do myself up like a princess all by myself.

I eat my vegetables without being scolded
And the note from the boy sitting three desks away
Is a little less innocent than it used to be.

I don't dot my i's with hearts,
I don't have time to play with fairies,
I'm a busy girl, and pink isn't my favorite color.

I'm a big girl now:
I tuck myself into the cold covers
And give myself a tender kiss

I turn out the lights, and
The monsters stay frozen under the bed
S-o-p-h-i-s-t-i-c-a-t-e-d

~ Bree Jennrich

Words with Beauty

2011-02-25T10:00:00.000-06:00

Do I offend you? She asks with a grin,
Tossing aside her cascade of golden hair casually, perfectly,
With a motion as alluring and captivating
As the darkness beneath the ocean.

No, of course not, I reply,
Conscious of my ripped jeans and plain black t-shirt,
The brown hair I cut and dyed myself,
The less-than-ideal form of my person,
My glaring inability to think straight when I talk to people.

Except that Beauty does offend me, the way she flaunts herself.
But how do I tell the goddess, flawlessly posed in front of me,
That she is my perpetual frustration?
That I shudder when she curves her cherry-red lips
Into her trademark synthetic smile? That I feel weak
When I see her gorgeous Olympian body striding by,
The scent of her intoxicating skin following in her wake?

I look into her turquoise eyes,
Meaning to say something clever,
Meaning to show her I am not unsettled by her,
Her expression taunting me to do so.

Nevertheless, the words are unable to pass from my lips
Again.
Lost gazing at this striking creature like a fool
Like everyone else that has the pleasure -
No, the curse - of sharing words with Beauty.

~ Bree Jennrich

Lost Puppy

2011-02-25T09:54:00.000-06:00

I am a lost puppy
Looking for someone to lead me home:
I wonder if anyone out there loves me.
In my dream, I search for a master
Who I hear calling my name,
Who I see standing with arms open for me.
I run to him, but I never arrive;
I awake still on a quest to find this man
Only to realize I am alone,
A lost puppy.

When I am lonely
I pretend I am in a house
Warm and cozy beside a big fire:
I feel the heat flow over me
Like a blanket big and warm.
It touches me and keeps me safe
As my mind wonders if anyone worries about me.
I cry, hoping to be found
I wish, praying for a home,
A lost puppy.

I understand that I must find my way:
I say to myself, "I can to it."
I dream of the day I arrive to a safe place,
Struggling and fighting through hardships
With a harbor, shining and bright, in sight.
I see a man -
Arms open and a smile on his face -
And I run. I run to him, this man,
Leaping into a warm embrace,
Better than any blanket,
As he says to me, "Welcome my child,"
Inviting me inside, no longer
A lost puppy.

~ Bryn McKie

Hippie Days

2011-02-25T09:50:00.000-06:00

We march to a drum
Our own drum -
Eskimos and hot chocolate, my kind of place:
A restful place.
A lonely place.
An angry, abandoned place.
Yet still, a peaceful place.
I have words for you: mean words, lovely words,
Peaceful words.
Hot breath,
Mingling between the scorching days.
Watch the old band play -
Scruffy beards, wild eyes,
Acoustic guitars and bandanas,
mesmerized by the patterns displayed
as we drink in the melody.

~ Rae Hart

I.D.

2011-02-25T09:45:00.001-06:00

These are a few of my least favorite things:
When there are words to say
but I forget what they sound like.
When there are people to meet,
but I forget who they are.

When my emotions have emotions -
My anger is angry to be angry.
My hate hates to hate.
The not-so-friendly fire rages on,

And my heart base-jumps to my navel at the sound
of a syllable, until it slithers back up my throat,
hiding behind a plastic smile.

And now, I have ripped off nametag after nametag, labeling myself
as one solid thing,
now one solid mass of paper and glue.

Every day, my bones shift, counting down until I'm sixteen,
when I've promised to be beautiful.

~ Catherine Bakewell

The Wicker Man

2011-02-25T09:41:00.001-06:00

Oh, what a wretched thing!
Oh, what a heathen king!
I am a desecrated flesh,
I am an undiluted mess.

Oh, what a weakling child!
A fire running wild!
I am the serpent's toy,
I am one more lost boy.

Folly, waste, insignificance - each in my blood
Pumped by a fickle heart dragged through the mud.
My many failures are an art. I'm gagged on my own tongue.
I crawl on back through the ash, just one more prodigal son.

Oh, what beauty stretched across a tree!
Oh, all the darkness deep inside me!
There is beauty in those dead, scarred hands
Which were drained for just a wicker man.

Folly, waste, insignificance - I feel them boil my blood,
Pumped from a decrepit heart pulled from the mud.
My many failures were an art, but now there's coal on my tongue.
I am writhing at my Father's feet, just one more bastard son.

Oh, what return and glorious confusion!
Oh, true love marred by our contusions!
This redemption, this exemption, fully God but fully man
Takes ashes to ashes and breathes life to the wicker man.

I am the wicker man.

~ Jake Hughes

Adopting a Sister; A Belarusian Beauty

2011-02-25T09:35:00.000-06:00

My favorite places are your worst.
In my palace,
I recline on an elegant chair, eating truffles and drinking from a tea cup that has
a woman's face carved from glass.
Your eyebrows head north

To your old winter world -
where icicles
hang from pointy noses -
where burnt fire tracks
and day old vodka breath
creep up children's nostrils.
I silently sneeze.
I trace your steps back
to the St. Louis airport -
me three, you four - my lips met your cheek and our eyes blinked together for the first time.
You learned my home; I don't think you liked
the wind chime
or my baby dolls and tea, the plastic jewelry on my dresser -
and you let no one peek at your true girl.

Most days
you had tears trickling
down your distinct cheekbones;
I notice them as
I floated by
In a tutu.

You still despise the mascara clotted on your eyelashes Baby milk blue dresses to the
carnival - bananas too.
And I still want to know why you breathe so hard,
or the lyrics to your cries; I wish I could spend one day
in your orphanage.

But now,
When I skip up to the second story,
my fingertips still brush away
the tears that burn your cheeks;
While so close, I hear your panting
instead of your gorgeous laugh
And I preserve
another memory of our eyes blinking together.

~ Andrea Biermann

If Good Could Stay

2011-02-25T09:28:00.001-06:00

You can't tie a rubber band around
your first crush and your first kiss,
and stick them in a drawer to be pulled back out
when you feel like laughing.

You can't open a cardboard box full of
Spring breaks with your best friend,
pool parties, silly string, and ski trips
whenever you get in a fight.

You won't find last year's Christmas celebration
hiding behind a box of ornaments,
nor the Halloween when you were Alice
in a bucket of rotting candy.

And as much as you may want to,
you can't load all the good times
into the white moving truck
and leave the bad on the curb for trash.

~ Ally Trakas

Conversation with God

2011-02-25T09:26:00.000-06:00

My Lord, God of all, Ruler wise
Why have You sat and watched my demise?
If King eternal You are
Why such interactions only from afar?

My son, My son, the battle is won
At the end of the age, we shall be one

But King omniscient, I hurt and moan
In my pain and afflictions, I am ever alone
I cry and I yell, yet naught answers back
Is it because I sin or some merit lack?

Oh, beloved, whom I cried for
Was spurned, hated, and died for
Did you cause the sun to rise?
With a word, did you form the skies?

Your glory, oh Lord, none can know
Praise, love, and honor to You I bestow
Yet, give me one sign that I shall never doubt
A sign to make this heart devout

You ask for a sign; I died on the cross.
But for my sacrifice, this wicked world was lost

Of stories, my God, I am fully aware
You are wise and forgiving, yet mockers beware
The world You made, so why make it sin -
To expose us as weak again and again?
In this, great King, I am utterly confused
You knew we would sin, don't You feel used?

My son, You inquire, this I desire
I made the world perfect, flawless, and free
My children chose death rather than Me

Oh, Lord, of the world - my neighbor - I despise
He hated me first and tells only lies
Why should I love him when he hates my foundation
All I stand for, he spurns with no hesitation

I died for a world possessed by hate
So you might know heaven, I suffered your fate:
Hell I took for you, as you yelled "I abhor You."
Stop. Look. The outstretched arms say, "I adore you."

~ Luke Kuiper

Steady Breathing

2011-02-25T09:18:00.002-06:00

Black
Cold
Barren
Is this world I draw breaths in

Inhale
Exhale

These colorless walls surround me once again
Predators around their prey
Laughing at my pathetic attempt to escape
Apathetic smiles answer my screams

Inhale
Exhale

I speak passionless words
Sing inharmonic lullabies
Dance to stagnant beats
With my rhythm ever change?

Inhale
Exhale

Dull buzzing in my ears
Fading hues fill my eyes
Feeling in these fingertips dies
Dies
Just like the spice in the air
It's tasteless
It's bland

Inhale
Exhale

I need the sparkle in his eye
The approval from hers
An off-rhythm to relieve this prison
But when does it come

Inhale
Exhale
Never changing.

~ Tiffany Hennings

Sick Humor

2011-02-25T09:14:00.000-06:00

Let me ask you something.
Would you wanna be able to have anything you wanted
If it meant havin' everything you would ever want?
I mean everything:
That little toy ball in the toy store you begged mommy and daddy for
That three-story house with 6 bedrooms on every floor
The phone, the clothes, the nice vacation, the sand in your toes -
I could list so much more.
But what about those things you know ain't right for you
Those things that you tell yourself are supposed to belong to you
Any girl and boy, anything to give you that sensation of joy.
No matter how bad they are for ya'
You want 'em, you just can't ignore 'em
So they're yours,
Yours for the pleasure and the pain
Just find somewhere for you to scribble your name.
Ain't it humorous
How the things that tease us
That torture us, how they practically force us
To abandon what's good and important to us
Ain't it humorous how those things come around and bite us
And fight us and hypnotize us
Into doin' things that ain't right for us
Until we're so crazy in the head
That we don't even know what hit us?
Don't know how it happened
How everything got so screwed up and twisted and
That's when we
Ask ourselves if it was worth it
If we could do it all again, would we do it?
Little too late to be askin' that now
It's all over, and we dunno how
We even allowed it to get as bad as it did
Did we even really get what we really wanted?
So let me ask you again,
Would you wanna be able to have anything you wanted
If it meant havin' everything you would ever want?

~ Dylan Andres

We Gather Together

2011-02-25T08:54:00.000-06:00

My uncle stares at the TV;
for him, the holiday is easy.

Mom's fingers are found in the turkey,
pulling back from heat she cannot bear.

Dad is sitting with grandma
(who should be knitting)
but instead is getting acquainted
with her glossy new Mac-book,
her long, shiny nails
jabbing at keys -
"Oh please, Grandma," I think.

And I wonder if I'm thankful for them:
My mom who always finds the lost shoe
and walks the dog everyday
Grandma who struggles
to hear me and be heard
My sister Holly who just entered
the room to bus tables here -
who told me about Jesus.

~ Josh Sumner

Classy Me: Ode to the Old WCA

2011-02-25T08:48:00.000-06:00

Sure there will be fancier classrooms, desks, and hallways
Better fields, a theater, and a hue other than gray
But there is one thing I simply must ask:
"With this new campus have my level of class?"

I have Seniorville, stairwells, the foyer, commons, and more
Oh, the great student hang-outs, how I never bore!

I have an old hall, no a vast community
Life is born from the out-of-tune piano, and the playing of its keys

I have a brick wall; yes, a dull, boring brick wall
But it is loved by many, well, the brave souls of wallball

I have a balcony, a lighthouse, and a bench by Ladue
I don't know why they are parts of me, not even a clue

I have the coaches cave, the kiln, and pool maintenance rooms
So many secrets I possess in these priceless tombs

I've got a grand list of secrets and old tricks, too
But these don't compare to have the memories do

People gathered in my old gym to sing songs of praise
All sweating in Chapel - oh, the good old days!

You all know the windowed office with the funniest woman
Obey all her rules or you'll get a big yellin'

There's a pit out back that doesn't look all that cute
But take a 'doubt hammer,' a bald guy, and go smash some fruit

There's a Little Theater, but it doesn't feel all that small
Featuring Improv, plays, Poetry Slams and all

My new gym is more than just volleyball and basketball
But it is the home of our Blue Crew and Spirit Week with the race to win it all

Sure, your "new campus" will have glorious hallways
And classrooms and labs and football on Fridays
But never forget me, deep in your heart:
The classiest campus, the state of the art!

~ Matthew Sugg

Field of Flowers

2011-02-25T08:41:00.000-06:00

Here, it's me,
A rugged artist standing
Here
In a field of beautiful flowers
Gazing across the landscape
Here
In search of that one flower to place
In my vase for me
Here
To put on my pedestal to enjoy
The beauties, smells, and love
Here
Always in my palpitating heart.
I have searched this vast land
Here
And beyond, far and wide, for the right flower,
But with each one I've tried
Here
My fingers were pricked by thorns
That left me scars
Here
Knowing there none of them wanted me
Here
A rugged artist standing.

But, it's You,
Who looks beyond earth's painting
There
To see an artist once beaten
Nearly to death
There
Dressed in swaddle clothing
In humility, You came from
There
In all your splendor and beauty
Smiling, nodding, saying to me
There
"Do not be afraid."
You came from
There
To here, not to reject me
But to say, to show that you love me.

Your love, a seed planted in my heart,
Becomes a gorgeous flower like you.
Its growth never comes to an end;
Its growth never withers or dies;
Its growth never drowns or dries,
No matter rain or drought.
Its growth never grows weary,
Never thirsts
Never falters
In storms or in disarray.

And so today, every day,
I wake up with a smile on my face,
I wake up with a song in my heart,
For You, my Rose, heal my scars with herbs.
I am, after all, but a rugged artist
Here and there, there and here,
Who will never deserve You.

~ Tony Marr

Rhyming Prose

2011-02-25T08:34:00.002-06:00

'Twas the night before my poem was due.
If I didn't start soon, I'd be up 'till two.
I sighed and I scribbled for five or ten minutes;
My body complied, but my soul was not in it.
I forged a poem quite far from perfection,
Devoid of emotion or deep introspection.
With my pen I obeyed, but within my mind
I cursed the day it was ever assigned.
Not to be rude, that was not my design,
For poetry writing's a hobby of mine.
But demanding when creative juices should flow
Is like telling a wildflower where to grow.
It's shameful to waste my mind's perspiration
To craft a product without inspiration.
Although my poems can give me delight,
No such favor will be granted tonight.

~ Steven Bosch

Ethan

2011-02-25T08:30:00.001-06:00

"Do you hear that?"
Your heart said hello on your mama's cell phone.
Love at first sound.

Soon we see the ultrasound.
Your name is chosen quickly:
Ethan Myles.

You'll be quite familiar with that name,
Everyone will be saying it; whispering, shouting, mumbling it.

You'll hear it paired with 'Do you?' and 'Can you?'
Followed by a challenge or a dare

And sometimes you can but you won't
And sometimes you won't but you can.

You were born into a big world with big people
Using their big words to make your name small;
Make you small - well, you aren't.

You aren't just you. You're part of a family.

So, listen to your mom and dad:
"We'll do the best we can."

Do you hear that?

~ Catherine Bakewell

That Boy

2011-02-25T08:27:00.001-06:00

That boy lingering in the doorway
With his winter storm eyes
With his November morning expression
With his Amazon curved brow
With his sun-dripped freckles
That boy with his snow leopard reflexes
With his swan across the ice smile
With his arctic fox in a cotton field teeth
With his carelessly handled broken glass lips
That boy with the ancient statue stance
With the torrid desert muscle
With the melted dusk skin
That boy with the Japanese warrior shoulders
With the midnight phoenix hair
That boy with the dragon's claw scar slashed across his back
That man, I will meet in the city of Destiny.

~ Bree Jennrich

Me and My Pony (The Ballad of Tapeworm and Typewriters)

2011-02-25T08:20:00.000-06:00

Tapeworms and type writers,
Parasites and plagiarizers.
I'm looking for some new content.
Lack of results leaves me feeling oh so despondent.

My same old act is a mess. I'm a vampire!
Unlike Icarus, there's no point in aiming higher.
Vampires are 'in' and so is immortality.
It's easier to be famous than to have originality.

Just 'cause there's nothing new under the sun
Doesn't mean the same old routine can't be just as much fun.
I may be all unoriginal and phony.
Mommy, for my birthday, I want a one-trick pony!

People only like art when it's functioning clean.
Oil can, oil can, I'm a machine.
Creativity is messy. That's the best part!
Art's only art when it comes from the heart.

Just 'cause there's nothing new under the sun
Doesn't mean the same old routine can't be just as much fun.
I may be all unoriginal and phony.
I always wanted a one-trick pony.

I'll ride my pony straight on to my grave.
His name is Cliche! ... Actually, it's just Dave.
"We're almost at our quota. Thank you for your pledges."
I don't want to be well rounded, I want to be rough around the edges!

Just 'cause there's nothing new under the sun
Doesn't mean we should put creativity under the gun.
At least I'm constant. I've got Dave. I never get lonely.
I am soo B-F-F's with my imaginary head-stick pony.

And when I finally sell my soul to the mainstream,
I'll have cash. It's a party. Dinner's on me!
But the food is cold and my company's phony.
In case you didn't notice, this wasn't about a pony.

~ Jake Hughes

Call Freedom

2010-09-20T11:40:00.000-05:00

For everyone, the days hold a special meaning
For everyone, the days hold a different meaning
They are slaves, but they do not work the fields,
They do not pick the cotton or shed the seed,
These who are held by bonds unseen
These who are held not in iron but paper.
These vices will not hold me.
These vices everyone calls chains,
I will call freedom.

~ Alex Langley

Cumulonimbus

2010-09-20T11:33:00.000-05:00

Bending, twisting
These leaves in the wind.

Fond memories.

Lost, gone forever,
Clouded by doubt and fear.

~ Nathan Cox

Foreclosure

2010-09-20T11:27:00.002-05:00

If I am a house,
All my windows are shattered.
The curtains are torn,
But the door is bolted shut.
The dusty lightbulbs still work.

~ Catherine Bakewell

I Am

2010-09-20T11:26:00.000-05:00

Who am I?
I am nothing.
Nothing compared to the tree.
The tree who is silent,
when the wind rustles its leaves.
The tree who is not broken,
when the lightning strikes its bark.
I am not the tree.

I am nothing.
Nothing compared to the dirt.
The dirt who creates and shelters life,
when used as the human stepping stone.
The dirt who protects memories,
when nobody comes to remember them.
I am not the dirt.

I am nothing.
Nothing compared to the moon.
The moon who gives light,
when in the darkest of places.
The moon who is full,
when in a broken world.
I am not the moon.

I am nothing.
Nothing compared to the Lord.
The Lord who is stronger than the tree -
He is never shaken.
The Lord who is as loyal as the dirt -
He never gives away secrets.
The Lord who shines on a broken world -
He never dims.
I will never be the Lord.

I am nothing.
The tree will crack.
The dirt will rumble.
The moon will fall.
But the Lord will never be struck down.

I am nothing.
For I am not the Lord.
But I am His,
and He is mine.

Who am I?
I am a believer.

~ Stephanie Lieber

Runner

2010-01-11T11:16:00.002-06:00

Suffocate, enclosed by self
before abandoned in the release.
Nay! Again,
wrists twisted behind my neck.

Split blood to inhale:
dry feet again, but frozen rapids remain.
Imprint signet upon warm wax.
Deny the lures:

A brief hiatus as I curse the steadfast sky.

~ Julie Sharp

Revenge

2010-01-11T11:09:00.002-06:00

I am just an idea,
At first, slowly
Turning into a plan.
I am fulfillment
Of your dark desires,
Stalking into your dreams
with fury.
You'll never know
I consume you.
You'll never know
I own you.
I am radiating beauty
To broken hearts
Gifting ideas of myself
in shadows.

~ Rachel Hart

The Wishing Well

2010-01-11T11:06:00.002-06:00

I led you to the wishing well
to behold my white spill
and illuminate your heart's swell.

I led you to the wishing well
to reverse your free will
and ensure that lovely church bell.

I led you to the wishing well
to purposefully stand still
but quivered when I had the chance

of freeing my own farewell.

~ Laurel Dicus

Between the Lines

2009-11-18T07:35:00.002-06:00

The world spun.
Round and round,
A tiny girl in a twirly dress,
Never slowing down.

Time ticked on.
Day after night,
The past abandoned,
No memory found in sight.

Tucked away.
Behind separate corners,
Together standing,
They elude world and time.

They, never yet daring
To cross out of the line.

~ Laurel Dicus

Renga Poems

2009-11-16T14:51:00.002-06:00

It's an all-natural
mixture mush
in the pale moonlight

In the pale moonlight
a white scepter
my cereal agrees

~ Nick O'Neal

Two Haikus

2009-11-16T14:48:00.001-06:00

running across a lake
bare feet slipping and sliding
cold snow on my brow

slapped in the face
the podium stands with an accomplice
fingers snapping

~ Zach Starrcannon

Compromiser

2009-11-02T14:05:00.005-06:00

I am the Compromiser.
I let my guard down at will,
I give into my desires,
Longing to taste of something real.
Feed me, Oh Compromiser,
Till I am fattened to the bone;
Although I fear the fire,
I fear moreso to be alone.
I am the Compromiser,
My wishes come in selfish form,
They tear apart all within me.
Please no more, please no more!
Sleep now, Oh Compromiser,
I rid myself of all your chains.
To Hell, Oh Compromiser,
For now I trust in Him who reigns.
Cause there is hope for the hopeless,
Strength in our weakness,
And grace that abounds so deeply
Within His Love,
Within His Love.

~ David Meyer

Woe Is Me Blues

2009-11-02T13:51:00.004-06:00

I got the love-sick, head over heels, tired of being sick and tired, he loves me-he loves me not,
downtrodden, woe is me blues
I thought I had loved before, til I caught sight of this fella
So smooth and so sly
Got my nose wide open
So cool and so fine
Got my nose wide open
Playing fiddly diddly dee on my heartstrings
Makin' up just to break up
Got me singin' the love blues and I can't even sing
Tears just a rollin'
Don't know what it is
Daydreamin' in class
Don't know what it is
Here I am just a lyin,' pullin' ya along,
I know exactly what it is, I'm afraid
I got the love-sick, head over heels, tired of being sick and tired, he loves me-he loves me not,
downtrodden, woe is me blues

Can't stop scribblin' your name all over my math book
I swear I even saw ya face in a bowl of cornflakes
Oh Lord, Oh Lord this has got to stop
Waitin' by the phone for a call that I know ain't comin'
Oh Lord, Oh Lord this has got to stop
Can't keep runnin' from this lil' nightmare called rejection
Sleepin' and eatin' chunky monkey ice cream just won't do
Sleepin' and a hopin' and a wishin'
What am I to do?
Sleepin' to forget the tragic truth
That my baby has said, "Good-bye, we're through!"
Sleepin' to wake up and only realize that
I got the love-sick, head over heels, tired of being sick and tired, he loves me-he loves me not,
downtrodden, woe is me blues

Finally ran to granny hopin' for some words of wisdom
No cure to be found, she didn't even make a sound
I begged and I pleaded
Look at what love done did to me, I'ma sad sight to see
She laughed with wisdom
And smiled with no teeth
I begged and begged and pleaded and pleaded some more
Fed up with the love sick blues, I headed for the door
She rocked and rocked and pulled me close to the bed
She shook her head and finally said,
"Girl, you got the love-sick, head over heels, tired of being sick and tired, he loves me-he loves me not,
downtrodden, woe is me blues."

~ Christian Davis

No Mo'

2009-10-29T14:21:00.002-05:00

Ain't no mo' pain
Now unchain'd
No mo' shame

Anger is tame
Tired of fight'n
No mo' shame

The ones I felt
O' so mighty
No mo' shame

The ones I followed
Somethin' I'm not
No mo' shame

No longer bein'
Like some dot
No mo' shame

Meant to be
Tryin' to see me
No mo' shame

Livin' proud
In who I am, in
Where I come from
No mo' shame

~ Bianca Simone Elliott

A Stone

2009-10-29T14:12:00.003-05:00

Still, as a stone,
my heart near failure, throbbing knees bending away
as the dust settles.
I feel my head pushing to burst
as I organize a library of thoughts;
yet, my joints stiffen, as I remain
still, like a stone.

Am I not growing stronger by the day?
Is it true that I learn more every moment I exist?
Then why has my skin begun to rust?
I feel my life must be something special,
something with a mighty potential;
yet, as I lay down to rest,
at the same place, at the same time,
I wonder if my feet can ever move me to a new place,
as I am covered behind a cocoon
still, like a stone.

What is this life but simply life:
a wandering form on the slopes of the earth?
Kids in a sandbox, we craft pretty castles
and trace our names in the sand with our fingertips,
to ask, "Is there a world outside?"
I sit at the edge of my bed, stare into constant eyes
of stencils, never to make eye contact,
and marvel at the capacity of the spirit;
yet, I wonder if I could do more than
merely make life of better worth.
I will wait here, in my world, until
I have met with the answer that I seek.
Still, as a stone, I remain.

~ Mitchell Anderson, Posthumous

Redemption

2009-10-29T14:08:00.003-05:00

A woven tapestry beauty now
Death's pungent odor falls away,
Falls away,
Redeemed by the touch of nail pierced
Palms,
Redeemed under the cover of springtime
Rain.

My lust,
My envy,
My revenge,
My hate.
My evil
Taken.

A white dove soars inside
Giving life sun up through grace
Sun down by grace:
Redeemed in the flow of tears that
Heal,
Redeemed of scarring by pain-filled
Screams.

My self-control,
My contentment,
My forgiveness,
My love.
My life
Given.

All taken.
All given.
Redeemed, here for so much more.
Redeemed, so here more shall adore.

~ Rachel Hart

The Meaning of Death

2009-10-19T14:56:00.003-05:00

Life is a cloudy day
You can see no shape or size
Within yourself

Only stillness

Life is a cloudy day
Filled with rain and thunder
Upon which you cry
Filled with rain and thunder
Time after time

When nightfall comes
You ground yourself within
The earth's shadow for
Fear of stars
Seeing your vast greyness

When nightfall comes
A new day breaks
You see the sun shining
On the clouds of many shapes
And sizes

But that sun will never cast
Its rays upon you
Breaking upon your flatness

When the day breaks
Neither trees nor grass
Will ever understand your
Shapelessness

You are without definition
You are death

~ Tony Marr

Livin' It Big & Long

2009-10-16T15:28:00.002-05:00

They tell this story 'bout Tucker
He was this babe born bare
But the second he took a breath
He got stuck in a rollin' chair

Moving slow through life
Tucker knew something was wrong
But his daddy always telled him
"You gotsta dream big & dream long"

Now Tucker couldn't do much
So we sorta just kept on
He wanna do more so he closed his eyes
And he dreamed big and he dreamed long

He tried to jump and throw a ball
To run fast and play ping pong
But he couldn't do none of those
So he just kept dreaming big and dreaming long

No, Tucker never gave up
Somewhere he knew he belonged
Someday he knew it'd pay off
Those dreams of his, big and long

Finally, Tucker found his calling
He composed a grand, symphonic song
It was time to live a dream
To live it big and to live it long

~ Forrest Hughes

The Man in the Glass

2009-10-16T14:59:00.002-05:00

I peer into beautiful glass to see a man
Who wonders about his future and how he will succeed
Who hears the sound of sweet music following him wherever he goes
Who sees great childhood memories and yearns to go back
Who desires to be free and to be loved by all
This is the man in the glass

He pretends to be a child in freedom and faith
He feels joy and sadness, glee and pain
He touches wooden rods to make glorious commotion
He worries about crumbling his life and throwing it in the trash
He cries about struggles and about disappointing others
This is the man in the glass

This man understands why he is here, to glorify his savior
This man says the Lord is God, worthy of all praise
This man dreams of perfection, living each day blameless
This man fails his dreams, laying his sins at a tree
This man hopes not to stray, set to stay on the straight path ahead
This man in the glass is me

~ Matthew Sugg

Journeyer

2009-10-02T16:38:00.004-05:00

No validation
No guidance
Nothing to look for

Unsure
How to be
Just sure how not

Hurt
Unwanted
Unknown

But growing.

Older
Wiser
2 Fathers -
Mother & God

My hope
My path
Something to find

Here
Strong, confident
Standing

Me.
Me.
Found:
Not a child,
A woman.

~ Simone Bianca Elliot

Reduced to Ashes

2009-10-02T15:41:00.002-05:00

I am a tree standing amid endless rolling fields.
I am beautiful and strong
With birds making their homes in my branches.
I am shelter to many creatures during storms;
I provide food for the bees and caterpillars;
I dance to the ongoing song of the wind
As my rustling leaves add to its music.
And I am happy to be alive

But, soon, the days get shorter.
My beautiful leaves die, fall from my branches,
As the once denizened birds fly far away:
I cannot shield creatures from the cold growing.
I see something looming far in the distance,
But I am cold, oh so cold:
I have to escape. I have to rest.
And blackness comforts me -
sweet sleep overtaking me in the world.

I feel nothing
I feel something
I feel warm
I feel HOT

I wake to see once slumbering creatures
Running in a frenzy past my roots.
I am scared to see the billowing black
Smoke before me.
I am trapped.
My roots tie me to the bitter cold ground
Like chains.
I am lost:
My strong trunk reduced to ashes
On the burnt spring ground.

~ Ian Farmer

The Elations of Men

2009-09-18T13:47:00.004-05:00

Nothing ever happened on Shortwinded Drive,
Where folks of every age came to reside.
Where excitement was an evasive fly,
Where they just lived, contented as cows.

On the 6th of June, eyes pierced the blinds
As they watched a shadow stalk their lane.
Light apprehended the cloaked silhoette,
And to the cows' relief, it was but a lad.

Now this little boy pulled a fork-tongued handle
Of a big red wagon with flames on the side.
Laden on the back perched a large silk sack
With a drawstring taut, bulging to burst.

He slinked to a house and set the knocker in motion
And the door, with a creak, gave a child the same age.
The boy from the bag took a pack of new crayons
And the other boy's frown turned quick to joy -
for now.

He tugged the red wagon to the next house to find
A headphoned other, ears ignoring the fight.
This time the bag revealed a pack and some gin
And he quickly grabbed both with an emerging grin -
for now.

Now a young businessman answered the boy's next knock,
Whose face mirrored toil and the vows to his wife.
So he passed him a key and a place for his ring,
And as the man packed for a new trip, he let out a smirk -
for now.

The boy crept on and at the next house he rang
Exposed a short balding man with a crisis around.
The little one reached in, pulling out a blank check;
In relief, the man took it and his lips made the moon -
for now.

In the last house lived a crotchety old man
Answering the door and cracking in pain.
So the boy gave some pills that the bag had produced
And the man hobbled in with a happy little wince -
for now.

Having finished his task, the boy slithered away.
With dawn, the crayons broke and the flask ran dry:
Night lighted, money spent, and pills all gone,
Calamity had happened on Shortwinded Drive.

- Forrest Hughes

Beginning of End

2009-09-18T13:13:00.003-05:00

The milky glow of treacherous night slowly fills my veins
I can actually feel my heart beating fast and insane

I am alone in some perfect serenity
Hoping and longing for this to dawn eternity

But I fear the fiery ball of hell will soon rise
Meaning I must face yet another set of lies

But I realize it's only so long before another dark pleasure
I can wait until then, I think, as long as I am a treasure

So I tune out all the laughter, such a hideous thing
And then in my head begin to sing

They might think I am mad
But, the truth is, I am simply not with them

I'm in a world ruled by colored desires and dreams
A place where only I reside, it seems

Wondering, glancing at their normal, rueful glances
I am far from ordinary, taking my uncustomary chances

All this once frightened me, learning that I am broken
All this, needing restored, my life but an empty token

All this, watching the blazing sphere rise above my heart, I realize
All this is just one more passing day eternalized.

And, in all this, comes the greatest comfort of all -
In this race,
The quintessence of grace.

~ Rachel Hart

Winds of Sorrow

2009-09-18T12:37:00.003-05:00

As the tree loses its lush garment of leaves,
So I am, this love of mine shed from me.
Desired, longed for, this thing I seek evades,
My soul giving its last attempt in futility.

Harsh is love unrequited; in all regard I feel its force,
As sharp and numbing, like mid-winter's gale:
Draining upon my being, like Persia's withering sun,
Or as the rabid jaguar shreds me to pieces.

In strength of my spirit, I had faith,
But in insidious treachery, the knave defects.
Though I were Uriah the Hittite, I am left defenseless,
Continually assaulted by folly, continually dishonored by chagrin.

But, alas, strangely I feel no anger, but
Sorrow, and a feeling of exposure so mortifying
That no longer will I surface my feeling.
No longer will foreign minds know of notions inside.

~ Richard Mansfield

Finite (an acrostic)

2009-09-18T12:31:00.000-05:00

Listen close
Even the rain
As it spills and
Ventures down to earth
Evaporates

~ Laurel Dicus

Ode to a King (a double acrostic)

2009-09-18T12:29:00.004-05:00

Come to heal me from sin's harm,
He takes my heart's ugly stain away.
Rising from death's sting, I fall
In grace's grip, no longer to go
Solo. Born of dust, but set to soar:
Thanks to Christ, my Savior and Lord!

~ Dr. Gibson

Creative Acrostic

2009-09-18T12:21:00.004-05:00

Chords ring and a
rhythm is set to melodic
enlightening tunes. Words make my mind soar
and search for the true meaning, so
this enchanting melody transforms
into discrete and relevant
verses which challenge my thoughts. i
engage, to search, to find the import of the music.

~ Matt Sugg

You Are The Ghost

2009-09-11T11:19:00.002-05:00

you are the ghost
who lingers in a veil-like vapor
over my head
traveling through subconscious.

when summer's suns past return
into the present
the memories of then
and thoughts of now
elephant vests
and bare chests
cigarettes in ciceros
and coffees at sideshow performances:

the night
the hour
the pressed flower
the beer
the dance
and those damned
cancer sticks.

you.
you.

you.

~ Grace Smith

Being Sentimental

2009-09-11T11:14:00.002-05:00

I kick my heels at the welcome mat outside your labyrinth.
Not hesitating, slowly stepping in,
I savor every wrong turn,
every tangent laid out before me;
avidly my pace grows faster and faster,
and at every dead end
pause, till the next episode.
The moral of the story is the chest at the dead end,
brimming with useless treasures that I compile
in the endless corners of my mind.
They say one man's trash is another man's treasure,
but I find it hard to believe that anything is trash
when everything brings me simple pleasures.
And maybe that's why people call me a pack rat.
But I just call it being sentimental.

~ Grace Smith

Burning against the Dark

2009-05-15T09:34:00.001-05:00

White light in silence
candles burning in dark places
Tree with thousands, flickering
Table with brass sticks, tall

Beauty in the dark

It is hope
but barely hope.
(I need hope).

Quiet words in the dark
Kindness around a simple table
Love
but barely love.

Are these enough?

~ Mrs. Ann Heyse, WCA English Teacher

The Queen

2009-05-13T15:20:00.001-05:00

You saw only purple it seemed;
Perfection and regality tucked into each seam.
But there were no seams -
No constricting purity,
No flawless sheen.
Only a blazing fire
That, to my eyes, was green.
But to your eyes, all unseen.

Unchained from that pedestal,
I dirtied myself clean.
Ran down to the ocean
And released every gleam!

~ Laurel Dicus

Watch of Regrets

2009-05-13T15:07:00.002-05:00

Patterns cross silent rooms
As we walk in the night,
Rapists and reapers of emblems
And edifices constructed on
Someone's name, dead or dying.

If we were yet alive,
Truly, like the silvery stars
Or bright poppy or a
Wide-eyed child, we might
Laugh louder than our cries.

Our once prodigious minds now
Slain and emblazoned, as the way is,
In yesterday's bright colors,
We stand shackled to a forgotten song:
A tune not our own.

Time offers his watch of regrets.

~ Dr. Gibson

Why Can I?

2009-05-13T15:00:00.003-05:00

Sigh ... the pencil scrapes over paper
Yawn ... this student daydreams in his desk

Sigh ... the doctor reads off the bad news
Cough ... this child slowly loses former hope

Sigh ... the husband clears out his office
Cry ... this wife balances a deathly checkbook

Sigh ... the soldier dons his bullet proof vest
Scream ... this civilian prays for an American savior

Sigh ... the innocent man defends himself in court
Whimper ... this child's father committed no wrong

Sigh ... the farmer treads his field, gun in hand
Moan ... this livestock needs its pain ended

Why can I sigh,
When I don't cough,
cry,
scream,
whimper,
or moan?

I'm just in high school.

~ Drew Moisson

Satisfaction

2009-05-08T20:23:00.001-05:00

A man sought perfection;

He'd fallen for the lie -

Every time he thought he'd found it,

It turned out not to satisfy

He sought joy through riches,

But it drained his pocket dry -

With custom suits and golden spoons,

It does not satisfy

He sought contentment through power

With a briefcase and a tie,

But CEO stands for nothing more than

It does not satisfy

He sought happiness through people,

But something went awry:

Every friend made him want one more

Because it does not satisfy

He sought bliss through reputation

With status no one could buy;

He was the greatest, but he felt the worst

For it does not satisfy

He sought exhilaration through pleasures

He drank all his life and got high,

But when he awoke with a headache

He knew it does not satisfy

He sought enjoyment through lust

On a street corner nearby,

But as he lay in bed, he knew the answer:

This does not satisfy

As a man grew old

And he knew he would die,

He said, "There's nothing in this world,

That can truly satisfy."

~ Forrest the Hughes

Because You Can

2009-05-08T20:20:00.001-05:00

Life is short

Live in the moment; don't waste time trying to record it

Do one thing every day that terrifies you

Find flawless joy in the chaotic mess

Love because you can, not because you should

People will remember

Drive the 50 miles to see your friend when she's had a rough day

Strike up a few words with the boy in the back of the classroom

Smile brilliantly with each person who even glances in your direction

Love because you can, not because you should

Jesus is your friend

Pray. Even though you'd rather not talk about it

Give your problems to God, because the longer you carry them, the heavier they get

Remember your freedom is through Christ, not the world

Love because you can, not because you should

It all boils down to love:

Love life

Love everyone around you

Love your Savior

Love because you can, not because you should

~ Laurel Dicus

Courage to be a Coward

2009-05-08T13:27:00.000-05:00

The wall's creeping
Even while you're sleeping
You think you see the light
But find it's not that tight
You want a folly found
Right beneath a sleeping gown
Truth comes through
All 13 knots are loose

~ Max Piazza

We the Branches

2009-05-07T14:52:00.003-05:00

Crippled by December's frost,
He bends but does not break.
Coverless, he trembles; he shakes
In the frigid wind, but does not fall.
From deep, sunken roots
His support stands tall:
Age's marks running up and down
Rough brown skin. He clings
To the towering presence,
To this strong tower afflicted
And bruised by sufferings. He
Grows out of its life,
Shortly small, sullen, and weak.

But April is coming.

~ Dr. Gibson