No picture yet, and pretty common theme, but I wanted to leave the old poetry trio with an uplifting poem to “wash” away the feeling of the previous one.  It is a short one.  After the poem are some scriptures that can be referenced to go with the thought.
An interesting aside is that while it is the traditional AABB rhyme scheme, I worked it so the rhyme is the same but the letters are different. ea with ee, mud/flood etc.

Immerse, purify, wash me clean,
so in me more of you is seen.
My Master whom my purpose steers
and keeps me spotless through my years.

After I’ve wandered in the mud,
bury me in the cleansing flood.
No smudge or blemish shall remain,
a shining beacon down the lane.

Companion if you have time:
Line 1-Eph 5:26, 1 Cor 6:11, Acts 3:19, Psalm 51:7
Line 2- 1 John 4:12-15, Col 3:14, 1 Cor 15:49, Numbers 6:24-26
Line 3- Matt 6:24, Psalm 86:11, Psalm 23
Line 4- 2 Peter 3:14, Jude 1:24 ( looser),
Line 5- Romans 3:23-24 , Titus 3:3-7(line 6 too)
Line 6- 1 Peter 3:21, Romans 6:4
Line 7- Jude :12, Eph 5:27
Line 8-Matt 5:16 , Matt 7:13-14,



Before you read this, it is a dark poem and the thought isn’t pleasant.  The rhyme and flow aren’t smooth, maybe because it was all built around 1 or 2 lines.  Why put it on here?  I’m not sure I even want to.  I guess I will because I want different varieties since everyone has different tastes.  While the flow isn’t great, that fits it in a way.  Each stanza has the same number of syllables for each line it contains.  That was intentional, but not for a specific reason other than to do it, and it adds more numbers, albeit a little more hidden.  This was back when I had an idea for a photography/poetry book, so I did a lot of work to stage a picture that I will crop in here.  Not that I plan on a book anymore, or would include this one, but the photo would need redone anyways if I was going to.  If I was trying to be all artsy.

Well, it is up to you if you want to read it, but focus more on the experimental techniques I tried than the message.



Two-hundred poles in transit
leaving your home back to mine;
eighty-four’s my favorite
any would do the job fine.

Metal meets wood,
head meets the wheel;
Sure that I could,
no longer feel.

Sixty to zero in two-point-two,
point-one-six until I hit the dash
air bag might work, better think it through,
might be a better way than a crash.

One pill to feel sane,
nine to stop my heart;
No longer feel pain,
swallow three to start.

Two five inch incisions
crimson-stained porcelain
life changing decisions
close my eyes and sink in

A last breath
“Welcome, death”


An old college poem.  The very traditional AABBCC rhyme scheme.  Some decent lines in here at spots, though.  Any rhyme that ends in the -e- sound could be used for the name, but I put “anybody” there now.  

And yes, I did just bring my Lego castle back from Pennsylvania.Image

The poet stated:
” I have written of beauty before, and spoken of love often,
but the beauty always fades away, and the love always seems to soften.
Nothing compares to what I feel now, to this feeling that envelopes my soul.
This feeling that grows and feeds on me, threatening to devour me whole.
For though I may ruin everything I’ve worked for, my world may be torn apart,
I must risk everything to please this feeling which grows within my heart.
For what can stop the flame; what can quench an eternal fire?
Where can I find enough, to appease my soul’s desire?”

The king interjected:
“Just name anything, and I will fulfill your requests.
I can give you gold and jewel filled treasure chests.
I would give you soldiers and servants, to do as you please.
I can muster an army large enough to bring kings to their knees.
If you desire a maiden, pick any in the land.
I will speak to her father, and you shall soon have her hand.
Tell me what it is, that will your burdens release.
Tell me what I can give you  that will bring your soul its peace!”

The poet replied:
” Wealth and riches have no meaning to me,
they are things that will pass- that you can’t take with you into eternity.
While many would take the armies, for the love of feeling power,
for the ability to control others, the ability to make people cower-
there is a power that is much stronger than all of this;
it is the power of love that a woman wields in her kiss.
Nay, to wield her power all she has to do is to speak,
her voice alone cuts to the soul, it turns a brave man weak.
It is a woman that I long for, it is for her love that I live,
but love is something, O great king, which even you can’t give.
It is something that must be won, from different people in different ways,
it is something that may require different tasks on different days.
Yes, to seek out one’s love is the most difficult journey one may take.
it demands of one his soul, and threatens his heart to break.
It is a quest that I must make, my lord, and I must make alone,
to win the love of the Goddess “Anybody”, to make myself to her known.
Many have tried and failed, and I may end like the rest,
but there is nothing more that I can do but try my best.

It is a longing for her, this flame which consumes me.
As I walk through the woods, I hear the wind whisper–Anybody–
On the warm summer nights I can feel her breath on the breeze,
stirring my soul as the leaves on the trees.
And in times when everything seems dark and black,
it is only a ray of light from her smile that can bring me back.
To see her happy is all I need in my life to make me content.”
He bowed to the king and finished “I think it is time I went.”

As the king watched him leave, a tear came to his eye.
He thought “that man is much stronger than I.
Although I may get almost anything I want at all,
I have never had the strength or fortune to answer love’s call”

Bowl reborn

Given its spiritual theme, I meant to get this up yesterday.  Looking back on it, I think it is a little cliche.  I have no picture to go with it like some of my other writings.  I had plans of a pit in the ground with flames coming out and a pedestal in the middle with a bowl I had made ad reglued myself to be “artsy”.  Now that the poem has lost my favor, it will probably remain photo-less.

My beginnings were meager,
dust of the Earth drawn together,
molded and shaped,
or misshaped.

Physically flawed,
but perfect in ideal,
in the mind of my creator-
formed for a purpose.

I waited in darkness
with others like me,
not knowing my destiny
until my savior opened the door
and the light reached me,
harkening me to my calling.
My usefulness judged not by appearance,
but what I held inside me.

My master filled me with food,
life-giving sustenance to all who accepted his offering.
The world soiled me.
Only continual washing could cleanse me.
Submerged as a contaminated container,
raised spotless,
able to ascend again.

Then I fell to the Earth so hard
it broke me.
My life was shattered.
Unable to put myself back together,
only my savior could make me whole again.

Now I lead a new life.
No longer able to hold filth,
I am set on a pedestal
above the world,
so all may see my creator’s simple bowl.

A shining example of the Great Artist’s perfect work.

The Fireplace

Another old poem.  I still need a good picture for it, but finding a house that has burned down and left only the chimney is not going to happen often in Wyoming.


By myself, I am cold
immobile, silent,
made of stone.
A dull gray,
unpleasantly empty.

When you are in my hearth,
I feel so warm inside.
You are vivacious, enriching,
emitting a cacophony of crackles and pleasant pops;
your combustion casting color onto my facade.

The coldest, snowiest days
become a treat and a pleasure.
I look forward to soaking in your heat,
to holding you close,
complementing each other

If you leave my safety
you burn uncontrolled, a raging inferno
that in an instant destroys our home
leaving only ashes and memories,
?razing? what the builder bound together

I am all that is left behind:
a solitary monument of what once was,
a purposeless pillar slowly crumbling
amidst the blackened ruins that tell all
a family lives at this address no more.

Date Rape

This is a story from a college, anytime, anywhere.
It happens all the time, but no one seems to care-

 He entered the room that Saturday night;
almost got knocked over by two drunks starting a fight.
He ascended the stairs, up to the third floor.
He went to the room he’d been in many times before.
He pushed his way in, as usual there was a crowd;
People dancing, spilling beer, the music turned up loud.
He made it to the keg, asked the bartender to fill his cup.
He drank about an hour, then turned his mind to hooking up.
He was checking out the dancers when out of the corner of his eye,
he saw her in the corner, as most freshman – shy.

 As he walked towards her, she didn’t know what to do.
She wasn’t really drunk, but she had a few.

He introduced himself and her face turned red.
She had watched him all fall long, while he never turned his head.
They talked for a while, and drank a few more beers.
A new keg arrived, welcomed by students cheers.
He said he was going to his room, and invited her along.
He was popular and seemed so nice “sure, what could go wrong”

 Now he can’t remember, and she can never forget
what happened the night that he and she met.



Considering the immense size of the world,
it seems improbable that we should meet,
much less connect with each other.
Yet we did,
and we became one.
A land unto ourselves.
Not separate from the rest,
because there was no world outside of us.
Pangaea – entire Earth

We drifted apart so slow,
it is understandable we did not notice.
3-6 inches per year.
Our size dwarfing these small distances.

But the seemingly insignificant spans
added to each other year after year,
until a rift formed between us
and we split-             apart.
You, Laurasia, making your way north.

I, Gondwana, moved to the south…

Since our break-up, we have both gone to pieces.
When we do cross paths,
the encounter produces eruptions and earthquakes.

Experts say it is possible we may come back together,
(in maybe 250 million years or so)
which leaves me to wonder:
what life will remain in either of us
by the time we do?