Boredom-Induced Gibberish in 14, Somewhat Coherent, Lines

Oh what to do when one is bored
But write in verse with structured form
Belabored time which passes by
In incremental wistful sighs
Constrained, but to confabulate
This boredom must to correlate
With thoughts on which to masticate
The hope is to eradicate
The semblance of a slothful mind
For that of which is truth divined
But now I must reticulate
On things hard to [...]

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Tears

As teardrops fall from saddened eyes
Down rolls and hills of facial climes
With trails of mem’rys fresh and clean
Remembering what might have been
They fall away to places new
Away from those that they once knew
But pray, don’t fade as teardrops do
Or as memories are prone to do
For drops of tears fall not to ground
But to the heart, [...]

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The Critics

“Man is dumb,” dear Plato says, “To imitate is quite a sin.”
But Aristotle sees the good, and lets the valued reader in.
In zeitgeist Horace holds his stock, while [Lon]‘Ginus finds his taste innate,
And judgment to the audience, and lit’rature, salvation great.
Sydney says, “Be like the Lord, to people, morals must be fed.”
And Dryden, to the [...]

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Literary Criticism

Introduction
The task at hand is to divine the right-
-ful way in which to come to full enlight-
-enment about that which is lit’rature,
That all may understand, and thus, concur.
For truth, in seeking, many questions do arise
As myriads of people theorize.
And each is certain his own path is straight,
And willing then and there to demonstrate.
For with opinion [...]

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A Poem

As ink of poesy seeps into
The fading lines of faint light blue
Upon the parchment stiff and clean
From reams of thoughts – inspired dreams –
Pulsing, beating, thriving words
Which breathe and sing with dreams deferred.
Composed with platelets, endstops, blood
Of grief and love emoting floods
Of deluged pathos satisfied
By angst and rapture occupied.
With sinews stitched to punctuate,
And concepts with [...]

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Sacred Tomes

I sometimes wonder
That if Heaven had a library,
What volumes would it hold:
Be it ancient tomes or modern verse
Of poesy, essay, or prose?
To what upon those dusty shelves
Are graced by cherubs’ touch?
The lyrical cantos of Dante and Donne,
Of Milton, Thompson, and Blake?
From Paradise lost and then reclaimed,
And relics, lambs and vistaed hopes,
What will the Heavenly cannon [...]

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There is a Pinhole in My Wall—

It is small and insignificant,
barely even noticeable.
One would have to have it pointed out
in order to see it—
a pinhole that once held the pin
that once held my calendar
(or was it a picture? or a letter? or a card?)
in its place.
There are people in that pinhole,
places and memories
all huddled in that pinpoint of time,
soon to be [...]

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To My Savior Upon My Deathbed

Oh Lord,
You know of my secret trepidation. This fear that is staunchly seated in the very depths of me of apathy and stagnation. When I read that You are never-changing, this is my greatest comfort, and my very anxiety. Death, be it Heaven or hell, suffuses images of the “same,” and this [...]

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An Old Man By the Road

He might have been a grandfather – the ancient creases of memories upon his face and hands, and I imagine a child on his knee, and a twinkle in his eye – except for the derelict lawnchair he sat on, and his curious decision to position it by the side of the road, with a [...]

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The Silence of Shusaku Endo

The
water boils,
boils of pestilence,
sliding down the naked bodies
of those who bewail Your name.
The Son, Your son, He cries,
“Eloi, Eloi,
Lama sabachthani?”
Your
epistemic
distance
breeds
this silence
(of indifference?).
And what a bitter cup it is.

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