Mountains (Wide Landscape)

There are mountains, far away,
Painted in various colors:
Green where the evergreen pines
Still reside. White-brown and grey-brown
Where leafless trees wait for spring.
They take on bluer hues as they stretch
Closer to the horizon.
Closer to the white-blue sky.
The cotton-ball clouds cast shadows
Over the mountains, and power lines,
In shallow “H” shapes, are silver lines tracing
Across the feet of the sloping mountains.

Woods (Medium Lanscape)

Down in the depression beside the sloping hill
Stands an aged pine, weathered and broken,
Half dying as rotting and wind-worn branches
Form a ladder in the woods, reaching for the sky.
Its arm-like limbs spread wide and embrace
The hollow skeleton of a smaller, fallen kin.

Splashes of green color live and thrive on the
Scraggly bushes and the rotting corpses of trees.
Dead, colorless leaves coat the ground, and rocks
Line the steep slope, rough, ragged, and torn.
In the far ground, lies the shadow of a shape.
A dry streambed, where water once ran.

Daffodil (Close Landscape)

A yellow trumpet with ruffled edges,
And yellow fans with fine veins.
These are the shapes that create
The playful form of the Daffodil.
A brown encasement
Once served to protect
The fragile blossom
Now rings it like a collar.
The stem and grass
Are a glossy green-white,
Contrasting with the dry, brown
Slivers of wood in the mulch bed,
Forming criss-cross patterns
Like some complicated needlework.
And behind the delicate flower
A pathway of cement, shadowy,
Unfocused in the distance,
Where feet trod unknowingly
Pass the yellow daffodil. 

Clouds (Object Poem)

A blanket for the blue sky.
Shapes of animals as they pass by.
Formed by water and wind
Pure white, as if no one‘d sinned.
Then white turns to grays and blacks
Rage and thunder as it attacks,
Pouring tears upon the beaten earth
Anger.  Joy. Sadness. Mirth.
Fortresses in the sky
Build and grow, by and by.
Sometimes, they seem painted
On a bright blue canvas with white untainted.
The clouds form in wisps and whirls
And dance across the sky in twirls.

Hot Chocolate

Warm. Rich. Creamy.
Reminder of cold winter days
Playing out in the snow,
With snowstorms and sleighs,
Ice skating. Skiing. Snowball fights.
And after coming inside to warmth,
Sit by a crackling, roaring fire,
And melt as water drips from hair
And sugary Fluff and liquid chocolate
Dance on taste buds and heat
Your body from head to toe,
Inside and out, while it fills
Your stomach deliciously full by
The perfection that is hot chocolate.

Cliche Poem #2

"It's part of God's plan," is what they all say
When they have no other words to explain
Why everything is up in the air, so,
Really, it's just a socially polite
Way for them to open their mouth, insert
Their foot, and look like an acceptable
Moron as they kill two birds with one stone.
But truly, if they watched themselves fumbling
For the "right" thing to say, they would realize
They are all just the blind leading the blind
Despite their best efforts to play their trump card,
In that one phrase: "It's all part of God's plan."

Hugs (A List Poem)

A man’s hug. Strong. Secure. Steady. Safe. A haven. Reliable. Long has it been since I’ve had one.
A woman’s hug. Comforting. Compassionate. Caring. Apologetic. Sometimes ill timed, but I don’t think they mean them to be.
A child’s hug. Innocent. Small, yet great. Pure. Resilient. Free. Unbiased. A wonderful experience.
A father’s hug. Protective, sometimes smothering. Determined.
A mother’s hug. Long. Relaxing. Reassuring. Empathetic. Enduring. Soothing.
A sister’s hug whispers, “I’ve missed you.” “I love you.” “It’s been too long.” Steady. Warm.A brother’s hug. Strong. Protective. Brief. An embrace that tells you what their words will not.
A friend’s hug. “Hello.” “Goodbye.” “Safe trip.” “You’re awesome.” Encouraging.
A lover’s hug. A mystery to me.
A stranger’s hug. Awkward.

List of Cliches

Hit the ground running,
And play your trump card.
Part of God's plan is
Up in the air while
Still staying in the ball park.
So, dig yourself a hole, and
Open mouth, insert foot because
Everyone knows absence
Makes the heart grow fonder.

A Birthday (An Occassional Poem)

Just twenty days away, and it shall arrive
A new milestone to pass, to achieve, to gain
A marker of life, and I’m no longer a teen.
Just twenty days, until that birthday comes
And I’ve yet to recollect or recognize why,
Or what, or how, life’s supposed to change
Besides the fact, I’m no longer a teenager.
For seven years, a person lives in their teens,
Learning, discovering, solidifying who they are,
Their personality, their life, shaping and affirming
Who they are and who they will be, and
Even after that span of years, there is a
Sense of uncertainty, of instability,
And I wonder what have I done for the last
Seven years of my life, only to remember
That those seven years are not my whole life.
And I have many years yet to live, and it begins,
A new stage of life, on every birthday hence.

Nightmare

The images keep playing in my head.
The screams, the bodies, and the bloody dead.
My crazed imagination makes it worse,
With each replay, it becomes more perverse.

Crawl under pillows and blankets to hide,
Pray for a dreamless sleep to endure the ride,
And wait for the waves to slowly subside.

Epigrams

Mean as in I’ll be hurt or you’ll be hurt?

The lie easiest heard is the one left unspoken.

If you want to learn how to love, love Jesus first.

A mirror reveals the true critic: yourself.

Dying can be the beginning of a new life.