Friday, September 7, 2012

Another poem from last semester. I wanted to experiment with a set form, in this case creating an acrostic using the first word of each stanza.



My name is Judas.

If you have the choice
between immortality and a heart-
choose heart.

And if the cost of singing like the angels
comes through an instance of petty treachery-
pluck out your tongue.

When the beauty of the gods
comes to take you away,
run to the graveyard,
and live your life in ashes first.

You choose to walk away.

Choose, you insufferable bless├ęd

Choose that dishonored road,
soaked with love’s blood at every step.

Love? I’ve never let it touch me since.         


Saturday, September 1, 2012

I have not posted in a long time. I am sorry for this!
On the other hand, I have a serious backlog of poetry that I have written, so I am going to play catch up for awhile. There have been so many changes since the last time I wrote, but it feels strange to write about them on the internet! ... What is it that you are supposed to blog on blogs again?

Here is a poem I wrote for a class last semester:


Thy blood has never been grotesque,
nor yet, but something sacred.

It is my life and my true faith,
It is my rose, thy sorrow.

Thou beauty, thy richness;
It never could be ill-

It is only the memory,
that haunts me, even still.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Poem for you.

At first I thought that the line on your hand was

the contortion of your skin, twisting to hold the book in your hand.


I didn’t realize that the line was just a shadow cast by the blue ribbon

connected to the small, blue book of the four gospels

that you are currently reading. The fabric on the book is rough

and familiar, it seems like all books of that size wear the same husky fabric.


What stuck me was not the beautiful arch of your hand,

so graceful and aristocratic,

or even the fabric of your shirt- rough, contrasting well with the book.


No, what makes my eyes widen at the fragile poignancy of the thing,

is the dark, falling shadow

cast by the rosary beads wound around your hand.

Shadow on shadow.


You wear shadows like they were diamonds.


Monday, October 10, 2011

Sometimes I think life is like a rainy day
that you can't help but watch,
fascinated,
as the moments slide down the window
faster than you can count them.



Monday, September 5, 2011

Library books

I like finding books at the library,
because I feel that same sense of
exploration that I do when I go book shopping,
that same discovery,
but I don't have the guilt of spending money.

I like returning library books because
as I drop the book into the slot,
I feel released from a burden
in the form of two mysteries and two books on writing.

I always skip on the way home.

Monday, August 1, 2011

My idea of dreaming

is effortless gliding

through blue water.

Being able to play the music you feel in your heart

and in your ears,

but that you never see on the page.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

I wonder what God does with all those moments,

the ones that hurt but you know will be better by tomorrow.

Are they still significant even if they don’t last very long?


What does God do with hurt, with tears?

I like to imagine that maybe it’s like a garden

and pain gets used like compost.

I like to pretend that in the end, flowers will grow.