Poetry from Other Seasons

Thanks to my poet friend, Andrew, for helping me remember my love for poetry!

Here are a few oldies from my University days and beyond. Not sure who would read them, but at least they aren't hiding in my closet anymore :)


"Deception" -- 2000

Good morning, my friend.
I trust you slept well...in your own mind
Drowning out the voice in the back of your hollow chest that screams for MORE
Always able to somehow cover up the aching.
Of course, without me, you would truly be nothing
Me, and my cousin Pride, who rob you of this MORE
You make it so easy, you tarnished Pinnochio
keeping hidden the heavy ropes that tie your being to my Master's desires.

Eat, hungry one.
Eat like you did when we first met.
You know you are the master of your own life,
so take a step closer to my fruit.
Its tantalizing, rotten center calls out your name.
Take of it and eat as before.
You deserve it...besides,
who said those are really chains around your ankles?

Embrace me, my virgin lover
and let me rape your mind to such an extent
that you believe it is your own fault.
You see that this is the only life there is,
but you are too blind to know anything else.
Your mind is clouded by my touch
so that fear of rejection makes you run
Run...into my sensually twisted arms.

Bow down to me, my slave.
For I am your mate, until death only do us part.
Yet you do not even know I am here.
You glance at the Man with nail-scarred hands,
as I whisper to you that He does not really exist.
The cycle continues as you bow at my feet
The Man cries on the tree, your name on His lips
All the while you think that it is YOU ALONE you obey.

So who am I really, my little doll?
I am your lover, I am your friend.
I am in your thoughts, I am keeper of your heart.
Pride and I make sure you are kept blind,
so that you never know of the MORE that you were created for.
Many people eat of my fruit, and like you, they all die.
Let me make you contagious of myself!
You will not feel a thing; for you do not believe I even exist.




"The Battle" -1999

I close my eyes as the swords are drawn,
feeling the clash if iron upon iron
the grinding of two passing Spirits.
My mind reels while the battle begins,
not knowing whether to charge or retreat;
the future has been revealed to me,
but the wind is often more easily captured than faith.
The roaring attack penetrates my screaming soul.
I feel completely helpless and defeated, but
Light consumes every dark corner around me.
Passion rages within my veins and rushes throughout.
I am choking; I can neither move nor speak
but the Light...the Light is what keeps my vision clear.
Slowly, as I drop my sword and let another take it,
the grinding vanishes.
It is no longer my soul screaming out...




"The Martyr" -- 9/3/99

I shot my dog today.
There was no blood. Just the faint aroma
of a friendship from long ago, and a
tainted love to ill to ever be.
I did not cry. I did not grieve. I just numbly pulled the trigger.

I shot my dog today.
The same poor creature that performed at my every request.
The same animal that licked my wounds, only to turn and
bite my heels before running off to another master.
It is he that I shot, and over he that I will not mourn.

I shot my dog today.
My youthful companion, with charming eyes and a tongue of gold.
He did not whimper; having been beat too many times
to count by his own cold hand. He took the bullet with false nobility,
making me the killer.

I finally shot my dog today.
Man's best friend. Woman's worst enemy.
He did not whimper. I did not cry.
Both...are now free.




"Frustrated" -- 26/8/99

you, with the cracked mask called religion
stoning the sinner wearing too plain of a wooden cross.
your cross shines brighter than most, often SO bright
you cannot see the misery of your chains
...which, are not really there anymore.
you long to fly, but your broken wings scream
for someone other than yourself and a Band-Aid.
one hand fiercely gripping the mask, the other
holding a stone.
you forget Whose hand made you,
so you stone yourself.




"Living Psalm 73" -- 26/11/2001

Jesus...You once promised to hold me by the right hand,
to guide me and take me to glory--
I search blindly in the dark, but can't find Your scars.
Senseless and ignorant, reaching for the wounds
that i myself made--while evil men scoffed.
I am a sick, brute beast before You, but You still reach
for my hand, remaining all the while my guide and counsel.

Jesus, won't You hold my hand
In all Heaven, it's You I seek
Oh Lord, help me to stand
I am sick and my heart is weak,
the world has nothing I desire, nor anything I need
draw near to me, Jesus, let me tell of all Your deeds.

Jesus...You promised to hold me up, to be good to the pure in heart--
my heart seems pure, but my blood runs green around the wicked.
Pride and self replace the cross around my neck.
Oh Lord, where are You?
Why does my foot sllip, yet my enemy stands so strong?
Lonely and plagued, my flesh fails me...
But I know You are my strength and my portion forever!

Jesus, won't You hold my hand
In all Heaven, it's You I seek
Oh Lord, help me to stand
I am sick and my heart is weak,
the world has nothing I desire, nor anything I need
draw near to me, Jesus, let me tell of all Your deeds.

Jesus, I give You my hand.
You are the only One I seek.
Lord, please teach me to stand
my flesh is failing, and I am so weak.
the world has nothing I desire, nor anything I need
draw near to me, Jesus, let me tell of all Your deeds.
The world has nothing I desire besides You;
so draw near to me Jesus, my strength is in You alone.





"Behind Glass Doors" -- 1999

Cracks, tarnishes, chips.
All have been covered and healed..
Spotless, clean, without blemish.
Afraid to touch you, my grandmother's china cabinet
with all its treasures stored up within the glass doors;
the transparent, glass doors that allow anyone to see within.
Seeing--but not quite able to touch.
Burning to reach inside, to all the beauty on its shelves;
yet afraid to leave even the slightest fingerprint.
No one is to know I was here; what I saw.
Such precious gifts locked away, only to be taken out when needed.
I yearn to help, but I cannot touch what's behind that glass.
Not wanting to slip, not wanting to break what's been remade.
So I will only sit and look from afar,
Maybe soon I won't be as clumsy.




"You" --1998

Sinking into your pool of warm and laughing blue
The familiarity of diving in too deep--
I still feel the sting of contact on my skin.

Wading around in a lake of dreams;
trying to keep my head up while my heart struggles to stay afloat.

Your pool is too shallow for a swim,
but too deep to escape.
Keeping my head up, kicking hard, but not drowning...just yet.

And my heart?
It still remains afloat in your blue...




"Improve After Reading Martin Luther King Jr." -- 2001

I tied my shoes for the first time
and chased after the wind
I took the extra wheels off my bike
and tried to catch the sunshine
I made the team!
and wanted to fly like a bird
I had my first kiss
and reached for the stars
I graduated high school
and almost caught the wind...
I met the Man from Galilee
and lost the darkness of deception
and now...I dance with Life.




"Until I Tripped" -- Feb. 1999

Putting all else aside, I push forward in this race called life.
I've stumbled along the way; hurting ones that meant the most,
allowing things of another world to cloud my view.
I talk like I know the Man with Scarred hands.
I pretend that I can be, and sometimes am, exactly like Him...
only my scars aren't because of Love.
What is Love? How can I say that I know of Love
when I love the race itself so much?
Didn't realize that I was running the race in shackles
until I tripped...until I came off the track.
I didn't cry like everyone thought I would
I instead found that pretense and false reality are stronger used
than emotions.
Where is the track? How do I get back on?
This time, instead of getting up alone,
I allow the Man with Scarred hands to pick me up.
He says He will carry me the rest of the way,
but I must promise to not look back,
except to ask forgiveness and move on again.
And the reality?
I never really knew Love...until I tripped.




"The Waterfall"--1991 (7th grade!)

There once was a waterfall
Tall, ever flowing, deep
It always feel hard, but it was quiet & shy
It was as if a great boulder was holding it back
The water was hardly flowing, yet obvious
The one day the boulder broke
The water came down hard
And all those around heard it
Now it flows deeper than before
It appears taller
And is forever flowing



"The Flower" --1991

A bee is buzzing around some flowers
The air is damp from the recent showers
Enjoying the sunlight, enjoying life
Enjoying the world, no troubles or strife
Softly he lands on a pale yellow rose
From its golden petals happiness flows
The helpless bee, unaware of danger
The hard falling snow, a cold white stranger
As time goes by the rose will slowly die
Its petals will wilt and life will pass by
It's hard to believe a beauty one day
The next it's gone, the life drained away
But life starts over, it shall live again
A new flower, winter has never been.



"Haiku's by Mandy--2000"

In death I've found life
my freedom is finally here
Death, only to live

Fighting to be real
sick of acting not on stage
why can't you see me

Tired of being friends
none to understand my heart
But never alone




"What I Call Home" --2002 (*a very angry poem written after returning to the USA from 3rd world Venezuela)

This is the place that I call home.
Conceived and born on a bed of green
in a land where vision is blind
New dreams fly while the old return to dust

My being, once bound by the fallen towers
now fights for TRUTH
I tremble as a star-spangled voice shakes the earth
knowing that it, too, will one day fade away.

This place I call home, in which I am an alien
a land built on the courage of liberators
and the blood of revoluntionaries
a land that has forgotten its roots.

Now destroys other children of the dream
the collar wrapped so tightly around its neck
it can only breath its own vanity.
Sinking in green...

This is the place I call home.
Where this green blinds the senses and sinks its iron jaws deep into the earth.
My home, where "God Bless" is sung
while mechanical warriors rape its neighbors

I, once, was just as blind
forsaking no other gods before my home.

This is the place I call home, over which I now weep.
Why do others not see? How can they not hear?
The blood of old dreamers cries out one last time
"The end is near...remember the Dream!"

Instead, my home bowns down to the green,
straightens its collar and continues to spoil its capitalist child.
A foreigner in my own home;
My voice will NOT go unheard!!!