it too was crawling

Just a child at only thirteen
Saw a slasher on the big screen.
I went back home and tried to glean
Facts from the books upon my jeans.

In the attic, lightly scratching,
Tiny birds that were just hatching,
Tiny bugs the mice are catching,
Or perhaps a rat that’s thatching?

In the attic, something creeping.
Down below, my heart is beating
Faster time it is now keeping
As it wishes I were sleeping.

In the attic, something stumbles.
Nerves of steel begin to crumble
As my psyche is surely humbled.
From my chair, my books I fumble.

On my feet I tried to run from
What above could doom my outcome.
Crossed the street and found a dear chum.
Tried to speak, but found I was dumb.

When I could speak I then relayed
The story why I was afraid.
We gathered neighbors, planned a raid.
The attic creature must be slayed.

Gathered bats we used for baseball.
On our heads there fell a dark pall.
Crossed the street, now well past nightfall,
Moving slower than a curveball.

Through the front door we were crawling.
To the creature, loudly calling.
No! The attic door had fallen.
Now our skin, it too was crawling.

Now back home and in the driveway
My folks thought they saw some horseplay.
Then, of course, they tried to downplay
What we told them of the foul play.

‘cross the fence the creature scurried.
Each of us became quite flurried.
With evasions my folks hurried
‘cause they did not want us worried.

This is not an allegory.
Take it as admonitory.
So the moral of the story
Is to shun films that are gory.

this Christmas

Originally each Christmas
Was about the Savior’s birth.
Now rather than religious
It’s a day of family and mirth.

Perhaps you’re one who says “Humbug!”
I have no problem with you.
Feel free to raise up a beer mug
And toast those who sit there with you.

Don’t bother with feeling sinful
About something that isn’t required
By the Bible. There isn’t a word
That His birth should be solemnized.

Yet certainly you are a sinner
In need of a savior whose birth
Is proclaimed this most festive season
With church bells and gifts of great worth.

The question to ask on this Christmas
Is not “Am I festive or not?”
But “Have I received God’s forgiveness
For my soul’s all-encompassing rot?”

So Christmas this year, it’s your option.
But turn to God. No more deflection.
What you want is a holy adoption
And to take part in the resurrection.

should have heeded teachers’ pleading

As a kid for entertainment,
Watched TV and went to movies.
Probably should have spent time reading;
Thinking cells I was not feeding.

Dr. Jones, that’s Indiana,
Found the Ark which held the manna.
Could not hold onto the treasure.
Nazis caused him much displeasure.

Kirk, the captain of a starship.
Factor nine, his choice for warp speed.
Fought a lizard who could kill ya.
Led McCoy, Spock, and Uhura.

Great white shark out in the ocean
Ate a girl without her clothing.
Took the barrels way down under.
Fed a tank, was blow asunder.

Looking back I should have changed it,
What I did for entertainment.
Should have heeded teachers’ pleading
Fewer movies and more reading.

the shadow cast by death knows not

A universal trait of man
Is bondage to the curse of sin.
Some more, some less, it matters not;
All souls, at heart, are full of rot.

I wrote that preface to proclaim
My heart, also, is full of shame.
My tongue, my rage, my heart of pride;
Companions always by my side.

That said, I must write my protest;
Too long, my thoughts, I have repressed.
Your words have crushed those I hold dear;
If me alone, I would not care.

Like mine, your throat’s an open grave.
Deceitfulness holds you as slave.
The viper’s venom, weak when compared
To your red lips’ pure cyanide.

Cursing and bitterness flow free
From your dark mouth so easily.
Ruin and misery do dwell
Upon your tongue, a fire from hell.

The way of peace you do not go;
Destruction, death is all you know.
As sure as you were born, it’s said,
The earth will profit once you’re dead.

Evil is sweet in your dark mouth.
Those in your path prefer a drought.
Such evil you cannot let go;
You savor it like fine Bordeaux.

The vultures flee; your words repulse
The rats; they leave in much disgust.
The shadow cast by death knows not
The misery to mine you’ve wrought.

Your next ride? May it be a hearse.
Believe me, I have wished for worse.
But when you’ve harmed those whom I love
Do not expect a graceful dove.

That said, I hope you do repent
And turn from your mouth’s most foul stench.
Your sin, though great, yet greater still
Is grace from God, his wrath fulfilled.

it surely stung

There is a thought I wish not to conceal.
(It’s not as though I’m known for keeping quiet.)
My sin, did it demand an old ordeal
As though against their moms I led a riot?

My tongue, sometimes before I think, cries out
Against the enemies of God and sooth.
My sin, too often, makes it all about
My temper; It distracts some from the truth.

In what I said my heart does not rejoice;
The thought behind it never breathed the air.
No self-control, for sure I had a choice.
The pain of those I love, I could not bear.

My thoughts of self-importance led me to
Speak rashly as if people could not live
Without my take on things. Then I was blue;
Some “friends”/acquaintances would not forgive.

The discipline of God, it surely stung;
But thanks to Him I’m better with my tongue.

love bestowed and blessedness

Before the wrinkles win my brow
I’ll tell a tale if you allow
Of childhood sweet with folks long gone
Of homemade cake and many songs

My fondest memories are there
Of Grandma and Pa, the two so fair.
They made each grandkid think he was
The favored one and with just cause.

When Grandma gave a gift to me
She’d say a secret it must be.
Pa and cousins could never know
Of gifts that made a kid aglow.

We’d bake a cake, I’d lick the bowl.
Within two days we’d eat the whole.
We’d wake up early to hook some fish.
By dinner time they’re on a dish

At Christmas time she’d help us sing
Of Santa Claus and Christ the King.
The best were in the car at night,
A wonderland of twinkling lights

When Pa would give a gift to me
He’d say a secret it must be.
My Grandma and cousins couldn’t know
Of gifts that made a kid aglow

He made for me and walked on stilts,
The sight more prized than any gifts.
At dusk he’d clean the fish we caught.
Fresh fish like this could not be bought.

He’d show me turkey legs and tools,
More treasured than some costly jewels,
And tails of rattlesnakes he had.
To think my mother called HIM Dad!

Though humble pensions met their needs
They always had enough for me.
The money given, long since gone,
The love they shared, though, still lives on.

Now my sis and cousins know
Grandma and Pa were the same to all.
By “same” I think of nothing less
Than love bestowed and blessedness.

if not for those

There is a dark and dreary place
Where shadows go to die.
The trees that cloak the earth beneath
Hide cow bones where they lie.

The forest’s edge is watched by crows
Who cry to those below:
“Behind us is damp, stifling air,
And foulness and decay.”

Sometimes I passed the one-eyed birds,
Sometimes against my will;
A past I wish forgotten but
The darkness lingers still

Depression takes me there ofttimes;
It bids me say goodbye.
If not for those with love sublime
There’s no way I’d survive.

darkness falls

The darkness falls behind the veil;
The forest creatures softly wail.
Awake? Asleep? I do not care.
Sure doom does flit upon the air.

My heart, my brow, do race and sweat;
I turn to run then get upset.
My arms, my legs, they do not move;
A dream, perchance? I cannot prove.

I hear a voice, it gently calls;
Into a pit, my body falls;
The crash, so hard, expels my breath;
What can it mean? My certain death

Get up! Get up! I cry aloud;
A muffled voice beneath the shroud.
A crow, an owl, a dirge for me.
It seems I’m doomed, no hope for me.

Once more, the voice, it’s closer now:
“Your guilt, your guilt, you must avow”
But sir, how have I done you wrong?
In this damp pit I don’t belong.

The voice is now not of a man;
Now faint I seek to understand.
“Wake up! Wake up!” She nudges me;
Awake at last, I’ve been set free!