Poems
Thought I'd post up a couple of poems for you guys to read.
To Know, To Dare, To Will, and To Be Silent
A cross that hung above my door
for twenty or so years,
I closed my door
and it fell off
this morning.
My mother must've given it to me
when I was two, maybe three,
but I first noticed it
when we moved to a new
South Jersey town.
Mom put the white cross back up,
the little blond haired Precious Moments boy
kneeling, Jesus Loves Me written beneath him.
It was true, then,
Jesus loves me,
so much that I waited to go to church.
It meant getting dressed up
in uncomfortable “church clothes,”
but it was worth it.
I even got to sit in the balcony,
look down on everyone,
be closer to God,
and hear a good story now and again.
Father Dan told good stories.
The year before conformation.
Mom was teaching kindergarden CCD.
Mom didn't like Father Dan,
she had an argument with him,
and we ended up leaving
Our Lady Queen of Peace;
what had happened?
Jesus loves me.
Mom wouldn't tell us, but
Father Dan got arrested
for embezelling funds.
How does a priest do that?
He was a priest,
I remind myself,
as we drive to barely hear
preachers who speak
with a heavy Italian accent.
I was thirteen and the concept
fear of God
was hard to swallow.
Jesus loves me
Jesus is a part of God
therefore God loves me.
Why be afraid?
Mom says,
during a storm,
“Think of it this way.
God can
strike you with a
lightning bolt whenever
He wants.”
But God wouldn't do that.
Why be afraid?
Jesus loves me.
I went through conformation.
The family stopped going to church.
My younger sister and I always
shared a room when we were
at Grandma's.
I mused, wondered, and told her,
“It doesn't add up,
Jesus loves me
Jesus is a part of God.
Therefore, God loves me.
Why be afraid?”
Sister said she brought a book,
Teen Witch.
Said I should read it.
So I did.
Somewhere between the concept
of God and Goddess,
the Threefold Law,
and “harm ye none,”
I agreed.
I was Pagan
My church became the woods,
my prayers became spells,
my cross became a pentacle.
I took up tarot cards, herbs, and healing.
Mom even bought me my first books.
I made my first altar,
and adorned it with candles for fire,
incense for air,
water for water,
stones and gems for earth,
a pentacle for Spirit
(which some would call God as Christians do),
and a dragon for each one.
I did my first spell
on Sara to heal her broken leg.
Happened at a soccer practice
would take 6 weeks to heal.
Overnight, I burned a candle,
said a few words,
and concentrated to the point of deafness.
The next day, she told me,
“It'll take two weeks to heal.
What did you do?”
I did not hide.
I chose correctly.
I read cards at school, at lunch time
much to the dismay of some teachers.
Everyone asked for one,
and I became rather successful.
It was my own little advice column.
I was pulled out of the cafeteria only once
for having cards in school.
“They're satanic,”
the teacher told me.
I nearly punched her,
but stopped myself.
I walked the hall with her
to the assistant principle.
He spoke with me alone.
I did not have to hide them afterwards.
When I showed books to Aaron,
his mom brought them back
to my parents in paper bags.
Unable to touch
and tempted to burn.
Said they should have a talk with me
about what I was doing
and how I was hell-bound.
Mom finally told me,
“When people ask,
you are a confirmed Catholic.”
I would not hide.
Still, I find myself trying to put back
the cross that fell.
Same hole in the back of it,
same nail on the wall.
There is no other place for it.
Not among pentacles,
tarot cards, and herbs.
Late-Nighter
Hour ten
of paper-writing.
Three more pages
as I hear
"English major is about to sleep,
needs caffeine badly."
I down another energy drink,
thank myself for playing Gauntlet,
and promise to
finish by 5 am.
Reaction Time
I
Sweaty hands clamp on the
back of my neck.
Full-nelson.
I reach back
dig my fingers into
his cheeks,
thumbs right under his jaw,
peeling him off.
I look behind me
and laugh at my friend's stupidity.
II
Walking to the bus
there's a tug.
I wheel around,
poised to impale th assaliant
on my heel.
Dumb freshman,
used to bowl on a league with him.
I spare the freshman
and warn him.
"Next time,
I strike"
III
I feel a hand
grab my shoulder.
I turn with its pull
nab the wrist
and jab two fingers
under the jaw.
Stupid freshman.
To Know, To Dare, To Will, and To Be Silent
A cross that hung above my door
for twenty or so years,
I closed my door
and it fell off
this morning.
My mother must've given it to me
when I was two, maybe three,
but I first noticed it
when we moved to a new
South Jersey town.
Mom put the white cross back up,
the little blond haired Precious Moments boy
kneeling, Jesus Loves Me written beneath him.
It was true, then,
Jesus loves me,
so much that I waited to go to church.
It meant getting dressed up
in uncomfortable “church clothes,”
but it was worth it.
I even got to sit in the balcony,
look down on everyone,
be closer to God,
and hear a good story now and again.
Father Dan told good stories.
The year before conformation.
Mom was teaching kindergarden CCD.
Mom didn't like Father Dan,
she had an argument with him,
and we ended up leaving
Our Lady Queen of Peace;
what had happened?
Jesus loves me.
Mom wouldn't tell us, but
Father Dan got arrested
for embezelling funds.
How does a priest do that?
He was a priest,
I remind myself,
as we drive to barely hear
preachers who speak
with a heavy Italian accent.
I was thirteen and the concept
fear of God
was hard to swallow.
Jesus loves me
Jesus is a part of God
therefore God loves me.
Why be afraid?
Mom says,
during a storm,
“Think of it this way.
God can
strike you with a
lightning bolt whenever
He wants.”
But God wouldn't do that.
Why be afraid?
Jesus loves me.
I went through conformation.
The family stopped going to church.
My younger sister and I always
shared a room when we were
at Grandma's.
I mused, wondered, and told her,
“It doesn't add up,
Jesus loves me
Jesus is a part of God.
Therefore, God loves me.
Why be afraid?”
Sister said she brought a book,
Teen Witch.
Said I should read it.
So I did.
Somewhere between the concept
of God and Goddess,
the Threefold Law,
and “harm ye none,”
I agreed.
I was Pagan
My church became the woods,
my prayers became spells,
my cross became a pentacle.
I took up tarot cards, herbs, and healing.
Mom even bought me my first books.
I made my first altar,
and adorned it with candles for fire,
incense for air,
water for water,
stones and gems for earth,
a pentacle for Spirit
(which some would call God as Christians do),
and a dragon for each one.
I did my first spell
on Sara to heal her broken leg.
Happened at a soccer practice
would take 6 weeks to heal.
Overnight, I burned a candle,
said a few words,
and concentrated to the point of deafness.
The next day, she told me,
“It'll take two weeks to heal.
What did you do?”
I did not hide.
I chose correctly.
I read cards at school, at lunch time
much to the dismay of some teachers.
Everyone asked for one,
and I became rather successful.
It was my own little advice column.
I was pulled out of the cafeteria only once
for having cards in school.
“They're satanic,”
the teacher told me.
I nearly punched her,
but stopped myself.
I walked the hall with her
to the assistant principle.
He spoke with me alone.
I did not have to hide them afterwards.
When I showed books to Aaron,
his mom brought them back
to my parents in paper bags.
Unable to touch
and tempted to burn.
Said they should have a talk with me
about what I was doing
and how I was hell-bound.
Mom finally told me,
“When people ask,
you are a confirmed Catholic.”
I would not hide.
Still, I find myself trying to put back
the cross that fell.
Same hole in the back of it,
same nail on the wall.
There is no other place for it.
Not among pentacles,
tarot cards, and herbs.
Late-Nighter
Hour ten
of paper-writing.
Three more pages
as I hear
"English major is about to sleep,
needs caffeine badly."
I down another energy drink,
thank myself for playing Gauntlet,
and promise to
finish by 5 am.
Reaction Time
I
Sweaty hands clamp on the
back of my neck.
Full-nelson.
I reach back
dig my fingers into
his cheeks,
thumbs right under his jaw,
peeling him off.
I look behind me
and laugh at my friend's stupidity.
II
Walking to the bus
there's a tug.
I wheel around,
poised to impale th assaliant
on my heel.
Dumb freshman,
used to bowl on a league with him.
I spare the freshman
and warn him.
"Next time,
I strike"
III
I feel a hand
grab my shoulder.
I turn with its pull
nab the wrist
and jab two fingers
under the jaw.
Stupid freshman.