Sonnets Here, In-House

Thank you! I hope to share more poems in the future.

Yes, this would be the third disappointment for me. I'm not too upset about it, just disappointed that what seemed like a very devout Christian and caring girl would give the impression that she's seriously interested in me, only to forget all about me the moment she gets back to college.
 
Thomas, it would not be amiss for you to practice wording things in iambic pentameter. For instance:

She gave me the impression that she cared.
If I'd been skeptical, I would be spared
The shock of disappointment and disgust
I'm feeling since she left me in her dust.
 
The definition of a Valentine
Grows flexible the older that you get.
I have been known to give my Carol wine,
But even roses now are no sure bet.

Like me, my wife is now preoccupied
With undeserved hard times our church now bears.
We want to show the Lord we're on His side,
While clutching the belief that He still cares.

Therefore, although some find this dubious,
The sharp needs of our church made me feel free
To cast some bread amid the noisy fuss,
And play the Colorado Lottery.

If God would bless us through the Powerballs,
Our building could at last acquire some walls.
 
On Insomnia

Congestion in my sinuses: that stinks.
I must have blown my nose a dozen times.
Well, since I'm suffering the sleepless jinx,
I'll get myself tired out by writing rhymes.

It might be psychological; perhaps
A corner of my mind is paranoid.
It thinks that if I sleep, a huge collapse
Will happen-- my whole house will be destroyed.

Some guys will say, "I'll sleep when I am dead,"
But Christians know there's more to it than that.
By now, perhaps I'm tired enough to shed
My tensions, dozing off once I lie flat.

I sometimes envy lazy sleeping dogs,
But maybe now I'm set for sawing logs.
 
An Intercessory Sonnet

They say that lies can fly around the Earth
Before the truth has even donned its boots.
I see the news; I say it without mirth --
Wrongdoers are the riders in the chutes.

To serve Christ Jesus often takes long years,
Before we see the TINIEST result;
Yet liars, terrorists and racketeers
Can strike with swiftness, like a catapult.

The work we do is not innately wrong,
But may be dashed to pieces in a blink.
"Just think of Heaven," sounds again the song;
But by that very thought, I have to think

Of those who ARE NOT safely held by God;
Their foes fly fast, while we are forced to plod.
 
Burned out, exhausted, close to giving up,
When absolutely everything goes wrong;
When scoundrels are allowed to tell us "Jump!"
And God is ridiculed in trendy song;

When traitors are unpunished, and get rich,
When lies we KNOW are lies get taught in schools,
We try to hope, though lying in a ditch,
That there may be correction for the fools.

The resurrection story still is TRUTH;
And so we try to feel, to feel again,
The old enthusiasm from our youth,
Because, whatever time remains to spend,

We want our time to count for something yet.
There's hope, if we can only NOT forget.


 
In my backyard are pointy burrs that sting,
And soil back there is mostly barren sand.
Each year, to make a go of gardening,
I've had to spread new soil and peat by hand.

In choosing what to grow for future meals,
I favor squash and broccoli, for those
Appear to do well. As for purchase deals,
We veterans are treated well at Lowe's.

I had to wait out some untimely snow;
You global-warming screamers, get a life!
By June, I hope there'll be some growth to show;
Meanwhile, some weeds could really use a scythe.

Our Lord let farming shape a parable,
But that assumes our soil is arable.
 
To Carol on our Third Anniversary
(while explaining to uninformed readers that, since Carol and I got married late in life, we both still own houses, just over a mile apart)​


I wondered what to give you as a gift,
Besides our steakhouse trip already planned.
Then, into town late winter blizzards ripped,
Providing useful work for my own hand.

For one day, Colorado spring went _poof!_
Tree branches, broken, covered all your lawn.
Some also had been dropped upon the roof,
Which meant a lot of wood must now be sawn.

I stacked the firewood up in growing sheaves,
Well pleased to spare you from this laboring.
Unlike that other instance raking leaves,
I _didn't_ almost lose my wedding ring.

So happy anniversary, amour;
Now you'll be able to get in your door.


(Yes, "sawn" is a proper English word.) ​
 
Next to strawberries, Carol planted mint.
Those plants, apparently, share gardens well.
Mint fragrance billows up, more than a hint;
I'm glad it isn't a disgusting smell.

This spring, however, so much mint's in leaf
That, as I kept on pulling endless weeds,
The very air seemed fit to brush my teeth!
It's more mint than a plot of that size needs.

So, making sure I knew which plant was which,
I pulled much mint, so berries could breathe free.
But those mint leaves were too good just to pitch,
So they'll go in the season's first sun tea.

Sun tea will give no problems getting done,
Except when excess rainstorms block the sun.
 
The Colorado Rennie-Festival
Dismissed me, after saying I'd be kept.
But someone else, I'm told, now runs it all,
So now I seek to prove I'm still adept.

Tomorrow morning, Carol and myself
Will drive to Larkspur, early as we can.
I'll tell my old friends there I still have health,
Although it's been awhile since this old man

Surprised the customers by running fast
Right up a hill; they always were impressed.
My bygone season will remain my last,
No doubt, but while I'm there, I'll do my best

To savor the old Rennie-cosplay high.
Then it's back home, to write some more sci-fi.


 
Concerning the Pressure of Collective Madness

A world which hates its Maker savagely,
And wants no part of life by His design,
Pretends it can command reality,
And say a scribble's really a straight line.

The very thought that God could be in charge,
That He defines the beneficial way,
Is thought of as "judgmental," much too harsh
For anyone to trust, much less obey.

So lies and lawsuits take the place of faith,
While self-indulgence gives itself a crown.
We thought that inside church we would be safe,
But scoffers now intend to hunt us down.

False confidence was always a mistake;
But now, at least, there's more of us awake.


 
A Drab, Dull, Mundane, Chatty Sonnet!


White Mountain is Apache land, where I
Will soon be going on a mission trip.
It's also in my fiction, for a guy
Named Henry Spafford, tougher than a whip,

Comes from that reservation, and befriends
My hero Alipang, a fellow brave.
But never mind all that! I'm in suspense
For what my feet may suffer when I bathe!

We'll organize Apache basketball;
No, I won't be a coach -- yet I may sweat.
Thus, when it's time for showers, we must all
Wear sandals, so the fungus we won't get.

My RenFest sandals ought to serve, with luck;
Their leather's fake, and I can save a buck.
 
The Grady Bunch!​
A Jurassic World/Brady Bunch Parody​


This is the story of a lovely lady,
Who was bringing up her sorta lovely nephews.
Neither of them had hair of red like their auntie,
The youngest in brown curls.
This is the story of a man named Grady,
Who was busy with four raptors of his own.
They were five of them living all together,
But they were all alone.
Until the one day when the lady met this fellow,
Then they knew it was much more than a hunch
That this group could somehow form a family.
And that's the way they all became the Grady Bunch!
The Grady Bunch!
The Grady Bunch!
That's the way they became the Grady Bunch!


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There cannot be too much of gentleness,
Provided that we understand one fact:
The gentle heart may find those in distress
Who cannot live unless the good will act,

And action could mean getting in a fight.
If this is understood, we can proceed
With learning how compassion sheds its light
On those who have a spiritual need.

Don't be annoyed with those who need your time;
Don't say they're just imagining their pain.
What seems a trifle, hardly worth a dime,
Could be what makes them feel that life is vain.

Get used to giving where they can't repay;
One act of grace might make somebody's day.
 
Benisse, I'll assume that you mean how was it when Carol and I attended opening day of _this_ year's Colorado Renaissance Festival. Carol watched the jousting for the first time, and I was able to seek out fellow Christians who were still employed there at Larkspur. They had a larger ensemble of instrumental musicians this year than in any of the years when I was on cast. Many actors looked the same as I remembered them, but the woman who plays Princess Elizabeth (that's _the_ Elizabeth, before she became Queen) had aged more than I would ever have expected.
 
Bringing forward an oldie

For 13-Year-Old Matthew

I'm forty-five years older than you are,
But I remember how unfair it was
To know I had the brains to be a star,
But have to give up space to every scuzz.

I wished I were a superhero, too,
So I could SHOW THEM!--but no powers came.
I had to watch while jerks could always do
Just as they pleased, while girls forgot my name.

You're right--it ISN'T fair; but what is worse
Is if resentment rules us for so long
That, in the quest for strength, we rage and curse,
As if our hate and rudeness made us strong.

They don't. What does make strength is discipline.
Control YOURSELF, and someday you'll fit in.
 
Upon Increasing My Understanding of How It Is
That Blues Songs Come to Be Written


They'll say, "But you have happy memories!"
They mean well, but are clueless. Joys now lost
May only hurt to think of, if the freeze
That slew them leaves a never-melting frost.

There's only one sure way the damaged past
Can be remembered gladly: some new grace
Must gather pieces broken in the blast,
To reassemble in the holy place.

When souls in Heaven meet, old misery,
Although unhealed on Earth, will then be bridged.
What's wrong is righted retroactively;
Nostalgia will mean more than what we wished.

Past happiness is linked with Heaven then,
And we'll have happy memories again.
 
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Officials, bureaucrats, and other snakes
May bite your ankles anytime you trip.
When you've already had unlucky breaks,
They make things worse, until you lose your grip.

God sometimes intervenes, and sometimes not.
I'd rather that He did, for it's unfair,
When I'm already losing what I've got,
That petty officeholders now may tear

To pieces what remains. Today will tell
A certain private outcome; it's my plea
That God will make this major step go well,
So no more axes hover over me.

A major sorrow He did not relieve,
But surely He'll allow me space to breathe.
 
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