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Saturday, 25 April 2009
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Currently
Between the Dreaming and the Coming True
By Bebo Norman
Bring Me to Life
see relatedA couple free verse poems...
Wow, I haven't posted anything in a while. School has a way of stealing all my poetry writing time. Here are a couple free verse poems that I've written recently.
Climbing up
Falling down
Stepping forward
Going back
It's a process
Learning
Growing
Just do your best
And that's good enough?
Yes
Good enough
Who could ask for more?
~*~*~*~
Whispering wind—
I hear you
Won’t you take me away?
Catch me up
And blow me
Somewhere new.
Whispering wind—
You seem to tell
Of peace and quietness
Blowing so gently
Across my face—
You make my hair dance.
Whispering wind—
Where are you going?
Can’t I follow you
To where you end
To where time ends
To where everything ends
Except for peace
And love
And joy
Monday, 02 February 2009
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Too much
So much pressure
It’s too heavy for me
It weighs me down so much—
A burden twice my size
Wake up with a knotted stomach
That sits like a ball of lead
Too much to do
I just can’t get ahead
Try to work it out
One knot at a time
Untangle every thread
Why do they just tie up again?
Too much, too much
I just can’t bear it all
Seems each time I try
All I do is fall
The weight, the weight!
It’s crushing me to pieces
My shoulders are too small and frail
For this load
I’m going to stumble again
I can’t measure up
I can’t keep up
I can’t do it all
Even if I stand on tippy toes
Even if I run real fast
It’s never enough
It will never be enough
It’s too heavy
Too hard
Too much…
For me.
"Come to Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
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I miss you
Nathan Charles
May 15th, 2003
~*~*~*~*~*~
Oh precious baby boy,
How I miss you.
This season makes me
Miss you more.
Because, you see,
There should be ten stockings
On the mantle
Instead of just nine.
There should be a few more
Ornaments on the tree
With your name on the back.
Someone should be wrapping
Presents for you
Tomorrow.
You wouldn’t be a baby
Anymore, but a big boy
Five and half years old.
Would you be learning to read,
Maybe able to read the Christmas story
This year?
Would you be riding a bike
Without training wheels yet?
What kinds of things
Would you have asked for
This Christmas?
Maybe some more train tracks,
Or a toy gun or sword?
They say that time
Heals all wounds
But I say that no amount of time
Could take away
The hole in my heart
That is shaped like you.
I wonder, how do they
Celebrate Christmas
In heaven?
Saturday, 04 October 2008
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A Reflection upon Life's Uncertainty and God's Control
This was a poem I had to write for my American Literature class. It's supposed to be in the style of Anne Bradstreet, who was a Puritan woman who lived in the 1600's and wrote amazing poetry. Anyway, that's why this poem has a long and specific title and it also accounts for the archaic language you'll find. The theme is such as it is because I'm saying it was written at a time closely following the burning and loss of her house and things. I dare say it's nothing close to her quality, but I thought you might enjoy reading it anyway.
O who can say, and who can tell
Just what this coming day will bring?
For God might bless thee good and well
But might come trials with a sting
Thy day might end with happiness
Or thou might find thyself bereft
And in all kinds of sore distress
Because thou hast but nothing left
I know this all to be quite true
It always hast been just this way
‘Twas something to be learned anew
By me, and just the other day
And knowing that I do not know
The things that surely will take place
Convinces me I must let go
My God my worry will erase
I know ‘tis He that always holds
The days to come and times gone by
And now no matter what unfolds
His grace and goodness never die
The future is unknown to me
Fears will try to flood my soul
But they can do no harm to me
I know the Lord hath all control
Tuesday, 23 September 2008
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My Web
In my newest poem, I'm kind of continuing along the same vein as my last poem, in that it's full of analogy and metaphor. For understanding purposes, the web in this poem represents your life, the plans you have, and the way you think things are going to go. The stone that messes things up (makes a hole) represents kinks in the plans, frustrating circumstances, and hard Providences. Since God's in control, these "rocks" all come from His hand, and railing against them and the subsequent "holes" they make is nothing less than being discontent with His purposes. Oh that I would always remember that the Blessed Controller of all things is good and kind, working everything for MY good.
My web is deftly made
And no one will invade
The threads that are so rightly placed.
I look at it with pride
Right here I will abide
For it completely fits my taste
But look! here comes a stone
That someone else has thrown
It rips a hole right through my place.
I look with much disgust
But now I must adjust
It seems this hole I must embrace
I wouldn't have picked this hole
But I cannot control
The things that will be brought my way.
I see my web is frail
And rocks will all prevail
To put my web in disarray
So I will change my mind,
Accept the holes I find
Without a grumbling sigh or moan.
Becoming discontent
Will make me just resent
The Hand controlling every stone
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