These are the poems we wrote together at L'Abri. Starting with each person writing a line on a piece of paper, we passed around the papers until everyone had written a line on each page.
Why pour your thoughtless guts into a mug you know will be shattered by the hobo who lives under the bridge
Who lives to grab and steal your shoes
alone to rummage through the free boxes.
His mind as sharp as 10 foxes
or as quick as the bald eagle
or as slow as sixteen chickens avoiding fate
trying to conuure memories of love.
The last camel died at noon
I must say it was rather not like a balloon
Actually, I have to say it
And so my cale-sized teardrops fell
like hands descending through water
I will give up and fall to my father
I knelt an dwelt as death-tolls knelled
Bt rather I would dwell on orange balloons
high in the sky.
And as the stars fall like drops from the sky
I thought that is drop rain
but really it was
something cold, forgotten and let o die
like roadkill frozen solid
with staring eyes glazed, frosted open
and a bleededheart
all beause he'd thought of "her."
I have promises to keep
but death has found my name.
I look away, covering one ey with a sweaty palm
and swallowing the yawning time.
I often look back at time past
that's all I did
and somehow, that's ok -
But then I wonder - whas was that promise for anyway?
That was for Lord.
We should love to by ourselves,
and keep the peace
but what is kept in empty bleeding hands
seeps deeper than I would ever want to admit.
It drips in cracks and slips in stones,
but still I hope and long and dream
about a better life.
My realizations soon to be awarded
for an undying commitment to the way of love.
As the silver-speckled sphere slid across the sapphire sky,
I gazed with rapt attention
so that is
it could only be from the 5th demension
or perhaps it was the 11th
or maybe not
it turned out to be
Shakespeare's fossilized nose hair!
I blow on the leaf, resistant, crumbling, defiant
and gather the shrumbles to offer to the short one
hoping to capture a spring's shrug.
With open eyes and willing hands
he lifted his eyes heavenward
and out jumped a ghoblin - He screamed! Argg!
He wasn't scared though
because he was wearing Superman underwear.
Falling softley from the sky,
he reached a softie cloud
fluffy and pink with blush.
Suddenly the boy had a crush
and, was it car crash?
No, it was a train wreck, a whiplash,
a memory of your first awkard hello
when you peed your pants and turned to jell-o,
puddling, uncoagulated rivers of slushed, hoped dreams.
He walked slowly
looking his Sunday best
all the ladies, took a gasp of breathe.
Why? They have ran now?
Oh look it's a
guy named Chuck with a circus moneky
who has no esophagus
and quite a rhinoceros.
Such a fine fellow was he too.