A Glance at a Poem Past...

While on my mission, I wrote a short poem during my first 3 months in the field. Here it is:

O Beloved Savior,
O Redeemer mine!
I think on Thee and ponder
Thy sacrifice divine.
Thy bowels moved with compassion,
Thou didst conquer death and hell
that I through faith may see Thy face
and in Thy presence dwell.

O Father of my growing faith,
Foundation of my soul!
I think on Thee and ponder
the greatness of Thy role!
Thou was the chosen Savior,
before the Earth was made,
meekly accepted Thou Thy call,
the Father's will obeyed.

O Price of Heavenly Glory,
My Captain, Lord, and King!
I think on Thee rejoicing,
Thy praises I will sing!
Thou hast descended from on high
to dwell with man below
and still descended further
our deepest pains to know!

A thousand years -- a million!
-- singing praises without end
can never repay the debt we owe
to our Master, God, and Friend!

As I typed, I did a little adjusting on the words...what's a poem that can't evolve?

Driving home on a Saturday night.

I see you and your wicked ways

rush
crush
careen toward some Mad End.
wanton eyes
wandering feet
darkened mind sin bent
yet empty.
look for peace and find none.
cry out where is hope
there is none

I feel your pain and cry with you
since when have you spoken truth- -
even to yourself?
Hope is here,
take it at my hand
I wait for you
I will always wait for you

Random Musing

I haven't written on this blog since I got engaged...or shortly thereafter. However it works, I have a bone to pick over a certain phrase I have now seen twice on facebook. Girls are writing on boys' walls that they (and I quote) "miss (their) guts." I cannot wrap my mind around this phrase. First of all, how can anyone miss another person's guts. Guts is a slang term used to describe the gastrointestinal part of the body. Such a crude word for a crude idea. No one ever is exposed to someone's guts unless they happen to be a gastroenterologist. (If Dr. Fenton was to tell me he missed my guts, that would be understandable, since he has seen them up close and personal like.) Seriously though, how can a person miss someone's guts?
Secondly, it disturbs me no end that these are things stated by females to males. Whatever became of female refinement, dignity, decorum, honor? I could possibly ascribe the missing of a person's guts as something stated between two males...since men are built along a completely different schema than women. But women said it...two separate women from separate spheres of influence. It boggles my mind! What are they attempting to accomplish by such a statement? I cannot imagine that they are so completely unaware of what they write on facebook that such a thing would just slip from them onto a page to be read by the person, the person's friends (including myself), and still others. Or are they? Have we as women descended so low as to ignore the language we use? It could still be that these two women used the phrase (gasp!) on purpose. Why? Perhaps it was to appear more 'with it' or 'cool' like so many of their peers. (In my humble opinion, this assesment of 'coolness' with the usage of vulgar language is misplaced indeed.) It could also stem from a desire to be 'pals' with the young men with whom they are communicating. In this I can only say to the young women whose language caused this muse that such a level of friendship with young men is neither desireable or attractive. Being 'pals' with young men by descending to their level of communication only shows that they are not desireable as partners. Men adore women who behave like women. The friendship that lasts is the friendship that leads to matrimony and beyond. Woman should not then pursue friendship with the man who is married unless he is her husband.
Anywho, that is my musing on the very idea of telling a person that you miss their guts. Old fashioned morals for all. :D

And Don't Forget to Pass by my Other Blog...

In view of my getting engaged, I have created a blog where a lot of my blogging attention will be spent. Check it out!

isaacandmarinda.blogspot.com

Prodigal

This poem was written at 3 a.m. last night after a long night of agonizing over some things that I have been experiencing.

You are dead to me, you say one morn
then collect your inheritance and go

Go along the way to Gomorra
Go and live the life of sin
Go and waste your youth and substance
but come back to me again!

Live with men in a strange country
Live and join yourself to them
Live with pigs and feed them cornhusks
but return to me again!

Ashamed you are of your lost position
Ashamed of your poor array
Ashamed to starve in foreign places
oh come back to me, I pray!

My father has a house and substance
My father against thee I have sinned
My father take me as one of thy servants
Please accept me back again!

Long is the distance travelled by foot
Long have I waited to see thy face
Long is the run, I come to you, loved one
rejoicing in your embrace!

Bring him my clothing of finest linen
Bring him a ring for his hand
Bring him a feast worthy of royalty
For he that was lost now is found!

Lions in the Grass

Dandelion
beautiful pest
who knows you best?
Those who desire
your continued absence.

Poetry
is born in me
genetic

The moon sits
buried in sky
its fullness
diminuished

the man in
the moon cannot
talk - his mouth
disappeared.

Perhaps at night
it will improve
I desire
and doubt.

daffodilia

I saw a daffodil
on a hill
above violets
below grass
looked as I passed
and saw yellow petals
wink at me.

Prelude & Karma

Why is it that at night
I am more able to write
than during the day
when I am awake?
Well, thank goodness for flashlights.
what time is it anyway?
5 a.m.
(1 month away from my 25th birthday)

I don't care
nothing matters
we are nothing
and everything
but today we are nothing
(at this point
the folio I carry falls)
(it burst open spews
paper everywhere)
crap (scramble to
pick up papers now
wet from rain-puddles
worthless than trash)
Darn you, Karma.

Dedicated to Jack Kerouac, my first desolation angel.

To Death-friend

serene release

from mortal toil

sorrow-woe

I look upon thee

smiling and call thee

Friend, Quiet Slumber

Perfect Rest, Easer

of Pain.

1000 Address Labels to Put on 1000 Postcards

pick

stick

lipstick lick

pick

stick

stack

pick

stick

change music

stack

pick

stick

stack

pick

ope' card pack

stick

stack

pick

stick

stack

mouses click

put

stack

back

All to Ee'see

exposure to
the
effects of
elements
et
ch
es & erodes

Adjusted Letters on Home: B

D o w n to w n
the city of salt
smell o burnt
t o a s t
smokers hack
coughing fits spits
kids and skateboards
slammings-o crashes
ding-ding-a trax train
clackety-clack rails
and be still

plastic play

empty coke soda bottle

cocacolacherrypop

tip and fall off the table

plunk plap plop

Letters on Home: B

D o w n t o w n

the city of salt

smell burnt

t o a s t

see smokers

kids skateboard

slamming-o crashing

ding-ding-atraxtrain

and be still

This font is nothing like what I originally have it in. The shape looks not as good here (It's a letter 'B' on my version, but the font isn't available here. Grr). Oh well. What do ya think? I had fun.

Bleak Poetry

War abroad

war at home.

Woe begone

we each alone

are ravished

and bereft.

I'm sorry to any of my readers that the poems I write are so bleak at times. I don't mean for that to be the main theme of my writing, but when I read the works of other poets (in class and actual published poets) I am inspired to write the same way they do. Hopefully this will improve as people write more cheerfully!

Shadowcat

I have too much time on my hands at work, so I write. Here is another poem that I have been mulling over for several days now...I have written a similar poem in another place, but this seems to me the better of the two. I hope you like it.

illness stalks me

that chronic foe

on muffled jaguar's feet

shadowcat!

when I least expect

it pounces!

trailing blood and tears

in its wake

Work Poem

reception

list’ning to the loud hum and buzz of florescent lights
the roar of moving air
the click-clack of typing keys
the tap-tap of feet passing my desk
the be-e-e-e-e-e-ep of the phone
that's my cue
Thank you for calling…how may I direct your call?
Service department, parts department, body shop
sales. Kevin, Lance, Marie, MAC. Selah.
Tony, Shelly, Sherri, Shannon…
buzzing humming can’t hear my own heartbeat
soft whooshes of traffic from State Street
I watch them pass by
automobiles
we sell automobiles
or they sell…
I just sit here
How may I direct your call?

Shakespearean Sonnet

I wrote this sonnet for my Intro to Creative Writing class...try to figure out who 'she' is...

Oblivious
By: Marinda Nill

She wants to live in a magic land of elves.
And dreams of pretty places loves she more
Than life! And gilded books upon her shelves--
Romantic knights do ladies fair adore.
She builds her castles in that sky so blue
And knights or mages come to seek her grace
Still yet she waits for the one her heart can woo
In dreams she knows his eyes, his lips, his face.
So lost in daydreams lives she now among
Us all…nor does she deign to live and share
Her loss to us is tragic—being so young!
If only she would open her heart and care!
While she ignores the world, she does not spy
The man, right here! Almost apple of her eye.

Poetry

Boredom

I sit here
hearing sounds
vowels and consonants
while fishing at clouds
of fluffy daydreams
eyes glazed over.

ROFL-TMI?

That cellphone
has created
urgency
my issue
is more dire
than your life
whatever
I call you
you ignore
I'm angry
you call back
or text me
I ignore
your timely
responding.

Heartache

I am broken
pulsing organs proving
vitality, life remain
even with the vacuum of emotion
the emptiness of thought
desires and passions are fled.
I become a living corpse.

I.

Descending to the depths
of my personal hell

I am
Descending to the depths
of my personal hell

Descending to the depths
of my personal hell

I'm alone
I am nothing

Flames feeding on the skin
the lining of my throat

There are
Flames feeding on the skin
the lining of my throat

Flames feeding on the skin
the lining of my throat

I can't breathe
suffocation

Torturing and twisted thoughts
saturate my mind

Those
Torturing and twisted thoughts
saturate my mind

Torturing and twisted thoughts
saturate my mind

I'm open
I am bleeding

II.

I want to give all
yet giving all
gives none

I want to please all
yet pleasing all
pleases no one

I want to love all
yet loving all
loves not one

I want to tell all.

Lame Joke #1

A pirate with a parrot on his shoulder walks into a bar. The bartender asks him "Hey, where did you get that?" The parrot answers, "Maracaibo...they've got them all over the place!"

Scene from an Imaginary Play

I wrote this with help from a classmate, Mark, in my English 3400 class. We had to base our efforts off of a short essay called "Fallout" by Dawn Marano. Please forgive the strong language in one of the lines.
Mr. Taylor and Mr. Vincente are standing in their respective yards, smoking cigarettes. Mr. Taylor walks up to the corner of his yard and peers over at the gaping hole in Tony Marano’s backyard. Mr. Vincente joins him, peering at the same hole. After a few puffs from his cigarette, Mr. Taylor tosses his cigarette butt and begins talking to Vincente.
Mr. Taylor: “Their daughter keeps saying they are building a pool.”
Mr. Vincente: “Who the hell do they think they are kidding? He’s been digging it for nearly a month…that ain’t no pool.”
Taylor: “Tony hasn’t invited me over for a beer in the last 3 weeks. I used to go over every Friday after work.”
Vincente: “I know. He’s been acting strangely at work. He showed up half an hour late as usual and when the boss yelled at him, he took it—just like that!”
Taylor: “He’s working like a maniac on that ‘pool’ every night.”
Vincente: “That’s just not right…something loony about that.”
Taylor: “I don’t know. Tony is a smart guy…doesn’t seem loony to me.”
Vincente: “I’m fine with his hole as long as he keeps digging downward. Now if he started digging sideways…”
Taylor: “What do you mean by sideways?”
Vincente: “You know, my telephone line is buried right there.” (He points to a spot about a foot from his fence.)
Taylor: “What are you getting at, Tom? You think Tony is a red??”
Vincente: “I don’t know, but you can’t trust anyone these days…just look at what’s happening in the government!”
Taylor: “But I have known Tony since grade school. He never seemed like a commie.”
Vincente: “Are you willing to put your wife and kids at risk? He probably has already started tapping telephone lines.”
Taylor: “I don’t know, Tom. I just can’t imagine Tony involved in all that.”
Vincente: “What proof do you need?? He stops inviting you over; he’s acting strangely at work; and now he’s digging a hole in his backyard big enough to store nuclear weapons or whatever!”
Taylor: “Well…what are we supposed to do?”
Vincente: “We gotta warn people.”
Taylor: “Okay.”
Vincente: “You call Fred, George, Henry and Hank, and I’ll talk to the fellas at work.”
Taylor: “Ok, Tom. I just hope we’re doing the right thing.”
Vincente: “Better safe than sorry, I always say.”

The Ever-Evolving Blog

This blog has been through a couple of phases now. It started as an online journal of sorts. It then morphed into a journal about my marathon training. Well, marathon training fell flat on its face and here I am. I have decided that this is going to be my site to post creative writing, random funny stories from daily life, etc. I hope you enjoy it.