Lady Liberty Ponders
By Steven Brandt
May 1, 2010
Where were you when the astronauts died?
When they climbed the sky on their fateful ride.
The day the fireball filled the sky,
Did you watch the news or click on by?
For Challenger’s crew who rest on high.
Where were you when they opened fire?
When they needed guns, were you the buyer?
The day the school ran red with blood,
Did you say a prayer and call it good?
For Columbine sinking in the mire.
Where were you when the towers fell?
When my children screamed in their fiery hell?
The day the planes dropped from the sky,
Did you scratch your head and wonder why?
For September 11’s funeral bells.
Where were you when the levees broke?
When the wrath of God so clearly spoke.
The day an entire city drowned,
Did you watch it all from higher ground?
For Katrina in her deathly cloak.
Where were you my fortunate sons?
When destiny frowned on the unlucky ones.
The day you’re sinking in the sand,
Will others stop to lend a hand?
For Lady Liberty, weeping alone.
I recently read a book called “The Hour I First Believed" by Wally Lamb. The book uses as its focal point the tragic event that occurred at Columbine High School on April 20, 1999. This excellent book really made me stop and think about some things.
One of the ideas Lamb puts forth in his book is how quickly we forget sometimes. Terrible things happen and we focus all of our attention on it for a few days, but then the next thing comes along.
So that’s what inspired this poem.
Revelation 12:9 The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.
Romans 12:19 Do not take revenge, my friends, but leave room for God's wrath, for it is written: "It is mine to avenge; I will repay,"
Copyright 2010 Steven Brandt
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Friday, December 25, 2009
Poem - Christmas Chime
Yep, I’m up late again, and on Christmas eve, no less. The last couple of nights, I was up late because I was feeling kind of sad and depressed, but tonight I am up for a happier reason. I was laying in bed, listening to Grandpa’s wind-chime, (yes, it’s still very windy,) and a few verses of a poem started circling in my head. As the verses took shape, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I got them out of there. And this is what came out.
The old man in the poem, is of course, my Grandpa, an his son is Uncle Butch. I took a fair amount of creative license withboth of their wives, however, and neither of them resemble Grandma Howard or Aunt Ann in the least. Trust me on that.
If you are a lover of fine poetry, stop now, as what you find below is likely to turn your stomach. As I said before, I’m really not very good at this. It’s just something I do sometimes to cheer myself up a little. For the rest of you, enjoy!
Christmas Chime
By Steven Brandt
December 24, 2009
The old man looked with critical gaze,
Upon the creation he’d worked on for days.
A wind-chime, made with loving care
From bits of junk he found here and there.
He showed it to his wife with pride.
“It’s dirty,” she said, “don’t bring it inside!
Why would you make such an ugly bug?”
“God told me to.” He said with a shrug.
So in the back yard he hung it that day.
Beneath it’s clear notes, his grandson would play.
Year after year it chimed out its song,
Until the boy grew, and one day was gone.
The wind-chime played the part that was cast,
‘Til finally, the old man breathed his last.
His things were packed and carted away.
His son found the chime that sad, sad day.
He showed it to his wife with pride.
“It’s dirty,” she said, “don’t bring it inside!
Why would you keep such an ugly bug?”
“God told me to.” He said with a shrug.
The chime was put in a box, then and there.
And stored in the basement, stacked ‘neath the stair.
There it remained for uncountable days,
Never feeling the wind or singing its praise.
Retirement age soon brought the son down,
The big, old house too much for him now.
His things were packed and carted away.
He found the chime, where he’d stored it away.
“Well there you are, I'd nearly forgot,
But I know of someone who will love you a lot.”
His nephew lived not too far away,
So he gave him the chime on Christmas day.
The nephew, of course, was the very same one,
Who had played ‘neath the chime and heard its bright song,
And though he’d been blind now many a year,
The familiar old sound filled him with cheer.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, “please bring it inside.
I remember when Grandpa made this!” he cried.
As mem’ries returned from over the years,
His sightless eyes ran over with tears.
He showed it to his wife with pride,
They hung it from a branch outside.
“Who brought this gift? I’ll give him a hug.”
“it’s a gift from God.” He said with a shrug.
Copyright 2009 Steven Brandt
The old man in the poem, is of course, my Grandpa, an his son is Uncle Butch. I took a fair amount of creative license withboth of their wives, however, and neither of them resemble Grandma Howard or Aunt Ann in the least. Trust me on that.
If you are a lover of fine poetry, stop now, as what you find below is likely to turn your stomach. As I said before, I’m really not very good at this. It’s just something I do sometimes to cheer myself up a little. For the rest of you, enjoy!
Christmas Chime
By Steven Brandt
December 24, 2009
The old man looked with critical gaze,
Upon the creation he’d worked on for days.
A wind-chime, made with loving care
From bits of junk he found here and there.
He showed it to his wife with pride.
“It’s dirty,” she said, “don’t bring it inside!
Why would you make such an ugly bug?”
“God told me to.” He said with a shrug.
So in the back yard he hung it that day.
Beneath it’s clear notes, his grandson would play.
Year after year it chimed out its song,
Until the boy grew, and one day was gone.
The wind-chime played the part that was cast,
‘Til finally, the old man breathed his last.
His things were packed and carted away.
His son found the chime that sad, sad day.
He showed it to his wife with pride.
“It’s dirty,” she said, “don’t bring it inside!
Why would you keep such an ugly bug?”
“God told me to.” He said with a shrug.
The chime was put in a box, then and there.
And stored in the basement, stacked ‘neath the stair.
There it remained for uncountable days,
Never feeling the wind or singing its praise.
Retirement age soon brought the son down,
The big, old house too much for him now.
His things were packed and carted away.
He found the chime, where he’d stored it away.
“Well there you are, I'd nearly forgot,
But I know of someone who will love you a lot.”
His nephew lived not too far away,
So he gave him the chime on Christmas day.
The nephew, of course, was the very same one,
Who had played ‘neath the chime and heard its bright song,
And though he’d been blind now many a year,
The familiar old sound filled him with cheer.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, “please bring it inside.
I remember when Grandpa made this!” he cried.
As mem’ries returned from over the years,
His sightless eyes ran over with tears.
He showed it to his wife with pride,
They hung it from a branch outside.
“Who brought this gift? I’ll give him a hug.”
“it’s a gift from God.” He said with a shrug.
Copyright 2009 Steven Brandt
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Poem - Stranger In My Home
Hi there. I debated about this for a while, but finally decided to post this in my blog. Over the years, I have dabbled a little in poetry. I only dabbled because I’m not very good at it. Joni is the poet of the family, and I’m okay with that.
I debated about it because I don’t want people to get the wrong idea. It’s kind of a dark poem, but I promise I’m not suicidal or anything. I finally decided to post it because, like it or not, it’s a part of me, and that’s what my blog is all about; me, and my journey through life.
A few of the lines from this poem started running around in my head a few years ago, but I never made a serious attempt to capture them and write them down. Interestingly, it has been my blindness that gave me some new insights on it and helped me complete it.
So anyway, here’s my poem. Just don’t read too much into it, okay?
Stranger In My Home
By Steven Brandt
December 11, 2009
Who is this stranger in my home?
Who haunts these rooms when I’m alone?
A faceless ghoul to harry me,
A nameless face I cannot see.
I hear the voices laugh and cry,
They disappear when I walk by.
“Get out of here, just go away!”
I hear the words they’ll never say.
These ghosts will be the death of me
If I cannot escape or flee.
Would they still mock if I were gone?
Or would their job on earth be done?
I wander ‘round my rooms by dark
When living seems like much less work.
There is no hope or end in sight,
I’m just a creature of the night.
I find a door and enter through,
The hall of glass reveals the truth.
And in the mirror, the face I see,
The stranger in my home is me.
Copyright 2009 Steven Brandt
I debated about it because I don’t want people to get the wrong idea. It’s kind of a dark poem, but I promise I’m not suicidal or anything. I finally decided to post it because, like it or not, it’s a part of me, and that’s what my blog is all about; me, and my journey through life.
A few of the lines from this poem started running around in my head a few years ago, but I never made a serious attempt to capture them and write them down. Interestingly, it has been my blindness that gave me some new insights on it and helped me complete it.
So anyway, here’s my poem. Just don’t read too much into it, okay?
Stranger In My Home
By Steven Brandt
December 11, 2009
Who is this stranger in my home?
Who haunts these rooms when I’m alone?
A faceless ghoul to harry me,
A nameless face I cannot see.
I hear the voices laugh and cry,
They disappear when I walk by.
“Get out of here, just go away!”
I hear the words they’ll never say.
These ghosts will be the death of me
If I cannot escape or flee.
Would they still mock if I were gone?
Or would their job on earth be done?
I wander ‘round my rooms by dark
When living seems like much less work.
There is no hope or end in sight,
I’m just a creature of the night.
I find a door and enter through,
The hall of glass reveals the truth.
And in the mirror, the face I see,
The stranger in my home is me.
Copyright 2009 Steven Brandt
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Special Edition - Memories
Hi there! Wow, you picked a great time to visit Drums In The Deep! I've been harassing Joni for a couple of weeks now to write a poem for me, and she finally gave in. And so, without further ado, I am very pleased to present the following:
Memories...
By Joni Zipp
Running down memory lane
melting faces seen through the rain.
A few are older, a bit are new
some left footprints you never knew.
Something happens way back when
you drape the door; don’t look again.
Shadowed elements of a crimson past
pain resurfaces the memories cast.
The future changes in a quiet wave,
all you left and all you gave.
Drizzled behind is all the distress,
today’s the day you kiss happiness.
Clothed in towering stained glass windows
inside the secret of all that sin knows.
Repent as grace showers the soul,
Memories of past are now made whole.
Beautiful! Joni Publishes a new, original poem every Sunday over on her own blog, One Voice - Write Right. She also has lots of helpful tips for all you budding writers out there so be sure to check it out.
Thanks Joni!
Memories...
By Joni Zipp
Running down memory lane
melting faces seen through the rain.
A few are older, a bit are new
some left footprints you never knew.
Something happens way back when
you drape the door; don’t look again.
Shadowed elements of a crimson past
pain resurfaces the memories cast.
The future changes in a quiet wave,
all you left and all you gave.
Drizzled behind is all the distress,
today’s the day you kiss happiness.
Clothed in towering stained glass windows
inside the secret of all that sin knows.
Repent as grace showers the soul,
Memories of past are now made whole.
Beautiful! Joni Publishes a new, original poem every Sunday over on her own blog, One Voice - Write Right. She also has lots of helpful tips for all you budding writers out there so be sure to check it out.
Thanks Joni!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)