A Letter to a Teacher in Response to a “Creative Writing” Assignment


Ashamed you ought be! Asking any self respecting

Bard to fulfill an assignment such as this merits no other response! How may

Creativity be truly depicted when forced, shoved if you will, into a set of rules?

Do you lack the respect deserved of the authors of great arrangements of words into towering

Edifices of genius into the un-

Fathomable minds of dreaming mortal men living eternally through ageless legacy? Of

Grievances there are many for you, not your ten fingers, nor your toes may count them.

Heave your penitence on your bib, like a child, and ask to be cleaned of it!

If only you could see the true beauty of each jewel of anti-prose. No

Jello composition of assortments of letters can be

Known as creativity. If you want ingenuity, you need words of meaning, depth.

Laughter is my rage for such an insult, and how I laugh and scream and hoot and howl!

May creativity be inspired in your swirling pool of molded thoughts and birds fly from

Newly made nests of these twigs to create a fine idea, a diamond

Out of coal. I ask you this – Do you feel some

Pleasure in this deviously crafted injustice you bring upon me?

Quite some nerve you possess to inquire of belittling the powerful spirit I do possess.

Reveal a truly astonishing request for each student to compose a piece and

Suspect may be a position you could relieve yourself from, saving that no ambushes be

Tactfully planned by you in expectation of these “requests”.

Undulating waves of imagination may be conceived if you provide them with

Vitality to nurse them like suckled infants, and the aromas of the sweat on your brow

Will be sweet in the satisfaction that your toils are over. But for now you have studying to do!

Xylography is an art in which the blade must be honed, and poetry requires equal aptitude and un

Yielding attention if truly understood. The ultimate culmination of these truth is a

Zenith of absolution. May the zephyrs of inspiration fill your meddling mind…

Bitter Recollections


A Mystery! A Mystery!
How many morns of merriment
may end in such sad sweet songs
of pleasing past pictures gone into putridity
of little lying lives – lifelessness
change consuming the creativity of childhood,
Until only an old oppressed imagination
exists to be blown below a bed
and adulthood advancing against all
the youthful yearning, and devastating
dreams of doing deeds destined to remain
restlessly for reasons reproduced generation
to generation, grandfather to grandchild, gaining
great gravity as a familiar family fortitude, flourishing
til the ghastly grave greets us.

Upon the Cusp of Mourning


what is a dream
a thought, a desire
to be loved, or feared
which is a dream that is unattainable
the asinine fool has many
as does the wise hermit atop a hillside
do the experienced have only that has been
withered and dried up
and spoiled by the pestilence
that plagues the earth so old
what is the purpose of dreams
and what is the meaning of life
these questions are balanced and same
and those plagued with too many dreams
are they expected to be anything less than fatigued
with a lost hope of life, liberty, love and purpose to carry on


poetry, theology

what is the worth of my time
when I sit quietly listening to you
I sacrifice my life now
for my life to come
but when I try to show my worth
y’all treat it as just my two cents
not much in this present world
filled with the self righteous
the selfish and quite clearly
as they are all the same-the conformists
two cents once a fortune
but now worn and valuable to whom I wonder…

what is the worth of my knowledge
attained through extensive study
when I am rejected and payed no mind
nor respect or tribute for input
that is of the utmost relevance
and has been built upon through
contemplation of mind
and heart and soul
to be applied to all paths of life
which I pray will one day emerge
in the dewy pastures where
you all will sit and say enlighten us
I will not be god nor am I now
but neither am I the lowly serpent
doomed to slither in constant fear
of being trod upon

when I will walk one road and no more
and always have God at side, on hand
and divinely inspiring speech

conservatum in memoriā


upon the cusp of morning
lies my awakening
my time of revelation
my time to light the torch
to guide, to lead myself through my time
my scale has no differing weights
the lodestone knows no black nor white
only what is before it
through the brightening storms and icy breaths
I do not wade, but open my eyes
to see not water, not lies
but truth, the timeless battle
there is no water
that is more pure than fire
that is less pure than fire
no darkness is devoid of light

translation anybody?


Nolite esse, Anime virorum malorum
et feminarum malarum.

Milites DEI volabit
et proelia vulnerabunt malos
telis potentibus.

Mare ignis hostes DEI convocabit
et mors pro miseros erit…

Spirit of Evil Men and of
Evil Women, do not be!

The soldiers of God will fly,
and battles will wound evil
with powerful weapons!

The Sea of Fire will summon the enemies of God
and death will be before the wretched…

What is true


raw power of lust
crushes your delicate dreams
a shadow of need to flood
into death’s arms is not void
for you are a hindrance
the bare breast of the ill goddess
aches when sweet cyanide milk is produced
truly smooth as love, a lie
for love is a waxing moon
essential to cool your water
beneath my storm of quenching fire
but life is with ups and downs
every season has its tide
our blazing sun soars above the sloth sky
as a rose dies wishing for life after the painful summer
knife bitter urges by pounds of boiling blood
blood sprayed from a man, woman, boy, girl

The Odyssey For My Self


How I try to perceive you
How deep down must I look
How long must I search for you
How treacherous are the waters that I must cross
How many calls must I make
Of joy and love
Of sadness and fear
Before you hearken to my words
How may I examine myself
Without an inner eye through which to look
How many errors must be made
Before one can tear down their guise
How many breaths of air will I take
Before I breathe in you
How many mornings shall I awake
Before I know the name of you
What is a heart without a voice
What is a mind without a soul
What is a body without an essence
What is a man without a goal
How much pain must I suffer
Of myself and this earthly plane
How much fear must I survive
Before the judgment of our name
How many triumphs must I take
And walk away with tears for the defeated
How many defeats must I claim as my own
And still gait away with dignity
You are the essence of my being
You are the thought that makes me real
You are the desires of the heart
You are the ghost within my shell



Who are my people
Who are G-D’s people

I am one of G-D’s people
and All people are my people
so All people are G-D’s people

I am no king
but A mere peasant
A follower of G-D
No one rules but G-D

My people are my equals
My people are my superiors
and I shall NEVER claim
That ANY person is my inferior



To live for G-D, to love for G-D
To associate with G-D, to communicate with G-D
To find settlement where dwells G-D
To live for our fellows as we do for G-D
To share each of our triumphs, and to share each others’ defeats
To lift their burdens, as G-D removes ours
To count our blessings-earthly and divine-
and To give and not to count the cost
To understand the sublime nirvana
but To not only strive on account of this goal
but To simply follow the will of G-D



You are the voice of my heart
You are the voice of my soul
You are the voice of all reason
You are the voice of my whole
You teach me life lessons when it needs be
And at this, You teach me always and forever
You teach me about your way to salvation
You teach with a patience that won’t tear or sever
No matter what I show of understanding
You will not thrust me into the black abyss
But give me the chance to find my way back
To Your voice through Sin’s haze and mist

With Corruption There is No Tower


When Building the Tower
That measures your Greatness
Buy the impact you have on others
Foundation is first
Before you apply the mortar
To set each stone in place
Each stone is an accomplishment
Each stone is a breakthrough
Each stone is a fulfilled responsibility
Each dollop is the path you took, a choice you made
Each dollop is the crossroad that ultimately led to the outcome
Each dollop is the way you’re judged
The Strife that tests your love and faith
Betrayal that makes you writhe in pain
But shows you’re like Job, one and the same