Then our closing days here may be fair
But with our essence we beg, keep us not
In the Hall of the Funeral Stare
"His Blood Covers the Lot"
Somewhere there's a child rapist
Who, unbeknownst to himself, laughs while his victims are screamin'
Resting a cold shotgun barrel to his chin
Detesting himself, sickened by his own personal demon
Somewhere there's a bitter, liberal extremist
Finalizing diabolical plans for an animal-testing lab
She's got two abortions to her credit
A bomb strapped to her chest as she hails a cab
Somewhere there's a Black Metal band
Whose songs call my Lord a whore and a liar
Wearing corpse paint and covered in pig's blood
Singing about the "glories" of Hell's fire
Somewhere there's a demented mother of four
Using a ruler to craft her crippling red and black lines
She's gotta make the 4:30 a.m. flight to Boston
So she can display her freedom-spitting "God loves dead soldiers!" signs
Somewhere the local Baptist church has been set aflame
In the parking lot, a giggling trio of teens
Not knowing the pastor's wife is inside, praying for their souls
Horrified when they catch her last blood-curdling screams
Jesus died for them all
And His blood covers the lot...
Whether I like it or not
“Horror Cries Behind…”
What horror cries behind my mask?
Molested by a neighbor boy
(an act of which almost destroyed)
A father who was there, but not
(though his forgiveness has been wrought)
A double life of sin and prayer
(the likes of which began to tear
My lonely spirit right in half
Although I would pretend to laugh)
Depression, anger, loneliness
Perverse deception, bitterness
Dependent personality
(which nearly got the best of me
In a suicide attempt
But Jesus wasn’t finished yet)
A temper that was so defiled
I almost lost my wife and child
I’ve also had back surgeries
(my back and legs hurt constantly)
But through it all I’m still alive
And still can feel that inner drive
To study and to teach as well
Life is Heaven, life is Hell
Life is what you make it, right?
So live it like it ends tonight
But tell me (now that my soul lies bare)…
What horror cries behind your mask?
“i bLEed DaRk”
Yes, I confess: my hardcore sagas of war pour forth from a tortured core
So please don’t moan in shock and woe…I know where this conversation goes
I’m predisposed to the decomposed, while your pros are composed of roses and bows
Brother Larry and Sister Mary Sunshine whine and dine on divine rhymes
But I was born of a fated bloodline…my spine misaligned, resolved to decline
Somewhere along the line I resigned my mind to a more ghostly design
From sinister regions I whisper tales of dark legions, heavy metal demons
And all those damned Hell-dwellers…screamin’
When pressed to dress for success, I confess:
I pull my motorcycle vest a little tighter ‘round my chest
And obsess
I’ve tried in vain to explain, but now refrain, complaining NOT of my crippling pain
(Which, by the way, can drive a man insane)
Yet it’s on these rugged waters I embark
When it comes to my art, I cry from the heart
i bLEed DaRk
“Dear Savior, revive the accused! Strangle untruths by a sanctified noose
Let my tales amuse and confuse those who choose a nefarious ruse
May the flight appear black as night!
As long as the white-hot, blood-red light of Christ shines through, and leads to You”
Controversial skew
Admonishment accrued
All of this hullabaloo?
Eh, it’s nothing new
Life’s a deranged amusement park in need of a lightning spark
Chosen to be set apart, I’m a seething burn mark…i bLEed cOLd aNd DaRk
I suppose I could apologize
From my “crypt” arise
Improvise…disguise
But to profess such would be lies
For it is you, not I, who sees through blinded eyes
So, if an admission of guilt is what you seek, I’m afraid the outlook is bleak
If you charge that my art is too dark, as slivers of charred oak bark
My discourse too scarred, too avant-garde, my words too hard
Please, don’t scribble a note to e-mail me later
Just take it up with my Creator. I’m not a traitor, I’m merely the translator
“I Can’t See You”
Our family has seen its share of abuse; both my daughter and my wife were, at one time, married to abusive men, addicted to the chemical or drink of their choice. We blanketed both ladies in prayer, assisting when needed, and eventually they broke free from the abuse that had them shackled for so long. This poem is the cry of my heart for all the women and children living with a monster today. We hear ya, and so does the Lord. Don’t give up!
I can’t see you
Cowering in the corner of the room
Like some woodland creature, aghast
Hiding from your own harbinger of doom
I can’t see you
Crushed and battered past a ramshackle door
Bleeding from the mouth and from the soul
Wanting to die, but wanting to live even more
No, I can’t see you
But our Creator-God in Heaven can
You shiver in horror, drenched in cold sweat
But even in your agony, you recall
Times when you should’ve been slain, yet
Alive you stand!
This monster in your life tortures you
Because of the anguish which burns them inside
They act outside the realm of God’s will
No; this dreaded half-life is not in His design
Afraid to stay alive
But too scared to die, right?
Please know that I am praying for you
Just as your beast will never stop
Raging against their monster, dark as coal
I will never cease praying for serenity
And for you to gain the strength to break free and regain control
The enemy of good wants to destroy you
But today is the day you defeat him!
If it takes a day, a month or a decade
Today is the day you decide to win!
The time has come to change
For both of us, perhaps
You’ve gotta rage against the night
Simply because this is not right
If I can’t get to you, I pray someone will
Before your body or spirit is killed
Violence has no place in the home
So carry Heaven’s light in your soul
Then rage at the night, against the beast
Until the day you’re finally released
We should seek charming rhyme in every moment in time
Please know that, while some wound and tear,
I’ll stand beside you in prayer
And remember, the Lord is there
You’ll make it through this, I swear
Yet, in some tragedy we can find no rhyme or reason
This is the fabled “dark night of the soul"
But joy, my friend, comes on swift
wings
In the morning
“I Know That Look”
Nobody’s perfect, especially us fathers. Sometimes we are dealing with our own childhood issues while trying to guide our sons and daughters into adulthood. This is no easy feat, even for a well-adjusted parent, but we must keep trying to better ourselves, for our family’s sake.
God help me, I know that look
The expression on my child’s face which says,
“Dad, you really hurt my feelings”
I wore the same mask many times growing up
Never knowing how imperfect and scared my father must’ve felt
Like I feel
Never knowing how difficult his childhood was, his adulthood is
Like mine
I was much harder on him than I should have been, I see that now
It didn’t hit me until I was a father, how difficult it is
How much pressure you feel to always have the right answer
The pressure of always doing the right thing
And always knowing what to say, and the perfect time to say it
It’s impossible to live up to those kinds of expectations
But unlike so many, who have a warped sense of what a ‘man’ should be
I shall not be ashamed to apologize to my wife or my children
Humility is a balm of sorts
Soothing hurt feelings with ice cream and tickle fights
Imagine if your dad would have said to you
“I’m sorry, I was wrong – do you forgive me?”
What kind of amazing bridge would it have built inside you?
Between the two of you?
But then the question…What happens next?
God help me, I know that look
The look which says, “YOU, dad…YOU are my hero.
YOU are the one who builds my self-confidence
Brick by brick, encouragement by encouragement
YOU are the one who builds my self-esteem
Brick by brick, compliment by compliment
YOU are the one who helps me define God
Brick by brick, prayer by prayer
YOU are the one who helps me define the word ‘man’
Brick by brick, action by action”
Dear Lord, my family means more to me than life
Help me to be the man they need me to be today!
God help me, I know that look
The one I know God has when I pray
That look which says, “It’s ok to be human
Mistakes will happen; but you must learn from them
Wake up each morning with a blind determination
To be the man you were born to be
And never be afraid to say ‘I’m sorry’
Never be afraid to laugh at yourself
Never be afraid to cry with your children
Never be afraid to hold your hug a little tighter, a little longer
Never be afraid to follow
Never be afraid to lead
Never be afraid to step out in faith
Never be afraid to make mistakes
Never be afraid to clean your wounds in front of your wife
Never be afraid to be her man
Never be afraid to be silly with your kids
Never be afraid of the consequences of a well thought-out decision
Never be afraid to put work away to shoot hoops with your son
Never be afraid of childish remarks from other so-called ‘men’
Never be afraid to pray with your family
Never be afraid to lead by example
Never be afraid to…
Well, never be afraid”
So I shall rise from my slumber this day
And try
For my wife
For my children
I have determined in my heart to fulfill my destiny of love and laughter
Of encouragement, strength and tears
I have determined to be a father
God help me, I know that look
That elegant look which simply says:
“I love you, daddy”
"In Response to Gandhi”
I like your Hindu God.
I do not like your murderous Hindu followers.
Your murderous Hindu followers are so unlike your Hindu God.
Oh, and by the way:
I refuse to answer for 10,000 years of disillusioned, so-called Christians
On Judgment Day I shall only answer for me
Do not blame me and my fellow brethren for the past (and regrettable) actions of others
We are but simple, God-fearing folk
Trying to live life in the best manner we see fit
However, should you need a friend,
I'd be happy to buy you a slice of pizza and lend an ear
"It's Time"
A reclamation decomposed
As bullet-riddled spirit foes
Are dashing madly to and fro
And tellin' life, "Just bill me"
I'm way beyond just tired, man
A heart chock-full of contraband
And soul, as firm as shifting sand,
Keeps tellin' God, "Just kill me"
I'm thin with animated pain
Can't see the Son for all the rain
A mutiny of the profane
Yet I just keep on fighting
My life is at the half-time show
Yet I have no more thought control
Than when I was 16 years old
And sin looked so inviting
Can purity arrest the night
As shadows hide far outta sight
And low-crawl back to what is right
To snuff carnality?
Alive my body stands a chance
All should desire pure romance
And yet the wounded midnight dance
Awakens that old me
It's time
“Leatherheart:
A Tribute to Uncle Jim”
By Rob Weddle
I have two uncles who not only stand as living examples of good-hearted, godly men, but who both served in the Armed Forces in Vietnam; Jim Wright (pictured above, in basic training), Marine, and Bill Stroud, Army. Both seen action, but for some reason I had felt compelled to write a poem for Uncle Jim for a couple of years before actually doing it. I wrote a poem for Bill, as well, which is in this book (“Gentleman Will”), but it concentrates more on him as a man, and his easy-going spirit, and mentions Vietnam only in passing. For Jim, I felt in my heart that his war experience should be the crux of the poem. It was the last two lines of this poem which hit me one morning about 4:30, and kept playing over and over in my head until I got up and wrote them down. I spent several days writing and rewriting this poem until it was just the way I wanted. My wife and I framed it, and presented it to Jim and his wife, Sue, who cried as she read it. Jim is one of my absolute favorite people on the planet, and who, even when I was a kid, treated me with respect. This poem seemed the absolute least I could do after the sacrifices he made (and, emotionally, continues to make) for this country.
The nightmare scenes which you have dreamed I cannot comprehend
It must have felt to you that wretched war would never end
Losing friends too young to make amends with death’s grim hand
You led boys into a war we still don’t understand
But knee-deep in the blood and guts you couldn’t shed a tear
You marched into the foreign dark without a spark of fear
To some it’s just a number: “Nearly 60,000 dead”
Yet Vietnam left ghosts who struggle on inside your head
Some hearts are slush and mud, tossed about in angry weather
But yours beats fierce, encased within a skeleton of leather
A spirit which was toughened in your unforgiving war
Many have
been traumatized by less than you’ve endured
But deep within this leather heart there’s more than warring phantoms
This man who laughs at hardship weeps at patriotic anthems
And though you kept your sanity as those around you died
Is that the distant gaze which sometimes hides behind your eyes?
Those haunted recollections will be laid to rest one day
When death turns leather into wings and your soul flies away
Many years from now your final battle will be over
And I will shed a tear for you, God’s leather-hearted soldier
Your family and your country are forever in your debt
So here’s to you: the toughest S.O.B. I’ve ever met
“Lost”
Life disemboweled 97.3% of my passion
Leaving me a hollowed-out shell of my former glory
Jesus, when did my dreams die?
Titles M – N
"Mask"
By Trey Weddle, written at age 12
Trey had not read my poem earlier in the book, originally titled, “Horror Cries Behind the Mask,” when he wrote this one. I told him we probably shouldn’t have two poems with the word “mask” in it, and asked him to think about changing the title. He pondered it a few minutes, and then said, “Dad, it’s gotta be ‘mask.’ I can’t think of anything else that makes sense.” Thus, I dropped the “mask” from the title of my poem, shortening it to, “Horror Cries Behind…” As noted later about another one of Trey’s poems, I’m not entirely certain who he wrote this for, figuring he will tell me one day if he so chooses.
You hide your face in a mask of anger
But you don't know how much good you have inside your heart
We will help you find it
God will help you find the good in you