That is the name of my poetry collection I am turning in as my final
project for my advanced poetry class. I'm really happy with the things
I have put together this semester... it has not been a very difficult
semester, time-wise, but I have done a lot of really good thinking and
growing up. At least I hope I have. Spring at W&J is really nice,
my thanks to the College's forefathers for installing and maintaining
some splendid old trees.
---There's a picture of a strange refracted version of spring-sunset-budding-tree.
This summer should be pretty amazing as well. I'll have a month in
Michigan learning/helping out, then a conference in D.C., then 6 weeks
in China... It should all be challenging and breathtaking. I have no
doubt that I will find a lot of clarity this summer in terms of my
future and where I ought to be going, whether it be law school, English
phd, or anywhere God would use me. Whatever I do, man am I excited.
There's a lot to be done, and I'm glad I get to be a part of it.
peace.
here's a new poem:
The Moral Herbalist
The gardener was a young
boy
fighting the earth,
forcing it to feed him
Starving for a while
when the sky turned a dry
back
to his lonely plights
He had a young wife
who gave him little love
even less sex, less
respect
He awoke to her whining:
wishing for a better life
where morality was waking
up and finding needs taken
care of:
the houses already built
the harvests already
caught
The gardener was a young
boy
fighting the earth
into becoming his ally
and yielding him life
that was of a digestable
sort
He would have eaten the
dirt alone
in fact he tried, but it
left him coughing
the dirt had to be
nurtured
and fed into a green form
uprooted one at a time
The gardener was a young
boy
fighting the earth
and the beasts that roamed
it
including himself
whips were necessary
(wisps on his shoulders
whispering tips and
fortunes)
and employed often
to keep the spirits
and the spiritless in line
The gardener was a young
boy
resting in the earth,
caves
and drinking from its
stores
which he had wisely saved
He had his hand slapped
away from the sideways
more often than he hoped
but he did well by himself
and only starves about
once every year, and then
only of his choosing,
in respect for the maker
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