Category: Poetry

  • Poem: My Neverland

    This is probably one of my most favorite poems that I’ve written so far.  It was inspired after watching the movie “Finding Neverland.”  I really believe that creative thought and fairy stories, appealing to a child’s imagination is essential to them coming to faith in God.  One, all good fiction fantasy stories emulate the Gospel.  Seriously!  Think about it!  Cinderella is a great example.  She was the daughter of a rich man, whom she was suddenly separated from in death.  Someone else took control of her life and she was subjected to awful living conditions.  You could hardly recognize her for the person she was supposed to be from the beginning.  Then, she meets the prince and through a series of events, the ones in control of her are dispelled, and she is finally united with the prince, beyond the glory of what she was originally intended for.  Doesn’t that sound familiar?  We were created to be close to God.  Our own sin has separated us, and now we are stuck in a crummy place called the world, which is laden with sin.  Yet, we’re not totally lost.  We had a beautiful affair (our salvation experience) with the Prince of glory, and He is passionate about us.  He sought to bring us out of this place in which we are being held captive.  He did what was necessary to bridge the gap so that we could be united with Him in the end.

    Some of you who read this, won’t have any problem agreeing with my point that make-believe can help lead a child to Christ.  But the college I went to is very legalistic and it seemed they didn’t want any make-believe at all because it wasn’t true and therefore couldn’t be approved by the Bible.  They think that Harry Potter is evil because the characters practice witchcraft.  Ok…yes, withcraft is evil…but generalize the story-line of the series and you’ll see a greater underlying force…Harry Potter came from a great family.  He was separated and is forced to live in squalor and be mistreated.  Just when you think he could lose heart, he comes in contact with Hagrid who first excites his mind to a new world, one that is separate from our own…but not really.  He meets Dumbledore, who, from what I’ve read and learned, seems more and more like a Christ-figure (again…look at a generalization).  I don’t think that Rowling’s intent was to tell a Christian story…but it’s a good story and all good stories emulate the Gospel.  It just shows to me that the Gospel is something that appeals to all people…they all have the story written in their heart…whether they realize that Christ is the subject of that story, that’s another question.  I woudl challenge you to take your favorite good story and think about how it pictures the Gospel.  I think you’ll be surprised at it.  Lord of the Rings is a great example…and the writer had it in his mind to write something that was Christ-like.  I just think it’s really cool.  Kids (and all people for that matter) are more able to encounter Christ if their minds have been exposed to the victories of children’s fairy stories…the good ones.  With a story like Harry Potter…the good story must be complemented with precaution towards the very necessary theme of witchcraft.  witchcraft is bad…no question…but a child can easily understand that and still get the good story out of it.  Face it…Jesus used good stories to show mysteries of the Kingdom with the people He spoke to…why shouldn’t we?

    Oh…rhyme scheme per stanza: abaacbcc.  Yes, I made up a word in the second stanza…when you’re writing something…you’re allowed to.  It’s called poetic license…and if you have a problem with it, take it up with Lewis Carroll.

    April 14th, 2005

    How long since I’ve left myself to dream
    Of Tinkerbell or Captain Hook –
    Who fly upon such magical schemes
    And make life more grand than it seems?
    So many times, our minds are shut tight
    To think only of how things look.
    When all the while the fabric of right
    Is woven with a beam of luminous light,

    Exposing, no, opening our eyes to a World
    So deeply imbedded in our hearts.
    What dreams our hearts imagine, unfurled
    In all their splendor – unseen, whirled –
    Amidst all the commotion and sincerity.
    People walking, juggling the parts
    Of their lives that seem to have no coherity.
    What could imagination have with our sanity?

    And yet I find that I am dreaming
    Of a Neverland – a Foreverland –
    A Place where the magic, never fleeting,
    Is forgiveness from a higher being.
    His grace and mercy are the golden dust
    And joy is much more than sand
    On beaches white. Fly, I must,
    To this glorious Place of which I lust.

    This Place has overthrown the dark
    One who pirates the waters.
    He was cast out of his rugged ark
    And now all creation sings as a lark.
    Had not the imagination been fed
    Of many sons and daughters,
    They would not easily to this Place be led
    Nor dream so sweetly in their bed.

    Sarah ><>

  • Poem: Accusation of Snow

    March 12th, 2005

    Snow, snow. Depressing snow.
    White death, I dub you.
    Will you not leave? Won’t you
    Leave us with your honor, with
    A remnant of your beauty, and
    Devotion towards you? No,
    No, you are remaining, trying to show
    Your soft and gentile side.
    Ah, but you lie. You, a coward
    Desiring not to go quietly in the night.
    Choosing not to surrender
    To peace and new sunrises.

     – Sarah ><>

  • Poem: Black Bag and a Coat of Brown

    February 17th, 2005

    This man I see with a coat of brown
    There’s no name that he claims
    Just smiles and walks around town.
    I wonder, just who, just who he may blame?
    A black bag he carries on his back
    Who is this guy and what is his game?
    He never answers or tells what he lacks.

    Just walking and walking he
    Rarely sits down but to watch all
    The people go ’round the city.
    Not very large but fairly tall
    He ne’er troubles himself with things,
    Except for the bag, nor does he call
    To anyone who may be passing.

    Sitting one day, I watch him pass by
    With his black bag and coat of brown
    And I watch him in sly
    Like many who see him ’round town.
    To the garbage he goes and reaches in
    And into his bag he puts the good down.
    What do I do? Do I tell of his sin?

    No, I sit very still and watch him continue
    Inspecting the treasures so carelessly tossed.
    My beautiful, scenic, no-obstructed view
    Of this simple, peaceful man seemingly lost
    In the shuffle of day to day life
    And all the trauma and pain of cost
    Just trying to get by without strife.

    My heart goes out to him, this man
    Who is walking away from me now
    Unaware of my observance. I have no plan
    Of what to do to bless or change. How
    Can I go back and try to live down
    My life full of clutter to which I bow?
    Walks away the bag and coat of brown.

     – Sarah ><>