Simple Poetry




The wing held strong a graceful curve
    and matched its brother's fight.  They soared!
And so this pair of graceful moves
    did stroke their marks on blue canvassed skies, 
        and lifted high the sparrow's song,
           a joyful melody of flight and freedom;
               to rain upon the earth below.
Such beauty indeed in the airy show
   is but known to those whose hearts and minds,
        set free from want by heartfelt need,
            and seeing where all is seen,
                want to cross the starry sky,
                    have let imagination and colored
                        words paint the scene upon the mind, and soar!
And too the art is carefully made, 
    and signed in beauty upon the soul
        the mark of joy.

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	Outstretched arms in tendriled reach,
a thousand fingers pointing, a stirring sound.
	The wind with fingers moves its hands to applaud,
when the wind dances through them...
	then quiet, then sound again.
	I watched.
	It shifted, slightly, teaming with a myriad bristling palms

up stretched to warmth, and life.  Up stretched in glorious praise,
	They sang their song as they clapped, "Shshshshshshshshshshshsh".
	I listened.
	Then the dance again, so slight, a freedom so small,
unmovable yet eager to move.
	This still vast life that dances too, when the wind comes through.
	I learned.
	that all that lives enjoys life.
	Then the wind moved the leaves to sing again.
I wondered why, at what the applause?
	I looked,
Within its branches birds were there, their home
In the air life's breath was cast, and seeds too, formed 
	The slow growth made others to live,
with the wind, the earth, the home, the tree that lived alone, yet not.
	Its outstretched arms of color green, reached 
	with a thousand fingers of moving sound.
When the wind brushes through.
When the fingers move and hands applaud, 
	then quiet, then sound again, and more.
Then, I understood, the song it sang, "shshshshshshshshshshshshshsh"
as it beckoned me to be quiet and listen,
	So, I listened more.
And then I smiled.

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Her Hand


One day I held a hand so small
	so frail, so soft, so light
	that wonders rose, and thoughts of life so young,
		in this hand so new
	and mine, a beast did seem
		engulfing the framed life of youth.
Her's, a gentle unknowing reach, a grasp, a trust, a hold
	so pure, so fresh, so true.
Mine, hard, defiled, and stained, an old carved hand
	scarred and calloused.
She smiled at me, my heart quickened 
	and I discovered a depth, a part unknown
		that cried out 
	to love, to guard, to hold
Mine, to protect, to give, to touch,
	may my hand always guard hers.

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The Greater Pain


Today she bore, in pain endured, a life into the world.
Body and soul torn and twisted, reaching, grabbing, holding.
Arms that strained, a face of suffering, a sad form in long travail.
This woman's cries, her screams and wails, stained my soul with shrieks.
Hear her wailing, rhythmic torment, a throng of agonized moans.
They are thrown into the air.  They are hurled into the night.
They are alive.  They attack you and tear into your heart.
They mark you for life.
With much pain will she endure childbirth.
Sweat and toil, the price paid.
This day he bares the load of work, makes life in the world.
Yield the knee, bend the back.  Sweat and toil, daily grind.
Arms that strain, a face determined, a tired form in long travail
In silence, by the sweat of his brow.
The expected right, the silent drudge, the man works.
This man who labors in silence daily, no screams, no wails, no shrieks.
See his work, and work, and work.
Daily, rhythmic stroke, 
Sweat and toil, the price to pay.
Together they make life.

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The Sailor


The cold young sailor dutifully stood, 
	at his post amidst the storm,
His brow was beat, by cold and rain, 
	black wind that heaved his form.
His orders stood, and so did he.   
	"Steer through the waves that crash the bow!"
So others below in tossing sleep, 
	could rest, could rest, now.
That others below could sleep.  
	That others below might rest.
When obeying orders, The Captain watches, 
	the sailor endure the test.

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Mocker Take Care!


Mockery is never a sweet embrace
except to the fool who welcomes her.
Take care dear one, don't risk the race!
And side with the old one, the Accuser.

Don't  voice your impudence without care.
Don't throw your scorn into the air.
He hears all things, best beware.
Ill fate, your words, they will ensnare.

But the one who strikes, he should despair
When he slaps at God's own face.
He'll not be mocked; He will not spare
The fool who laughs at grace.

The Cross with pain bought life so rare,
bought heaven, our pain no trace
But not for the one whose heart is cold
And mocks like the snake of old.

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I found a distant land
I've come to understand
in this place of green and sand

I want to stay and play
along its paths all day
If there to learn I may.

A few did speak of it
But still I would not sit
Nor could I inherit
Knowledge without limit.

But in me grew a seed
Was sown by guides that lead
us to this land to feed
made hungry by human need

Its fruit an appetite
A need to reach the height
of knowledge that is right
learned in sound and sight.

This island that grows into
unknown borders new
with each new cove a clue
its promised pleasures that drew
me to new borders of knowledge true.

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Philosophy, osophy, give it a flush
It makes me want to puke my guts
Barf it out, puke again, 
Philosophy damages the minds of men.

Stupid, upid, philosophy is
it makes me want to take a whiz
think it this way, think it that
just pull a thought out of your hat.

Confuse, bemuse, it'll blow your mind
just hear the words they sound so fine.
But if you think, you think, you're wrong,
you'll find you were right, all along

Philosophy, osophy, zip, boom, bah
It stifles the speech of many a jaw.
Just give it a try, it'll hook you for sure
like drugs, and booze, it is your cure

'Ologies, 'isms, 'istics, and 'oughts
are useless when philosophy ties you in knots
You can't think, smile, or walk a line
unless philosophy guides you all the time

O Crap on osophy, the scum laden mess
of reasons, and why's and intellectual bless
I'd like to punch philosophy's nose
cuz tough it was this poem compose.

Oh well, no count, philosophy wins
Heads nor tails, of osophy's sins
What will I say of osophy's worth
Not much, except a hefty burp.

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First and Last


	First the Call without to all
		and we as lessors hear or not
	The Wind is gentle, moves within
		the one who's being sought

	He Voices high His gentle cry
		a song, in beat, the Word
	Today to thee, is granted see
		to turn to what we've heard

	Sight, I see! in Wind and Light
		within me has been cast
	And inward comes the Threefold One
		And now His peace will last

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Death's Sleep


		Man's life, beat and breath,
		cannot encompass the depth of life,
		whose meaning is hid by death's present sleep,
		the sin that binds and deceives us keep.

		Of those, the lost, the ones who fight,
		and those, the called, the ones in flight,
		sin the sting, death the king,
		life to come to the one's Christ brings.

		The sleep now holds the lost, who walk
		In dream of hope and foolish thought.
		They wait the day of awakening,
		By death, execution, the great happening.

		They lived a dream, of hope, less God.
		They lived and knew His history.
		That day they'll see and so they'll weep,
		That day when no longer they sleep.

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Oh Sin, Please Die


		Harder than the coffin walls
	about my soul,
		Stronger than the fury of my
	heart felt pound that beats against them,
		Longer than my reach to pull me free
	of the pit now around me
		Alive its fleshly home won't die
	and breath won't cease to claim its life
			so that I may leave this place.
		I lie with it, stand and sit,
			a man controlled...
		I look within to smaller walls 
			deeply set in strife
				between soul and life
		No way, no means to set breath free
			so inward I lie
		I do not want its company this
	morbid, hell-bound empty woe
			Oh sin, please die!



About The Author

Matt Slick is the President and Founder of the Christian Apologetics and Research Ministry.