Category: Poem

Debating an Athetriangleist

Me: “A triangle has three sides.”

Atheist: “But I don’t believe in triangles. How do you know they have three sides?”

Me: “Because when you draw a shape with three sides, it is a triangle.”

A: “How can you know that it has three sides?”

Me: “Because it does.”

A: “Well, I want proof that a triangle has three sides.”

Me: “Well, there is this philosopher named Euclid, who discovered the principle of what’s possible in geometry. And the first principles were triangles, which have three sides.”

A: “Philosophy isn’t scientific.”

Me: “Yes. Yes it is.”

A: “Well, how can you prove that a triangle has three sides? What if it had four?”

Me: “Then it’d be a square.”

A: “You’re a square.”

Me: “Can we please keep to the topic? If it has three sides, it is a triangle.”

A: “Well, I’ve heard of a shape like that, but it cannot be determined how many sides a triangle has.”

Me: “Yes. A triangle has three sides.”

A: “You say that, but can you offer proof?”

Me: “No. I cannot offer proof that a triangle has three sides. You just have to know that.”

A: “Well, then a Triangle doesn’t exist.”

Me: “I’ll draw one for you.”

A: “Sure.”

I proceed to draw a triangle.

A: “That doesn’t prove that a triangle exists.”

Me: “If it doesn’t prove that a triangle exists, then I’m afraid it cannot be proven. It just has to be accepted on faith that it is a triangle.”

A: “See, I can only believe in what I see.”

Me: “Well, you can see this shape. It is called a triangle.”

A: “But that’s not proof enough. I need more proof that triangles have three sides.”

Me: “You can count them.”

A: “No… I want you to prove that a triangle has three sides.”

 

Substitute God with “A Triangle” and “Three Sides” with Morality.

Use your imagination to make the actual debate.

Because if you can’t, I don’t believe you.

 

This is how atheists sound when they argue about God’s existence.

Fallow the Earthen Vessels of

Fallow the earthen vessels of

Our words; the potter’s clay which turn

To the hand of our smooth wheel’s ink.

 

I, I can make the plane good-smoothed;

I can layer ceramic sheen;

I can inlay the prism paints

To have the bird, tree and wood-house.

 

I can smooth so there are no prints

Of my fingers upon planed clay.

I can make exactly an inch

Of my thumb for each flowered rim.

 

I can paint the portrait of the

Lady of the house, and fire the

Kiln to the perfect heat-degree

So to lay smoothest enamel.

 

I can make the earthen, red jar

With warbs and wobbles on each side.

I can make the water pots, peach

Like the skin of Caucasian men.

 

I can so make the Doyle plates

Though my heart does not want to make

Them, the most popular design

Made by machines more than a man.

 

I can make them funny, so mar

The clay I use, that ink blackened,—

So to make white plates with rivets

That every man will go to use.

 

I can make gold inlayed leaf, shaved

Twenty-four carat purity.

I can, too, measure with my thumbs

To make a perfect cone so deep.

 

I can make a bowl, a plate; so

Even know how to shape with tools.

 

Yet, the potter’s wheel is so strange

And often so very cruel.

If I made a thousand vessels

But none were put to use.

Amaris

My doe, White Doe of Rylestone

Whoever “They” are,

Will not… no, they refuse,

To let me eat from this, my labor.

 

Come swiftly, to this land of Inishkea.

 

I would much rather till the soil

Than, as Longfellow said,

Turn the potter’s wheel.

 

I am tired.

I love to write.

It is a joy of mine.

One of the few joys here in Inishkea.

 

My face is not beautiful.

My body is fat.

My hands are soft.

I am not manly.

 

But, my hope is in you.

 

I would make my face beautiful

And thin my body to an iron-flesh core,

I would have my calloused hands,

And I would become manly

 

If you came to the land of Inishkea.

Lauren Daigle II

But, if they didn’t cut you off

If you didn’t sing the lyrics

I heard you building up to it.

Why didn’t you sing it?

 

I’m much more afraid of God

Than my public image.

You should be too.

 

When Xerxes had a prophecy,

He wavered to attack Greece.

The result was his loss at Thermopylae.

 

Lauren, only you know.

Love you all the more…

But be steady in the faith,

And shine the next time.

 

That’s what grace is.

I Don’t Pretend to be Perfect

I don’t pretend to be a theologian.

Maybe I am.

I don’t pretend to be a philosopher.

Maybe I am.

I don’t pretend to be a journalist.

I know I’m not.

I don’t pretend to use perfect grammar.

I definitely don’t.

 

An unlearned man could

Find some ecclesiastical truth.

A man who got a B in philosophy

Could rediscover truth.

A person who doesn’t report on the news

Could find something newsworthy.

A man who makes a few dozen spelling or grammar mistakes

Could possibly be a good writer.

 

A lot of faux intellectuals have posited their claims

Into the meanings of scripture.

A lot of men who don’t know what Existentialism or Platonism are

Could have said, and gotten successful, with their brands of philosophy.

A lot of news journalists could have missed

The blatant facts, and never put them together.

And I know there have been writers who don’t use punctuation.

 

I hope one day to join the conversation

But as a still, little voice

And not a Fabius Maximus on a megaphone.

The Humble Bee, By Ralph Waldo Emerson,—My Interpretation

I see Ralph Waldo’s Humble-Bee

As it drifts from coasts to seas

Wiser than the wisest seer

With no callous, vapid fear.

 

It is worker, with great buzz

It flies all day without a fuss.

To be this welcome humble-bee

Poet, not rebel, to draw honey

From every choice Bulbell

From every draping honeysuckle

From the tulips, and the trees

Sweet fruit and cherry berries.

 

For to draw from this I would adorn

Epicurean wisdom in its form.

For wise, oh wise, humble-bee

Drawing forth your sweet honey.

To be a humble-bee I confess

Would be something of the best.

To draw from each wise scholar found

A wise enchantment, no chaff unsound.

 

For is this not the humble-bee

Flying, wiser than you or me?

A poet, lauded for his fame

Working with silent, cheery claim

Upon every bulbous flower stock;

The humble-bee would feed the flock

Of scholars reckless, proud and few

In a time which comes so new.

 

To collect all wisdom,

None profane,

To ever see a thing

Ere what’s atop a flower stem.

Beautiful golds, whites and reds

Violets and blues and crimson bread

Of nectar to put in hexagonal beds

To make into honey, so sweet and soft.

So the next generation’s wisdom is not lost.

Why I Write

When I work

I get a feeling of satisfaction.

I see the job is getting done.

I am happy that I can do the job.

 

Then, another sees it

And decides to compete with me.

I undoubtedly fail.

 

I would enjoy scooping the horse poop

Out of the stables.

I would undoubtedly get sore

Within a few hours of doing it.

I would fail miserably.

 

Then, I wouldn’t feel worth the dollar I was given.

I would feel useless, and not worth the money paid for the task.

Then I’d slow down,

And another person would come

He or she would do a better job than I could.

 

I’d feel even less worth my dollar.

I’d get depressed.

I’d quit the job because

I would feel that there is no place for me there.

 

As it would turn out

All I needed might just be practice.

Practice, but the fact that I would feel worthless

I wouldn’t be able to get the practice in.

 

Only because it would be a competition.

Only because I would get weak and sore.

Only because I know that I am not doing

A satisfactory job.

 

This is why I write.

Seven Evidences

The Seven Evidences

The first evidence
Is Word.
Men can—
No, they do—
Communicate with one another.

Man can—
No they do—
Come to conclusions
Simultaneously
Like an arrow head
And feather;
Or a sled;
Or Existentialism;
Or the Golden Rule;
Or, even a Yeti.

Men can—
No they do—
Understand what someone means
Simply by the liquor of
Our Words
Whether in writing or in speech.
Men do, however
Forget this.

The second evidence
Is goodness.
It does exist.
Love, peace, joy
These are unequivocally good.
There can be no doubt
In any man’s mind
That each is good.
Or that each exists.

Every man has tasted love
Every woman joy
And it brings them closer
Than science ever could
To the truth.
Love exists…
We know this
Because there is warmth
In us and there is friendship
And deep, spiritual bonds
Between lover and mate.

There are children,
There are families,
There is pleasure
There is grace.
There is forgiveness.
These, men from the bottoms
Of their hearts know it is so.

The third evidence
Is Creation.
There is a Virgin giving birth.
There is a Church Steeple touching
An Arrow
Which points to a Cross
Which points to a Robed Man
Who points back to the arrow.
There is a Trinity in the summer
Where these stars hang.
There is David
Goliath, The Sacrificial Ox.
Yes… Orion has a sling.

There are the animals
Who love, and show favor.
They are filled, and brim
With spirit.
They are filled with life.
The very existence of life
The very existence of breath
That the animals have
Which men can taste in
Their own spirit.

There is such complexity.
A feather could not come by chance.
It could not come in sixteen billion years.
Not even a sixteen googol billion years.
The reason why is that it is perfectly designed for flight.
A man built a plane
By observing the birds’ flight.
No one could assume
That the birds were not built.
For someone would have to—
I call Him God—
See the feathers made thrust
Lift, and could steer like a rudder.

The Fourth evidence
Are miracles.
Every man has seen several thousand in his life.
A horrible fall
Does not leave a trace of a scratch.
Driving down the highway
Too many times avoiding the fatal collision
Which happened several times,
Beating fate.
Seeing a loved one everywhere you go
Or never seeing an enemy no matter where you go.
Healings, signs, wonders
Sins being exorcised,
True victory over our deepest transgressions.
Demons cast out.

Feeling warmth flow through your arms
And into the sick
To see the blind healed
The deaf hear
The mute speak.
Opening up to the page in the Bible
Where David stole Bathsheba
That very page you asked for.
It happens several dozen times
Making it impossible to be mere chance.
Getting the answer from God
Or hearing God’s voice.
A prediction coming true
Which could not have ever been predicted.

A dream so real, and so beautiful
That it was like being awake
It flowed, the dream’s peace,
Awaking to see childhood ruined
Pound Puppy in the foot deep
Waters that trickled through the whole house.
Rain tapping against the shingles.
Walking out, sloshing through that water
Discussing the flood with your dad.
Looking outside to see the rain
A foot deep, hovering over each wooden bar
Each wooden rim, of your deck
With waterfall gaps in the waters—
More beautiful than that
The autumn leaves glistening
By the rain, with the waters a foot deep
Across the emerald grass.
Then the melancholy sadness.

The Fifth evidence
Is evil. There is evil.
There is death.
So there must be good.
There is rape.
There is murder.
There is theft.
There is war.
There is child abuse.
There is hate.
Something must destroy it
Once and for all.
No religion will
Or even claims to do this.
But, Someone must.
For God to be good,
It must happen that evil be destroyed.
That this suffering end once and for all.

Evil is in us.
It is something we taste.
It is something we all know
And know firsthand is not good.
And we cry out to have it removed from us.
We cry out to have it taken away from us.
Desperately, we are powerless to do so
Without some divine help.
We need help to rid ourselves
Of this blood-mess we’ve created in our lives.

This is the evidence where we always like
To point to God, and say, “Well you created it.”
Yes… to destroy wicked men.
To correct righteous men.
For if there is choice, there must be
In all regard, something with which to
Cause men to make the right choices.
It is why evil exists.
For without evil,
There can be good.—
But there can be no choice
To do what is good.
There would only be blind obedience.
And choosing to do evil
Being filled with glee and children
Throughout an entire life;
Then never getting caught
There must also be a penalty paid.
And there always will.

The Sixth evidence
Is Grace. Knowing we are depraved
There is one religion that says
“I know you are all murderers
“Slanderers, adulterers
“Thieves. Everything you’ve done in your heart
“I account it as if it was done
“In action. Therefore, I know you
“By persuasion, are capable of it.
“For, every thought can be,
“By witchcraft, made into a deed.
“For the LORD made it so
“That you are guilty
“Physically, for every deed you thought
“Because it, through a folkstem,
“Could have been accomplished.”

Therefore all men are guilty.
And only one religion knows
That in order to not be guilty
Or even be guilty of the crimes you know—
For the folkstems of your soul
Could make you guilty of more.—
Even things you’d never done,
Just the mere thought will make you
Capable of great crime.
It’s why you need grace to
Swallow up this sin
And make you guiltless.
You need Christ to be your Savior
Your spirit, and your strength.

For Christ lived a perfect life
He lived it, and the Greek is in present tense
Because when you do your one time offering
This story Christ will follow.
The present tense, it shows Christ is your sacrifice
Present, for an entire lifetime.
When you, my loved ones,
Make sacrifice, it is Christ.
And this is Why God in the flesh
The very Word come in the flesh
The very embodiment of reason
Of knowledge, of all righteousness
He came in the flesh.
And when you offer Him
This is what He does
In present tense
The moment you nail him to the tree.

The Seventh evidence
Is rest. Men need rest.
The Sabbath is rest.
Men, on Christmas
Are all a little happier
Because there is no work.
None is allowed.
Our sixty days of rest
A year, if all shared in that rest together
Men would be much happier.
They would feel more secure
And feel better.
They would not need their idols
To give them rest.

And eternal rest
Is the greatest gift.
We all crave it.
Suffering, whether emotionally
Spiritually, or physically
We all suffer for our sins.
We require rest
To be satisfied.
We require rest
For work is good,
But men need rest to enjoy their work.
And rest is good.

And even rest
Men need rest from their sins.
They need to be at rest
At peace, from all of their wicked doings.
Men cannot, or else perish,
Be in strife with every sin he’d committed;
Nor be in sin to cause him unrest;
To work for the covering is to be in unrest.
Such would be hellish,
So man needs rest from his sins
In order to be good.
For a man cannot be good
Who has no rest from sin.
He who is at agitation
Because of his sins
He cannot be good to his neighbor.
Therefore, Jesus gives us rest
And He is the only God who will
And says, “I paid it.
“Rest on me.”
For, it is rest that makes us good.
We need to be at rest from our
Guilty consciences. Otherwise
We will have no rest
And therefore, we put others at discomfort, too.

A Simple Poem

A friend likened God to Santa Clause

Saying that a man ought to sit his son down

And tell that new man, “God doesn’t exist.”

 

It’d be like a parent sitting a child down

To a roast dinner, and saying to that boy,

“This isn’t really healthy, it just tastes good.”

 

To describe spirit to a man who won’t understand it

It’s like having in my possession a priceless diamond

But the buyer calls its Cubic Zirconia.

 

What a corrupt civilization that would be,

Too, for men to have in their possession

50 Carat diamonds, and the whole society claims, “It’s a fake.”

 

He doesn’t understand why God exists.

Why we need Him.

Because our God is our Spiritual food.

 

Why do you need Spiritual food?

Because you need it to be kind.

You need it to love unconditionally.

 

A man can point to the goodness inside himself

And say, “I made that.”

I will ask him, “Did you really?”

 

I know any offense against that man

Will be enough to lose that little bit

Of selfish love forever.