A space of wonder and intrigue
enticed me to enter.
Tugged and allured I felt no resistance,
and I offered none.
The space held knowledge and experience
that seemed to belong together.
And my task was that of learning how
to make from many just one.
Saturated senses, logic failing, my mind could accept no more,
I discovered a mystic portal
to a region seen by few,
And rapture exploded tenfold.
For I knew that I had created..
In a careless act I hurt my love and filled her heart with pain.
Could I ever persuade her to return and be in my world again?
I tried so hard to describe to her my love to no avail.
Each attempt was lacking beautiful words, causing my quest to fail.
Day into day and week into week I sought some wondrous words.
My lover is a magnificent beast, a human above the herds.
I called to God my quest to air and find why I was shorted.
To my surprise, I found that God with anger had resorted.
His anger itself gave the clue I sought, the ever evasive fact,
that in his eyes her creation was, perhaps, his favorite act.
I returned to God with new understanding, knowing now that she
Is a special angel, a chosen one, and a favorite createe.
I promised then my support to give, devotion, and my love.
To place her love high within my heart, with nothing else above.
If only he would not take her from me and extend me one more chance, to help her be even more to he, her talents to enhance.
He could feel the power of my infinite love, and decided that love to bless.
His resounding words, came thundering forth and the heavens boomed out
Jim Trolinger, 1992
I think I'll write a poem, that features the word "Fuck"
Though everyone would read it,
the poem wouldn't make a buck.
My poem could be erotic; if you lust when hearing the word,
Or you would be sickened if
disgusted when Fuck's heard.
The poem could be funny.........: tell it like a joke.
Or it could make you horny,
If you really need a poke.
But it will be erotic,
since I lust to hear the verb,
and it won't disgust you,
I choose you not disturb.
II think that "Fuck" is funny when
You use it like a noun.
And by now you must be thinking
'this crazy Fuck's a clown.'
A room full of dear old ladies will say "fuck", you know,
Whenever one of their friends says the simple word "BINGO".
To His Management by Objective
By Karl Stetson
(with grave apologies to Andrew Marvell)
Had we but world enough, and time,
These objectives were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way,
How best to utilize each day.
Thou, by the pot of coffee's side,
Shouldst milestones set, and I with pride,
Should nod and ne'er complain, I would
Write task descriptions by the flood.
You, their approval might refuse,
Till the conversion of the Jews.
I would my long-term goals should grow,
Vast as empires, and more slow.
A hundred years we'd seek all ways
Of lens design and tracing rays,
Two hundred spend to find the best,
and thirty thousand for each test,
An age at least to every part
Of Science that impacts our art,
For our research deserves this state,
Nor would I plan at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear,
The wings of progress hurrying near,
And yonder all before us lie,
Deserts of vast uncertainty.
Who can but guess what shall be found
Where our Technology is bound?
Nor who can plan on those who try
Experiments we cannot see?
And their success may turn to dust,
The plans wherein we placed our trust.
To set objectives has its place,
But few who do, I think, keep pace.
Now, therefore, while a youthful hue
Sits on each thought like morning dew,
And while the eager soul inspires,
To every theory, instant fires,
Let Fancy take us where it may!
And let's, like starving birds of prey,
Each new discovery devour,
Not languish in slow hindsight’s power.
Let us roll all our wit and all
Our inspiration in one ball,
And tear out Truth, with brutal strife,
Through Nature's iron gates of life.
Thus, though the prize may ne'er be won,
Our labor shall at least be fun.
BY JOHNNY JACKSON
FOR OVER TWO HUNDRED YEARS AMERICA'S BEEN AROUND
OH WE'VE HAD OUR UPS AND WE'VE HAD OUR DOWNS.
BUT WHEN TIMES WERE TOUGH AND THINGS WERE GOING WRONG
AMERICA HAS ALWAYS PLAYED HER SONG.
WE PLAYED IT WHEN THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE WAS DECLARED
AND WE PLAYED IT WHEN WASHINGTON CROSSED THE DELAWARE.
AND WHEN SETTLERS WERE MOVING ACROSS OUR LAND
STARS AND STRIPES FOREVER LED THERE BAND.
WHEN A CIVIL WAR HAD TORN US APART
AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL PLAYED IN OUR HEARTS
DETERMINED TO LIVE IN A LAND THAT IS FREE
WE PLAYED IT ON THE BEACH OF NORMANDY.
LED BY FAITH IN GOD WE TRUST
OUR FATHERS SACRAFICED THEIR LIVES FOR US
AT PEARL, AT MIDWAY,THE KOREA CAMPAIGN
AND WE PLAYED IT IN THE FIELDS OF VIETNAM
AND THOUGH IT WAS MOCKED, BURNED AND TORN
IT STOOD PROUD IN DESERT STORM
IT DISPLAYS TO A WORLD THATS BURDENED WITH YOKES
POWER, COURAGE, FREEDOM AND HOPE
BUT WHILE EMPIRES HAVE FALLEN AND WALLS HAVE COME DOWN
WE STILL FIGHT A BATTLE IN EVERY TOWN
CRIMES OF HATRED AND VIOLENCE WE SEE
WARS OF DESTRUCTION UPON OUR STREETS
WE NEED OUR GOD TO HEAL OUR LAND
TO PUT LOVE, FAITH AND HOPE BACK IN THE HEART OF MAN
WHERE YOU SEE YOUR NEIGHBOR AS YOUR BEST FRIEND
AND WHERE CHILDREN CAN GROW TO BE WOMEN AND MEN
ITS NOT JUST A FLAG AND ITS NOT JUST A SONG
ITS A PEOPLE TOGETHER, UNITED AND STRONG
AND WITH FAITH IN GOD NO MATTER COLOR OR CREED
WE'LL KEEP ON PLAYING IT, FROM SEA TO SHINING SEA.
GOD HEAL AMERICA
WRITTEN BY JOHNNY JACKSON,.ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.