Musings of a young man
Here we highlight the poetry of Joe Fischer, and perhaps an occasional guest poet.
I Am Only Made to Write
Taking long, painstaking pains
To finish up the work I owe
And making slow, painstaking gains
Has taught me what I ought to know:
That ants are only made to crawl
And birds are only made for flight
And you are made to draw it all
But I am only made to write.
Before me I see a left and a right
And neither will advertise either as best.
However, I've certainly come here tonight
Not by the virtue of having guessed right.
I haven't guessed right but I'm right to have guessed.
Before me I see a city that glows
With patches of darkness between pins of light.
Behind I recall, as in its death-throes,
A sunset more brilliant than pins can compose.
And yet it gives way every day to the night.
Is there a reason that the wind
Should pick off leaves and bring them in
To my garage, where they begin
To beautify the mess within?
Is there a reason trees should bring
In birds to trade their leaves for wings?
The tree that gave me everything
Will still be clothed, and now it sings.
Is there a reason things the size
Of cities dominate the skies
Instead of falling down, capsized?
Is there a reason water flies?
Is there a reason clouds should hate
Their hue enough to confiscate
The waves that, when they radiate
At light speed come eight minutes late
And with them change their color scheme
To something out of someone's dream?
How much more content they seem
To blush than block the final beam.
Is anybody looking west
To see the sunset at its best?
I fear that I may have confessed
Too little of my love to rest.
Forfeiture Of Christ
When I claimed the Name,
I claimed the cross of Christ;
The hope, the pain
The joy, the sacrifice.
When I feigned my claim
And feigned forfeiting rights,
I trampled on the Name
And forfeiture of Christ.
Where I Can’t Stay
I woke up where I couldn't stay
And so I spent about a year
In running farther than away
And that is how I wound up here.
Now with what must be miles of ground
Between me and from what I ran,
I take a breath and look around
And find myself where I began.
I Find I'm Tied
I find I'm tied on either side and as the sea's unrest
Grows less and less surmountable, each rope will face a test.
Have you been put here to prevent my hurting someone new?
Is she enough to rescue me from crashing into you?
But any ship left in the slip is left there to be still.
If I don't learn to be still now, perhaps I never will.
The Little Pen
There was a little pen
He went by “Lil P”
There was a little test as well
Who went by “Lil T”
Now Lil P was lonesome
And so he looked around
To see it he could spot a friend
And Lil T he found!
Said Lil P to Lil T
“Hello, could we be friends?”
Said Lil T heartbreakingly,
“Ah man, I’m really sorry Little Pen but here’s the deal: my scores don’t count for zilch unless they’re done in Number 2 pencil. Again, I’m real sorry but no—no, I don’t think we can really be friends.”
Lil P was sad
But he was not deterred
He came to a computer
And let himself be heard
“Ahoy, Mr. Compu—“
But that was as far as he got.
“WHOA, whoa, whoa, whoa! Please keep away from me! It’s not that I don’t like you or anything but I’m electronic and if you get any ink on me…Man, I don’t know what I’d do.”
Lil P thought, “Maybe not”
By now our little friend
Was just a little scared
It seemed that no one needed him
That no one even cared
“The trouble is my permanence
Once someone uses me
My thoughts can never by erased
Oh well,” sighed Lil P
Across the plains of Desk
A little journal lay
Pretty as a prayer book
She went by “Lil J”
Lil J had thoughts and questions
Drifting through her head
But she had never found a way
To let herself be read
She wished her thoughts were written
And permanently placed
But pencils were no good
Their words could be erased
“I wonder, is there anyone
Who’ll guard my thoughts for me?”
Said Lil J and looked around, and—
“Hello, Lil P!”
If Everything Matters
If everything matters, then why don't we say so?
And if nothing does then how come we get so
upset when the meaninglessness that we claim
as our birthright is taken away?
We're sure when we're happy, we're sure when we're sad
but nobody wants to be sure that they're bad.
Demanding our rights and denying our wrongs,
we cry through our laws and our songs.
So maybe things matter, but if that's the case
Why is it only the pleasant we chase?
If atoms were counted, nowhere in their sum
would it be revealed to us whence we have come.
Science explains all the things we’re made of
But nothing explains why we love.