Victory

christ-on-the-cross-1587This is another of my college poems. It’s one of the only ones I thought was half-way decent and meant anything:

Victory

Victory, I think, was never so bloody,

or the victor so broken—like a rag doll really.

He kind of hung there, limp.

Too much blood to look at;

I think he was more like a clump of

tenderized meat than a man.

The only thing that kept him upright

were a couple of grimy nails the size of

cigars forced through his hands.

I couldn’t bear to look at him.

(Odd, to think the man who saved my life

couldn’t stand up straight.)

Ironic, to think of His enemies’ smug smiles,

gloating over their handiwork.

The crowds mocking, laughing even, at this

Champion, even as he begged his Father

For their forgiveness.

They didn’t understand, each drop of blood,

each sigh, each groan brought Him one step

closer to His ambition, one step closer

to their lives.

They didn’t remember, no one took

His life from Him, He gave it freely.

That is why, I think, so much that day

went on unnoticed.

Nobody saw the beggar

whose sight was restored,

weeping softly.

Or the father of a girl

who was “only sleeping”, staring on

in disbelief.

The crowds weren’t listening when

Institutions fell and kingdoms were

laid low with every

lash and hammerfall.

As Laws established long before their fathers

were swept away by the blood

pouring from his torn brow.

But nobody saw it.

He killed Death before their very eyes!

And almost

no one heard

His ragged words of triumph, “It is finished”,

dragged from cracked and bloody lips,

stating his conquest.

Almost nobody saw it, besides a few friends

and a dirty thief hanging next to Him.

Still, it happened. And in the end,

Victory, poured out in blood and water that day,

like a broken fountain.

Soli Deo Gloria

The Love Song of Immanuel Kant

The man, the myth, the father of needlessly obscure German philosophers.

The man, the myth, the father of needlessly obscure German philosophers.

So one day when I was really bored in my modern philosophy class, a not infrequent occurrence, I wrote a poem using only Kantian terminology which I found, and still find, ridiculous. I presented it as a token of my appreciation to my TA at the time. She said I used all the terms properly, which I took as a victory. I present it to you now because it’s my blog and why not?

Depending on the response, more ridiculous poetry might follow. I have a classic one about neutering a dog and another about ties. My college years were fecund with creative rapture. Also, I had an intro to poetry writing class.

The Love Song of Immanuel Kant

The a priori concepts

which allow

Intuitions of your

Beauty

to be given to me

through sensibility

are more precious to me

than all

Other conceptions

of Metaphysical Reality.

I (taken as the thinking self)

would give up all other

a posteriori intuitions

for the possibility

of

a mere empirical

apperception of

You.