Welcome to... Poems I Like

This is a simple page with one purpose:
to display the text of poems I like.


April 14, 2024

Flying Windows

by Joseph D. Klotz

Flying Windows,
Flooding my computer screen;
Red and yellow, blue and green;
Not since Y2K were seen.

Flying Windows:
Flickering, methodic pace;
Shining, electronic lace;
To the sound of Hearts of Space.
It was haunting.

Flying Windows:
Lying in my dorm room bed,
I watch the screen on which they sped;
Time has stopped inside my head.

Flying Windows:
Again across the screen they zoom,
And illuminate my room.
I with my ancient self commune.
Ah! Nostalgia.

Flying Windows:
The wife upon the bed does lie,
Late at night, unclosing eye,
Willing my PC to die
So she can sleep.


March 16, 2024

At the Round Earth's Imagined Corners

John Donne

Divine Poems


At the round earths imagin'd corners, blow
Your trumpets, Angells, and arise, arise
From death, you numberlesse infinities
Of soules, and to your scattred bodies goe,
All whom the flood did, and fire shall o'erthrow,
Despaire, law, chance, hath slaine, and you whose eyes,
Shall behold God, and never tast deaths woe.
But let them sleepe, Lord, and mee mourne a space,
For, if above all these, my sinnes abound,
'Tis late to aske abundance of thy grace,
When wee are there; here on this lowly ground,
Teach mee how to repent; for that's as good
As if thou'hadst seal'd my pardon, with thy blood.


March 14, 2024

Ode to My Cat on His First Birthday

(or...You're So Dumb)

Joseph D. Klotz

You're so dumb.
Sitting in the window there,
Furry face and vacant stare;
Vibrating without a care.
I love you.

You're so dumb.
All you want to do is eat;
When you get mad you take your feet
And scratch my arm down to the meat.
I love you.

You're so dumb.
You run around like you are manic;
From living room up to the attic;
Tiny brain all filled with static.
I love you.

You're so dumb.
I'm worried that there'll come a day
When you get out and run away.
So, furry idiot, I say:

Stay inside.
I love you.


Tobacco is a Dirty Weed

Graham Lee Hemminger

Tobacco is a dirty weed,
I like it.
It satisfies no normal need,
I like it.
It makes you thin, it makes you lean,
It takes the hair right off your bean.
It's the worst darn stuff I've ever seen.
I like it.


March 12, 2024

Holy Sonnets

Joseph D. Klotz


All men must die, regardless of their good,
Or lack thereof. Foul death infects us all.
Because old Adam, tempted, ate the food,
Thus dying, they would die with opened eyes,
And to posterity their gift bequeath.
Now, separated from God's paradise,
Cast into outer darkness on the heath.
How can this be God's justice to pronounce
A condmnation on those who did not
Commit the sinful act God would denounce
And cause mankind with mis'ry to be fraught?
You fool! You share his flesh and blood; that's why
All sons of Adam are condemned to die.


All sons of Adam are condemned to die.
Because of him, all flesh was made corrupt.
To minimize the damage of the Lie,
God did the way to Paradise obstruct.
He barred the man from accessing the Tree
Of Life. he did not want the man to live
Forever in the grip of sin, but free.
Thus in the taking, God did truly give
To human kind a chance to be released
From bondage to the devil, and to sin.
But man cannot oppose this awful beast;
That is a fight man cannot hope to win.
The One to kill the beast must be the Seed;
His people out of bondage He shall lead.


His people out of bondage He shall lead,
And crush the serpent's head under His heel.
The serpent in the struggle makes Him bleed,
But in the end the serpent, too will kneel;
As ev'ry knee shall bend and head shall bow
When finally the world has been restored.
And Christ returns and none can disavow
That He, the Word Incarnate, is the LORD;
The Promised Seed who took on human flesh;
The sacrifice for sin, destroying death.
God's blood shed on the cross man does refresh,
Restoring him, and quickening his breath.
Lord, clothe me with Your righteousness and keep
Me safe until Your coming while I sleep.


The cruel net traps fish that swim along,
And dumbly they are hauled to their demise.
The bird among the trees singing his song
Is taken in a snare by one more wise.
They have no concept of the one who stalks them
With grim determination to devour
His prey; and doing what has been ordained them
In ign'rance to await their final hour.
It's man who nets the fish and snares the bird,
But he himself is prey to net and snare.
Our predator, relentless, speaks no words
As he approaches; we are unaware.
But even though we end up in the grave
Our Lord has come to earth mankind to save.


Our Lord has come to earth mankind to save.
And, taking on the flesh of mortal man
In Mary's virgin womb, that flesh He gave
Over to death, as was the Father's plan.
The sinless Son of Man lay in the cresche,
Eternal power in servant's form eloigned;
Immanuel, God with us in the flesh,
Divine and Human natures in Christ joined.
The miracle is that Christ to us came,
Despite the fact we were His enemies;
Becoming sin for us, enduring shame;
Th'indulgance won by Christ is plenary.
Christ's death upon the cross mankind does save;
He rescues us from sin, Satan, and grave.


March 11, 2024

Japanese Grocery

Joseph D. Klotz

The store's compact
Nothing's out of whack
People shuffeling to and fro, and back to back,
Asian people wearing masks;
It's a Japanese grocery.

They've got freeze dried squid
That will make you flip your lid
It's right on display, they don't keep it hid
It costs 25 quid
At the Japanese grocery.

So many things on display,
While I'm looking I always feel in the way;
I don't know what they say,
But that's ok; I'm an American
At the Japanese grocery.

If you're looking for a fight
Better go someplace else tonight;
But if you want to grab a bite
They treat you alright
Down at the Japanese grocery.

I wrote this poem after a trip with my family to the Japanese grocery store. It was pretty amazing.
This poem is intended as an homage to John Cooper Clarke, and should be read in his style.


What About You, Boy?

Frederick Manfred

What about you, boy?
Is your work coming along?
Are you still making candles
Against darkness and wrong?
The whole thing is to blast.
Blast and blast again. To fill the Black
With songs, poems, temples, paintings,
Anything at all. Attack. Attack.
Open up and let go.
Even if it's only blowing. But blast.
And I say this loving my God.
Because we are all He has at last.
So what about it, boy?
Is your work going well?
Are you still lighting lamps
Against darkness and Hell?


Dulce et Decorum Est

Wilfred Owen

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An extasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. --
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jold, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.


O Sacred Head Now Wounded (stz. 5)

Paul Gerhardt, 1656,

(tr. James Waddell Alexander, 1830, a.)

Be near when I am dying;
O! show Thy Cross to me;
Lord, on Thy help relying
Come Thou and set me free;
These eyes, new faith receiving,
From Thee shall never move;
For he who dies believing
Dies safely in Thy love.


Lord, Thee I Love with All My Heart (stanza 3)

Martin Schalling, c. 1567

(Tr., Catherine Winkworth, 1863, alt.)

Lord, let at last Thine angels come,
To Abram's bosom bear me home,
That I may die unfearing;

And in its narrow chamber keep
My body safe in peaceful sleep
Until Thy reappearing.

And then from death awaken me
That these mine eyes with joy may see,
O son of God, Thy glorious face,
My Savior and my Fount of grace.

Lord Jesus Christ,
My prayer attend, my prayer attend,
And I will praise Thee without end.


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