The Poetry Pointe

FRIENDS
submitted by steve w.


One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school. He was carrying all of his books. His name was Kyle. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd." I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.

As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes. My heart went out to him. I jogged over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw tears in his eyes. As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives." He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. One of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now. I would have never hung out with a private school kid before. We talked all the way home, and I carried his books. He turned out to be a pretty cool kid. I asked him if he wanted to play football on Saturday with me and my friends. He said yes. We hung all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my friends thought the same of him. Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack of books again. I stopped him and said, "Boy, you're gonna really build serious muscles with this pile of books everyday!" He just laughed and handed me half the books.

Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends. When we were seniors, began to think about college. Kyle decided on Georgetown, and I was going to Duke. I knew that we would always be friends, that the miles would never be a problem. He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for business on a football scholarship. Kyle was valedictorian of our class. I teased him all the time about being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for graduation. I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up there and speak. Graduation day, I saw Kyle. He looked great. He was one of those guys that really found himself during high school. He filled out and actually looked good in glasses. He had more dates than me and all the girls loved him.

Boy, sometimes I was jealous. Today was one of those days. I could see that he was nervous about his speech. So, I smacked him on the back and said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!"

He looked at me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and smiled. "Thanks," he said.
As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began.

" Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it through those tough years. Your parents, your teachers, your siblings, maybe a coach... but mostly your friends. I am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone is the best gift you can give them. I am going to tell you a story." I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the story of the first day we met. He had planned to kill himself over the weekend. He talked of how he had cleaned out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later and was carrying his stuff home. He looked hard at me and gave me a little smile. "Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the unspeakable." I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome, popular boy told us all about his weakest moment. I saw his Mom and Dad looking at me and smiling that same grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize it's depth.

Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small gesture you can change a person's life. For better or for worse. God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in some way. Look for God in others.

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I sit here on these tracks thinking to myself · are these the ones I am supposed to follow. The ones traveled so well. In the darkness the tracks twinkle in the moon light winding their way into the distance. They pass through to hills turning to the right and just above the moon shines. Is this the path that I must follow, I ask myself again. To my left and to my right I see unused tracks rusty from the long days. Is there a reason that these are here · is this my path, the one I must build alone. No this is not the answer · not alone, there is only. Others will help but there is only one to follow into the blinding light of day out of the darkness with the moon above.

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When I Say, "I Am a Christian"
        by Carol Wimmer
        Submitted by Joe V.

When I say, "I am a Christian,"
I'm not shouting "I am saved."
I'm whispering "I was lost";
That is why I chose this way.

When I say, "I am a Christian,"
I don't speak of this with pride.
I'm confessing that I stumble,
And need someone to be my guide.

When I say, "I am a Christian,"
I'm not trying to be strong.
I'm professing that I'm weak,
And pray for strength to carry on.

When I say, "I am a Christian,"
I'm not bragging of success.
I'm admitting I have failed,
And cannot ever pay the debt.

When I say, "I am a Christian,"
I'm not claiming to be perfect.
My flaws are too visible,
But God believes I'm worth it.

When I say, "I am a Christian,"
I still feel the sting of pain.
I have my share of heartaches,
Which is why I speak His name.

When I say, "I am a Christian,"
I do not wish to judge.
I have no authority;
I only know I'm loved.

Copyright 1989, Carol S. Wimmer; used by permission

Jesus Rocks
       


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A Better Resurrection
        by Christina Georgina Rossetti
        Submitted by Joe V.

I have no wit, no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears.
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;lucky
I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is in the falling leaf:
O Jesus, quicken me.

My life is like a faded leaf,
My harvest dwindled to a husk:
Truly my life is void and brief
And tedious in the barren dusk;
My life is like a frozen thing,
No bud nor greenness can I see:
Yet rise it shall--the sap of spring;
O Jesus, rise in me.

My life is like a broken bowl,
A broken bowl that cannot hold
One drop of water for my soul
Or cordial in the searching cold;
Cast in the fire the perished thing;
Melt and remould it, till it be
A royal cup for Him, my King:
O Jesus, drink of me.

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Song
        by Christina Georgina Rossetti
        Submitted by Joe V.

WHEN I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me:
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain;
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

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God's Grandeur
        by Gerard Manley Hopkins
        Submitted by Joe V.

THE world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

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Making Sarah Cry
        by Cheryl L. Costello-Forshey
        Submitted by Matt W.

He stood among his friends from school,
He joined their childhood games
Laughing as they played kickball
And when they called poor Sarah names.

Sarah was unlike the rest;
She was slow and not as smart,
And it would seem to all his friends
She was born without a heart

And so he gladly joined their fun
Of making Sarah cry.
But somewhere deep within his heart,
He never knew just why

For he could hear his mother's voice,
Her lessons of right and wrong
Playing over and over inside his head
Just like a favorite song.

"Treat others with respect, son,
The way you'd want them treating you.
And remember, when you hurt others,
Someday, someone might hurt you."

He knew his mother wouldn't understand
The purpose of their game
Of teasing Sarah, who made them laugh
As her own tears fell like rain.

The funny faces that she made
And the way she'd stomp her feet
Whenever they mocked the way she walked
Or the stutter when she'd speak.

To him she must deserve it
Because she never tried to hide.
And if she truly wanted to be left alone,
Then she should stay inside.

But every day she'd do the same:
She'd come outside to play,
And stand there, tears upon her face,
Too upset to run away.

The game would soon be over.
As tears dropped from her eyes,
For the purpose of their fun
Was making Sarah cry.

It was nearly two whole months
He hadn't seen his friends.
He was certain they all must wonder
What happened and where he'd been

So he felt a little nervous
As he limped his way to class.
He hoped no one would notice,
He prayed no one would ask

About that awful day:
The day his bike met with a car,
Leaving him with a dreadful limp
And a jagged-looking scar.

So he held his breath a little
As he hobbled into the room,
Where inside he saw a "Welcome Back" banner
And lots of red balloons.

He felt a smile cross his face
As his friends all smiled, too
And he couldn't wait to play outside-
His favorite thing to do.

So the second that he stepped outdoors
And saw his friends all waiting there,
He expected a few pats on the back-
Instead, they all stood back and stared.

He felt his face grow hotter
As he limped to join their side
To play a game of kickball
And of making Sarah cry.

An awkward smile crossed his face
When he heard somebody laugh
And heard the words, "Hey freak,
Where'd you get that ugly mask?"

He turned expecting Sarah,
But Sarah could not be seen.
It was the scar upon his own face
That caused such words so mean.

He joined in their growing laughter,
Trying hard to not give in
To the awful urge inside to cry
Or the quivering of his chin.

They are only teasing
He made himself believe.
They are still my friends;
They'd never think of hurting me.

But the cruel remarks continued
About the scar and then his limp.
And he knew if he shed a single tear
They'd label him a wimp.

And so the hurtful words went on,
And in his heart he wondered why.
But he knows without a doubt
The game would never end, until they made him cry.

And just when a tear had formed,
He heard a voice speak out from behind.
"Leave him alone you bullies,
Because he's a friend of mine".

He turned to see poor Sarah,
Determination on her face,
Sticking up for one of her own tormentors
And willing to take his place.

And when his friends did just that,
Trying their best to make poor Sarah cry,
This time he didn't join in,
And at last understood exactly why.

"Treat others with respect, son,
The way you'd want them treating you.
And remember, when you hurt others,
Someday, someone might hurt you."

It took a lot of courage
But he knew he must be strong,
For at last he saw the difference
Between what's right and wrong.

And Sarah didn't seem so weird.
Through his understanding eyes.
Now he knew he'd never play again
The game of making Sarah cry.

It took several days of teasing
And razzing from his friends,
But when they saw his strength,
They chose to be like him.

And now out on the playground,
A group of kids meets every day
For a game of kickball and laughter
And teaching their new friend, Sarah, how to play.

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