History Pages
Kings and Priest we have but none;
A godless thought begot.
What then should I preach dear son.
Of mobs and consequences long forgot?
To show you fear in a handful of pages,
Would I not have looked past the looking glass?
Of things fabled in Cain and Abel's ages.
And jumped down a depression in the grass?
A web my words will spin around me
And force a dance to the devils beat.
Learn to tango romantically on the silky strands
And lines. Would careful footing place us in heaven's retreat?
I propose, dear son, the burning question.
Will you believe in this impression?
2010
Man and the Flower of the Universe.
He stood there in quiet stature
Looking upon flowery sod.
He must tear the mask off nature,
To look upon the face of God.
Pulling up handfuls of roots and petals,
Proclaiming, Oh God! Where are thee?
His soul must find a place to settle,
And lay among flowers eternally.
No need to uproot the leaves of history.
Flowers have grown and died before
In the Big Bang, His face he’ll see.
He questions God’s nature no more,
For he looks upon his world now
And asks not, how was this created, how?
Feb 11/11
Thoughts on the Universe
Have we not pondered the Universe
And found to disturb it to be perverse?
Has Time and Tenderness not
Written lines across my face?
And their pen will scribble
until bone is exposed, in frantic pace.
Is it not our curse to hold the light
With steady hand against the dark?
To put question to our religious creation
And reason out our scientific nation?
2010
Hello and welcome to my humble abode, my writer's workshop. Here you will find a fair deal of poetry, do not be alarmed. I will try not to bore you, for here is a collection of my favorite poems, here are my thoughts and fantasies, born from conversations and impressions, dreams and sometimes just the simple things. I enjoy writing these poems as much as I see that you are interested in reading them. So thank you so much for stopping by and enjoy. -Dan L. Biggin
The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling.
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
-W.Shakespeare
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