BenCrowder.net

The Viking (Apr 2002)
Hollow Night (Dec 2001)
The Refiner’s Fire (Dec 2001)
The Haunting Melody (Aug 2001)
Mercy Is Not His (Aug 2001)
Spring Song (Feb 2001)
The Clarion Call (Jan 2001)
The Barn Winds (Jan 2001)
The Wizard in the Tree (Aug 2000)
Childhood Flame (Jul 2000)
River of Dreams (Jul 2000)
Nature’s Spirit (Jul 2000)
Coastline (1999–2000ish)
Under the Waterfall (1999–2000ish)
The Look (1999–2000ish)
Sliver of Light (1999–2000ish)
The Glove (1999–2000ish)
The Witness (1999–2000ish)
Once Upon a Time… (1999–2000ish)
The Call (1999–2000ish)
Sleepsoul (1999–2000ish)
Death of a Flame (1999–2000ish)
Sunset (1999–2000ish)

The Viking

White lilies fading into dust on a stained windowsill,
crumbling as the sun sets behind the pallid mountains.
The night’s wispy fingers stretch out from the clouds,
reaching out, out, out for the last thread of day.

A boat drifts by on the dead river,
floating out to sea,
carrying an honorable Viking
almost there
but then
oh no
a hole, a crack, splintering wide, water seeping in
liquid fingers stretch out from underneath
reaching out, out, out for the last thread of life
but life is gone
dead
dead
the Viking is dead.

Hollow Night

In the hollow night unblest
Fragile sparrows leave the nest
Painting tears below their crest

Sagging willows cringe and cry
An eagle watches from his sky
The placid river heaves a sigh

Grayness seeps from every cloud
Wrapping aspens in a shroud
Cold, the silence whispers loud

The Refiner’s Fire

Gritty bits of unwanted sand, dirt, and grime
From a life soiled by crime,
Smudging and staining the picture of the soul
Inside, almost nothing but a hole
In the mirror. The reflection dims and then grows,
Burning hot as it flows
From dark to light, from day to night
In a fire so bright
That it sears the sand into glass,
Painful in the pass,
A clear, pure, clean image of the One
Who sent His Son.
The refiner’s fire is not a tame
One, for the Son came
To melt the sin out of man, a fierce
Fire of love from the hands pierced
And hung to die upon the cross
For all men, that from the loss
Of our Father’s presence from man’s Fall
We might answer His call
And allow His love to consume us in His holy fire.
The angel choirs
Sing alleluias as the sin-stained soul
Accepts His role
As its Savior and begs for the cleansing power
To burn away the sour
And the ugly, the bitter and the rot.
The fire begins not
At the outside, encircling the sin,
But rather kindles itself in
The heart, filling it with love
From above.
Dirt and grime begin to drip off as the hot
Flames scorch the rot,
Forming an oozing puddle on the ground.
As the fire burns the heart, a sound
Of silent sorrow is heard,
A word
And a cry of pain. Why do you hurt me so? the soul asks above,
Don’t you love
Me like you said? Give me back the soil
So the hurt that boils
And burns me will go away. But the wiser One
Knows that the love of the Son
Needs but a moment more to consume the man
And change him from an
Old, rotten creature of sin into an image of
Himself, holy and pure and filled with the love
That now loses its pain,
For all the dirt gained
By rolling in the mud of the world
Has been hurled
Away into the darkness, burned off in the light
Of the Lord, the night
Dissolving in the face of Day.
No more gritty sand unbearably hot burns into the man’s
Soul, for turned into glass through His hands
It loses its sting and reflects His light.

The Haunting Melody

Haunting my dreams, the melody
Wails its sad tune on the
Sad strings of life, asking
Why? Why must an innocent babe
Be snatched out of its family’s fingers
Into the boughs of heaven?
Why must a man see his children
In rags and he unable to do more than
Cover his face and weep, only because
His employment grew too fast?
Why must a pair of lovers
Have to painfully tear apart
What once was one?

The answers hurt, straining the soul
The melody rises high above the din,
Ever-rising, subtly stepping from the
Melancholy minor to the majestic major
As it triumphantly trumpets the glory
And the joy, the peace and the uncontainable
Happiness. The sad tune is ended forever,
Never again to be dug out of its sorry grave.
Angels in chorus praise the name of the
One who has vanquished the painful song
And put in its place the symphony of the
Son of God.

Was the pain worth it, one man asked to
The babe’s mother, to the poor man, to the lovers.
In unison they answered, Yes,
And a joyful chord swept through their souls.

Mercy Is Not His

The arrow strung, he slips into the bushes,
Slithering behind trees and stones
Making not a sound
Until his prey stands before him,
Hobbling along,
One limb bent awkwardly,
Pain in its deep brown eyes
But mercy is not his to own
He raises the bow, swiftly the arrow flies
And with a groan embeds itself
In the bristly hide of the old deer
Swept up with the wind, away the spirit flies,
Abandoning the cold body below
He, satisfied, ends the hunt with an oath
To his cold pagan gods.

Spring Song

Spring heralds forth the dawn of life
Tender moments fleeting by
Eternal bliss of man and wife
Sparrows sing their joyous cry

Bubbles flow across the stream
Glowing sun sends rays of light
The mountain creatures’ smiles beam
Daylight slays and stays the night

The Clarion Call

A brisk, chill gust flees through the air
The moment has arrived
Wrought with suspense, the soldiers tense
The monster has survived

They thought it dead, the battle o’er
But men mistakes may make
Its fiery eyes blaze into life
A splash erupts the lake

Bursting from its grave beneath
The dragon roars out balls of fire
Scorching tree and singeing flower
Melting land with incensed ire

All hope is lost, the battle turned
The soldiers scramble from the beast
Then suddenly a shrill cry sounds
From beyond the mountain east

A noble horn, the clarion call
Pierces soul of man and brute
The dragon halts, its eyelids droop
Enchanted spell, the call falls mute

Each man is stunned, each man knows not
From whence the victory is wrought
And ever on they wonder still
Remain a mystery it will

The Barn Winds

A cracked old barn
The wind blows through
Rickety it stands
But still it holds

Rafters groan
Temptation grows
Give in, give in
But still it holds

The last attack
A final wave
Crushing wind
But still it holds

Biting teeth
Of dirt and stones
Hurled against the wall
But still it holds

Weak it is
Out of breath
One last gasp
But still it holds

Give in, give in
The wind gives in
The fight is dead
The barn stands tall
And still it holds

The Wizard in the Tree

“Abracadabra” came a voice from above,
“Lend me a hand there, boy, will you please?
This spell isn’t working, not working at all
I think it has something to do with the trees.”

I looked at the silly old man in his cloak;
His long curly beard gave way to a sneeze,
“Boy, help me, you must, I have to get down,”
Said the wizard with a cough and a wheeze.

He reached out his hand, which I took, and he jumped
And rolled to a stop on the ground.
Then, from his cloak, he took out a wand,
And waved it and cried, “Thou art bound!”

All of the sudden, from every direction
Flew twisty green vines in the air.
They knotted around me, I fell to the dirt
As the wizard glared, “Where, my boy, where?

“Where is the key that unlocks the stone gate,
The gold one you stole from my tower?
Don’t play games with me, boy, this is real,
And you now are under my power.”

“I don’t understand,” I said with a frown,
“What is this key you’re talking about?
I’ve never heard of such a queer thing.”
The old man’s eyes filled with doubt.

“Don’t lie to me, boy, it’s not safe for your health,
Remember, you’re full in my sway,
And if you won’t tell me, won’t show me the key,
Some nasty games we’ll have to play.

“So hand it on over, don’t keep it back,
You’re wasting my time, boy, hurry it up.”
“But my hands aren’t loose,” I said with a stare,
“And — my, you are a queer nut.”

For his beard had changed to a coppery color,
His wrinkles had plain disappeared,
In place of the old man stood Fire and Ice.
And then shivers swept me with fear.

The clouds had grown dark with an eery blue tint,
A stinging breeze swept ‘cross my face.
The dark sorc’rer laughed with maniacal glee
Saying, “This, boy, this is my place,

“And stay here you must till I see that key,
The one you say you don’t hold,
But surely you’re lying and soon you’ll be dying
Unless you give me the gold.”

“I’ve already told you,” I said once again,
“I’ve never seen this key of yours.
Now please let me go — I have things to do.”
The sorc’rer stomped, shrieked and roared.

“Give me the key,” he commanded in fury,
“My patience has long disappeared.
And if you do not within, oh, say five minutes,
Things will get worse than you feared.”

Thunder erupted from up in the heavens,
Knives of light fell to the ground,
Crackling blue fire swept out from the forest.
Then came the earth-shaking Sound.

A deep, rumbling cry from the sorc’rer’s stretched throat
Melted the hills into water,
And chasms appeared in the once-solid dirt.
Then my legs started to totter,

For a crack had appeared underneath my two feet,
In seconds it split five feet wide.
“Stop this!” I cried, and then said in pure fright,
“Alright, I admit it, I lied.”

Then I put down the book and got up for a snack,
Stretched out my arms and took a long nap,
Dreamt of the wizard, the Sound and the key,
And how it all started in one slim gray tree.

Childhood Flame

The spark of life falters
A child’s glow dies
Fairy lands fall apart
The world fills with lies

Losing the innocence, losing the light
Growing older and wiser, into the night
Dark, cold reality, stark fear and pain
Each passing weekend brings losses, not gain

The fire within us glows dimmer each year
The magic of life is drowned in grim tears
Our minds, like a shutter, close out the real light
We struggle each day, make the journey a fight

Children are laughing, playing with glee
Utterly, totally, wild and free
Free from the chains of monotone life
Free from the grief and heartbreaking knife
That cuts us apart, tears us to shreds
Leaving the light of childhood dead.

River of Dreams

Inner winding, sparkling river
Flowing through the banks of life
Over stone and under tree branch
Slicing fate as with a knife

Bumps and turns and shallow beaches
Overhanging trees and leaves
Ghostly hindrance, hidden jewels,
Blessings floating in the breeze

Nature’s Spirit

The crack of twigs, the desert twilight,
Floating embers in the air,
Lonesome trees and hollow caverns,
Searching for what isn’t there.

The apparition’s pale appearance,
Glowing in the soft moonlight,
Fades to darkness, cold, black shadows,
Melting into liquid night.

Coastline

Cliff’s edge leers in midnight darkness
Far too near for comfort warm
Bleak winds bite with ice-cold fury
Heralding the tempest storm

Waves crash against the cliff’s cold feet
Spraying mist into the air
The salty smell soaks rock and sandstone
The power leaves the beaches bare

Lighthouse shines from down below
Warning of the coastline’s teeth
Those who fail to heed the lightbeam
Claim a wat’ry grave beneath

Under the Waterfall

Pounding water slides off rocks,
Falling to a stream below
Bright cascades of sparkling sunlight
Following a path they know

Endless weight of crushing water
Slams into the smooth green stones,
Wiping clean their past transgressions
Leaving only clouds of foam

From above a lark sings sweetly,
Twittering the song of spring
While underneath the turbid swirling,
Chanting twigs dance in a ring.

The Look

Rising waves of irid splendor,
Floating crests of pure white foam,
Eagles soar far o’er their kingdom,
In this place I call my home.

Airy whispers through the leaves,
Pale pink minnows dart upstream,
Through the hollow I can see him,
Silent, watching me.

His piercing eyes bore right through me,
Sending quills into my heart,
A single look from that great being,
Stronger than the sharpest dart.

A snapping twig disrupts the moment,
In a blur, I see the gun,
A shot is fired, the buck collapses,
The hunter smiles; his prize is won.

A sickness swells inside my stomach,
Aching for the fallen deer,
My sorrow rips my heart apart.
But no, he cannot hear.

Sliver of Light

A rich glade sits in the midst of the forest
Surrounded by fortresses of trunk and leaf
The autumn colors of the matted floor mix
Yet the living leaves are still luscious green

Time pauses as it enters the glade,
Hangs in an eternal moment
Nothing moves, the sounds are silenced
Only me and coy Mother Nature

Through the canopy the clouds drift by
The occasional downpour soaks the wood with life
A dewy smell rises from the leaves beneath
Then is pushed away by the cool breeze

Legend tells of treasure hid here,
Surpassing wealth of kings and lords
I seek but cannot find
No chest, no trunk or buried box

No hollow in a gnarled tree
No clue, no hint, no treasure
But then a sliver of light appears from above
And casts itself into my mind

This is the treasure
The glade displays Nature’s treasures
But only to those whose
Eyes are open.

The Glove

Raindrops pour down from the gray skies above
Drenching and soaking an old tattered glove
Lonely it lies there, not whole but in shreds
The water drips in and leaks crimson red
No owner to claim it, no cold hand to warm
Homeless and shabby, alone in the storm
Trampled and crushed, ground underfoot
Covered with dirt, grime, street slime and soot
For weeks it has lain there, for weeks it has sobbed
Unwanted, rejected, its tiny heart throbs
Wishing for better, an owner to care
But nobody stops; the glove in despair
Gives up all hope, resigned to its fate
And ends its long, tired and heartbreaking wait.

The soul is gone; a dead shell remains
No more aching, no more pain
An empty glove on an empty street
Trampled and crushed under ignorant feet.

The Witness

The American flag waves to all
Proudly and sadly telling her story
Of pain, death, bravery, the fight for freedom
Tears drip down as she remembers
Those who sacrificed their lives
For her.

She stands as a witness, for all to see,
Emblem of virtue, courage and honesty.

The wind caresses her,
Storms threaten to topple her,
But steadfast she remains.

The star-spangled banner
Forever shouting the message
Of life, love and liberty.
Oh say can you see.

Once Upon a Time…

Once upon a time,
When poems were in rhyme,
When fairy tales were real
And magic stones could heal,
When dragons roamed the land
And maidens gave their hand,
When holy grails were sought
And wicked witches caught,
When Merlin cast his spells
And hunchbacks rang the bells,
When magic carpets soared
And white knights swung their swords,
When genies granted dreams
And bad guys thought up schemes,
When goblins lay in wait
And all believed in fate,
When golden hair grew long
And sirens sang their song,
When good guys always won
And gold in sheaves was spun,
When towers men did climb,
All once upon a time.

The Call

There is so much more to life
Than trophies, wealth and fame;
When you stand before the Lord,
None else will take the blame.
Did you serve your fellowman?
Did you help the sick?
Were you thoughtful? Caring? Kind?
If not, get started quick,
For there may not be much more time
Left on this earth for you;
Get to work, start being nice –
There’s much for you to do.
Smile at your neighbor,
Help your brother with his chore.
If you give your best each day,
Your happiness will soar,
And at the final judgment,
With confidence in sway,
You can proudly tell the Lord:
“I did! I did obey!”

Sleepsoul

Night after night as I lie down to sleep,
I find myself counting a great many sheep
I try and I try, but sleep will not come
The fence-hoppers grow ’til my brain becomes numb
I lie there in stillness, watching my ceiling,
As layers of brainskin fall off, just keep peeling
Exhausted and tired, commands leave my tongue
“Sleep now!” I cry, “Or you shall be hung!”
My sleepsoul ignores me, he scoffs in my face
“Why should I let you — ‘twould be a disgrace!”
The ignoble struggle continues near dawn
His cunning and wit against my burly brawn
At last I defeat him; subdued to my will,
He gives me the pow’r of a strong sleeping pill
The curtain falls o’er me, I drift off to sleep
Forgetting those light-footed, bleating white sheep.

Death of a Flame

Embers dying on a forbidden fire
Life smothered
Tiny red specks faintly glowing
The last before giving up the ghost
Wisps of smoke trail away
Pulling the spirit out
Into the sky
Where it may roam
Until another flame sucks it down,
Down to the earth,
Blows life into it
And once more the fire lives.

Sunset

A fiery ball of fire sinks into the horizon
The day is over, the dark blanket of night
Wrapping itself around the world;
Soon the last wisps of golden light
Fade into the darkness;
Then, slowly, tiny punctures appear,
Dotting the inky black sky.