Poetry Of Wonder & Hope


Searching For Answers
by Steven F. Boettcher

A million eyes stare at me
Some are empty, some with hatred
And some with insanity,
Just looking at me.
I wonder about those eyes
That are crossed, or green
Or bland with no emotion at all.
Why are they looking at me?
I stare back hoping to evoke
Some kind of emotion, a shiver,
A smile, an intense feeling of hatred
Or laughter. I prefer the latter.
I look into each one of their eyes
Trying to determine their origin,
Hard day at work,
Incredible sex, or just insanity
Of living in the vastness of it all.

I look deeper, searching for their soul
To see if a connection, a glimmer
Of hope, or a surreal interface
Can be made with one or all.
Not a single response
Do I get with my stare.
So I penetrate deeper
And still I find no soul.
I decide to look beyond their eyes
Now I see a connection, a singularity.
Ah Ha! There, pointed right at me.
I should have known, such a powerful
Aspect of those million eyes.
I can not be wrong, yet I'm not sure.
Could it be right?
Alas, as I go from pair to pair
I find the vagueness of my search
Brings me to despair.
I must look elsewhere, for I don't
Have the power to determine the
Similarity of that which I'm told is human.


The King Enters, But Leaves
by Steven F. Boettcher

It's 8 o'clock, one hour to go.
Time to start and get the map
And take out the seeing equipment.

It's 8:30, half an hour to go.
I must clear out the closet
Make room for the escape.

It's 9 o'clock, the time is now.
Time to climb the ladder in the closet.
I open the hatch - here is where I dream.

Our closest neighbor
Sets in the west.
I just missed the Goddess of Love.

High in the north is it's star.
The Dog Star!
Bright is the Dog Great is the Bear With Mizar and it's pair.

The God of War rises
To fight the Wolf
The King enters, but leaves
After he has seen the little bear.

It's 1 o'clock, I've seen my dreams.
The shower seems to be starting.
The Red God makes his move
And catches the Wolf.

It's 1:30, and it was a long day.
I think it is time to
Pack up and go below.

It's 2 o'clock, the hours have gone.
And it's now time to sleep
And dream again.


Billy and Sally
by Steven F. Boettcher

He was told that he was dying
He was almost sure, since he felt the pain
He tried to convince himself that the doctors were lying
But he knew he was sick, he felt it in his brain
He knew he should be sitting here crying
But he didn't want to go insane.

Billy was a man who believed in God
It was his belief that he felt from within
He never felt it was odd
So he tried his best not to sin
He raised his kids with love, not the rod
So he knew that one day he'll reach heaven.

Sally was his wife, they were always in love
She cried when she heard the doctor's words
She helped pray to her Lord up above
Then one day she heard the songs of the birds
And to her hand flew a white dove
To tell her to look ever onwards.

In a day, Billy's pain went away
He knew his illness was gone for good
And from that day on, his whole family would pray
That never will HE come again, that man with the black hood
So now, Billy and Sally lived their life, day by day
Always going to pray. Always knocking on wood.



A New Beginning
by Steven F. Boettcher

It seems like years
though it's been only days
I can't seem to find my fears
and that dark depression haze
that clouded my mind
and made me blind.

I've lost the gloom
to discover the light
beyond all that I doom
I no longer need to fight
the madness that crippled
because my happiness has tripled.

I look around with a smile
knowing I've got my life
unrolling in style
like a carpenter's knife
a precise instrument of perfection
I've found some satisfaction.


God's Plan
by  Steven F. Boettcher

A sky full of stars
Where a whisper of breeze
And the scent of grass
Can make all doubts
Seem so small
That you could almost be happy
The wonder of God's Plan…


If Only This Could Be True
by Steven F. Boettcher

I'd like that one, too
I said to the grocer-man
as I pointed to a piece of fruit
(or vegetable, I'm not sure which)
that was sitting silently next to
the man in the white apron.

This one? said the grocer-man
picking up a lemon that was
maybe a week too ripe,
turning a dark yellow brown
on one side.

No, no, I said waving my hand
as if I was fending off
(in a  polite way, of course)
an anti-socialite below my standards
of poverty.

I'll take that one, I said pointing
to the green thing to the left of
the grocer-man.
What exactly would you call that, anyway?

Well, he said, some foods are called sinful,
some are called passion, and some just plain divine.
I'd like to call this one a piece of heaven for which
there is no real name. 

So I buy this piece of heaven as well as the rest
of my groceries and as I leave the store and walk to
my home, a homeless, starving man approached me
begging for money and food. 
I gave the piece of heaven and the rest of my groceries
and said, have a feast.

I went home empty handed yet with
a piece of heaven in my heart.


Mythical Words Of The Air
by Steven F. Boettcher

The burning of my wicked soul,
as if a lump of ashen coal.
I feel the need to change my life
before I fall in endless strife.

Oh, what a nightmare a poet feels
when, like a rabid thief, he steals
the mythical words of the air,
a sickness he must forever bare.

The swirl of his coming storm,
in a mind that lies without a form,
leads down an endless path
on the the road to a murderer's bath.

I butcher the meaning to no end
as I escape around the haunted bend
of the nightmare that I only share
with the mythical words in the air.

The feeling of confusion, so deep,
as if words die in my sleep,
I can feel no loss of senses
though my mind is picketed with fences.

I look for the meaning from within
and I don't mind my carnal sin,
as I scope my soul with no care
looking for those mythical words of the air.


Wandering Spirits
by Steven F. Boettcher

In a moment, when thoughts sweep
through my mind and catch
a glimmer of thoughts to come
I always wonder what
lies before me in the future
that I can't imagine.

It is but a flicker or
a splinter in my mind's eye,
that instantaneous read
of something so simple
and real, that you can't
even form words that can
describe the beauty
of its dark hidden meaning.

That which I find
so hard to understand,
a piece of music, soft
and listless, beauty beyond
belief, a soft caress, a
soft whispered voice,
a moment of pure insanity.

Please forgive my soul.
It knows not how to feel.
It's confused by your beauty
and doesn't understand how to see.


I Wonder
by Steven F. Boettcher

I search you like a map
wondering where I'm going
and never looking back.

I wonder where my life would be
if I turned away or just followed
a different route to your heart.

Sometimes I hit a dead end;
it seems so final,
but I try not to dwell in my hopeless situation.

I wonder, if I turn left or right
or go straight down the middle,
will I be following the best path to our future?



Stream of Consciousness
by Steven F. Boettcher

I sit here and dream
wondering how it must feel
to gaze at a wandering stream.



To Westernesse, I want to go
by Steven F. Boettcher

To Westernesse, I want to go
To the star land of long ago,
Over the hills and beyond the sea
Where the white tree of lore used to be.

To the land of the Kings of Men
I want to go, for will the sea open
Its past, the western most land,
For here I stand in the land once known as Beleriand.

To Westernesse, I want to go,
The tale of the Mariner, I know,
He yearned for the adventures of the sea,
Despite his devoted wife’s plea.

To the land of the king, Elros
Half-elven, of man he chose,
To be mortal, long ago,
That’s where I want to go.

To Westernesse, the land of lore
Known to some as Numenor,
I want to see the star land,
From the hills of the Shire land



Saving Myself.
by Steven F. Boettcher

It was upon this place
where I had lost my face
to the evil that possessed me.

Though who would believe me
if I blamed my problems, you see,
on an evil spirit that I didn't believe in.

So I must take my sin,
not blame it on my kin,
and hope that I can be saved.

Oh, God! My madness I craved
my soul I braved,
to the shadows that lay within my soul.

I thought I lost my soul,
but I found it, though far from whole,
when I saw your heavenly light.

It was then I knew you were Right,
and I pledged my fight,
to the cause of saving myself.


For The Pain Of Truth
By Steven F. Boettcher

That which you speak is a lie
for all on Earth to see,
a pain that cries eternally
from the souls of your bosom
to those of your feet.
You say your word is gospel
though you slay infant minds
with the claws of reason and
your hatred for all that is true
till you die peacefully in the hell
that is created in your precious little self.
I, that is who I am,
can not tolerate the pain
of your lies or the hatred and despise,
that you shove in the face
of all that I hold to be human.
For it is truth that all is pain
and pain is truth of fire in our hell,
but to reach the orgasm of spirit
and passion in the wake of all else
one must seize the day today.