Poetry From Out There

The Flaming God and the Fisherman
by Steven F. Boettcher

 Slowly a line of fire
emerges from the depths of forever
blanketed by the clouds of doom -
brilliant flashes tease my eyes
as I wonder nature's disguise.

So I gaze into the great unknown
waiting for the coming of the god.
The fire burns to a quickening beat
until my god; I ready to meet.

Ablaze, ablaze, my burning god!
As I await your appending arrival,
the fire grows and brighter it gets,
I can't wait any longer, anticipation sets.

A lonely old fisherman greets
as he searches for answers;
into the frigid waters he goes,
as the fire glows, glows, glows!

And now, my god, I watch you rise
yet I look to the fisherman in despair.
What can he teach me, I have yet to learn
I watched him fish and my god I spurn.

The fire is all hot, consumed the sky
and, my god rises, and I wonder where
the fisherman disappeared too?
My god, I'm here. The fisherman who?
The waves on the shore continureto churn
As my god's radiant glow, will forever burn.



My Friend and the Profitable Prophet
by Steven F. Boettcher

A friend of mine came to visit,
he brought with him a prophet
who had a tidy amount of cash.
The prophet's profit, what a stash!

I wondered why my friend came to visit
and brought along this profitable prophet.
So I asked my friend, sounding rather brash
"What brings you by with a profitable prophet with so much cash!"

So my friend that came to visit
said, "A prophecy has come forth from my dear friend, the prophet.
You see, he came into this prophecy about all his cash
In the end he foresees it'll all be recycled through the trash."


Save Yourself
by Steven F. Boettcher

Pictures are memories of the past
Moments in history that will forever last;
Seeing is light in your eye
Sometimes what you see is only a lie;
Sounds of laughter are rapid vibrations
Echoing through our false observations;
God is only there for those who prey;
I hear a voice, it calls me away...
To another reality
To a part of my mind
I don't know how to get there
It's too hard to find
It is far, yet so very near
The only way to get there
Is to bypass my fear.

Reflections are temporary thoughts
Of light surrounded by forts;
A touch is a feeling
Though you may need mental healing;
Sounds of birds flying away
Into an unknown future, another day;
Praying is for those who do not pray;
The voice calls, it begs me not to stay...
And leave the past alone
Leave it to my heart
I'm on a journey now
A course to the unknown, I chart.
It is long, though very quick
I see his eye
It's all been a devilish trick.

Paintings are permanent abstractions
Of a kind of frog in life's actions;
Thinking is computing, only an easier way
Though I can't remember what I ate yesterday.
Sounds of thrashing of pain is lashing
I can hear the mashing of a car crashing;
Religion is for the devil to set us apart
The voice cries, its time for me to start...
My journey through the mind
A race to find my lost hope
I don't know where to go
It's dark, all I can do is grope.
It is hard yet so very soft
An unusual contradiction
Is it a dragon's lair or a cozy loft.

Hallucinations arrive when your mind plays games
Instances when your brain dies in flames;
Thoughts are electrical impulses in my head
Forming feelings for those ideas that have fled.
Sounds of crying ring through my ears
Filling my ears with endless tears;
The devil is our excuse to kill;
The voice beckons, come as you will...
Into a darken mass
A funeral pyre
A moment of sadness
A look into hell's fire
It is hot, I feel so cold
The fear in my heart
I forever hold.

Words are pictures for the brain
Hallucinations for the insane;
Tasting is a chemical reaction
Though what you might call taste can cause a deadly action;
Sounds of dying can mean violence
If you sit there crying in silence.
Millions die waiting to be saved;
The voice says to me, "It's your soul that must be saved!"


Within The Void
by Steven F. Boettcher

I hear the peasant's voice in the void
A beggar's chant, hard to avoid
I feel the sorrow and the pain
I listen to the void, slowly going insane.

A matter of time, its all the same
Calling to me, its just the same
Emptiness, and forever longing
What's it worth when you don't have a sense of belonging.

Because I dream, I am not awake
To make that idealistic mistake
In my thoughts I am the one
But to the world, I am beneath the Son.

I hear the peasant's voice in the night
It chills my thoughts and the might
Of the void draws me closer
A sense of feeling dark and morose.

I endure this nightmare to no end
Inherited from my thoughts, I send
As image that transpires before my eyes
Have I seen humanity's surprise?

Because I dream, I am not dead
For through Hell I am led
I cannot turn my back now
Insanity equilibrium must be met, somehow.

On this endless path, that I tried to avoid
I learn more from this than any empty void
The peasant voices that play my ears
To the haunting rhythm of my countless fears.

I am doomed to pass through this life
Living beyond living and endless strife
I hear those voices from within the void
A path that all must try to avoid.

Off Color
by  Steven F. Boettcher

Off color
Yellow butter
You are such a nutter
Hey friend
Don't ask me why
Just bring my bread and butter



by  Steven F. Boettcher

I wonder where I am
And where I am going
…….On a dark night


Another Boring Meeting
by  Steven F. Boettcher

Here I sit and listen to a bodiless voice
Bored, disinterested
And wonder why I am here.

This meeting is not for me
I have no input
Nothing to say.

This is another boring meeting


by  Steven F. Boettcher

Maybe I should wait and see
How the outcome will go
To this travesty
Or maybe I should make my move
Just to show that I
Have nothing to prove.


by  Steven F. Boettcher

Serendipity, the child of Karma and Chance
Went for a walk along the river Tributary.
Off on the far bank on the edge of reality
She saw a seashell on a seesaw.
What luck, she said!
After all, it was her fate.



I Know How She Feels
(An experiment)

by Steven F. Boettcher

I just read through some of my poems.   I am not really that fond of them.  Maybe I should revise some.  I wasn’t ever much into editing.  I liked what I first wrote, but now I am not so sure.  Maybe over time, when distance has cleared my eyes, I can see the imperfections of what I write.

I was looking at an uncompleted poem about the Ranger that caused a lot of damage in Denver.

The pain has engulfed me
Like a flame around a tree
In the forests of Denver
Caused by a careless soul.

I feel for that Ranger
Whose mistake
Ruined the lives

Of all she was to save.

I know how she feels. 

Maybe it is complete, but lets see if I can revise it to make it better.

Guilt must have engulfed her
When the flames began to stir
In the forests around Denver
Where her error
will haunt her forever.

 I feel for that Ranger
Who put so many in danger
She made a fatal mistake
And didn’t realize
What was at stake. 

I know how she feels.

 Hmmm.   I don’t know.  Maybe its better, but it may not be a good poem.  Lets see what else I can do…..

 I know how she feels
The one who steals
The life of innocents lost
At all cost
To your soul.



Hunger for Sleep
by Steven F. Boettcher

My eyes are heavy
I can't lift my head
consciousness drifts by
like the sailing dead.

I can't stay awake
although I try
why am I so tired
It's like I want to die.

I can't stay awake
though I can't fall asleep
I'm dead.... jarred to life
Unconsciousness I can't keep

Even at night, try as I may
sleeping is for those...
I wonder how I can
find a way to doze.

I look upon all,
with my weary head
an envy for those
who can consciousness shed.

I hunger for sleep
for which I can't satisfy
as I lay in bed night after night
wondering how & why.

For it is when
I lie awake in bed
I dream of one thing
sleeping like the dead.



by Steven F. Boettcher

It's a blue spot
It's a painted sign
It's a double white
yellow indigo line.


It's a school bus
It's a piece of fruit
It's a chameleon little
yellow newt.


It's all the same
It's quite obvious to my eyes
It's a wonderful
amazing disturbing disguise.


Looking at the sky
by Steven F. Boettcher

 Stars shine bright
on in deep space
there is no twinkle
just majesty and grace

The stars are
a billion years old
nothing can stop them
from being bold

Stars are born
and stars die
that the way of the unuverse
don't ask why

And so I see here
looking at the sky
and I wonder
when will I die?



Rite's Of Passage
by Steven F. Boettcher

Over the rainbow
above the clouds
my future lies...

Through the darkness
beyond the universe
my future lies...

That is why
I don't know
what will happen tomorrow.

From the setting sun
to the lion's mane,
the eye of Aswan;
the demon's name.

Cabantra, I call
the powers within,
let the rains fall
to the Nile's sin
in the forsaken land
in the mountains of the stars
with the drop of sand
through earth's scars
I call Cabantra
the mists of the east.

Cabantra, Cabantrea,
my soul is for you to feast.

Cabantra I beg
the powers within
let me hatch from this egg
that binds me in.

Give me the power
so that I may grow
like the desert flower
of Gao.

Cabantra, Cabantrea
of the earth
Prepare my body
for my rebirth
Heal my sorrow
mend my wound
let me leave
this ethereal womb.

Cabantra, Cabantrea.

I am ready to receive
your gift of life
and eternal leave.

I am worthy
of your gift
for I call you
out of the great rift
O'Cabantra, Cabantrea
it is my fate
I call to you
to change my state.

The wolf howls at the moon
The lion hunts by the moon
An elephants rage is a swoon
The gazelle come in June
My life will be ours soon.

note: This poem was written in the late 80's. It was supposed to be the opening of a novel called 'Rites of Passage' that my friend E. Elias and I were to write. Alas, the story never got past the planning stage and this poem.



by Steven F. Boettcher



               A meek voice can be heard
                    That is stronger than
                     a gun.

  please pray for peace

  I   will pray for peace.

I Met a Circus Man on My Way to Work, Today
by Steven F. Boettcher

 I met a circus man on my way to work, today
he was juggling a single bowling pin.
What a peculiar sight I thought,
so, I said, "That's not hard!
Even I could do that!" I boasted.
He said, "That's what you think.
Try juggling a bowling pin and
two invisible elephants that don't weigh an ounce!
Now! that's juggling."
I said, "How do I know that you are
juggling two invisible, non weight elephants?"
"Well," said the circus man,
"Wouldn't I look rather foolish
just juggling a single bowling pin?"


An Anglo-Saxon Man in Hand
by Steven F. Boettcher

In the palm of my hand
I hold an Anglo-Saxon Man
an Anglo-Saxon Man, an Anglo-Saxon Man.
In the palm of my hand
I hold an Anglo-Saxon Man
I wonder what he'll do next?

Cut off the tips of my fingers
yes he will, the Anglo-Saxon Man
the Anglo-Saxon Man, the Anglo-Saxon Man.
Cut off the tips of my fingers
yes he will, the Anglo-Saxon Man
I wonder why he'd do that?

To show that he's better than the rest
to My shock and horror, Anglo-Saxon Man
Anglo-Saxon Man, Anglo-Saxon Man.
To show that he's better than the rest
to My shock and horror, Anglo-Saxon Man
I better crush you while I can!

In the palm of my hand
I hold a dead Anglo-Saxon Man
a dead Anglo-Saxon Man, a dead Anglo-Saxon Man.
In the palm of my hand
I hold a dead Anglo-Saxon Man
Why did I ever create him?


I Met a Traveler on the Road
by Steven F. Boettcher

It was a sunny day
though I could hardly tell.
The forest road was covered in shadow
and the sky with trees.

Then I met a traveler on the road,
who stopped and greeted me
with a smile and a tip of the hat.

"I said, 'How do you do?'"
and the traveler just winked
and continued walking down the road.

I called after the traveler
to warn that the road never ends.
For I know this, since I started
from there nearly 200 years ago.

The traveler turned around
and said with a smile,
"Thank you very much kind sir.
That's exactly where I want to go."

With that, the traveler continued down the road
and I continued with my way.

Years later, I would think back at that
chance encounter and smile,
"At least my way will end,"
then my smile faded and I added, "I hope."


Shadows On The Stone
by Steven F. Boettcher

I look at the wall ahead
fills my heart with dread
imagining the life of the dead
lying here on death's bed,
I feel so alone
just looking at the shadow on the stone.

Vaporized by the light
of destruction's powerful might
in the glare of the anti-night
Oh, what a useless fight,
I stand here all alone
just staring at the shadows on the stone.

A tear rolls from my eye
like rain from the sky;
a messenger's sigh
brings saddness so nigh
that's why I feel so alone
just watching the shadows on the stone.

A motionless form I see
never to be set free
of the pain in me
never to feel the jollies of Bree,
Why am I all alone
crying for the shadows on the stone.

That Just Goes to Show
by Steven F. Boettcher

A man who ate
His words today,
Said that they
Were delicious.

Yesterday, a man
Who ate his words

I've been gagging
Most of my life.
That just goes to show.

Reflections Of the Void
by Steven F. Boettcher

I can feel the end is near
Doom lies ahead, darkness so queer.
What are the last ones to do,
On the night when Armageddon is new?
The Void is upon us tonight;
I, one of two, the last in sight,
I've prepared for this all my life
Now the bitter end is my wife.
So I watch, as the sun is snuffed out
Words so hard come about.
We were chosen to be the last
To record for humanity's past.
My candle is all I go,
And darkness surrounds us; anticipation is hot.
Soon you and me, will be the last
And doom will overcome us fast.
It is only seconds to go till the end.
I wonder what lies across the bend.
Now my hand is in the Void.


Magical Words From the Air
by Steven F. Boettcher

So it has come to this
listening for words that come
from the dark
a moment
a rock
an unlisted void
its not hard to understand.

Mythical words in the dark
possess me
haunt me.

Magical words appear from the air
I am at a loss
has it come to this?
a line
a cleric
an emotional hole
I know the meaning, I can see the light.

The void is shining.

Mythical words in the air
my soul, the words steal
as it does my thoughts.

The unemployed
The sacred cow
an incredible light
down the endless well.
So much confusion
so little pain
the words come to me
I can not explain.


Winter (1)
by  Steven F. Boettcher

Winter madness
Sudden sadness
How can I go on?

Stuck in snow
Feeling woe
What can I do?


Winter (2)
by  Steven F. Boettcher

Snow falling all around
A blanket of winter misery
The bus is moving no faster than a snail.


by  Steven F. Boettcher

Black clouds hover over me,
Rain of tears fall all around
Why don't I realize
I'm cursed?

No luck to be found


Snow Daze
by Steven F. Boettcher

Big snow
Too much woe
Way to go

Car too slow
Work? No!
Temp below
Too much snow
Time to go
In Winter’s woe
Walking too slow
Ski to and fro
The way to go
It’s nice to know
That cheeks glow 

From head to toe
A Status quo
That just goes to show
A poem about snow
Can end in O!

And not P!


Dream Sequence or Reality?
by Steven F. Boettcher

 Death blew in from the cracks
As I watch chaos go by
His chill brings him to me
As I wait for his call to begin
Waves of shivers race up my spine
As I shake in fright I can feel him cool my soul
As I heat in his fury
Death's wintery hands fired my skin
Underneath my protectless armor
His sting is unnerving at best
And deathly, at his worst
And so I finally recover
When I get up and walk away from the open window.



by Steven F Boettcher

I was born a doughnut,
far from complete;
full of fluff and stuff
but no meat.
It disgusts me,
I disgust myself
to the point of destroying
life itself.

A bit of me disappears,
day after day
as my life crumbles
and withers away;
A piece of pastry,
A piece of shit,
What is there to show of it?

Oh, in the end I will disappear
Maybe someone I know,
may shed a tear,
but who cares for a doughnut hole
when nothingness is my goal?

But, its the process to reach that end
that I battle for and defend;
for its my right to live till I die
and suffer the pain whenever I cry.
And so it will be,
that I can say
it's a struggle
to live for today.
But its not impossible
for me to know
that I'll lose another crumb,


John, The Son of an Ex-Con
by Steven F. Boettcher

 John, The son of an ex-con
Did not rob,
But could not get a job
Because John
Was the son of an ex-con.

He could do
Many things, like shine a show
Or make some glue
Just to name a few.

But John
Was the son of an ex-con.

Now John
Is gone.
Nothing left but a bone.
And on his stone
The son of an ex-con
Is gone.


by Steven F. Boettcher

 I was sinking,
ever so slowly
into the murky water below.
From a mountain,
at its peak,
I tumbled and fell
to the point where
I couldn't escape the dire grips
of the water below.
I was a poor boy,
who would be king,
for many years until
I grew up and found out
that my life was a lie...


I wish
by Steven F. Boettcher

I wish that I had the courage
to take a gun to my head.
I wish I had the courage
to pull the trigger.
I wish I didn't feel this way.

I wish I could explain how I feel
and to let people know what is wrong.
I wish I could let people in my head
so they could see the anguish inside.
I wish I was happy.

I wish my depressions
didn't depress my loved ones.
I wish my problems
didn't affect my loved ones.
I wish I was dead.

I wish I didn't feel this way.
I wish I was happy.
I wish I didn't ruin the life I love so dear.
I wish I was dead.


Death and destruction all in the name of the Lord
by Steven F. Boettcher

Death and destruction all in the name of the Lord
 Let’s clap our hands, Let’s clap our hands to
Death and destruction all in the name of the Lord.
All in the name of the Lord, All in the name of the Lord
Let’s clap our hands, Let’s clap our hands
All in the name of the Lord, All in the name of the Lord.


What is God?
by Steven F. Boettcher

What is God? I sometimes ask.
Is it a human, plant, or
something I cannot grasp?
Is God a man or is he a woman?
I'm biased, I guess.
It doesn't matter much, I suppose.
I wonder if he is black or white,
green or blue.
Atheist, Christian, or Jew?
I wonder what God does with prayers?
Does he listen or yawn?
Is he blissful or scorned?
After he created us, why stick around?
I'm all messed up,
he didn't help me much.
I wonder what people really think?
Is God merciful or merciless?
Does anything matter to him?
I can imagine, from looking at TV,
God is there for those who prey
as they get money on his behalf.
I wonder if God plays a role
in life and death?
Did he choose my father and forget me?
Is there a waiting list
to enter God's kingdom?
Can we cut the line?
Does God care if I question him?
Does it bother him?
Does he even care about me?
I wonder if aliens believe in him?
I guess they do, because they always call
out to him when they get deported.
I wonder if God keeps up with current affairs?
Does he live in a castle?
Does he even have any friends?
Is God really everywhere?
Next to me? Over the mountain?
In the darkest depths of my soul?
Does God even smell?
I mean, can he smell?
Well, okay, does he stink?
Is God going to punish me for my sins?
Forgive me? Or is my guilt
a waste of my time?
Does God read Poetry?
What does HE think of Mine?
I must be going to Hell!
I wonder, does God truly exist?
In my mind? In his?
Do I exist?
Does God care about wars and famine?
Peace and prosperity?
In my happiness or sorrow?
I guess I won't really know until I die.
If I blew my chance by doubting him,
or wasted my time debating him as I did.