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Poems by Tim Chambers

A Toast (December, 2004)

This evening we celebrate friendship.
May we remember all the joy and forget all the sorrow.
May mercy be shown us, that we not get all we deserve.
May grace be shown us, that we get more than we do deserve.
May our prayers for prosperity be answered.
To friendship!

Untitled (April, 2004)

The snowfeathers flutter to rest on green grass.
Bird choirs sing and fly through the downy torrent.
The sky is chilly and gray ... today.
But green proclaims my hope:
Green grass and blossoming trees with leaves and green-white flowers.
Green ideas patiently awaken.

The Simple Delight of Balloons in Flight (2002)

Tiny Men Dangling from Enormous Puffs of Fabric
Ornaments in the Firmament
Gay Colors in the Sky
The Simple Delight of Balloons in Flight

I am the spider-killer (2002)

I am the spider-killer.
The bugs bivouac in bathtub drains.
Woman and children shriek their surprise.
The enemies attack merely by being seen.
I approach the bathroom battlefield.
My weapon is a tissue.
The war never ends, but I win every skirmish.

The Same Old Story (1997)

The created set itself in place of the Creator.
A prideful man said no to You.
His children crafted weapons to hunt,
And turned them on their brothers for murder.
Man made tools to strengthen his back,
Tools to replace his horse,
And now he has made a tool to calculate.
Some want to invent a thinker.

How naive we are to deny the mystery!
The ghost in the machine is You!
"I think, therefore I am."
You speak, therefore we are.
We use our words,
And borrow Your light,
And dare to declare them "creations."
When truly You are the Word.
You are the Light.
Only You make Something out of Nothing.

It's the same old story:
We want the glory,
Instead of giving it to You.

Rabbit Trilogy (c. 1981)


I've never heard a rabbit scream. Have you?
When you hit them with hammers there's no time to spew
A startled shout or a cry of pain
Unless, of course, you have to hit them again.
But I never do, so I've never heard a rabbit scream.


Dead bunnies.
With their little fuzzy tails
Tacked to the walls with nails
As their mutilated bodies hang below.

Dead bunnies!
With their organs all ripped out
And their white skin strewn about.
They look quite thin without their skin, you know.

Dead bunnies?
With their pretty pinkish eyes
Being eaten by the flies.
The sight and smell makes me want to up-throw.

Dead bunnies.


Rabbits. Eating rabbits.
Although white hares are herbivores
Mine like to munch on bunny flesh.
I have a hutch and I saw them doing it.
It's as if they have new
Habits -- eating habits.
My bad bunnies have become carnivores.
I've seen blood on their whiskers through the wire mesh.
One had a bunny bone and was chewing it.

Poetry in my diary:

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This document is http://alum.mit.edu/www/tbc/writing/poetry.htm, Copyright © 1980, 1981, 1982, 1983, 1997, 2002, 2005 Tim Chambers <poetry@timchambersusa.com> http://alum.mit.edu/www/tbc 1E4AF729D5CEFFD0. All Rights Reserved.

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