Our Mind

Our Mind

They say that a mind is a terrible thing to lose,

But I didn’t realize that endured such horrible abuse.

I didn’t like anything that altered my mind,

That’s why I wouldn’t drink alcohol: whiskey or wine—

Nor would you see me shooting up drugs,
After all, aren’t they just artificial mental hugs?

Momentarily satisfying, chasing that high,

After the crash, withdrawals tear-streak the eyes

The cycles need breaking, when to our addictions we crawl

Perhaps our lives are needing a major overhaul.

But can’t you see what damages us most—

Isn’t hiding the skeletons, or kicking our ghosts

It’s the little things that we do, that damages our mind,

Those compromises we make, when lies intertwine.

From the broken circles trust, of family and friends,

Only to tell them repeatedly, “I’ll never do it again.”

But if we gaze much deeper, closer we’ll find

That the thing we’ve hurt most, is our precious mind.

Stripping layer by layer, we become a nonentity,

In perverting the truth, we lose our identity.

Screaming inwardly, “What have I become!”

When it all falls apart, and our lives are undone.

Is it possible to change, by redirecting our gaze?

To peer behind the murkiness of this everyday haze.

And that inward satisfaction of healing our mind,

Only by looking upward, will salvation we’ll find.

Greg Butz

June 11^th, 2009

I did some thinking (pondering my internal philosophy while showering) and a few ideas popped into my mind. I was thinking in this simple rhyme schema, putting it to words was fun. I know rhyming “drugs” with “artificial mental hugs” seems like I’m reaching for a rhyme, but I do really like the imagery… its what originally popped into my mind to begin with. Anyway, the point of this is that we can physically damage our mind by abusing it with controlling substances, but mentally we can damage it by constructing false schemas and filling it with lies, negative thoughts, and moral compromises.

Dolce Somnus and Tormented Slumber

Dolce Somnus and the Tormented Slumber

The eyes drooped tired and heavy,

As his breaths grew slower and deeper—

Slowly he drifted melodically,

Down the river paved with his dreams.

Little flashes of pleasure,

Each dream that lay before him—

Every image a different story,

Coolly intertwined into intricate streams.

A sad dream, a happy dream

Some filled with Brutus who plunged the knife,

But most left him with a sense of longing

For the things he missed most in his life.

Coughing, the terror!

What of my day was this supposed to mirror?

It was my inability to breathe

That was causing this foul interruption of my dreams.

Gasping for breath, an ecstasy of fumbling

As under a green sea, I lay there drowning.
In all my dreams, before the helpless night,

I plunge, guttering, choking, drowning.

My bed covered with tears and sweat,

I awaken with a fright.

Still coughing I laid there,

Helpless against onslaught during the night.

Dolce et Decorum Est, Dolce Somnus

Though it was hard to sleep there peacefully,

With my lungs drowning in mucus.

By Greg Butz

June 9th, 2009

I was having such a pleasant dream, until I violently woke up coughing. I also woke up my poor roommate as well. My eyes were streaming with tears, with my throat on fire -- I was breathing so easily just a few hours ago. After waking up, I took a Lozenges for my fit of coughing, sat down with my prayer journal, and after a few minutes of praying I wrote this poem.

The House of Glory

The House of Glory

Life wasn’t like the one that was promoted

This life has been such a sad story—

Just substitute the names from the ones of old,

Is it too late to go into the house of glory?

People passing you by in the streets,

Sayin’ “How are you?” – “I’m well”

But the truth is they’ve hidden from the world,

In reality, their lives have been nothing short of hell.

How have we’ve gotten ourselves in such position?

Has the truth become such a darned imposition?

Is it too late rewrite that old, old story

And come into the house of glory?

Give me a sip, you say, of that old trouble remover

And let’s drown away all of this pain.

But at the end of this long day, say son,

What has that drink really gained?

But up ahead is that a light that I see?

That faint flicker so far away--

Tell me Lord is that you coming for me?

Because this place wasn’t meant for me to stay.

I heard you say put away the troubles of my mind—

That you'll give some peace for me to find.

Can you please rewrite this sad, sad story,

And lead me into the house of glory?

Greg Butz

May 24, 2009

This poem was very influenced by a couple of Bill Withers songs, that I was listening to today while grading papers. One line was “the house of glory” and from that idea, inspired and thus transpired the rest of this poem. I was very curious to write about life from the other perspective—hope you enjoyed this little poem. Just incase you’re wondering, I don’t believe that my life has been a sad story, because of the One who lives through me.

Oh Dreary Morning

Oh dreary morning

The overcast skies were streaked with grey,
As the trees danced all about –
Swaying to the rhythm of nature’s concert
Directed by the winds that surround.

Gingerly fidgeting yet remaining firm
Perched an assortment of green leaves,
Clinging to them, round water beads glistened
While showers of rain fell around.

Back and forth rocked the stout branches,
Interrupting birds as they snuggled—
They chirped cautiously with each strong breeze,
That threatened to knock them out of the trees.

Oh dreary morning, with a sun struck sky,
Who would want to venture without sunshine?
Childhood memories of splashing through deep puddles
Seem so distant from me this time.

Oh dreary morning, with bright orange petals
Opening up to lap the cool drink from the skies—
Though the rains reawaken nature’s vibrant colors,
I’ve decided today, to stay warm and dry inside.

Hold You Tight

Hold You Tight

The signs of another ominous day—

With mean clouds darkening the skies,

And when whatever is not going right

I’ll be there to hold you tight.

When the stress of life is bothering

And when no one seems to listen,

Don’t worry because I’ll be there

To forget how to talk, and just to hear.

Was the world giving you the cold shoulder?

And isolating you with their icy stares—

I’ll warm you up with a friendly smile,

And show that you really are worthwhile.

And the times that are too tough—

With all the turmoil that life has brought

Don’t bother dabbing out eyes—

For I have two dry shoulders, for your cries.

And when one hug is not enough

When all that was right goes wrong,

You can forget all your worries—out of sight

For I’ll be there you’ll see—just holding you tight.

Greg Butz

May 16, 2009

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I don’t know… I guess I wanted another semi-romantic poem. Sometimes I just want to be a protector – to be a knight in shinning armor and run to the aid of a fair maiden in distress. I don’t necessarily want to solve all the problems, nor do I need to fight off all the dragons. Rather, I just want to be a solid foundation and to just be a listening ear for that special someone who needs me.

The Expert

The Expert

Be an expert in these areas

Show them all what’s right—

If they claim and show alarm,

Brush their concerns out of sight.

Train them in the way they should go,

And the difference from right and wrong.

Show to them how to make good decisions

Through the media and their songs.

And what of the one who disagrees?

The girl with her hand always up?

Override all her thoughts,

And if all else fail tell her to “shut up.”

“But sir”, I ask, not wishing to offend,

“If my viewpoints always win—

Though hers be equally strong

Do I convey that I’m only right,

-- and hers are but a sin?”

In silent disbelief I stared ,

As he began laughing at me—

Did he think it foolishness

This thought that I conceived?

“I once thought the way you do," began he

"Actually it wasn’t so long;

But once you begin doubting yourself—

Then everything will go wrong.

So take it all in at once,

And even if you’re wrong—

It’s better to appear half-right,

Than someone who’s not strong.”

“I cannot do that!” I said aloud—

Convinced this was my case,

"And become a wretched hypocrisy,

And her confidence to erase.

Nor will I stunt her ingenuity,

And the cleverness of her opposition—

I’d rather be dismissed at once

Than to stunt the growth of cognition."

“Than you will be a sad man

As your power is overtly usurped

She may have her fame and fortune,

While you’ll be lucky to make an excerpt.”

“I know what it is that I risking,

And the authority that might go missing,

But don’t be surprised when you find,

That I helped develop, the next wonderful mind.”

By Greg Butz

May 13, 2009

As a teacher sometimes you encounter students who know more than you. Not in all subjects, just typically in the history of Canada. While very knowledgeable in many areas of social studies and history, I sometimes don’t know the small background details – this poem was a reaction to it. I may not know it all – but I’m happy to admit this, I hope that this has helped develop, the next “wonderful mind.”

A Million Faceless People

A Million Faceless People

Walking aimlessly through the world

They stumble and run into each other—

Unable to find their way in life,

Isolated and without hope they suffer.

Yet together with the masses they march

An army with no direction to go—

As they drift and wafer in front of us

Their purpose, no one seems to know.

With ears they cannot hear

And eyes they cannot see

Yet they follow blindly and listen

To what they are told to believe

Am I so different from these masses?

In this world, will I find my way?

Instead, I refuse to snort or bleat,

While all these sheep have gone astray.

I raise my voice as if to shout,

And do my best to persuade

But their futures are as blurry as they seem.

As a million faceless people go on parade.

By Greg Butz

May 11^th, 2009

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I wrote this poem after visiting China, however, it’s not a reaction against China nor its people. I had just purchased new prescription sun- glasses, however I was unable to wear them. Instead, I wore a different pair of non-prescription glasses. So to me, the world appeared to be a blur. From that, I turned to Adam Laforrest and remarked, “I see a million faceless people.” So with that inspiration in mind, it became the foundation for the rest of my poem. It’s a poem about a directionless purpose, and basically I see that a lot in the United States. People going with the “flow” and just following whoever they deem a leader—in my estimation, this is very sad.