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Hannah Quense Poem
I have been told our culture cultivates moral decline
That we live in a time which pushes propaganda of pleasure, sex, and self interest
Our cultural standard of clothing has gone from the scandal of showing your ankle to the norm of displaying your navel
From Victorian coverage head to toe with no skin to show
To a life of spandex skirts and tube top shirts
And I wonder if this new fabric to skin ratio reflects a morally decrepit environment
With the shrinkage of clothes does also go the shrinkage of morality?
With each hem raised are more eyes raised in lust to see it?
With each pair of painted on pants are we painting an image of lustful conquests?
With each new inch of skin are we inching our way to a shameless action of sin?
Or perhaps are we finally finding our path beginning to straighten?
Are we seeing written on the butt of yoga pants a message not of depravity, but of hope?
Could it be that humanity is trying to redeem the invention of clothing at the fall?
Do we feel no shame of nakedness because all lust has left us?
Or have we lost that defense because lust now rules us?
Do our outfits speak of our desire for attention,
Or of our resolve for redemption?
So again I wonder if this new fabric to skin ratio reflects a morally decrepit environment
Or does it give hope to a radically redemptive movement
If we keep tightening pants and lowering tops
Will we be tightening our hold on a life in the pre-fall garden
Or lowering our standards till we've fallen farther than before?
Let us hope the former...
because without clothes,
we'll have no parachute to save us as we fall.
Copyright © Hannah Quense | Year Posted 2015
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Hannah Quense Poem
It's interesting how a person can move in a steady rhythm without a thought to the matter
How autopilot is as real of a thing to the human person as it is to a plane
How this constant unconscious movement often pulls us thin to the point where we might shatter
And how we don't even realize it's happening as we find ourselves driving along in the wrong lane
It's interesting...
It's interesting how we can watch our feet moving step by step but not register at all that we're walking
How we can clearly see in retrospect all the things we were blind to as we mechanically trudged by
How the mindless persistency of consistency causes us to look at nothing gaulking
And how we can pass by everything and still miss it all without even a try
It's interesting...
Copyright © Hannah Quense | Year Posted 2016
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Hannah Quense Poem
Loud discussions never categorized as arguments
Spoken at a register unheard of on most days
Come to fruition here
All that is said falling between a purple unicorn and a 4.2 on the Richter scale
Either niceties to the point of unbelievability
Or disaster to the point of collapsibility
Exchanging highly charged words packaged inside cheerful familial wrappings
The unspoken tradition lives on
Merry Christmas
Copyright © Hannah Quense | Year Posted 2015
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Hannah Quense Poem
My father wandered in like he always did
wearing his pride like a decades old varsity Letterman jacket
too stuck on what used to be to realize that his life was just as crappy and cracked as the jacket
too proud to ask for help
so he just sat on his recliner all day, out of a job and out of shits to give
looking like a hairy motionless two-timing two-toed sloth
thirsting lustfully after the women he studied in his magazines
and quenching that thirst with bottle after bottle of Jack
you could almost hear the bottle crying out his confessions as he drank
"glug glug glut gluttony"
the smell of alcohol masked only by the stench of the envy he felt for his younger self
and yet at the same time amplified by the anger he had for growing old
My father, a class A stand up guy.
1/27/16
Copyright © Hannah Quense | Year Posted 2016
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Hannah Quense Poem
For the long waged war saw much devastation
But through the heartbreak and sorrow came restoration
For though it fought tirelessly with all its might
He came and captured it at the darkest of night
Blinded by darkness, pain, and hate
'The enemy' it could not simply abate.
The 'enemy' so fierce, so powerful and strong
How could he be anything but what is wrong?
So piece by piece the 'enemy' broke through
And having no choice it finally withdrew.
Broken and beaten, fallen to the ground
It did not hear the cry of a victory sound
For the enemy saw not a victory sweet
But his own soldier fallen flat in defeat
And it wondered what enemy would cry at its fall
Until it realized he was not an enemy at all
As he reached out his hand to help it off of the ground
It stood by his side and heard the victory sound
For his victory lay not in its fallen state
But in a relationship it lost that he sought to recreate
So although it had resisted and put up a fight
It was glad it was captured in the darkest of night
Copyright © Hannah Quense | Year Posted 2016
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Hannah Quense Poem
Back and forth back and forth
swaying gently to the windswept liquid life
flowing freely beneath
tenderly caressing the underbelly of my vessel
flirtatiously licking at it's sides
Oh this beautiful temptress
This wondrous and mysterious ocean of lifeblood
I accept you as you have accepted me
Back and forth back and forth
Swaying jarringly to the gale swept liquid death
Churning canivingly beneath
Harshly pounding the underbelly of my vessel
Viciously biting at it's sides
Oh this grotesque temptress
This horrid and mysterious ocean of lifeblood
I reject you as you have rejected me
Copyright © Hannah Quense | Year Posted 2016
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