Category Archives: Poetry

Ongoing

6
Posted by on in Education, Family, Inner Struggles, Poetry, Social, Striving

September 12, 2016, Prescott-

Meetings tire me,

more than the antics of children.

So, as I sat through the proceedings

in a stuffy second-floor room,

I took in all I needed,

through careful listening.

Then came afternoon.

Cool outside,

stale and debilitating, within.

My thoughts wandered

to the school district clerks,

who will occupy these rooms,

after a renovation next year.

The process is ongoing.

I had a nice time,

at a birthday party last night.

It was a good transition,

from the dark memories of

that day, fifteen years ago.

New friends, and old,

drummed, sang and ate

delectable barbecued meats

and all manner of side dishes.

Friendship and camaraderie are ongoing.

Today is my brother’s birthday.

Far off, in Atlanta, or

somewhere else on business,

he keeps setting the bar high

and setting his employees straight.

Communication is ongoing.

Once Upon A Time, In St. Cloud

10
Posted by on in children, Poetry, Spiritual

September 6, 2016, Prescott-

Once upon a time, in St. Cloud, a trio of boys went on an errand.

An unsettled, angry man went on an errand of his own.

Two boys made it home that night.

So did the man,

but not before he had made sure that the third boy

would only go home to his Lord.

Once upon a time, in Boulder, a little girl looked forward

to her seventh Christmas.

Someone, still unknown to us,

had other ideas.

She now spends her Christmases, and all her days,

at the right hand of her Lord.

Once upon a time, in Salt Lake City,

a young woman was imprisoned,

in plain sight.

Sharp-eyed people noted her burden,

and freed her.

Now, she has a husband who loves her dearly.

In these days, how many remain in “prison”,

or are interred, with no clue in the public mind,

as to “whodunnit”?

RIP, Jacob Wetterling.

RIP, JonBenet Ramsey.

Elizabeth, glad you’re still among us.

The Thick Accent

4
Posted by on in impediments, Poetry, Social, Striving

September 2, 2016, Prescott-

(A brief thought, on a sultry night, in which I am lying low.)

You cannot understand, why I take up for men in blue.

Do  you not see, that the worst among them represent what will happen,

should the best among them feel abandoned.

You say, “But you don’t understand, that WE don’t understand

their tendency to rush to judgment, and juryhood.

The police speak a language that is indecipherable, in these parts.

This is a language of both words and gestures, often simultaneous with one another.

Their speech and body language, are hard to understand.”

Hmm.  I see the problem of dealing with snap decisions.

The police officer weighs in on the young men gathered up ahead.

“I think I’ll need backup- and have a bus ready.

You never know what tricks some of THEM may have up their sleeves,” he opines,

as the air feels thick with words and gestures, from one and foreign to the other.

I, the translator and peacemaker, get weary- as well as wary.

They Wish

6
Posted by on in Personal Values, Poetry, Social, Striving

September 1, 2016, Prescott- 

There are those who view me only as a perpetual motion machine,

and only stop by here, when I’m on the road.

They wish for a byline other than Prescott.

There are those outside the chain of command at my school,

who insert themselves, loudly,

into every step, or misstep, they see my co-workers and I making.

They wish for more people to be under their thumbs.

There are those who would turn back the clock of society,

and stir the pot of public ignorance, at every turn.

They wish for a world that no longer exists,

and which did not really serve its inhabitants all that well.

There are those, the children and young adults,

who will inherit any mess that comes about,

as a result of reckless meddling and mindless ignorance.

They wish to be respected and heard.

There are those who work, diligently, for a better tomorrow,

and who don’t let the clamour of the nonsensical deter them.

They wish for a world that attains its fruition.

There are we, who see each soul as more valuable,

than even he or she might see, in the midst of darkness.

We wish for all to see the Universe, in its true splendour.

One Less Smile

2
Posted by on in Entertainment, Inspiration, Poetry

August 29, 2016, Prescott- 

Far from here, in an historic colonial house,

a funny man breathed his last, today.

There is so much,

and there are so many roles,

by which to remember him.

Like all comics, he was complex.

Like anyone who knew joy,

and then lost it,

he felt anger at that loss.

Like anyone who became known

for a particular role,

he longed for the next project,

the one which would give him his due.

Like anyone who learned to love again,

he held on to that love,

and gave it back,

in spades.

Frederick Frankenstein,

Willy Wonka,

The Waco Kid,

Max Bloom,

Gene Wilder.

Jerome Silberman gave us all a long run,

of both laughs and tears.

Shalom, Jerome.

Ever Evolving

2
Posted by on in Community, Family, Poetry, Striving

August 26, 2016, Prescott- 

I saw the face of our Prescott hero.

She was looking out on us,

from the lead photo of a USA Today piece,

on a series of interviews with those who saw her there,

in that place of desolation, where she was the only source of love.

She loves her people, still.

I wear a message T-shirt,

honouring the fallen men of that day,

three years and two months ago.

They look out upon us,

from a crew photo taken after the Doce Fire,

two weeks before the Death Storm.

They love their families, still.

I look at the woman who loved me,

more than anyone.

She gazes out, with confidence,

from a photo of her teen life.

She gave us the best years of her life.

She loves me still.

I look upon my little ones,

imperfect, works in progress,

sometimes exhausting, at times frightful.

There are those times, though,

when they finish work, when they listen,

when they just know

that I love them still.

 

(To obviate the drumbeat of “Where’s The Book of Poetry?”, know that I will start compiling what I’ve written here and organizing it into a volume, during the next seven days. That volume of verse will hopefully be ready for self-publication by January, 2017.)

 

Approaching

4
Posted by on in American Legion, Historical, Poetry, Spiritual

August 21, 2016, Prescott-

The indomitable warrior is looking at his last.

He was lying in his last bed,

looking into two worlds, simultaneously.

I’ve seen this look before;

five years ago, in fact.

He could not speak, beyond a whisper,

but his message was loud and clear.

“Thank you, for not  forgetting me.”

Then, came his salute,

followed by my own, in return.

In the end, when it comes,

he will have his wife’s love,

the admiration of his Legionnaires

and the small bottle of sand

from Utah Beach,

where he once commanded a battalion.

Too soon for Rest in Peace,

never too late for respect.

 

Flow

6
Posted by on in Poetry, Spiritual

August 16, 2016, Prescott- 

It’s said that heat enervates, stifles many things.

Metal can be an exception; loving the liquidity brought to it, by heat.

Man is largely made of water , however.

Water, and Man, evaporate with too much heat.

Physical relationships love warmth.

It’s no accident that physical attraction is often characterized by the term “hot”, to  describe an attractee.

Then again, scorpions are attracted to a steaming cup of coffee, when it’s left on a patio table, in a desert condo.

Friendships need warmth, too.

That is a fortunate thing- for dogs lying at their masters’ feet; for coffee house owners and barkeeps keeping their patrons’ lively tables well-plied; for the muscles that are so soothed by a respectful, but heartfelt, hug- and for me.

The ocean flows, largely warm, in its midsection and cold at its extremities.

Snakes like warmth. Fish prefer cold.  Birds take what they can get.    Man gets whatever he can take.

The Universe flows on.

Three Verses

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Posted by on in Personal Values, Poetry, Social, Striving

August 13, 2016, Prescott- I have a lot on my plate, so today, and for the next two days, I offer three separate topics, in verse.

No Upgrade Needed

I was blessed with the gold standard, as my son and I con

Then, she was called to the Placeless, and physically alone, I demurred.

I am in a good place, nonetheless, living in comfort, at least as I see it.

The roof  does not leak.  There are no scorpions, skittering about.

My work pays the bills, and volunteering cheers my spirit.

I see the bright blessed day, the dark, sacred night; joy, within and without.

The Universe saw fit to present me with a new car.

Collaborators, colleagues and friends, are never far.

Years back, I longed for someone special.

Her spirit lingers, tells me to fear no ill.

No upgrade is needed, whispers my Shining Star.

 

Change/Constant

Reports of our demise are premature.

The desert shimmers; the sunsets dazzle.

Cars bunch up, each morning and evening.

Ants march in unison; each looks straight ahead.

The only surprise, day by day, is what the Maestro of Chaos has to say next.

There is no surprise, coming from the Lady of Hope.

Toys sit, unused.  Children stare into screens, bemused.

Those who erred on the side of wicked find there are precious few places to lay their heads.

Dulcet dreams, though, bring my heart and mind to solace.

Each dawn rises, and warmth awakens my heart.  I find the constancy fills my spirit, no less.

Playthings; Really?

Men in hardhats, men in suits, men on furlough

Same as ever, taunts and hoots

Come from many, without a thought.

I acknowledge the lovely, the “hot”.

The mind, though, is more captivating.

The snarkiness, the challenge, the striving,

These are what I most treasure.

I had the joy, upon a time, of long conversations,

Into the night-once until first light.

She made me promise not to let our words and thoughts stray so far again.

She made me promise never, ever, to lift an unkind hand, or give voice to an injurious thought.

I kept those promises.  The goal was the golden strands of the spirit,

the Heavenly Rapunzel, letting down the cascade of coiffure,

that she and I would, hand over hand,

hand in hand, achieve the eternal,

as one soul.

Women are never playthings; partners as objects is a mindless construct.

People are not implements; viewing the Other is a means to self-destruct.

 

Solstice

2
Posted by on in Family, Personal Values, Poetry, Spiritual, Striving

June 21, 2016, Prescott-

I read the tortured words of an angel, just now

and wonder at the eyes that don’t see,

the hearts that don’t feel.

I love, stay close, and don’t see her as a burden.

I listened, on Sunday, to my son’s angst

over his future,

and wonder how such a talented, fastidious soul

could question his own worth.

I love, stay close, and don’t see him as unworthy.

I will soon head out to yet another fire shelter.

We will do what we can to comfort, soothe and reassure

those whom nature, in her wrath,  has cast aside.

We love, stay vigilant and don’t see them as nuisances.

The day is long here,

and we hydrate, stay cool and stand in awe  of the Sun.

The day is short, down there,

and they bundle up, stay warm and seek the comfort of the Moon.

I have more work to do, on here, so stay tuned.