Lest We Forget, Again


For we do that,

oh so often, we do

decide upon a beautiful sunset,

perhaps the rising moon,

a sweet snowfall,

even the rain of a heated summer day,

lets our mind return to the numbing

nature of a human condition

built upon,

the product of denial.


But we cannot,

simply look alive people,

please don’t shut your eyes,

there’s a movement,

and this time,

it is your children,

let their voices be heard.


Imagine telling a child

you may not skip class to protest

the death of your peer

by senseless gunfire,

imagine telling your children,

I don’t love you enough

to give a crap

about your well being.

Imagine telling a child

when you leave

I’m not going to imagine

a terrible outcome.


If we demand our children

stick to the implementation

of a day of lessons

designed in minutia

and instead

forget the very reason,

we brought our child

into this world,

then we have suggested

the concept of love is a fallacy.


We are at war,

and the eyes of a child,

certainly contain the heroic passions

of our every tomorrow.


While We Wait We Witness


A firestorm of controversy,

life turned upside down,

dangling in the clouds

are the idealists, the true

companions of our forgiveness.


On earth here in damp soil

trodden upon by the masses

there are children screaming

parents crying

siblings a wonder

of just where it all belongs.


In the news today there’s noise

the sort that settles the easily

drawn by naive persecutions.

Instead of wondering what

goal is felt by all of them,

it is the personal will to struggle.


While we wait for our prosecution,

The execution of rhetoric we witness.

Photo – Pinterest

Three Kids Talking

They were saying things like,

too much information,

to interfere would set me apart,

there would be pushback,

everyone of us knows it exists,

what difference would it make,

could it possibly be interpreted,

wait that last one had to be a teacher,

students don’t think about

all those matters that matter,


don’t be such a dolt old man, old woman,


city surveyor,

let’s wait a second, and take a break,




name and faces



I walked into my classroom today,

and the kids were being themselves,

I was thinking about their welfare,

wondering how many wondered themselves.

When I into their faces,

I’d seen them already,

splashed across the television screen

hanging in the living room of everyone’s home.


I wonder if it’s possible

to tell each other the same

that Billy & Frieda and Jennifer, well

all could be the victims of this,

insane response to

letting go,

allowing the human condition

a reason to justify

letting go.


We are told to be cognizant,

responsible for the well-being

of all of those involved,

being the students, the elders,

the parents, the faculty,

the community members,

school board and administration,

we’re always wondering who’s in charge.


Proven again last night,

on Valentines Day,

a new massacre for the ages,

a new realization that everyone

is vulnerable.

I looked at the pictures of the victims,

tomorrow when I walk into school,

I will watch them all walk the halls

tenfold in their similarity, their

human capacity, as living as is the dead,

we’re all faces in a crowd.


I wonder about the similarity

if we could recognize we’ll know each

other in another life,

if then

could we protect each other,

with basic compassion

and knowledge beyond



the faces in the crowd,

are the same that make us proud.

I Looked In Their Hearts Today

I didn’t tell them as much,

you never can,

well you might,

I might occasionally want to shout,

I want them to know

I love them,

we love them,

there’s a lot of love when each one of them

walks inside my classroom.


I wanted to reach them today,

they couldn’t really feel the fear,

their days spent removed, fortunate,

isolated from the fury

that suddenly deadened their peers,

people they’ll never meet

one day they could have

if life had allowed

worlds to continue

beyond a gunshot, a bullet, the pain.


I wonder what goes through the mind of a student,

when miles away, sometimes blocks,

when it occurs


and again and again and again,

and then there’s no tomorrow,

I wander through the streets hoping to find

a reason to say

you are completely safe,

but I can’t always say that,

I couldn’t say it today,

and I wanted to

say it to each one of them,

each one walking through my

classroom door.

I want you to know you are safe.


I can’t always say it though,

at least not today,

they’d think I was lying,

they read the news,

they know they’re not completely


They know,

much more than I will ever know.

Last Day of School

A young boy,

a pretty girl

when she woke in the morning

glanced into the mirror

she didn’t know

no longer would her


come into play

in the quiet destiny

of her Floridian way.

Last night a little girl

no longer needed reflection

to design her way.

Last night she died

in a hail of bullets

and yet we can still live this

travesty in lunacy

in imagining our children are ok

When A Child Believes

A child is born into a quiet world

Given a slap, a gasp begins their day,

We listen with intent, a cry today

Oh to hold child in hand, love we twirled.


We didn’t know about an adventure,

One designed wholly in passage in rites,

Sweet is innocence drawn beyond night lights

Swift shadow seekers in nomenclature


A child now moves beyond original sin

Learns adaptation within peer response

Oh to know the true angst of an ensconce

Perpetuate loss, forgiveness within.


We might all believe sweet coo of a dove

Designs a child’s world to live inside love.