A Circular Humanity


We might on occasion realize a purpose,

could be a look in the eye,

an encounter with another,

a loss,

a misconception,

perhaps a realization,


whatever the circumstance,

the situation,

the need to recognize one another,

must always come first.

For without acknowledgment

each aspect of our lives,

could become just that vacant stare,

that place where no concept

of cohesive navigation

might even exist if not for the circle.


There is a place to find peace,

it lies in the nature of our presence,

shared with one another,

hands held in unison,

within that circle exists so many choices,

one is love,

outstanding in its own mystique

love does conquer all,

love gives energy to the

circle of life.

White Guilt

This reality bandied about by perspective,

the alternative news, the fake reality,

all designed to help us forget about society,

the other day I heard about voter fraud,

I’m pretty sure the election is over,

they got what they wanted after all,

they all got what they want,

live with it,

forget about trying to appease the masses,

not your masses,

the other millions of people that boarded buses to go to different states

to help elect an idiot,

wait a second,

that voter fraud crap has returned again,

is it for you or is it for me,

certainly isn’t a plan for them,

they, those, the others, the people we always were told

in gradeschool,

be specific, don’t generalize,

give them names,

wait a second,

there’s that education thing now,

we don’t need no stinking logic,

just tweet.

Standing Alone


Is that a good thing,

when we do find our island?

The conversation is rather uneventful,

you’ll find yourself alone on an …

adventure would be the saving grace,

but it seems,

it always includes some aspect of who we are that we have become,

and what does that matter to anyone else,

for instance,

oh hell I forgot my train of thought again.

No, no, that doesn’t work,

there’s a  saying out there,

can’t remember exactly but it suggests we often forget what we’d rather …

Now I’m pretending to stand alone on my own, alone,

hoping someone might notice,


the truth of the matter is,

amidst all of these cliches and generalizations,

we need to, yes, we, we do, it is our, we need to notice


* photo found on Pinterest

Knowing the Other Side

I’ve lost friends,

known people  with questions,

I remember one time just down the block,

I’ve often wondered if he knew,

the bang,

she seemed too understanding, so then,

another time, there was this bridge,

the afterward did not complement her living


I’ve never known the dead,

to be,

well, to carry this allusion of serenity,

except maybe my dad …

I think we all would like to know,

where it is, why, sleeping again forever,

seems to be the fatalist, the pessimist,

the one who always talked you out of risk,

and afterward walking around for hours

always trying,

trying always,

wanting to realize outcomes,


it is when we look beyond ourselves

we begin to notice

the tears before they ever begin.

A Battalion Marches On

Long after the unsettled ground repairs a garden,

there lays the man whose heart will render

a soft cry for freedom beyond a torturous plague,

yet all around the soil is rich with the blood

spilled in dirt absorbent and capable of an act,

a magic, a machine like endurance of life.


Inside the humanity of time is resilience spoken

for we are always alone until then found

we become an iconic reminder of time stand still

await the next calling when distraction will

be far more beyond an outlier in retrospect of him.

He wills the people to embrace shallow merit.


Actually the speaker has crossed the line once (twice)

the memory selective tries with difficulty to pass

make allowance for human frailty and join the dance

to suggest we are all part of the same fight,

the battle, the armageddon of authority in plain view

while the handler leaves the building, back entry.


Oh, the ground swell of memory in its nostalgic robe

would might only become loudest when life does probe.

When Shadows Speak

Oh they tell stories,

gathered together along the cracked concrete,

slipping inside the fissures, laughing,

where no one can bother their stance,

she was standing alone,

when eyes seemed to reach,

asking to be noticed,

and everything stopped,

until shadows appeared ready with a tale,

if only they might create a motion,

glance quickly for the lighting

could easily change to draw more

figures of speech,

the conversations we think about later on,

nightfall, only the streetlights,

in a cool spring rain,

dripping windows,

as life continues in scarves and umbrellas

holding hands,

while making their way to somewhere,

shadows lingering nearby,

always aware.

Imagining Mosaic

I read somewhere

a newspaper, a magazine, a meme, a tweet,

wherever it may be the words did land,

I felt a sudden twinge,

a pain, a sorrow, an anger, confusion.

I wonder sometimes about the reason,

when I try to piece together

how it is I do feel about the world around me.

I look carefully at the people I can,

there (it is) eyes do tell the difference when I can see

their fear, that anxiety, a turmoil cannot be explained

in short sweet ceremonial maxims.


We are all part of this dimension,

this mechanical nature to our lives,

we breathe, we believe, we question, we decay,

and yet we are suddenly caught up in the maelstrom

of righteous indignation

when asked to understand a neighbor,

who for whatever reason drives a better car,

wears finer linen,

has the time to spend only with their children,

rather than feed the masses,

the consumers who suggest we all need to act the same,

otherwise, we are being the selfish race.


There is time to embrace our heritage,

who we are and how it is we have become this lightning rod

for self awareness, for preservation, for we are all

cut from the same mold, the nature of our existence

is reliant upon basic chemistry,

no profound rocket science.

We eat, breathe, sleep, love, decide, discern,

and yet,

it is the pace of our knowledge sometimes brings

into question,

the authenticity of who we believe ourselves

to be.