Standards and Values

oh to delineate the mix of passions,

when all the heads converge in mourning,

the start of their own quiet circus,

to be revealed upon the main stage.


Theirs is a craft unlike any other,

a territorial nirvana perhaps in eyes

solo to the universe. Nearby, questions

always remain, tamed in discretion.


What heaven-sent ideals do bring

out the comfort of each participant,

in a common measure of sanity

in the beholder’s eyes we worry.


Often so easily forgotten in the flurry

of the day’s planning, the memory

that divines a lesson plan, suddenly

shattered in the throes of our humanity.


We are really simple folk with a passion

toward reaching the mecca, the pinnacle,

the over-arching, pendulum swaying

essence of a child’s swift education.


Numbers and charts, workable Venn

diagrams litter the monitors today.

Each professed design uniquely stable

in the eyes of the frightened minion.


Today begins again a journey everyone

familiar can appreciate, the anxiety,

the euphoric nature of creating a glint

in the eye of our student awaits.


This year, “I will reach more of them”

is the common phrase said quietly

while watching, looking, stealing

the ideas of our neighbor the teacher.


In a moment of purposeful disdain,

we accept the standards, the bubbles

remain in the minds of our surrogate

‘elder’ whose design we must enrich.


Remember, my elbow partner, to breathe

while we again beckon a desire to teethe.


The Door is Open

How remarkable to imagine

another period of our lives

measured in time, in knowledge,

in hopes, in tribulations, in grief,

in discovery, in coming of age,

the doors are opening

all across the horizon,

in each avenue of growth,

in every challenge to our passion.

the doors are opening

to allow minds to become alert

to a world that begins with their eyes,

while guided by principles we offer

in humble contrast to our own

quiet ignorance with allowance.

the doors are opening,

and in walk our lives

as a young child or old messenger,

we each might enjoy the bounty

we offer one another in peace.

the doors are opening,

let’s welcome the stroll.

Frayed Ends

We all have them,

depends on a sunny day,

how well we can tuck away

our personal tragedy,

or bold success.

Matters really the arena

we decidedly turn to,

or need,

perhaps want to listen, to see,

to recognize who

we might want to be

at the moment.


There are too many days

when a sedentary attitude

overrides a natural course of action.

We might imagine white sands,

pristine sun-streaked skies

with radiant horizons stretching forever,

yet, when the frame is removed,

the nail remains,

to suggest our wall continues

to impede our vision.


Please salute the reality

of our ways,

please recognize

the beauty in growth,

the resilient effort

toward understanding

who we are in the moment.

Do suggest to ourselves,

to you, to him, to ‘they’

to ever present and real,

me, us, everyone.

‘We’ are capable

beyond the frayed edges,

to smooth our ends.

Dreams We Fear

It happened again,

you came back with a visit

only to remind me that you were gone,

not immediately,

a list of occurrences needed to take place

enough to have me find comfort

in what might quickly disappear.

Always that is the ruse

when we feel least rejected

then suddenly our confidence unravels

at the hands of our own fear.

I remember the first time,

when the decision was made,

I didn’t have any leverage,

any sense of needing to be heard.

Very simply you had decided

the books would be sorted alone,

rather than together as I had told,

when suddenly I returned

to discover you left me without

any discussion, reasons unknown.

Seems we fall so quickly,

so difficult to discern,

what motivates our actions,

or who might decide on their own.

It is in the dreams we fear,

even when we know to awake

we cannot ever imagine a peace

might exist beyond that we forsake.


If I speak about this, I’m the wrong guy,

but I do want to know, how to define

the feelings,

the emotions,

the questions in my mind.

I don’t want to take away from a cause,

I really only want to say, ‘yes’

rather than give a gaze of confusion.

I want to be able to suggest

that our society will allow anyone

to hold a silent protest.

See, with the whole race is real philosophy,

there are a lot of people walking around,

with chips on their shoulders,

and who are they going to listen to,

and whose words will they respond to,

and when will they finally give up and realize,

#blacklivesmatter as much as anyone,

so how might that leave you feeling,


When Walking


We choose a step, a cadence, a pattern

we may distinguish as our own,

yet we always have knowledge,

of our predecessor, our previous walk.

When someone is borne of ambition

their ideals, point of reference

seems rather fascinating to the observer,

so magical is idyllic inspiration.


We have options we often share

with our neighbors next door,

without ever having to interact

or face the music of our fear.

We wave while passing by on a walk,

having little idea of what’s on their mind,

keeping silent our own frame of …

quite frankly we probably don’t care.


Tonight while staring at my favorite wall,

I could see through the haze a world,

furniture looks nice, a fireplace glows

we could not have imagined a life so grand.

Yet the wall continues to hinder my eyes

when inside my body will churn, misguide

my motives to remain a sedentary

human example of groomed woodwork.


When walking someone said choose a path.

When walking someone suggested our path.


Photo found on Mavatar

Trying to Focus on Home

There’s this thing happening,

on the streets of my neighborhood,

there isn’t a name really,

just a lot of confusion.


Oh some like to call it

inalienable rights,

others refer to the

strength of the NRA.


Whatever the cool language

of the day,

what matters more

are the continued loss of life.


A bullet rips through the skin,

tears through organs,

with little regard for anything

in its way, simply horrific.


the steel blood of a callous

action, mending little ground

beyond ripping apart the soul

of anyone nearby – loved ones.


I’m unable to really speak

to the fear and pain and reality

of the world I live in today,

though not much different.


Years ago, we could call

an isolated incident just that,

where today, we cannot predict

what might occur in the evening.


What might happen tomorrow,

what if the movie theater,

perhaps the mall later on,

live on local news, film at eleven.


Then of course there are the students …