Lest We Forget, Again

cards_warisnothealthy_detail

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.

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While Eyes Were Walking

So many waves of opportunity

we stepped inside without knowing

only hopeful,

perhaps somewhere, sometime,

we might,

we could possibly

land here.

 

There were smiles all around,

we wondered in silence if it was real,

could this be

this way that provided a happy

medium,

a place to stay,

stand near.

 

Well I took a chance and noticed

you stood nearby me to, we were together,

create we did,

a memory to serve our time,

forever,

in this place in life,

sans fear.

 

I do know I will recall this time,

we danced the fire of magic in sphere,

circling our lives,

stand before a stage of peer,

always,

we can return here anytime

time is dear.

 

To the class of 2016, and all of their future believers.

©Ammo 2016 All-Night Drama Lock-In

 

Giving Back

I stole your time,

trying,

I watched as you heard my whine,

kept your smile,

I walked inside your world,

offered nothing in return,

that was then,

I still remember the anxiety, know the confusion,

appreciate the lost world I began

seeking your guidance.

Simply not fair,

I know this today, as I see me everywhere,

head down on the desk,

simple disregard for anything beyond me,

in my own world,

seek my own dreams.

They don’t include you …

I remember you were my teacher, at the time

arrogance wasn’t able to let me have anything

you so freely offered me,

with your smile,

with your patience,

I remember that time you told me to,

go to …

I’m still standing in your room,

hoping somehow I might give back,

to you.

I Teach While Learning

There is a humbling reality

while we try to understand

how our own brevity

can impact our command

~

Last night I dropped acid

on textbooks in minutia

my anger erupted an acrid

forced freedom in Ischia

~

We can so easily fall away

the choices will fuel martyrdom

I remember that one day,

I felt the earth in my kingdom.

~

but it slipped away as any

ego driven desire will go

I’d forgotten my way many

days before I’d begun to know.

~

Perhaps I’ll settle in the knowledge

We can bring them in off the ledge.

If I Told You …

A long time ago I recall

I wasn’t so very tall

While the world passed

me by I felt I might ask

~

Do we all walk around

while similarly frowned

upon by those the others,

‘Oh if I had my druthers’

~

I’ve looked for a spaceship

traveling alone in silent slip

yet the skies always remain

a singular thoughtful domain

~

I might suggest a newer route

one chock full with little doubt

I wanted only to know a way

to find happiness in a day.

~

While the world does truly pass me by

I wonder when it is I might finally ask why

Addicts Hold On

© Ester Rogers

© Ester Rogers

We do hang on while figuring out how to let go. I am often trapped inside a need to please everyone, and when I cannot, I obsess about that one difficult situation, generally that one person who I cannot fix. Why should I have to fix anyone anyway; I usually end up realizing I have to repair my own misgivings, generally my own faults. What happens though is that along the way I forget to come home, and I remain adrift in a sea of turmoil. I suppose that is when the term letting go comes into play. I wish I had a better handle on that method of resolution.

Someone told me once my thinking was that of an addict. Well, I do know clearly I am an addict, but I struggle with how that interacts with my obsession with needing everyone to be my friend. I know I have moments of clarity when I can come to terms with the fact that there are people that may just not like me. What an epiphany right? That I might actually be a person whose behavior or beliefs does not match up with every human being’s demeanor that I cross paths with, right? Boy that’s a mouthful of sanity trying to break free I think.

Tonight I am in that sort of lost mode of not being able to handle a situation with my drama program. Maybe I am going through the stages of grief. I have a student that clearly has challenged my authority that I have given many chances to take a new direction who simply refuses. I can easily account for their demeanor being angry and sullen in a meeting where I spoke only of the need to have positive and proactive members involved in our coming spring production. They are talented but there is no way I can possibly bring their negative energy into the production. That attitude will clearly sap everyone else’s ability to focus on the end product of producing a solid show.

So I am struggling, and trying to let go of my indecision to go forward with my instincts rather than cave into my spineless need to save everyone. After all that is what it is right? I remember when I first began teaching theatre I used to say to the kids every spring that next year I will come back with a rebuilt backbone. I guess I am still searching for that surgeon. In the meantime, the life of an addict in recovery continues with slow and cautious steps trying desperately to not lose my footing.

When I Walk

I use the sidewalk most of the time,

that’s what I’m told.

If I walk in the street so sublime,

I might be thought old.

When I was a child we used the pavement,

back then there weren’t walks

we could stroll on the left side, no argument,

while having one of our talks.

I would walk to school with her everyday,

she’d talk about the fall,

how this reminded her of favorite days,

the year would begin for all

the kids that summertime left behind,

we were now another

year older and ready to grind

our minds together.

When I walk I often think about those times,

with her, my wise mother the teacher,

in the classroom she taught so many lives,

on the street she taught me to be sure.