Episodic Rituals

There are times when in my real life I cry,

it is sudden,

something I cannot control,

watching the illusion of our reality,

in the episodic nature of historical fiction,

the retelling of the reality,

we would all like to pretend is

that fiction.

 

And yet,

when I cry there are real tears,

I feel my body heave,

my eyes begin to well,

I listen to the story of the abuse of a society,

and I am immediately enraged,

by the many facets of discrimination.

 

Today DACA,

yesterday the Mexicans,

the Muslims, Blacks, and disregarded

sexual identities.

 

We all watch it every day,

wait for the movie to premiere,

we imagine our own lives,

and wonder about a personal connection,

until it become passe to care about anyone outside of ourselves,

any more.

 

I wonder sometimes about the cruel nature of our lives

why it is we suggest we have compassion,

when around the corner,

the examples await our reaction,

in the shadows,

while the world continues to expand,

the narrow nature of

racism,

continues its

by society’s terms,

ridiculous plight toward

validation.

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Sitting In My Personal Space

Getting ready for the school year,

planning lessons,

rearranging books and files,

adjusting to a new physical classroom.

 

I wanted to complain tonight,

my room still needs desk,

35 kids coming in a week,

no ac, the temp was 110 F.

 

I sat out in the hall,

parent and student open house,

lots of people walking through,

new construction, ceilings missing tiles.

 

I joked how I was too exhausted,

the heat, couldn’t touch my room,

decided until tomorrow to rearrange,

as tonight I would surely break a sweat.

 

We have a beautiful new space,

expanding the student opportunities,

new carpet, walls, designs all meant

to enhance the students’ education.

 

The space isn’t complete,

I need desks in my room,

I haven’t got any a.c.

no wireless, and vacant walls.

 

I went home tonight exhausted,

and then suddenly it all became real,

I no longer cared about my classroom,

I watched the news tonight in Houston.

I Have These Friends

usa-police-protests

ABC News – Baton Rouge

When they walk out the door,

they have natural instincts,

look over their shoulder,

keep a skeptic eye,

they constantly watch their step

while they attend,

make time to be in,

express a similar value,

as do I,

when I go about living my

regular, normal, daily life.

 

I have these friends,

keep their feeling close,

share their values internally,

in such a manner,

we don’t ever see it,

we only hear about it,

when in a time of crisis,

they are asked how to react

when the world they believe,

crumbles with a menacing force

of vitriolic rhetoric,

aimed toward destroying lives,

for the sake of ignorance.

 

I have these friends,

share love and passion,

a desire to respond to beauty,

have an elegant outlook on life,

they smile, they laugh, they support,

the true responsive nature

of the human condition.

These are your friends too,

in fact,

they belong in everyone’s world,

rather than an exclusive gathering

to showcase their humanity.

 

I have these friends,

they are truly more forgiving,

than you and me.

I’m Struggling to be OK, and other “Trump is my President” Anxieties

Last night I listened to 45 basically implode or become ‘unhinged’ as most news agencies reported, except for one I suppose. I walked into my home and my wife was exasperated with his demonstrative ranting at his Arizona campaign rally. Then I listened more as he defended all of his bigotry and ‘fake news’ accusations, to a rousing crowd of visible support. It felt just any campaign rally we witnessed in the year leading up to his election.

Here’s my problem. Today, I listened to Trump give a very sobering and prompter lead speech to the National Convention of the American Legion in Reno, Nevada. His demeanor and focus was a complete contrast to last night’s ranting. He didn’t comment on Charlottesville, there was no braggadocio of the ‘lack of protesters’ outside, he stayed on point, and received mild applause for key statements, that no one could ever disagree with. I was disappointed because I wanted him to go off the rails with his speech, so that he continued to support the critics accusation that he is not fit to hold office. But he didn’t, he stayed on topic, and finished with gracious applause. He was the President a lot of America has been waiting to see.

Trump has done this a couple of times, most recently his proclamations of strategy to deal with Afghanistan earlier in the week – sober and television prompter driven, which gave a calculated impression of steady leadership. But, 24 hours he lost it all in Arizona, and then less than 24 hours later, he returned to the television prompter POTUS.

Where does that leave us as concerned Americans about this man’s leadership. If we were to listen to CNN, we would come away much focus on his unraveling. Then if we listened to FOX news, we would probably hear accolades. So, is the real issue the President, or is it something else?

I sat with a friend today, and spoke of the ills of social media. I cannot get away from the feeling that CNN really wants this guy’s head on a platter (no honorable connection to Kathy Griffith) and that is the network I gravitate toward because they seemingly are focused on good news reporting. But today, they spent a couple of minutes talking about the sobering speech to the veterans, and then the majority of their broadcast spoke to yesterday’s news – or in other words, the blatancy of Donald Trump tendency to dramatically look like an idiot in a position of leadership.

I have to say today, I’m nervous; however there is no news agency helping to ease my anxiety.

Validation

Is it a want, a need,

a purpose,

defines the living soul,

the eyes of which,

a world may rely upon

to assist

simple understanding.

 

The manner we posture,

a walk, a glance, an utterance,

measured by one,

thought of as many

aspects –

how an introduction

might manifest

an outcome.

 

If by allowance,

a human being may

settle personal desire

within the structure

our normalcy suggests,

would might that insecurity,

begin a confidence,

well managed

in peace.

 

For a desired response,

to our musings

our careful scrutiny,

a passion to rather than pretend,

more assuredly demand

a satisfaction,

validation,

aforementioned affirmation,

perhaps provides,

sweet energy,

in life,

a determination

met by all eyes,

their eyes,

everyone has

many sets of …

 

I’s.

 

 

While Sitting Alone

The picture window,

my guide to the world around me,

could be a rainy day,

I watch the slick survival of a city,

might now sunshine cast shadows,

while domesticated bird houses

offer a gallery,

for my child-like eyes,

to always wonder why.

 

Soft fabric of the green sitting chair,

matched the other nearby,

always vacant to my stare,

yet, I could rely upon its permanence,

never to leave me,

always after eyes searching the world,

step back in to my shelter,

and there the matching green …

There’s always something

reassuring

about the static in life.

 

I once was a young,

who only felt tears when

necessary rites of passage,

would slow my way.

Eventually I’d find windows

to imagine, take me away

to different places,

my mind a brilliant coaster,

never letting me stay in one place

forever too long.

 

Sitting differently today,

the furniture rearranged,

wishing all those moments

I wanted to get away,

would somehow return,

I could then seen them both,

sitting with smiles,

the usual way,

because back then,

I never felt that breeze.

 

The picture window,

still remains,

a different set of eyes,

glancing through their destiny,

wondering about the other side,

where the glass is pummeled

by the occasional stray bird

trying to find their way,

child reaches,

and wings drift away.

 

I remember one afternoon,

listening to the rain,

wanting everything

to always stay the same.

This Quiet Passion

It is a love, a desire, a response to silence,

for so many occasions,

while the skies do glance the usual,

always, the emotions might trigger,

might respond,

could offer a storm of wrath,

or perhaps,

when least we anticipate,

a light rain, to cleanse our soul,

allow our lives to breathe,

beyond the casual haze

of a summer day.

 

I stood in front of my emotions today,

asked a question,

perhaps stoic in my way,

I wondered just how far

we might have to travel

in order,

to participate in the aftermath

of chaos,

for it screams that phenomena

stayed with my being,

for as many days as the summer

holds true to an autumn.

 

While now I rest my weary soul,

the fortune of time offers sweet Grace,

when age becomes validation,

and hearts do forever listen.

I have traveled far and wide,

and yet there is a stillness,

may overcome me in evening’s tide,

as will the serendipity of passion,

an surreal reality as I stand here before you,

wanting only solace from a sweet panic.

 

In life, we do lead with thoughtful enterprise,

a notion, an ideal,

oft times an inspiration,

to market goodness,

to experience that

goodness,

to know such character

is infamy

when stood alongside

true character.

When passion speaks its favor,

our world, a planet, a state, a society,

a mosaic,

we are all

so much – so little – so together,

 

We can be universal,

we may align, smile, gesture, accord

each other …

we can be one.