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.




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


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.

In My Comfort Zone

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It is where I am every day,

my comfort zone,

I give a glimpse into the world

I see,

every hour of my day,

until the sun does set,

hues change, sky becomes a darkness outside

I cannot see as readily.


Until the morning comes,

then in rain or sunshine, the view the same,

I always see the leaves in summer,

in winter the naked branch, the neighbor’s home,

I see this every day,

it is in my comfort zone …


Where no bombs exist,

shattered windows, glass explodes,

the screams of children barely two,

barely recognizing a reason to fear,

yet they endure,

a daily barrage of human agony,

a tragic reality leaves a shell now,

where a window frame once gave a shield

to the weather, the mortars, the terror, the wind …

carries evil’s wares inside the shadows.


It is where I am every day,

my comfort zone,

I give a glimpse into the world,

I see …


We Are Here, Again

When I was a child, I remember well,
the gathering of family, all indeed similar.
In the early morning anticipation, a spell
of wonder, love, then all arrived from afar.

Conversations were readily heard inside
the walls of a gathering of similar soul.
The children played a sweet naive pride,
allowed adults to know love, and be whole.

Tragedies occurred, stories of love replayed,
throughout our lives a similar world in now;
we are the eyes of elder, those who stayed.
The evolution of time, we are here, somehow.

When I Was A Child

I remember I could believe in magical things,

the diamonds we cherished in wedding rings

On a sunny day, I could imagine I’d see forever

when rainbows appeared, I would run until never.


When I was a child I recall all of my scary dreams

were mysterious inventions of my fears it seems.

While happiness, security, confusion followed me,

hope, passion, optimism, confidence eluded me.


I remember I could look in a person’s eyes at will

without ever wondering if I might be today’s pill.

I could climb a mile of stairs in a half a minute,

turn around, run downstairs and forget I was in it.


When I was a child I would smile in every instance

I found if I didn’t my world became horrific intense.

I wish I’d decided as a child to let go of my notions

instead no longer might I pretend away commotions.


When I was a child I remember life seemed lovely mild.

A tearful demeanor didn’t determine when I was a child.


An internal fire

Sometimes when released

Makes the morning paper

Elsewhere it just may not exist.

Or at least

We try to keep it hidden,

Although for some it is a ritual

Sadly, the evil is forced upon their soul

Such evidence,

So often directed

Their bodies become immune

Anticipating the next blow,

Sustaining all the hurt

That’s why they walk this earth,

To take this asshole’s constant rage,

Though they should not,


No rage is deserving of another’s reception,

Only the bearer of a negative response

To the ills that smolder inside their


For some, the rage has become so rampant,

There can be little excuse remaining,

In fact none at all, the receptor of another’s

Inability to control their own indignity,

Ought walk away unscathed,

Yet, in our society, it is often the bearer

Remains rewarded long before the sufferer


Levels of rage can be a relative

Assortment like candies in a jar.

Picking the wrong one with only one opportunity

To slide your hand inside and choose,

Can create the happiness you seek

Or leave you in a fit of …


I Remember Songs

Riding in my car crossing freeways

letting the music drive me home,

I could sing out loud,

imagining you with me,

on the road together.

I might glance your way,

see you staring out the window,

a smile that seemed so content,

your hands resting upon levi jeans,

tapping your fingers to a little Dylan.

We were young then,

just kids really like adults,

you know that feeling of knowing,

yet not wanting to … just yet.

Funny how today, when I hear the same songs,

I still feel that young all over again,

Glance your way to see your smile,

wondering, where … just when.