While Digging

With a mental spade in hand,

I broke ground in a volatile land.

 

It is the sort of tale we often forget,

when suddenly life simply won’t relent.

 

I crossed over into a forgotten meadow,

only to find I’d still carried a shadow.

 

There is a reality in knowing the right word

to help move beyond what we might think absurd.

 

It is a choice,

to dig.

 

While the atmosphere around us seems trite,

there is a powerful settling in dirt contrite.

 

Seems the space may no longer feel quite clean,

once the reality of our lives become serene.

 

Oh stop again,

for the dig.

 

Seems the further inside the realm of disdain,

less easily is the worker’s ability to complain.

 

Seams in the environmental cause will display

while every last item of loss has fallen his way.

 

Though the earth has a forever sort of fallen ground

gives credence to the prison in which we are bound.

 

We cannot ever escape the tone of the suddenly frail,

its competency so built upon retelling a scorching tale.

 

Instead we dig, we do try to compel a story,

written by ourselves to discover just what glory

 

lies in the dig,

where uncovered,

 

we fall victim to knowing time is a circle, a place

whereby all of our insecurities likely keep pace,

 

while digging,

in search of a likely capsule.

 

The ground itself in however it may swell,

always uneven, one might never retell.

 

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Good Morning Words

Fresh air is invigorating minds

Eyes slow shadowy idyllic dream scape

Sweet good morning shed an overnight cape

Rise in beauty of life the sun reminds

~

Energy respond in positive current

In mirror negativity loom near

Always a knock, anticipate a fear

Human condition delivers assent.

~

We chose alone a state of mind today

Yes, there is listening, a sure fanfare

In evidence our nature seek a dare

A manner of speaking supports our day.

~

Good morning to beauty, good morning you

Sunshine light our lives, ignite the sky blue.

Outside This Day

river

Outside the whistling has begun,

reminds him of a time,

tying lures and gathering sun,

waiting by a river’s lime,

hours of leisure to scan the water

to watch the rise in spring

while society in all of its bother

cannot disrupt this life’s sing.

Yet, when we are constant remind

mirror spacious waters in sight

a forest of life will cross our mind

a singular branch has blight.

Our moral lives may present at length

To know sweet goodness has strength

This Child Again

tear

This child again

listens to the echo,

keeps calling,

speaking in quiet tones,

when once, the world was large,

now no one really knows.

~

This child again,

on sunny mornings,

at the crack of a new day,

would venture out,

seek new horizon,

fresh spruce and damp soil.

~

This child again,

when death came calling,

would feel the confusion,

recognize a brief derision

yet, early on would move again,

to a sweeter notion in life.

~

This child again,

would claim a spot,

in the playground line,

seek out an identity

with friend and foe,

who test their mettle.

~

This child again,

might ask for less

when in a world

their dream shatters

only to find a need

to live a little better.

~

This child again,

cried on the curbside,

while just beyond their reach,

could pain and grief appear,

only through a lens

of narrowly drawn mind.

~

This chid again,

suddenly aged,

became the child’s father,

or mother, wherever

time began the song

of reflection in our soul.

~

This child again,

does recognize patience,

while navigating a world,

that soon left behind,

some natural innocence,

a rite of resilience.

~

This child again pines.

All Else Fails

That’s when the cup,

we often debate about it,

poured in, spilled out.

When all else …

we come to realize –

oh wait,

I do.

I am the one,

the individual, that person, this living being,

the one to make the change.

When all else –

becomes a reality,

then it is then,

when I have to go forward,

saying only these things,

speaking just the words that fit,

understanding,

acknowledging there is this inherent

need to succeed.

Such a powerful phenomena,

far better than the ruse,

of living in failure.

I believe, do you?

What about today?

Let’s think about the next time,

we wonder about the finish line,

it never really ends though,

we just continue,

fighting the good and common

role, roll with it, mastery,

is knowing failure is never defined,

nor be it accolades for accomplishment,

because when the sun rises in the morning,

there is far more ahead.

Conscious Choice

Human interaction demands a time

to recognize our soul is driven by

a passion we sometime do find sublime.

Our ability to withstand a cry

will certainly indicate our penchant

toward running the show, calling the shots.

Much like quiet the observant merchant

who sees and values what customer spots,

the human condition holds needs velvet.

A touch, a tease, a trace of fingertips

will suggest a love beyond mind’s kismet.

Our need to hold and feel so often flips;

dials choice’s mystique in good conscience

when then a conscious choice be left to chance.

Moral Fiber

I was very young

when they introduced me to

reality

That they might believe a word

could erase my innocence

that they

is a descriptive word at all is disturbing

A generalization

A way to not take

Responsibility

That moral fiber

might be discussed,

is a question we tend to avoid

when the going gets …

awkward silence