Conservative Happiness

I wonder sometimes if they all think,

process, imagine, find futile,

an effort to push a boulder aside.

I feel the clammy stone of a permanence,

both hands taking grip on a monstrous image,

finding the will,

and yet realizing it is not about strength

at all.


When forgiveness occurs, we do find a way,

to lean, to count upon, the girth

of our boulders will

hold us up, give us strength,

allow our hearts and mind to know

that though it will never go away,

sometimes the offer

is meant only to be stability.


I was walking along the beach the other day,


the footprints in the sand,

I could tell by their depth and lift,

a certain happiness in the owner’s gait.

Perhaps a burden lifted

the illusion of the rock,

set aside for now to appreciate another day.


Rather than move or alter or deface,

I will continue to cleanse the porous response

the rock reminds us all,

there is a constant reminder,

in our eternity,

to live by a mistake,

is to recognize the beauty of our




When Thinking the Terrible Things

While our lives are thought to be fragile,

we count on those knowing moments,

when in a sudden sort of sardonic setting,

a cathartic challenge suggests we listen.


When ego is put aside, and humility speaks,

such valuable outcomes refresh our mind,

we with certainty begin to better understand,

that vulnerability is meant to make a stand.


Glance around the room and wonder the eyes,

what is personality, how do we surmise

the value of this persons gray reminders,

versus the notion of a youthful banter.


Where all walks contain a familiar gait,

Our definition of value placed upon a posture,

might the aftermath of judgment call callous

the quiet listener who stands lone in a river.


When thinking all of the terrible things,

we forget about those we call the other,

decide upon a direction without a bother,

quite the opposite really, despised clutter.


Perhaps if in a notion of sweet forgiveness

Might we all reflect upon love is goodness.



When Yesterday

When we start to think about

our yesterdays,

we get scared, well some, me, suppose

the words need only be self-directed,

if validity

is the goal of my game.


I contemplate my day before notions,

those of consequence and reward,

I try to recall the best, when especially drawn

into the abyss of the mess.


A hundred years ago, my embellishment

landed me in places I couldn’t defend,

only wished I had found a way to mend

the indifference,

self-righteous patterns of wanting everything,

my way, my game, my gamble, my favorite



I lost at every step, remembering when leaving

fearing skid row might be my home address

in six weeks or less,

less the confidence, less the support,

lest I drag my ass out of the gutter and realize

there is a life ahead.


However, there is always the readiness,

not choice by personal desire,

but the savior whomever that might be in our lives,

the one and only,


the epitome of letting go,

realizing we cannot, and will never need to do this on our own,



Yet today, I do think about my yesterdays,

and wonder if I might ever step away,

to enjoy the beauty of this,



Lost Generation

If I Might Grasp Society

I would begin rather small,

wanting to measure a pitfall,

if I could grasp the world around me

would that my mind feel free.


To explore the simple triviality

of a generalized society.

If I look at you wrong in public

I wonder if the epiphany tragic.


When once we held out our hands

we might live with very few demands,

today, we’re cautious to know the place

where all of our hardships we might erase.


I was thinking about her, well, once again

it is easy enough to try to wonder when

our lives let go of memory, and instead

we measure the worth of our homestead.


I found a measuring tape it seemed to hold

miles of countryside, rivers not so very old.

those places in my memory where liken to cry

I rather instead just try to still ask only why.


The tears will come they may often while alone

one minute beforehand an amenity shown,

we live by the human condition, the importance

of recognizing impulse could very well be chance.


I believe in the responsibility of man to release

all that is burden towards hindering sweet peace.

In Succession

How many times in a day

must I try to overcome

my mindful traces along the way

those doubtful winsome


notions capturing my way

I walk inside a foggy emotion

stuck in some simple sway

I want only to stop the commotion


If I listen to jazz on a Sunday night

could it be the muse I speak of

or does that same melody that might

give me peace, release a lovely dove.


I want to understand my pain

I do wish only to leave this place

the way I cry at night a refrain,

must somehow leave a sort of trace


I want the world I know inside the word

to wish for easier time with life

I would be grateful if beyond the absurd

I might experience less strife


I suppose it is foolish to imagine a release

freedom enough in spiritual term is peace


Why Do We Teach?

We measure our lives for the children,

whether we advocate

whether we understand

whether we accept

whether we gratify

whether we acknowledge

our own defeatist frame of mind

while trying to change lives along the way.


I faced an obstacle today, one that turned out

represented a state of mind,

a clear example of the human condition,

the reason I stand in a classroom everyday.


I watched as stubborn pride evolved into humility,

I listened as pain turned slowly toward humor,

even a chuckle that powdered the room,

an energy suggested we can return again,

to where it is we once stood,

that place we felt secure,

an opportunity,

a new door, that when respect

steps through with confidence,

becomes the road forward.


I faced an obstacle today, one that turned out

represented a state of mind,

a clear example of the human condition,

the reason I stand in a classroom everyday.


Could we step back and breathe,

might our lives find solace,

once the dust becomes an afterthought,

the cleansing has begun,

we might see truth

beyond our own selfish arrogance

lies in the eyes,

those are the needs of a teacher.

Do We Lose?

When we let go, we leave behind a part of ourselves

yet I do have to wonder if we ever really lose

we certainly sometimes cannot return to the shelves

of who we were, yet perhaps we do sing the blues


In that frame of mind, a good song can bring me a tear

where then I feel my heart, that growing ache of loss

is pounding in my chest in such a manner I can often fear

that end result of wondering when love I would then toss


aside like a feeling I never really took the time to understand.

If I recall the lives I have encountered in five decades of trying

I sometimes forget there is meaning beyond my own demand,

somewhere in the annals of passing nostalgia I am still crying.


There is a constant messsage board in my mind, lays out letters

a sort of visual keyboard, that if I think really hard and long

might shout at me with the reality of who I am, but only utters

soft reminders – there’s never a quiet word of where I belong.


last night a distant friend said goodbye to me without having to speak

I simply knew the time was right to realize a shift in parallel thought.

When while I wanted to know more, I couldn’t ask them to seek

me out again, until perhaps some other time when, I might be sought.


I do know today when I dance alone in my own little forest of solitude

the rhythm speaks gently to the notion that somewhere, sometime I did

exist, and it was then I could realize with the right sort of gracious attitude

I might somehow conceptualize truth in some new epiphany less sordid.


I wonder if when we take that next adventure, we will have a chance

to know that everyone behind us wishes only our soul might advance.