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.

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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.

Little, Man

~

What I want is my life to be this simple

without worry of having my innocence

taken away.

We look at ourselves in hundreds of ways

each one a still life of who we are.

An orderly day amidst the chaos of

nature mingling with concrete.

He hasn’t any desire to see beyond

the reception he asks in their eyes,

In his eyes are the world that surrounds

him this precise moment,

beyond any fear or pain or thought.

For that is our greatest nemesis,

when life’s ambitions are suddenly

trapped within the scrutiny of society,

drawn by a visual map of absurdity.

Perhaps the pigeons would like

an opportunity to caution little,

Man

Yesterday

We read about it on the news, that they would tell us,

back then in the wired age,

we didn’t really have to wonder otherwise,

we knew they were dying,

we saw the pictures of the massacre

of innocent lives with the bombs dropping,

little kids watching with eyes wide open,

unable to see their peer’s bodies being split apart

by the impact of war.

We watched as our parents cried,

occasional hushed conversations about someone’s …

a brother,

‘he was a lieutenant, just a shame’

they would say and shake their heads,

while the names kept scrolling across the screen.

I remember knowing then that people would die,

but they wouldn’t ever die near me

until you did.

In A Child’s Eyes

abuse

You are my hero,

whom guides me, softens the blow,

when my reality is slow,

in order to allow me,

later on after time,

to truly know.

Then why I ask,

my mentor,

would you defeat my sense

of beauty

of elegance

that natural world of delight

with your caustic self aggrandizing

perpetual lunacy.

~

This morning I was young at heart,

filled with the delight of a world

that fascinates,

drawn by the passion of knowledge

your desire my share in my world,

yet now,

without any concern for anyone

beyond yourself,

you tackle me,

and defeat me,

my lessons of life learned

due to your own insanity.

~

I am a child to you teacher

allow me, teach me,

just, please,

do not continue to abuse me.

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.

Follow Rocks

© Dani Stites

© Dani Stites

I would walk barefoot as a child,

seeking something over there,

something unique on the other end,

didn’t matter the moisture,

stepping into creek waters,

slipping and skinning a knee,

while searching for that

something unique on the other end.

recall the glorious spring sunshine,

bouncing reflective waves in soils

driven by Nature’s progressive trail,

I would walk barefoot on the rocks

if I could remember today

what that unique something was,

in the creek bed on the other side.

I wonder if when I wear shoes,

if then, I lose the opportunity,

that Her grasp allows my skin to feel,

when walking towards that final reveal.