Looking The Part

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Wonder the curling fingertips,

the adamant task

drawing locks

security

in the presence of life.

 

Check austere provisions,

a smooth swiff,

filling jars,

a man pacing the room,

always in a wonder of how.

 

A picture of human interaction

“I’m going solo”

spoke a gentleman java guide,

off to the focal point

where lives intermingle alone.

 

Yet, interaction, a game,

or is it truth

that sets aside

an intellect

beyond the comfort zone.

 

The breeze outside

wafting wide open screen,

leaves, dance in

unison

the humanity of life.

 

Would one wonder,

if the hand swiping a sallow

brow

similar to their own,

a night before when alone.

 

A line of laptops

give quiet indication

we have all been here

before,

in certain wander we atone.

 

Sweet is the humanity

of discrete passion

for the moment,

the privacy

yet Vicinity wills love.

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Looks Define

When listening to music,

it piques the state of mind,

if in a moment,

we might be inspired,

by a sound, a coined phrase,

a certain lyric,

oh so that’s all just fine,

though,

it is when the voice takes flight,

when while listening,

suddenly I’m drawn to a distant place,

somewhere I’ve never found,

yet the angels do bring me there …

for that single moment,

I’m lost in the world of song.

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.

Wonder Wheel

A melody

in a state of mind,

a thought motivates

a certain disc,

recording, desire to hear

a nostalgic notion.

Used to be we would

carefully,

lift the cover off our lives,

to keep the dust away,

listen for hours

to a melody that suggests

we live this way,

in a rhythmic trance,

a desired place,

a travel along simple horizons,

nothing complicated,

only the beat,

perhaps a lyrical ecstasy

would be our caveat.

I can remember every time

a song would bring back my life

to a place once before

where I was,

alone in a space of time,

suspended by that notion,

to some a disbelief

to me always,

a taste of promise.

We Cannot Choose

Search the horizon,

acknowledge the occasional bump,

maybe a blemish,

a stained reality screaming aloud.

Pause to breathe,

yet don’t step away,

keep your eye on obligation,

imagine the pearl in the rough awakening,

striving and helpless,

until time graced innocence

accentuates grief’s consequence.

Well ahead there exists a euphoric sunrise,

perhaps grayed with callous indecision

today, tomorrow, throughout,

a very near future –

yet know you’re holding a key,

you might respond accordingly,

to a beautiful opportunity.

Be the teacher,

please.

Wanting To Be Struck Again

Gray sheathes of dark matter

waft upon a soul in peril

In the Heavens we gather

all of our apparel.

Once before I could cry

now today

cannot figure out why

instead lay

my heart down to this struggle

a constant reminder

of how life can truly boggle

the mind. Tossed under

the evening dew a spiritual

reckoning occurs

yet with every attempt a virtual

depression lingers.

Would that my life could be simple

than perhaps yours,

yet I examine when time is brittle

I begin to question futures.

School Doors Knocking

I can hear the sound at night,

the clasp when the handle shakes

as the door slams shut.

This is not an offensive sound,

simply the mechanics of the entry

to my classroom.

Tonight, while I lay in bed,

having usurped the beauty of summer’s heat,

my head is gradually shifting,

a knowing, necessary accentuate

response to the coming days

when they will enter

with needs, smiles, ideals, attitudes,

trust.

For there is no other place for their hearts

to be expanded, loved, and crucified.

In the classroom,

where their lives will intermix

with dozens of others,

all with the same goals in mind,

yet interrupted by the cycle of education.

I can hear the sound at night,

the clasp when the handle shakes

as the door slams shut.

I have to dream a little bit,

perhaps figure out a way,

to prop that door

wide open.