When A Child Dreams

I would dream summers

running through hemlock

brush scratches naked calves

the moment, lost in its mystique

 

When we were kids

we were ushered out of the house

play until you drop

play until you drop

 

We didn’t mind

being ushered out

we were in our element

children of summer

 

When I was a child

I didn’t imagine barriers

there wasn’t a risk of

seeing a friend bloodied

 

We didn’t walk around

waiting for our parents

who were never to be found,

unless of their own volition.

 

When I was a younger boy,

I could run for hours,

feeling the heat of summer

knowing the thrill of joy

 

In my wildest dreams

I was never sought, ushered,

told to stop my scream

for justice beyond my dream.

 

Today, the children of summer

are everywhere and far away

from the beauty of love

the compassion of a tender tear.

 

Today, I do recall freedom in my childhood,

I weep alone for the children of summer.

The Obituary

I wonder how they felt it might read,

summing up their life,

in a nutshell,

passing through all of the bad times,

focus upon the good, the energy, the meaning,

the society we live in deems the necessary truths.

If we knew,

would we then change our mind,

if we could stand in the back of the church,

see the weeping eyes,

the countless expressions of confusion,

would we,

care.

 

I wonder what mine will say today,

as compared to years from now,

which would be more attractive,

the present reality

or that seeming legacy that time forgot,

only the pain did always remain,

a constant,

within even a moment of relief,

there would be the memory of how many times,

we might have,

he might have,

thought differently than to withstand

normalcy.

 

Oh the papers they might read,

and then in a week or two,

there his ashes would be spread.

Saturday Nights

I remember those nights

wondering, hoping, stepping through

a wood like forest in the confusion.

I recall looking outside of myself

and seeing a lonely man

phone never rang, doorbell silent,

even the neighborhood would seem vacant.

I remember Saturday nights

filling the void, hoping to avoid

anyone recognizing my pain

always with a smile in the public eye.

I remember lonely nights

feeling always disconnected

thinking all of the ‘they’ people

were out of my league.

I walked outside one Saturday night

looked around at the houses

a few cars drifting by and glanced back,

saw my image in the picture window.

A statue living amongst the vines.

Touched By Real

rain

 

 

He smiled and the world listened

if only for a moment

when everyone else seemed driven and lost.

On a spring morning

He appeared around the corner and changed my direction,

I was suddenly moved by you.

Your spirit, your energy, your passion

Your beautiful grin

rather simply shouted

‘I’m awesome’

~

We need to talk about moments like this

When surfing the hallways

Wondering what faces we’ll meet

Circling the corners

Weaving through bodies

Noticing only backpacks and bad mullets

Rather than human expression

The eyes that bear our souls,

Safely tucked away

‘I’m scared’

~

They said he was a nice young man.

Wherever he went actually

people laughed and praised

his actions, moral fiber, self-guided discipline.

Always happy,

content toward anyone that met

him in a moment, one of those times

we always wonder just how we react

to the reality around us.

‘I’m nervous’

~

She would wonder where her

friends were

while waiting with well meant

optimism

until the last bus left the station.

Then she might wish there were

other bodies around

so her soul wouldn’t feel so naked

in the cold winds of mourning.

‘I’m alone’

~

Shine and ravish when the moment allows true elegance

Splendor’s human love holds our heart in the spring rains