Father, Son, Child

king

I have a father,

a son,

as did he,

a man,

like anyone,

a heartbeat,

a desire,

a following he didn’t ever imagine,

yet today,

we celebrate him,

this man,

this iconic symbol of peace,

whom certainly lived the same life,

we have all,

being human,

it is difficult not to imagine,

hardship of any kind,

would cross his threshold,

maybe not like mine, not like yours,

theirs or anyone who has ever experienced,

anything, anywhere.

Yet I have a son,

and a father,

as did he,

we on the other hand enjoy the bounty of our lives,

whereas he,

well his son,

and his father too,

could only recall,

can only recall,

might realize,

long before you and me,

that his calling,

the father and his son,

was a man,

who believed,

and wanted only what his heart could prevail,

he was no Messiah,

as he would be the first to suggest,

not Gotama, not Buddha, Christ, Allah,

none of these,

simply a man,

yet that he was,

vulnerable and easy,

he had some plan,

for you, and me, and them, and everyone,

he did believe in a dream,

he did,

imagine.

When I Was Ten

I was already wondering

why do we live the way we do

in a society where everyone,

anyone we encounter,

will have needs,

will want to feel the value

as anyone else who might want

the same things.

 

I kept hearing about love and flowers,

while watching the names scroll

across the evening news,

and then MLK and Bobby were dead.

I’m not really sure where the time

has gone so that today,

I stand here wondering if we have

made any changes to our lives at all.

 

We still know how to hate one another,

to load a burden of shame upon each

principled confession of humanity

we encounter on a given afternoon of days.

I sit among everyone that I have known,

there are simple avenues of memory,

and we each know the value of remembering

just when it was we began to feel fear.

 

I’m listening to Joan Baez in the background,

maybe Judy Collins later on, or Emmy Lou,

there’s a voice from my distant past reminds me

of that love thing we all seemed to grasp,

but only when tragedy spoke to our hearts

it was only then when we ripped apart our eyes,

and settled into a new way of thinking,

one that no longer contained the love of time.

 

Love of time rather than knowing the right time,

the moments that arise in our lives that compel

our souls to acknowledge the humanity of truth,

we are that lost beacon in the night extinguished.

Until the renovation, until the unearthing, until

somewhere in a time capsule we can see reality,

and once again, to know love is to feel our hearts

are an organic spokesperson for the beauty of love.

Supremacy Court

Decisions seem beyond the concept of reality,

or perhaps we speak of truth,

our society,

the world we seem to trust and find faith,

is simply lost inside a hypocrisy.

We are a country with mixed messages, mixed races,

mixed emotions,

all drawn together by the masses,

those that seemingly decide our future based upon

individuals gathered together for the good cause.

Yet, we are caught up in faces,

those that suggest peace, while others contain violent

agenda.

We have a President.

We have a President,

a person elected by millions capable of running office.

Our society though would like to forget about now

and flash forward to tomorrow.

Is it ironic this is happening in February?

This month gives me pause.

Perhaps if we all stop and breathe and listen to the ridiculous nature

of a controlling society,

perhaps then we might begin to walk freely together.

(insert MLK Freedom speech here)

He Did Speak To Me

I was a child, eight years old with a mind,

I knew the political storm

through the eyes of my siblings, remind

me again where values form.

At home, the weather inside seems mellow

we all want the same things

yet there’s a society out there lays below

a currency of evil minglings.

When just a child I watched a nation’s dream

die.

I sat in my grandparent’s sunporch to scream

why.

We all knew there wasn’t a chance,

yet his words did ideals enhance

we really did imagine peace occur

at the hands of those that truly care.

MLK seemed to live in a time when a world

stayed afraid rather than try to be otherwise,

his words would touch the heart of millions

yet, there were those

we all remember

there were the populace didn’t want to understand.

They eventually won their way with a violent stand.

Today I stand with God in hope we all might recall

a beautiful man, with a tough skin, strengthened us all.

A Boy’s Childhood

me

I want to remember my childhood

There were good things

The smiles that my mom provided

~

Dancing a jig that I’d made up

Listening to the Beatles holding my hand

Playing the piano and sight reading

~

Until years later I couldn’t do that anymore

Something got in the way

My fingertips in place, eyes graced the keyboard

A certain energy took my breath away

So I ran out the door

And part of my heart chose to never return

Always a dream-like reality

Some disconnection

~

Walking silent amongst my siblings

Always hoping to feel as strong

Wishing my world would be similar

~

Protesting Vietnam while Simon & Garfunkel

Spoke of bridges and metaphors

Remembering how the theatre was dying

And poetry was terrible in her eyes

I watched my family tear apart

The fabric that for me would comfort

My fears on a summer’s day

My anxiety in the winter’s darkness

~

There were fleeting moments

When she described me as a ‘now’

Person whose life could explode

~

Inside the inspiration of a realization

Then Lennon died and for a time

I understood Kennedy, X, and MLK

Why Bobby couldn’t outlive his brother

When Walter Cronkite cried before us all

I remember suddenly becoming, older

When no longer could my voice simply be heard

Reflections would later trace my feelings in word