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.

The Sitting Hours

I always looked forward to the late hours,

the night flying by with dialogue and absurdities,

everything we could say we believed, and more importantly,

we loved,

We did delight in knowing we could look in each other’s eyes,

well into the twilight,

all of us, whoever might have chosen the time,

or simply allowed ourselves to be drawn in,

that was the key,

we knew always we wanted to be there.

 

These are the holidays we would request

each other’s company,

my sister, brothers, and mom,

our sister’s, children and the occasion of relatives …

so current on everything we knew.

to be important in everyone’s lives.

With dad in the background, an occasional chuckle,

he’d pass out the a beverage with endearing blue eyes,

we all heard his screams inside,

the delight of our lives, he is a beautiful man.

 

We were, are, can be the beautiful people,

the family that smiles, tells jokes, lives lives with uncanny candor.

These are the nights when time would value,

only the shared nostalgia of wanting the laughs

in the history of our lives.

These are the holidays when love does always,

compete well with the nature of our own,

sweet recall, when the essence of everything we believed,

in the realm of the human condition,

could suddenly find the energy

to contribute the next line,

so the stories never found a way to end …

The Visit

Though the time was ever so brief,

I knew her magic, felt her presence

in image she strolled the avenue,

only to suggest there is a reality.

~

When wonder shines upon human

mortality, we often let confuse

the notion of our existence

left aside when fate quiet speak.

~

I did in solemn journey wish to know

her heart would still follow my dream,

to know her elegance in charm

will bless ambition, protect vanity.

~

In that simple grace, capture passion

to know the afterlife might its fruition

Always This Laughter

I remember even in the darkest days, your smile would remind me,

a life exists beyond the torment of our own self pity,

we must relish the beauty of the day, and focus on the love we share,

together in this moment with each other nothing else matters.

I would brag about your prowess with the crossword puzzle daily,

feel pride when’the rest of the story’ would echo Paul Harvey

the radio sound in the background whenever the afternoon sunlight

burst through the room. I remember you were there, content

in your quiet and reflective aura, the one that drew us all to you.

We were all in love with your spirit, your intellect, your ability

to see the future without having to define anything beforehand.

We just waited and listened and loved the melodic nature,

your wisdom our gift, our privilege, a heartfelt truths, we were

blessed to be raised with as every season of our lives

became yet another passage of time. We did find love in you.

We did feel fortune in the two of you and how we became,

all of us a part of you, in memory of pensive smiles, we continue.

While dad led the way, all of us quietly knew he was as fortunate

as any of the five of us to have you as our matriarch,

the now silent fury of passion that drove your mind to exemplary

forces of will to teach all of us to believe and know true love.

I can hear you laughing, we can hear you laughing because in a flash

we know you are love, we are blessed to be a sketch of your love..

She

When recognizing how far we have come,

she is always standing welcome,

When after a serious fall we need support,

she is always holding court,

when we couldn’t possibly talk about it,

she laughs with smile at our sarcastic wit

when wondering just how dark the night sky

she’ll be there to help understand why.

While mountains are moved by men of men

nearby again, she’ll wait until only when.

We think of her when our emotions run awry

her just knowing will help us sleep to-nigh.

I remember when as a  child I skinned my knee,

she told me to let the wounds heal free.

If I could walk with mom down 28th avenue again

with her by my side, please tell me when.

She is a memory in my mind today and tomorrow,

without her value my perceived life is hollow.

I glance upon the rain soaked clouds in the sky

knowing just beyond the horizon she is nearby.

In The Quiet

Her voice,

for years my guiding melody,

such sweet surreal

knowledge.

When I was a kid,

I remember wondering if

always unsure,

was she walking or going away,

the tears wouldn’t stop,

I waited,

that’s when I learned the true meaning

of abandon …

When I can sit and write these words,

how might I define the rivers in my eyes?

somewhere out there,

the sky so longing,

somehow I do know there is a reckoning,

yet my only wish as I

imagine

is that she might tell me how to get there.

For now I remain in the quiet of her memory.

When I Walk

I use the sidewalk most of the time,

that’s what I’m told.

If I walk in the street so sublime,

I might be thought old.

When I was a child we used the pavement,

back then there weren’t walks

we could stroll on the left side, no argument,

while having one of our talks.

I would walk to school with her everyday,

she’d talk about the fall,

how this reminded her of favorite days,

the year would begin for all

the kids that summertime left behind,

we were now another

year older and ready to grind

our minds together.

When I walk I often think about those times,

with her, my wise mother the teacher,

in the classroom she taught so many lives,

on the street she taught me to be sure.

I Am A Teacher

When I was a child and the autumn leaves began to turn
I would listen to my mother while we walked to school in pace
Her gait a proud posture evincing energy’s evolved sojourn
Me walking by her side, carrying my lumber (a trumpet in case)

I love this time of year
When summer’s time earns
A crisp bite in the air
Emanating familiar yearns
The cafeteria, reminds me
I am a teacher; hear me

We lived close by the grade school. I carved my identity here
She taught fourth graders how to be exceptional in life’s moment
Always hoping they might remember her ideals next year
When in fifth grade passed on, a new mentor might mete their talent

I recall loving my mother
A young student now alone
My world moves upon another
Journey towards an unknown
Sea of children with each other
Learning knowledge and tone

Later in life I would routinely ride a city bus across town
A book bag by my side continuing to hone my skills
Along the avenue my mother walked the same route alone
As I unaware stared quietly out the window on my own

Saw you riding the bus today
She smiled sowing sweet word
I didn’t see you said I in a shy way
Her eyes let me realize afterward
Expressed a contemplative sway
That moved my soft heart forward

I was many years past that early autumn morning walking
In hand with mother experiencing the start of a school year
When I came to terms with her assessment of my riding
On a city bus alone and contemplative with her eyes near

As a young boy walking
I am a teacher; hear me
Every day I am experiencing
A tease, a mystique, a discovery
When aroused by wondering
Her words and eyes direct me

Today, I have my classroom of children that greet me in a fuss
And every fall I recognize similar sounds and sights familiar
I know that she is watching over me as quiet, I ride on my bus
Considering how I might pass on words so that children hear

Today I walk as a teacher
And you are my passion
I operate by a need here
To recognize your elation
Trust we might learn together
I am a teacher and this is my resolution

A Bully Moment (Will There Be Shame)

Today’s ‘moment’

Came in a picture

A little boy

And I do mean little

~

Young enough to cry

Innocence that creates naïve

Mystery mixed in with the ugly

Reality of actions that may

Resonate throughout his

Remaining childhood

~

If childhood exists any longer

~

I see the boy standing

With a badge of dishonor

While mom ‘looms’ nearby

Not sure why

But I can’t see any humor

In her eyes

Though there is that pain

I can’t tell in the fuzziness

Of the glossed over moment

Whether there are tears

Or strains of rage

~

Someone took the photo

Who are they?

Family friend of torture

A passerby that knows no

Boundary

Just wants to recognize

A display of pure ugliness

~

Who am I today

Another passerby

Noticing a moment

A little boy

Carrying a sign

With pain in his eyes

I wonder about him in ten years

When he reflects upon this day

~

Will there be shame?bully