Passing Cars, Traveling Lives

When I was a little boy,

leaving nose prints on the picture

window,

in the rain, the streaks I’d follow

a free hand, fingertips,

tracing this world in some design.

 

When I was a little boy,

I’d watch the travelers

all of them pointed in some

direction,

a quiet neighborhood,

I’d often know the cars,

know they were watching me,

nose prints on a rainy day.

 

When I was just yesterday,

I wondered about time,

if it were ever really the same,

or if with practice,

would our lives intersect,

like the cars milling by,

the neighborhood

would only speak,

if shouts were ever heard.

 

While I wonder quiet about time,

I watch and hope for every time

the rains fall the glass of windows still

remind me of my childhood, if I will.

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Sitting In My Personal Space

Getting ready for the school year,

planning lessons,

rearranging books and files,

adjusting to a new physical classroom.

 

I wanted to complain tonight,

my room still needs desk,

35 kids coming in a week,

no ac, the temp was 110 F.

 

I sat out in the hall,

parent and student open house,

lots of people walking through,

new construction, ceilings missing tiles.

 

I joked how I was too exhausted,

the heat, couldn’t touch my room,

decided until tomorrow to rearrange,

as tonight I would surely break a sweat.

 

We have a beautiful new space,

expanding the student opportunities,

new carpet, walls, designs all meant

to enhance the students’ education.

 

The space isn’t complete,

I need desks in my room,

I haven’t got any a.c.

no wireless, and vacant walls.

 

I went home tonight exhausted,

and then suddenly it all became real,

I no longer cared about my classroom,

I watched the news tonight in Houston.

The Rains Began

Seemed days had passed,

since I’d heard their steady cry,

my rooftop comes alive,

with the steady rains,

 

Oh we do need the tears,

especially in those quiet times,

when our heart has stopped.

 

The beat of our sympathy,

some time lost in the scathing heat,

of a hot sunlight,

meant to persecute our peaceful

sanctuary.

 

I heard the rains begin,

the drops of cleansing cry,

she told me they would arrive.

 

And so I listened,

and could cry for hours afterward.

Summer Rains

 

I woke in sweet pause to the summer rains

Glance toward the sky in misty eyed ponder

While worlds begin day in routine refrains

We might all know beauty is our wonder.

 

In our lives where cause might allow reveal

Our choice to become the pureness we wish

Always measured in will of knowing real

Is Grace belongs in hearts not outlandish

 

Water in sweet embrace cleanse my windows

I might breathe the world its sheltered release

Much like my neighbor whose ideal true grows

We can quest lives together to find peace.

 

In quiet mystique regard truth our gain

Solace sing sweet warmth in Her summer rain.

 

*photo credit: Mark Demsteader – found on Pinterest

 

 

 

 

On Montmartre Stairs

Circle

Photo of The Day

( I do hope this fits with the figurative notion of ‘circles’)

A rainy afternoon,

we would cry together today,

svelte hands and wrought iron rails,

steps that concrete shavings felt right,

we did smile as with our turn we might catch eyes,

if not this turn, the next twirl I could find you there,

we dashed to the doorway, the rains were heavy,

in there our embrace becomes a mix of delicious love,

peek out, see the misty rain, the street below,

we own the moment, let’s dance to our center.

~

On an august evening the steps were trampled by

strangers in the night who would pass our memory,

we could always recall that kiss by the oak,

the quiet night, where a luminous magic

began our journey together – we did walk

until we could under the lampost

remember our night together,

long before the business of life forgot their way.

*photo: Allen Parseghian Photography

When Reality Knocked

I wanted to

pause,

I used to be able to,

she was always there,

to wipe away a tear, tie a shoe, fix my hair,

I remember the first time she called me handsome,

I turned red, and stammered a bit,

the sort of stuttered that charmed her,

she smiled, lit a cigarette,

went back to her cross word puzzle,

probably thinking about the next crisis,

always one waiting ahead.

Yet I was alone, walking in a fantasy,

not too old,

just young enough to be able to slide by,

with a forgiving glance

until

just the other day,

I woke to realize decades later,

how opportunity wafted past my window,

or did it, or was i spared the

disillusionment of not meeting my goals.

~

I walk outside and feel the rain on my cheek,

my nose tickles as the drops descend,

always reaching my end,

I just plod on through because I have to,

there’s no reason to stop the world over a soft rain.

Tears

I want the wet embrace of a river

to overcome crags of emotion

sand will scrape smooth a fever

if allowed to, desires we shun.

~

if then, anxieties a treacherous cliff

we must always see the end

rather in a deep abyss, body stiff

our satisfactions again we pretend.

~

lift off the common shell of wax

sheltered storms will congregate

always ready with their willing attacks

unless to behold Nature’s way relate

~

As like lightning does cleanse our spring

with the rains a new delight we bring.