Summer Daze Alone

A familiar air,

cloudless sky,

Listen to the sounds of a backyard,

tree trimmers, grass cutters, BBQ-ing neighbors,

listen to the children with innocent screams nearby.

 

He would understand,

their natural allegiance to the land

around them being an open playground,

his own did the same,

decades earlier,

on similar days,

a cloudless sky,

the sounds of summer daze.

 

Yet there is a familiar air,

perhaps we call it the resistance,

we felt it when twelve years old looking out the picture window,

a light rain, yet friends gathering,

and him,

staying inside,

pretending to not exist,

though experiencing all of the psychological trauma,

that associates our lives with the living.

 

He would find himself in that place again,

today,

while the world outside embraced the summer skies,

his mind in a fog,

wondering about time, wondering where,

curious just why he falls into this mental cavern of

indecision,

it is the time he remembers as a boy,

wondering in the moment,

not knowing beyond the day,

yet now, in the quiet midnight,

the same question remains.

 

 

Mother

A heartbeat.

A cradled affection,

a sense of worry is unconditional,

she will always remember that one time.

 

Oh while the years pass,

many judgments, a currency of opportunity,

an aesthetic realization that depends upon her eyes,

she will always remember that one time.

 

We willingly recall,

the time she managed our innocence

with a sweep of her hand, a tender kiss,

she will always remember that one time.

 

I’m on the bus,

her walking nearby she said later,

yours was  a rather contemplative sadness,

she will always remember that one time.

 

There live the fortunes of time,

when we can respond to favored memory,

while, growing we did become showered in smiles,

she will always remember that one time.

 

And I suppose we all will,

that one time,

when in the throes of our own lifetime,

we did look toward the skies and delight in …

 

mother.

When Society Chooses Self

We do pronounce our selves in an elitist light,

Always to suggest ours is the more important route,

Forever drawn by goals to merit personal might

We seem destined to burn, a wrath soon flames out.

 

When lives become the natural course of a purpose,

Seems suddenly we chart a distance toward a freeing

Way of life, that sort that blends in melody – sweet verse.

We touch the sky with certain aptitude while believing.

 

Always a current turmoil seems certainly human design

When to measure reasoning, we cannot forget the blind

Ideal that gives primary focal point its inherent sign,

Suggests our lives are only a temporary quest we remind.

 

Oh to undermine the truer sense of what concludes a life

Is to know no end to the current belief in a selfish strife.

Reaching For Reason

I began a journey 

with only personal motives;

I know there is a world out there

beyond my grasp.

I thought I might contribute

with reason driving a passion

wanting to be heard

and listen to the applause.

Is that what we want

are we all smitten

to the moment

of self guided opportunity?

I hope not. 

Well, actually I need to re-think

the loss of an accolade

if giving becomes the motive.

I heard a mentor suggest recently

the need to find intrigue

rather than be the bright spot.

While reaching for reason

slowly, a gradual reckoning

brings me in the face of honesty.

I will seek a manner of learned prowess

while before gratuity

the trophy case continues to gather dust