On The Wonder of Age

Today is the birthday of an elder,

a daughter just lost her father,

a young boy,

playing in a culvert,

watching handmade wooden ships

float toward the sewer,

no judgment in mind,

simple childhood,

with an elder keeping his welfare

in mind.

 

We wonder sometime about the truth

in aging, the wisdom found,

the mistakes we wish to take bake

yet now we simply go on living

appreciating sometime

the turn of the coin

where once we believed this,

now we are forever asking for

sweet forgiveness

because with age

comes for some a sense of

quiet humility.

 

Oh do answer the question

that when under the knife

my body shut down

for modern medicine

did I go anywhere

with my dreams

beyond waking again,

seemingly fixed

yet forever drawn

to wondering just why.

 

The age of this my freedom

Will by my silent fiefdom

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A Walk Inside A Dream

Took a walk inside a dream,

seemed the same,

each waking moment,

a breath of wonder

then wander back inside

visit old friends

stir memories of an

attitude

the sort of look in an eye

when we might fall into

the shell of our selves

inside the dream

everything happens

we sometimes wish away

from ourselves.

The next day

When a conscious reminder

that dream last nigh

look around the space

the people drifting by

could be there then

might be there

now

waiting for an arrival

every stone unturned

when the natural

tendency might be to scream

inside a dream

taking a walk

a wander

into a waking day

A Little Boy

when I was a little boy

I had no idea

the man

I would become;

inside all of this

anxiety

remains that little boy

screaming

sometimes to not recall

the day

innocence gave its

departure notice

to his only

grasp upon

sweet reality

 

when I was a little boy

I understood

universal

love

When We Find We Are The Same

Rules need not be broken

to identify our true selves

we haven’t the demand

to walk upstream, to push

the elements aside

for personal gain,

in essence,

it is true that we all

do find the similar grounds

for which

our bodies

strike the earth

as feeling landed, secure,

understanding of time.

 

Oh, we do battle to separate

our lives

from those we disagree,

the them we conclude

are far astray from you and me,

and yet,

who is it we might observe

when the feeling

of not so assuredly confident

might cause dreams

aspirations,

the fantasy of our completion

to become more stirred

angst driven rather

than a peaceful protest.

 

We do,

we can,

we will inevitably

live our lives the same,

if for a moment

we step off the pedestal,

we let go of our divining rods,

loosen our grip on the main-hold

let our bodies, mind, heart

set sail and when we find

we have crossed a boundary

toward some simple freedom,

well then,

be sure to say hello

to everyone whom have all arrived

the same.

Finding A Rhythm

I use music,

depends upon the day,

usually something

upbeat, jazzy, message driven,

something to soothe

my soul,

it is the motive of a rhythm

to move the body,

let the mind follow,

let the whole of ourselves

become transfixed,

designed with the heart in sight.

 

We like to travel,

I

like to travel

go places well beyond

the space I am in,

rather than the physical nature

getting away,

I’d like rather to know

right here, right now,

I can go there, you might come here

in the span of a moment,

in the quiet serenade

of a bluesy melody.

 

‘Talk to me some more

you don’t have to go.’ – Phoebe Snow

 

Something to be said,

without having to find

the answer,

just a listen

follow the beat

listen to intention,

find some meaning

moves beyond the moment,

let’s you settle inside a memory,

perhaps a dream,

a fantasy,

let it take you somewhere

tonight.

If, Again

If

once we

were partners

though shadowed

intimate decisions

drove us apart, our lives

seemingly drawn

in more necessary direction,

would it be possible

to find purpose

in knowing …

again.

 

If

the world

were able to

walk in the shoes

of those they despise

would it be possible then

for each of our lives

to become valid

to such a

degree

we might understand

love,

again.

 

If

the world

were a perfect sphere

and all the polar opposites

began to better listen and hear

each other rather than negate

their contributions,

could we maybe

become

whole

again.

 

If when

the sun were to set

we might all still look inside

each other’s lives could

we finally recognize

the similariites

and love

again.

 

If … again

Crossing The Line

Boston_-_Crosswalk_(cropped_2)

boston_crosswalk


Instinctually we choose to respond

as the heart might certain suggest,

though perhaps a practicality

draws upon a decisive measure.

 

We search the source,

find the accuracy in a stat,

insist upon certain prior

knowledge, presumably …

 

Yet there is also emotion

that piece of reality sometimes

forgotten, overshadowed,

set aside as a possibility.

 

All avenues seem accessible,

accurate, accountable, adoring,

always the human condition

presents as a family heirloom.

 

In every capacity of our lives

we are given license to know,

to react, to express

a need to seek relevance.

 

Today when we glance outside,

the world looks easy,

trees reacting to the breeze,

traffic always purposeful.

 

The cars on the street modern,

roads meant to civilize

a way of life

seems impenatrable.

 

Yet the violence is out there,

on everyone’s mind,

we are thinking about

somewhere beyond this.

 

Could be right next door,

I used to live in a flat

accessible to my entire world

within a block of my purpose.

 

Likely miles away and beyond

the reach of our compassion,

though we are told, we know,

we cannot escape the reality.

 

it is in the lines, the sort of

choices we make to care about,

show compassion, or that fear,

recognize risk reflects humanity

 

When we do choose to cross,

seems everyone is or is not …

walk inside my sordid lot,

perhaps your gain is my loss.


photograph – Wikipedia