I’m a kid

immigration

remember that
first time an
adult held me in their arms?
a precious moment
complete vulnerability
so now today
while I stand alone
there is a population
of feigned ignorance
mysteriously forgetting I
belong

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Sweet Albatross

albatross and sailboat

would that we might
seek refuge
in a distance
be aware of our
surroundings
I will guide you by wing
sweeping upon distant
perils and swallows
trust me
for it is my
guidance
would you chance
in the grips of Nature’s siege
upon a
human
whose quiet
fallibility
reveals itself
in a distant
memory.

Always Practical

Was it always this simple

The practical practice

Of knowing one another

So the strengths and weakness

Might somehow balance

 

Were we that naïve in beginnings

A trip to Europe

See the world and imagine life

From a perspective beyond

The normalcy we are taught to hold.

 

I remember the time I came

Down early, the hostel,

One of the last really crowded ones,

I saw him,

Sitting across from you with interest.

 

I’d noticed that look before

A short smile

Guarded yet with an innocence that

Suggested,

Yes this is the way it can be.

 

I wonder about practicality,

Sitting in the sunroom,

A cigarette burns to imagine

Statues as a sort of hip décor,

When inside a human being despaired.

 

I tried to tell you that quiet morning,

When reddened your eyes

Wouldn’t change their hue

We no longer, well I didn’t

We hadn’t been whom we knew.

Only The Glow of My Laptop

midnight

It is a summer night now to be sure

My mind is beyond always elsewhere here

I wonder listen to the bullfrog near

Lily pad in fiction’s eerie picture

 

I wait for the silence of night rhythm

Tells me of some other creature nearby

A passing wolf, perhaps more fox in sly

Quiet wood serenade in Nature’s hymn

 

Sheltered in a structure deep in forest

A man imagines life is elsewhere now

Though tell me natural sound like this how

Often we forget this simple task best

 

There’s a beaver pond outside my window

Tells me life begins well beyond my know


Photo – Pinterest

Fighting Ignorance

This word popped into my lexicon

today, while basking

in the setting sun,

I wondered aloud about

what it is we seem to focus

upon while all around

our familiar ground,

the ignorance of life

seems drawn to

interfere with

a

quiet reality.

 

Sweet ignorance

the bliss of our lives

suddenly has feet

begins its walk again,

when a man,

a seeming professional

screams a rant at his own fear

in order to make a point,

that was already denied

fifty years ago,

when the time for

ignorance

seemed waning

rather than gaining.

 

We do sometimes choose to ignore

that purveyor of our deepest passion.

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.

I Would Wait For This Moment

If it meant two people from opposite sides might smile,

I would wait for the final moment,

if I could know it was coming soon, we might lose denial

to recognize the beauty of Man,

beyond the animal, far and away we might know

the human condition,

it all of its fervor,

trying forever to recognize the places

our minds might go,

but if in the moment,

I measured race to be an entity

of sharing love and passion and a compassion

for the well being of the misunderstand,

then certainly it might be the classroom,

the place where lives we touch,

could smile again,

look upon each other in a sea of clouds,

both distant and frankly above,

and through that atmosphere

of a certain unknowing,

might we then,

remember where this all began,

in a place we might call love,

yet,

understanding beyond the mystique

does lay the real,

we would then shout from the rooftops,

we now know how to look one another

in the eye,

sharing a pleasant catharsis.

is it as known as the love we might have shown.