Scattered Seeds

found in shells, if found at all
hide in shells, waiting for the call,
yeah
spring,
nay
winter weeping into the ground
last icy chill, to stave off the warmth
from the sun, that the ground absorbs,
and warms the whole globe in the
season.

The seeds are the ideas,
the shell or pods are what my
mind figures are the odds
of failure,
the deeper they are hidden,
or the harder the pod shell,
less than a hair’s width of fruition,
season matters not,
any cold tears,
fall caught with
rest of the marks
of failure,
why is there no warmth,
even when standing
in full sun,
… feel none.

Dead so dead, so scatter me,
like seeds, scatter me
like chaffed wheat,
all on the wind of change.

Tornado

it builds

it is built, by

layers of wind,

pressure so low,

ions of energy,

stacking, packing

waiting to attack,

with force and no recourse,

rain and hail, pale

in comparison, to 

the spin without and within,

of the column, the pillar,

just add fire, and the ire

would be more obvious,

touching down, to the ground

where people construct dreams,

but there is no emotion in

the storm, but people,

those trying  

to survive,

or revive their communities,

who are relying,

in the aftermath,

more than on memories,

splintered,

hands and hearts hang

on to one another,

for comfort,

for it is the only thing,

that makes sense after

all, the air tense with fury,

they restore,

they shore up

the courage and faith in humanity,

American quilt tested,

structures bested,

blow after blow,

yet the people remain,

lives lost, many in pain,

and they all share a refrain,

“we remain,

changed, yes, alone, not,

shared loss,

fortitude gained,

we remain, together as community”

 

 

 

 

 

Words Unexpected

words,
said too often,
heard too loudly,
new meanings,
new beginnings,
each generation,
a language unto
itself,
shelves of books,
books by the hundreds,
in one hand,
words by the millions,
stored,
absorbed?,
where to go from here,
what will be the next thing
to bring literacy,
to everyone,
a language
to be read,
their voice
to be heard,
*listening*
skills
in demand
as much as
reading,
bleeding sounds,
spoken verse,
rehearse and
memorize,
despise money
put to war,
when there are;
those not fed,
those without a bed,
those who cannot,
read a single sound,
if you are looking for
me,
if you want to put a name
to my face,
you will find me, in
the spaces, the spaces,
between these and many
other words,
find me in the spaces,
see my face,
share your gifts,
may it be then,
returned to you
unexpected.
Words of
gratitiude.

26 April

as far as days go,
this is just another one,
and i a son,
of a man,
who died, not on this day,
for this day, was his birthday,
he was not an encourager,
in things he did not understand or believe,
he was not a kind man,
but he opened doors for women,
in his chauvinistic ways,
he was a jealous kind,
he was an alcoholic kind,
he was a smoking kind,
he was blind,
to the wrongs,
that he did, and his tough language
hid a man who was a boy
always looking for the approval,
he found somewhere else,
he changed,
he grew,
he became a new creature,
before his God,
this was a good thing,
at fifty two and one third
an aneurysm
blew a small hole with
force, a pin prick in a spot
in his brain,
and drain away the good and the bad
that was my dad,
he never went back to work again,
he was there for the next twenty two years,
conversations had left me in tears,
for there was no depth,
as I would go to my car or
to catch the bus and sit, looking
back at his home then the home,
but to my fault I chose no one else
to ask the tough questions about
raising kids,
I chose no surrogate,
I went
on my way
alone,
but that is another story,
for today is his day,
remembering playing catch,
taking turns,
with my mom or my brother,
he was a carver,
he was a boat maker,
he wrote letters to politicians,
he liked to go fly fishing,
which he taught me, but I never got hooked,
but
driving him home,
from the Militia,
when he had had, imbibed too much,
muttering under his breath about the laws
and such and such,
later he came to our wedding,
and left too soon,
he and his new spouse prayed
while we hiked and fancied completing
the Appalaichan Trail with a two year old,
their prayers brought us safely home,
but at seventy four after a fall and time in a
home, he died alone, I cried out when I was
told on January 8, that day the year,
he is gone.
So today, I raised a glass of red,
took a moment and said,
thanks dad, for what you did do.
May I forgive and forget the rest.

To Thrive

to accept some of

water, food, solace-getting,

to live to give JOY.

 

Uniform

not unicorn,

uniform,

not evenly spaced,

rows of carrots and radishes,

brash, impertinences,

get your heels together,

wear the right clothing for the weather,

political storms or commonplace rhetoric,

be a soldier first and take care of your uniform,

for inspection,

for introspection, Wundt?

be soldier first and take care of each other’s back,

in uniform,

break a man or woman, to build them up to be a leader,

not a ladder for others to climb up and over, corporately speaking,

now to the nitty gritty,

PTSD

is the real deal,

some wield it as an individual weakness,

questioning a soldier’s fitness,

trying to shock them out

of a state of mind,

that makes them blind to their current surroundings

                                                        a hounding fear,

and irrational thought,

what a price look what you bought,

by expecting superiors, who ought to cover your back,

out you to a p o l i c y,

slippery slope if you come back broke,

they want to give you

to some one else to fix,

irresponsibility,

that is the lunacy,

that is the uniform, civilian attire 

they now want you to wear,

really, they don’t care,

because they don’t understand,

IT won’t go away at their command,

they want to see the troops, soldier on,

                      like nothing had gone worng.

The Early Edition

can’t hear the street noise,
windows closed by choice,
boyz’n girlz play with toys,

cars, trucks and motorcycles,
the boulevard rumbles in cycles,
but what if it were only bicycles,

oh let’s not forget the transit buses,
without them there would be fussy,
folks unable get to work if it was sunny, and
                                                     dusty,
                                                 or slushy,
                                                 or muddy,

birds whistle, crows caw, some young
seagull already lost, calling out “spring has sprung”
and “can’t find you”, pack of coyotes howl, the young

whoop it up over a first kill,

an early morning kill,

not for the thrill of a new skill,
but to provide, as
in nature no one gets a free ride.

Swirls

mind whirling at what needs doing,

light bulbs to change, screws, need screwing,

walls need paint and trim needs redoing,

then there is taxes and faxes,

and telephone conversation,

these undone deeds, create the wrong tension,

I need to migrate to a island retreat,

but air fare, air travel to get me there,

into the unknown armed conflict

of a war in any third world,

leaves me swirling

like leaves in tea,

leaves me twirling,

like the better part

of

me

down

the

drain,

who knows where I would end

up, not knowing is curling my

ugly toes, which is the only thing

I own, other than unrequited dreams,

that tug my head off of the cold side of

the pillow on my bed, that I am pulled to

my feet too early to greet the day,

I speed wobble on slow,

as I am not awake enough

to go, in a straight line, like

an arrow, across the space,

to look closely at that face,

that only appears, in my swirling

dreams.

 

Spending Words

The worth,

of you, of the guy staring at you on the

train or transit bus,

the fuss that your mom’s mom,

makes when you come to visit,

you thought you’d surprise her,

but how did she know when

you would show, as fresh cookies,

are in the oven and cooling on

that wire rack, that rack, has seen more

chocolate chip oatmeal cookies,

than you have watched reruns,

of your favorite sitcom, or aroma of more

ginger snaps have filled that room

while resting there on that rack,

than you have

wrested computer generated,

weapons and warfare victories,

from your first person shooter,

but when she says she loves you,

it takes you back to when,

visits were valuable,

holidays were awesome,

but then you grew,

the taller and older,

till one day you refused,

to go, you did choose,

to stay home and take

care of the fish tank,

with the three fish,

that were going to help you

with your paper, you were sure,

IT was going to get you that

scholarship, and that all the baked

cookies, all the butterflies that

let themselves, participate in your

catch and release program,

with your friendly net, all summer long,

were building appreciation and character,

humility and humanity,

when you were younger and your grandpa

was taller, until the day they laid him in the

Earth, that day was the day you started,

carrying pictures, not just on your phone,

but real pictures of real people,

who mattered and their lives invested in yours,

more than the thousand words,

that the picture had saved,

and the people in those pictures,

saved you too, with love.

Go ahead, be about spending words,

but save those pictures.

 

 

Sun Rise

The sun rose every where today.

Just like in Ancient of Days,

        and as for the the future,

let’s pray it stays that way,

Ugly chaos consumes the street

I walked my dog along, some guy

picking through another’s belongings,

on a lawn, shattered window repaired twice,

some one was evicted, somebody was not nice,

or did not pay the rent, maybe he was arrested,

and missed rent  day, being locked away,

this is just one day, on this one street,

there are millions of streets with stories like this on repeat,

and as I was walked with in twenty feet,

I thought I ought to mind my eyes,

I probably am twenty bucks away from the same demise.

But I remembered today, there was a Sonrise.