good morning sunshine
dreams dissipate in the cup
consciousness awakes
poetry
Imperfection
The teen sees my work
Don’t crop it – resolution!
Now it’s lopsided
Leaf Me Alone*
Cacophony reigns
Second to last day of school
Silence beckons me
*Just being funny. I actually had a great day with my students. But they were loud.
Relating
If you can be happy whether or not you get that (name the external thing), then you are truly happy.
Byron Katie
Commonly Kept
ornery goldfish
in search of the next nibble
never satisfied
Sunshiny Day*
clouds come and go
the blue sky is always there
“overcast” can provide respite
without variety, life would be boring
* A great song no matter the weather, “I can See Clearly Now” by Johnny Nash
Honeyed Words
Words are flowers,
blooming in their own time
we buzz and buzz in our colonies
some of us make honey
Asian in Arizona
I glance up and see him, pushing his shopping cart
he is sporting overalls and an enormous white beard
I’m sure he drives a white truck with flag (U.S. or Confederate?)
I’ve been accosted by his type before, in Iowa:
Hey Jap! Go back where you came from!
So I am wary
He’s speaking to me right now
They have a sale on bananas! A whole bag for just a dollar!
He points to a small paper brown bag in his cart
Your kids will love ’em!
I’m jolted – surprised – dismayed
How does he know I have kids?
And I realize that what is in my cart
are bags of suspicion, dread and cynicism
Amending…
He sighs as I speak
I’m his teacher
why talk about guns?
He loves them
I recount my weekend
driving up steep hills to find a lake
gunshots all around me
men with rifles and cans of beer (target shooting)
My dog was quivering beneath the seat
I express my distaste of weapons
Have I crossed a line?
THE line?
It’s a funny time…
When two comes before one
Walt’s Spider
A Noiseless Patient Spider
BY WALT WHITMAN
A noiseless patient spider,
I mark’d where on a little promontory it stood isolated,
Mark’d how to explore the vacant vast surrounding,
It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand,
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space,
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them,
Till the bridge you will need be form’d, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
Brought to you by http://www.PoetryFoundation.org
Kismet 