Air of Manners Revised

Don't laugh - but always smile.
Keep your shoulders straight -
But don't keep them stiff.
Listen to the music -
Without being distracted -
And without being too focused.

 

When I Speak

I listen to the tone of your voice
Every ounce of diction you use and
The way your lips move for words
And try to see what you mean

I look at your whole body's stance
The position of your arms and legs
The shifting of your shoulders and hips
How easy you stand or move

I try to look into your eyes with mine
But keep fading over your shoulder
I match your tone and pace of words
And remind myself again to smile

I think what will you like to hear
What won't you like me to say
Am I talking too much, too little
I calculate all my possible options

How many times have we just said
Something about me or you
are they even enough to be polite
Am I talking to fast again

I focus on the sound of your voice
But it is small in this loud room
I focus on the image of your face
But there is so much moving around

I promise I am in fact very interested
But I'm not sure that you can tell
Because I am working so very hard
to just talk to you

From Conversation Revised

I don't have an answer,
For an awful lot of questions,
But wisdom is prized among peers,
And humility cherished among wise.

Noting Words Revised

Influence gained, influence lost.
One sentence tips the balance.
What words are right - for which person?
Conversation is a lot of work...

Unrequited Loves Revised

Add up a fondness for math,
A love for science,
A passion for music,
- Subtract the inability to do any,
And what does it equal?
Nowhere to start from.

 

Reflection Revised

I think I've spent so much time,
trying to  make myself speak,
 that when I open my mouth,
words just flow out and,
sometimes they're the wrong ones.

Cannon Revised

Cannon to measure me by;
An old pair of sneakers,
Pockets with only lint,
An ounce of attempted change,
Silence by the bucketful,
And words equally as plentiful.

 

 

Unsettled are the Unheard Words Revised

The mouse was afraid to speak.
Too loud and the cat would hear.
Loud enough and the dog would come.
But there were words that needed to be said!
So, its dark eyes flicked about,
And its ears twitched for hints of sound,
And when its quickened breath,
Finally whipped up enough courage it whispered,
The words which no man would ever know.

She Revised

She sat alone on the stoop today,
Because her friends had gone away,
They went to be with each other now,
And she would have waited years for them,
But they cared more for their own company,
She thinks to herself ---
"One day I'll have friends
Who love me for my quietness. They'll see
The gold in my listening and when
I choose to speak."
---
And maybe she's right

 

Turning Wheels Revised

Wheels were turning in their minds ---
The minds of those fast and focused on work --
With work they loved and hated at times.
For times sometimes lacked the dose of grace --
The grace needed for good work to be produced-
And produced samples of engaged minds.
Makes minds like those ones praise worthy -
For wheels were turning in fast time.

 

In Honor of History's Uncommon Heros Tenitively Revised

Every eye was ever fixed on their mark.
Willing to but their heads against life's wall.
Moved on by time and fate's unending arc.

Hope was dying out like a fire's last spark,
For the few who would not let others fall.
Every eye was ever fixed on their mark.

Those who dared challenge how life was so stark.
They raised themselves up to answer the call.
Moved on by time and fate's unending arc.

They who stood against odds to face the dark,
Of the sad world which beat against their gall.
Every eye was ever fixed on their mark.

They chose to on this mad journey embark.
To challenge every vile unending squall.
Moved on by time and fate's unending arc.

Now we look at their stories and remark,
They fought hard and did not once try to stall,
Every eye was ever fixed on their mark.
Moved on by time and fate's unending arc.

Become an Optimist

Take this for what it is - an adventure!
This life which is in such frail hands?
For why not make joy out of the turmoil?
What point is there in getting sad?
It is a bump in the road only nothing final?
Is it only good times that we can treat as good?
An invented hell the only home to be had?
Adventure is what life is made of not only the bad!

 

Sometimes You Need to Hear It Revised

I am not all that smart.
- she once said.
In fact I'm rather dull.
- and she believed it.
There will never be much to me.
- she sighed.
Not like those other people.
- she cried.
And who will tell her differently?

 

Teachers Change How We Talk

Shift plus letters in order make a typed word
Symbol "H" symbol "I" symbol ":" symbol ")"
A message gets sent and under a teacher's eye
Shift plus letters equal a different message
Symbol "H" symbol "E" symbols "LL" symbol "O"

 

Legacy Revised

There will always be those who have gone before -
And those who will follow.
There will always be those who are truly great -
And those who are less so.
There will always be ways for those people to live on -
And for better  or worse immortal.

Language

This puzzle was put together
Out of symbols
Which mean a lot to some people
And nothing to others

 

Judgement Call Revised

Take stock of what is to be had ---
Has been had--
Will be had-
And decide its worth somehow.

 

And I Said

Why do you care at all where you come from
A friend asked in conversation one day
Does your ancestor's name really matter
Is a blood line that important for you
A history that's worth consuming thought
All that matters is what's going on now
Who your family was is not who you are
They were sure they didn't care of their own

But I had something I needed to find
A history may not be who we are
But for some it holds a whole lot of weight
So I answered them in less words than these
If I am to be judged for past unknown
I want to know what it was all about

Spring Cleaning Revised

Clogged up minds need more than a drain snake.
And dusty thoughts need more than Swiffer.
Musty ideas need more than airing out.
And dank opinions need more than carpet shampoo.
Open minded-ness needs more than window cleaner.
And creativity needs more care than once a year.

 

Feeling Futility

Do you know the feeling of true futility?
The oppressive and severe need to move,
Coupled with the complete inability to do so.
It is not a surrender before you begin,
But the chained down utter paralysis in the midst.
It is not a sense of hopelessness to overcome you.
It is the presence of barely hope for without hope,
You would resign to not moving anymore.

 

For That One Person Revised

There is always that one person we like to say,
We all know the sort which we mean,
They are called that one person who... (whatever)
And we share our opinions freely with each other,
And I'm that one person who thinks about it too much.

 

The Needed Questions

What opportunities are worth any sacrifice
And people worth every kind of tear
Or challenges worth any kind of pain
That you would make every effort
To fulfill - maintain - and - create.

 

Our Choices Revised

If we were to stay here --
We may make some kind of a difference.
If we were to go --
We may be able to incite change.

 

Sorry Teacher Revised

I'm sorry I didn't hear you.
Unfortunately, I was yawning,
Because I'm very tired, you see.
Now I can't answer your question.

 

Dare

Don't you ever wish you
hAd an opportunity
foR some adventure to be
AppEaring at your door

When We Spoke

How often do we speak
As if someone is listening
And often do we listen
As if no one is speaking

 

Listening

The sucking sound of the wind between your
slightly parted lips
Sounds like anticipation in a fearful sense
Of some kind of
Future event which could bring joy or misery

 

Perplexed by Winter

Red nose, Red cheeks, Red lips.
Blue nose, Blue cheeks, Blue lips.
If hot and cold colors can be cold,
Why bother calling them warm?

 

Sick

The Scratch rips, my throat
Vile cold
The drain, like acid
Flows slow
The eyes, make crutches from muscles
Worn down
To nothingness, I go here watch
Me go

 

You Look Small From up Here

You look small from up here
In this tree
You've been trying to climb
Just like me
Perhaps if there was less snow
You'd do better
Maybe we should have climbed
In better weather

Childhood Logic

"Adomino Ignus"
We carved into a felled tree
Above an all seeing eye
So that when they returned
They would think twice
Before killing our memories
Which had danced in these paths
Among those trembling trees
Yet they only left when they
Had made a wasteland out of woods

 

Free Barabas

If murder is wrong, then why did it set me free?
They like their laws which first condemned me.
However, they chose to use those laws to kill another man,
And who am I to complain, I'm not going to prison again.
Yet, this man is innocent who the intend to kill,
On of the best and worst of places that solemn hill.
Justice is penalty for the crime, or so they say,
But took him somehow and gave me away.
In the end what is a man supposed to do,
With these ever changing points of view?

Don't Just Wash Your Hands

Dreams are meant to tell us something.
They tell the story of the past as if it were the present.
They show us our fear and our weaknesses so that we may improve them.
They tell the words our minds could not form while they were awake.
They whisper the truths traditions cannot hide away.
And today my dreams told me that love was going to die.
That the culmination of all that was good would fall.
I saw the face of a man, whom I may have seen before.
I saw the darkness that came when he was thrust to the threshing floor.
Dreams are meant to tell us something.
They tell us the truth our hearts know, but lips are too timid to repeat.
They tell us one crime to innocence may be worse than another to peace.
And today my dream told me that love was going to die.

 

 

Metaphor for Night

And the sky was painted by the sun
The ground was embraced by the shadow
And like a child is warmed in bed
The ground fell into gentle slumber
And Mother turned on the night light
So the moon winked on in the sky

 

Abuela

You didn't finish that one story,
The one about the little Thrush.
And I have now been waiting,
For the happy ending to come.

But you died last year ,
And I couldn't bare to ask you.
Now that my tears are a little dry,
I want or rather need to know.


The people in that old story of yours,
Were living in an Arizona drought.
And they were waiting on the Thrush,
To sing, but you never told if she did.

I thought the Thrush was like a lot you,
At the first glance plain, almost ordinary,
But when she sang she made the rain,
And made the dry land whole again.

They Joked

Here stands Memoria
A lady who is fairer
When she is remembered
Then when she is here

 

It was a funny thing

When the other car came
When its turn had expired
There was only an instant
And I had always wondered
When given this instant
Could I pray or somehow get away
Yet when this instant came
I yelled a warning to the ears
Which already knew
And then the instant was gone
And the dust slowly settled
My lungs felt sick and heavy
No injuries to any in the party
But after the panic faded
I thought that I had wasted
The instant given to me
It was a funny thing

 

Off What He Said

To borrow a phrase
Like a cup of sugar
Makes a neighbor
Of unknown speakers

 

Guitar Player

Practiced hands made
Quick work and with ease
The plucking of the strings
And without any thought
Hands made music and made
A miracle out of simple things

 

Try

The most futile
Three letter word
Which means
To expend energy
With the possibility
Of no return

 

My Brothers (Revised)

We were bound by ties stronger than our blood.
The common battle that made our bones steel.
The hot air in our lungs which had no peace,
Lifted us onto even ground and stance.
Champions should shine with uncommon light,
And we in common garb outshone the sun.
Who could break our phalanx strong arm in arm,
We grew and made tempered swords of ourselves.

And now we are grown to the lands of peace.
The past wars retired for new challenges.
For our country and future we marched on,
Our fingers are too far apart to touch.
The steel in our bones are lonely totems.
We champions are on different shores.

Criticism

Don't assume that you are the point
Does "you" have to be you every time
May they be someone else or can
You not bear a "you" or "I"
That has nothing to do with you or me

 

Reader

Obviously you're reading
Because you decided to
I can hear your thoughts from here
Tipping at the edge of boredom
As it threatens your interest
I can almost keep your attention
You chose to read today
For your own reasons
I wrote because you would read

 

 

Stories are Meant to be Told

Stories are meant to be told!
They are not birds to be caged.
But they are treated like glass dolls.
Look at them on the shelf!
Don't touch them or they may break.
But Stories are made to be broken.
Perfection is so stagnant!
Stories are meant to be tested.
Because like when people are tested.
They can grow stronger!
And if they are left on a shelf.
They will only gather dust.
That's what shelves are for!
Not trophies of shining success.
But tombstones of what could be.
If only they would be taken up!

Start

I find that when I sit to write,
The first words to hit the page,
Tend to be the same ---
I, If, She, He, and So.
Pronouns to weave a story,
And If and So are because,
I do not know ---
Where I'm going but have,
The need to go somewhere.

I Don't Know

If the world was silent
Would listening get easier
If people stopped hating differences
Would they manage to get closer
If all questions stopped being asked
Would there finally be answers
If there were no more ifs
Would the world be happier

Figure it Out

If
the
time
comes
just
try
to

Follow the Trail

Follow the trail through the old woods
the trees which build a cathedral in their branches
the leaves which carpet the ground in glory

A place of grace and beauty but look
now comes the great machines and there
falls tree after tree and scared ground destroyed

Follow the trail through the old woods
the trees carpet the ground in shame
Their bodies fallen in a war they never fought

Picture

Control
She whispered                                                                quietly
Her desperate need                                                     to be whole
While chaos played out                                        in one form or another
A symphony around her frame                         That she sadly could not quiet
This delicate building of her body               was so shaken by one crisis or the next
Assaulted by flames of fear and her needed control of all the craziness which broke her
Some other people would break under similar strains like iron in the fire and so to speak
But we are built to withstand our individual battles so her pain is her own none could bare
                   It in the same way
                     Which she does for
                       If everything were
                          Simple life would
                              Be too easy she thinks
                                     As the next tear gets
                                       Dried following the
                                          Traditions of the others                                   a
                                           Small testament to her                                 own
                                            Courage which took her                            whole
                                          Life to build up so ashes for                            a
                                        Strong frame to be built
                                     Took many firings in the
                                  Kiln and she is made into
                                Pottery to be smashed
                            And remade into a new form
                          One more beautiful because
                        The Potter grows more skilled                     it's
                          Practiced art of trial building                   taller
                             Change to again strengthen her          in stone
                                   Made character a whole person         a
                                       Piece of art made from all the broken pieces
           Of                         a beautiful phoenix to die and be reborn in some
         Newer                          sequence the same troubles come again and
        Always                   building new strength out of tested weakness
      Somehow             while she begs for control over her world she
             Is                   failing to recognize the world she shapes
                                     With every defiant return from the darkest
                                         Places of her heart and she cries about the
                                            Pain of the trial because she can't see the
                                             Beautiful picture she makes out of the ashes
                                                 O her failures and the flames of her success