The school comes alive once more as the students return
to work towards fulfilling their goal with a purpose to learn
to choose a career path that makes their dreams come real
to embrace the curriculum with enthusiasm and zeal
when called all together to assemble as one family in the hall
the address of the principal you can hear when a pin fall
who clearly outlines the safety rules for everyone to follow
that no one will have any reason to live with regret tomorrow
every child is important as the weakest link of a chain
for the reason of attendance is that knowledge be their gain
The role of the teacher is a sacred bond for every student to see
who walk alongside the students to ensure what it means to be free
the student must see through the teacher's eye whatever being thought
that the twist of the future will be shaped by everything brought
Tide thins over pitted sandstone.
A knot of kelp loosens itself.
Under a skin of clear water,
something palm-sized breathes
among seagrass and Neptune’s necklace.
A bare foot pauses above the pool.
A child’s hand makes a shadow.
Its arms pour through a crack in the stone,
tasting the rock with pale suckers.
The creature answers
with rings of impossible light—
beautiful as jewellery.
Now blue:
not sky-blue, not water-blue—
blue struck from a wire,
blue coins opening,
small halos switched on
around dark centres,
exact as a warning sign.
The tide turns in the pool,
lifting the necklace of beads.
One by one, the blue coins close.
It becomes a dark shadow,
folded into the rock’s breathing—
a small secrecy the tide cannot name.
One night, I awoke remembering
the end of a dream like a movie trailer
Between shrouds of murky clouds unfolding
I saw the ancient wooden face carved on a totem
Perhaps an anonymous spokesman at death’s door
Perhaps my projection, just my reflection
or a phantom, a disturbing conundrum, I dare not say
I felt a withering mortality at my core
Yet, it contained all my living tree rings within
my years of stories, husky or thin
This shaman totem mask began to slowly speak
At first its mystical verse was somewhat oblique
Then in rich, tranquil tones, in humane inflexions
the face spoke, redolent and subliminal in my thoughts
Breathing deeply, I intuited what I was taught
Some seek refuge in still flower gardens
in stationary reflective pools of quiescence
in glistening golden altars to numina
But these material places are ever-changing
Illumination is the great revelation rearranging
of the consciousness animating all things
Another spring
Counting rings
No longer dark
Dog days wait, for their bark
Signaling life has been in bloom
And soon
A beautiful reality will arrive
You do not really die
Glorious sunshine
Photosynthesis dines
Fed well
From nature's magic spell
Can't you tell?
Arbor figure matures
Always sure
About wilderness’ door
No one ignores
Relaxed, whistling tunes
Branches dance and swoon
Turning everything green
Shade is an escape dream
Then things turn
Brown and burn
Chilling breeze sighs
Giving a ride
To the foliage who occupy
Twigs ready to say goodbye
Fall scheduled to begin
Giving the end
A win
Low temperatures chattering bite
Haunting the cool night
Crumbled leafs descend
Crinkling no bend
Completing their beauty rein
Realizing it's just a plants game
Meeting with the rake
Realizing the bag is ready to take
Them to the disposable bin
No need to call a next of kin
Since they will be shred
Rip and dead
Until spring
And another ring
Appears
Exclaiming the tree is here
Giving a reason
To celebrate each season
Letting the seeds
Do their deed
And grow more trees
Nobody can see
the oldest part of my life—
inside my old bark
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA ~ land of the free
May God continue to shine His light on thee
It's a glorious time to show pride in celebration
of independence fought for and won by our nation.
Where after the tragedy of wars, freedom rings
giving reason for voices raised to gladly sing
to pay honor to our flag of red, white and blue
Stars and stripes waving over me; over you.
It's been flying high for twenty-five decades
So, it's time to rejoice with patriotic parades
and the fireworks streaming in our spacious skies
are reflected in the respectful light of our eyes.
That would be a lot of candles on top of a cake,
each one burning, waiting for a wish to make
that America will prosper as it never has before
as the land of opportunity from shore to shore.
*Looking forward to a greater America when the
current presidency ends the embarrassment,
and new office holders return respect to our country.
If you want to participate
in the pool events
at the Olympic rings
you literally have to be
right in the swim of things
and you really ought
to be on top of things
if the balance beam
is your sport
or if it's high jump hurdles
or pole vault
you should get over them
to a fault
the Olympic rings were created
giving athletes wings
by Charles Pierre de Frédy Baron de Coubertin
dubbing him 'Lord of the Rings'
I wear a ring of wedding
a tiny thing, a golden circle
that glows on my finger with
the sparkle of God’s gilded sun
let such beauty itself proclaim
to the wandering eyes of man
that I have no use of nettling admirers
that I live under wedded sovereignty
and tame their interest and superior want
but in somber secret
let apologies be made
for I fly under false colors
I have taken no vows
the thing is a lie, a cheat,
a passport to peace
that I wear like a shield
against some fair suiter’s caprice
.
.
A song for this:
When will we be married by The Waterboys
Wedding Bell Blues by Laura Nyro
November calls, I hear the rings
It must be you, this late at night
Descend down here on the wings
Just like I thought you might
I feel rejected by your glance
When we get out of touch
While hoping for another chance
I dream of it too much
This puts reality away
Like in John Lennon’s song
Imagine us alive today
Too soon that dream was gone
November calls, and I’m aware
It must be you, who else
Would ring this time out of nowhere
No matter the expense.
"Smoke Rings"
I light the morning, slow and thin,
A spark that hums beneath my skin.
The paper sighs, the ember blooms,
And joy drifts softly through the fumes.
Each breath, a promise small, divine,
A borrowed sun I call it mine.
It burns too quick, it fades too soon,
A wisp of gold beneath the moon.
Ash falls quiet, like gentle snow,
Reminding me how moments go.
We chase the glow, we sip, we spin
Exhale, begin, inhale again.
And though it ends it always will
That fleeting warmth is with me still.
For happiness, like smoke, must flee
But oh, how sweet its brevity.
The wedding venue burnt without flame
the moment we stepped in.
You and I, hand in hand, step by step—
we laughed till our facials started aching,
we danced until the floor grew tired.
That was the story of our first day in love.
Twenty five years after marriage~
we now hardly speak,
our children hardly know us.
We rise too early, return too late,
stealing only minutes for
good morning
and how was your night,
before the routine begins again.
Nannies cradle our children in their arms—
they bathe them, clothe them,
and sing them lullabies meant to be sung by us.
Last night I saw your first gray strand,
glinting as you hurried into your car.
I smiled—you’ve joined
my five-year-old company of grays.
Darling,
how many more years
will we remain strangers tied by rings?
When will our children truly be ours?
Forgive me for leaving this note in your shoes,
but I wanted you to find it
before leaving for work this morning.
Of eleven children he was the first
and from an early age
for research had a thirst
his love of dogs was no surprise
highly regarded
he received the Nobel Prize
altho' no longer around
of all those that ever were
I clearly like the sound
as with food it goes so well
and if nothing else
the name 'Pavlov' rings a bell
Each ring alone
too big to fit,
slips on finger,
disclosing its excess.
Too tight the hold,
the urge to control.
Too much the hope
to fill the void,
the more it squeezes,
the embrace to yield.
But, when entwined and combined,
the three rings loop and interface
to make a perfect fit for finger.
A trinity in harmony.
The doorbell rings less
As dust assembles
On once polished seats
The old coffee pot
Misses a few beats
As cups gather hopefully
Voices linger
Held by the silence
Seeking a response
The phone chimes
A face time visitor
Fulfilling a duty
Soon they will share
Unvalidated memories
Speak of love
Their words will be lost
In the silence
And the phone rings
Your name splashed across my screen
I answer but you are not there
Were you ever?
A thousand times my hand has hovered
Balanced over your number
Torn between wanting
Knowing what will happen
Clinking glasses, muffled voices
Straining, to hear you again
Waiting, wanting, hoping
But it’s too late
Too late to be calling me
Another reckless accident
The definition of us
A fitting epitaph in echo
Then ended, so you know
I delete the number, again
So it can’t be me
It never was me.
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