I sit, legs crossed, typing away
Doing homework, my hair uncombed
Listening to songs I don’t love but don’t hate
And I stare out the window and wonder,
Is there something more than this?
And my fingers type away
In a never-ending game
It’s raining. I feel nothing
Writing bad poems in the dark, and I wonder,
Is there more to me than this?
Procrastination, adrenaline, headphones,
Cell phones, whiteboards, deodorant,
Romance, hardback books, college, drama,
Movies, concerts, lectures, hormones,
And I wonder,
Is there more to youth than this?
My thoughts are scattered, my eyes unfocused
My brain stretched in five directions
And I don’t know who to be
Because we’re pebbles in a muddy stream
And in a world of distractions, 8 billion voices ask,
Is there more to life than this?
TO BEING ON BOARD *
I can remember when
It was blackboards,
Which have been replaced
By their whiteboards;
Loaded with selective
Brainwashing videos:
Primarily coded to entertain
Rather than educate;
Particularly, if you’ve not chosen
Teaching as a labor of love:-
When asked how could I, at 83,
Teach without a whiteboard,
I simply replied that I was
A live retired living blackboard:
Programmed by God’s divine wisdom
And guidance to continue to engage
In a labor of love—teaching and sharing
Inspirational and dedicated problem-solving
Skills to the chosen future liberators:-
In our school, there's a bustling classroom
with eager minds that shine and zoom
through lessons, one by
one, reaching high.
From a teacher's
nurturing care,
knowledge
sprouts
and
grows.
In this learning tree, young ideas
cover notebooks and whiteboards
with bright, fresh concepts.
They are powerful;
even the shy and
hesitant start
to share
their
thoughts.
The classroom hums with curiosity,
questions bloom like spring flowers,
minds opening to new worlds.
Students feed on wisdom,
hungrily plucking
insights from
the tree of
learning.
The artist looks at the meadow,
He remembers details when all others…
Forget.
Uniquely transformed…
By the sites, he has seen, forever.
Upon arrival at his home,
The soldier gathers strength.
Supported!
The studio is open,
waiting for the gladiator,
to do battle with canvas…,
New breath to stone,
Images… set free…
Re-born.
Now,
No longer waiting…
Impatient.
Whiteboards, White paper,
Sketches of black and color…
Racism?
Nay,
Expressions of non-compliance
to the ideas of others!
“Art”.
“Off with their heads…”
The queen dou’th call,
I do not like what you draw!
The green is wrong,
All out of place,
The song is loud,
heard clear in space.
The soul behind the vision,
of something, barely seen,
Shared with empty “toons”
from the newest meme.
This is basic and beyond just “beautiful”.
All men should gather, take heed and see.
Remember.
As deities undress
Sidesaddle the monk
Who’s utterly confused
To see atrocities wax
A sculpting bulldozing
Branding a blueprint
Spewed unto man
Irrigating sewage
Leaking in shoes
Stomping out dogma
In spangled shawls
Confetti balloons fall
As subjectivity subjects
Each a unique nook
To harbor opinions
Cultivating folly trees
Aiding sleeps process
As conclusions draw
Brisk as a piece
Fired on whiteboards
Washing whitewaters
Drifting down to the next
Who believe they know
The universe's edge