Wednesday, March 7, 2018


Roller coaster games
go with the season.
Let’s build it up.
Hard practices
Jammed fingers throb
Banged knees
A loss that hurts deep
Together, we grow…

Rivals come at us
trying take us down.
Coach yells the mantra.
“Tough D”
“Hands high”
“Cut the baseline”
“Take care of the ball.”
Together, we breathe...

Down by seventeen.
A title on the line.
Let’s chip away.
Crash the boards
Teamwork passing
A three
Steal the ball and go
Together, we play…

On into tournaments,
a David with a stone.
Let’s raise our chin.
Look ‘em in the eye
Let them see the fire in ours
Here we come
A team that plays hard.
Together, we stand…

Sunday, February 25, 2018


When I fall,
Or am I pulled?
Deep into the dark
Uncertainty of purpose
And identity
No one or nothing can save me.
I am buried
Like a pebble in mud,
Trapped, immobile
Clinging slog.
I can’t breathe!
I surrender,
And wait to disappear.
Yet, I see me.
I see a tiny kernel
Of me,
Compacted, condensed
And real.
I am...
It’s the part if me
That cannot be crushed.
The essence of stuff
That makes me...

Sunday, September 17, 2017

Wonder Woman

She brought her daughters to the doctor.
One was sick and miserable, sad face pout.
The younger, six or so, bright eyed smile
wearing her Wonder Woman dress.

It was still bright red and blue, stars white.
Yet, it was worn, wrinkled, weathered.
The cape had a tattered shaggy corner.
The hem seam pulled, thread dangling.

About the waiting room, another eyes watched
as she, quietly, defended with steps and twirls.
The mother, while cradling the eldest, smiled;
like the dress, a bit worn, was strong.

As mothers do, she looked about the room
Checking if her youngest was a bother.
Proud and friendly eyes met her’s
saying she is fine. We all are fine.

An elderly woman grinned and winked,
and the mother could see beyond.
Every woman had a Wonder Woman outfit
beneath their exterior of today.

Yes, some are frayed and dented
from years of life and challenges.
Some with proud pink ribbons
or battered bracelets from a fight.

Motherhood and jobs and children
pulled many threads, torn seams.
Yet, proudly she wears the colors true,
head high and shoulders square.

From the door, the doctor came in.
A young women, twenties, was with.
She had on a Wonder Woman T
and a sad face holding tears.

A quirk of fate, created this circle stage
from young to old, fresh to wise.
In the spotlight the little girl stood.
She stepped to the young woman.

Brandishing her bracelet, she spoke,
“Touch yours to mine. Have my strength.”
Mother blinked at her daughter’s words.
Yet, the young woman, grinning, kneeled.

They touch wrists, bracelet to bracelet.
Little girl dabbed the tear of the other.
“Sisters in battle,” said the little Gal.
“Sisters in life,” said the other.

There was no flash or thunder about,
but a wave of energy did surge.
Rocking the souls of the women,
Blessing their essence with power.

All about smiled, knowing, the gift
brought by the little girl in red and blue.
Taller, they became, chin high and proud.
Their strength for life bold and renewed.

Saturday, June 3, 2017

What Will Your Verse Be?

The graduate glances around the gym, looking for faces.
                A classmate catches his eye.
She smiles, pointing to her cap
                                                she tilts her head.

Stenciled in white on the black cap, “What will your verse be?”
She was quoting Mr. K, quoting a movie
where another Mr. K, quotes a poem.
                He chuckles at the layered attribution.

...a line tickles in his brain…
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
...the lesson for the class….
a metaphor, life being the play
                                                [pause for effect, eye contact]
“What will your verse be?”
                “Was that Mr K from the movie or the class that asked?”

The question, like him, took a seat and listened.
                Then it tapped him on the shoulder and whispered.
The girl, sitting not far, felt the words trickle from her cap,
drip into her veins, infuse in her blood.

“What will your verse be?”
                Echoes in their thoughts,
others stepped on stage,
                not the usual speakers... but visions…

Each say, My verse will be…
the soldier
                                                ...a click, me jumping, tackling my buddy from harm…
                                the nurse
                                                ...the hand I hold, saying it’s alright, I am here…
                                the mom
                                       got it, I’m letting go of the bike. Woohoo, look at you…
                                the dad
                                                ...uh, yeah, that dress. You look...beautiful...grown up…
                                the cop
                                                …drying a tear. Passing a stick of gum. We’ll find your 
                                the fireman
                                                ...into the blaze, up the stairs, Let’s get you out of here….
                                the cancer patient
                                       I wear bold lipstick, wear pink, and walk proud…
                                the artist
                                                ...inspired by life, capturing the moment of true peace…

“What will your verse be?”

                ...the question, like the graduation cap, had hit him again
during the celebratory rainfall of tassels and thunder of cheers.
And with a smile, he gives it back to her.
In that moment, as both hands touch the words,
                they see Mr. K, a sparkle in his eye,
                                and his verse in their powerful play.


Friday, May 5, 2017

One of Those Days

In early, he preps the day’s lessons.
A copier jam backlogs tasks at hand.
In the hall, toner on fingers, he listens.
The student’s bad day needs an ear.

Voluntary review before the bell.
She encourages the few that attend.
In her morning bustle, she forgot
her bagel on the counter at home

He sits heavily in his chair.
Quizzes graded, some too low.
Lunch at his desk, he searches
for aspirin and a new approach.

Confused faces stare at her.
Connections to a unit failed.
Restless kids disrupts the class.
After referral, she thinks what if.

He shrugs on his coat, shuffles home.
Orthodontist bill sits next to cold dinner.
Quietly, he nibbles as he reads
State standards changes policies again.

A cat rubs her ankles in dim light.
The essays graded sit to the side.
She sips at her tea, pondering tv.
No, she promised bake sale cookies.

On his nightstand, a marine pin and
A ceramic bowl from past students.
On her laptop screen an Email flickers.
A thank you from a student brings a tear.

Yeah it's been one of those days.
Among the struggles, a brief shiny why.
He will go onward, bright and early.
She will, gladly, proudly, do it again.

Saturday, December 17, 2016

Perfect Peace

When the moon, still aglow, is bedded down
                In a haze of clouds as her blanket,
Her glowing dance among the stage of stars,
                Graceful and bold, now completed
Before the sun whispers dawn in the east,
                And peeks over his shoulder
Then rise, chase, shout, pause and burn,
                The chariot’s full pace, yet to begin.

There is this pause, a quiet moment,
                Between the breaths of day and night,
Between Earth’s heartbeats, a silence,
                A stillness, a rest, a perfect peace.

Saturday, December 3, 2016

Writer's Lament

Fingers tap at keys, without rhythm, to find words,
Trying to tell the story, capture the poem,
Struggling to add meaning to a phrase or two.

The hand scribbles with a pen a stumble of letters
Pulling at the thread of an idea
Untwisting the scrambled jumble of the mind.

The writer, heart in hand, soul in need, mind in fog,
Struggles to grasp the wisp of words whispered by the muse
In a whirlwind of thought during the rumbling roller coaster of life…

...and put them on the page.