Strong

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…

…strong.

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...

...strong.

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…

...strong

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…

...strong

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

                                                ...you 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 

                                                    parents…

                                the fireman

                                                ...into the blaze, up the stairs, Let’s get you out of here….

                                the cancer patient

                                                ...today 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.

               

               

               

                

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 kid 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.

Drive

            the ball comes down court

            hands ready.

Pick sets.

            flash around, shoulder to shoulder

Post up.

            ball pops the hand

            to the net.

Drive!

            new opponent takes the court,

            smug cancer.

Pick sets.

            team rallies, shoulder to shoulder,

Post up.

            Compo, head up high,

            undefeated.

Drive.

            athletes across the conference

            wear pink.

Pick sets.

            all the Jack Pine, shoulder to shoulder,

Post up

            a number 32

            with love.

Drive.

Set It Up

SET

Commands coach

As the guard crosses mid-court,

Arm raised, two fingers out.

Two, he yells, running the offense.

Forward cuts to the high post.

Center drops down the paint.

The ball passes left,

Reverse, swing it round.

Shuffle, step, pick is set.

Turn, bounce pass…..

IT,

However, had started on day one

When coach called all to the base line,

Running passing drills, lay-ups,

Conditioning with sprints.

Then it became the go to play,

The bread and butter routine,

Going for the bucket.

Only here, it varies with

Three on the clock, down by one.

UP

Goes the ball,

From the fingertips with patience

To the hoop with urgency;

A title on the line.

A touch on the glass,

Held breath, roll on the rim,

A cheer from the crowd.

Completes the play that took a season.

A Teacher of Art

Today, he was sitting on the bench,

Sketch pad and pencil in hand.

The wind ruffled the paper

While clouds dimmed the world.

I have seen him about the town.

Sketching, drawing, painting

In bright summer dancing in color

And dismal winter of charcoal gray.

I sat next to him and glanced at his work.

His hands were sturdy, the fingers gentle.

“Wouldn’t it be easier in a studio?” I asked.

He adjusted his pad, hand flickered on.

Paints have to spill,” he said.

“Brushes have to hit, tickle, and wave;

Pencils cut, trace, kiss, and break;

And easels get knocked down.”

“Color must be grabbed, smelled,

Rubbed between fingers and tasted.

Form dances, skulks and caresses.

Light and shade play hide and seek.”

 He closed his pad and pocketed pencils.

“Yes, it would be easier in a studio.”

With crinkled eyes, he threw me a wink.

“But, then how fun would that be?”

This poem is a part of the Wordz collection.