Playground III

August 28, 2017
With age
Innocence wanes
–youth corrupted by influence,
And the many
Are pushed by the few
Without intervention
so spoil the lot

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Playground II

August 16, 2017
Our children play,
A spectral epidermal display
They have no reason to hate,
Play and fun is the objective,
They challenge and boost each other up
They care not of
Color of skin,
country of origin,
Language,
Faith,
Gender
Sexual Orientation

But they will soon learn,
Oh, they will be informed
That this play must have order,
Rules,
Time will teach them
To see difference,
And make labels,
With which to hate one another.
If only one could bottle
These moments
To relieve when older,
Before time and bias
taint our innocence

 

Things Have Changed

Written 2017

2011 – Age
“He’s an old man, ignore him.
Don’t let his talk bother you–he’s stuck in his ways, you can’t change him now…
But things have changed, so you don’t have to worry about it.
It’s not like there will be a cross burning in the front yard tonight. ”

2003 – Waiting
Things have changed

“Things have changed,” I’ve been saying that to myself my entire life. Meanwhile,  at the same time I have felt a great urgency in the need to “save the world” from the unchanged.

But things have changed. I want to believe that, to feel safe; Continue reading “Things Have Changed”

Playground

August 7, 2017

Wordlessly,
We’re instantaneous friends,
Down slides,
Pushing one another on swings,
Wound around monkey bars,
We see but do not judge color,
We are close in age,
But developmental milestones apart,
The sand sifts under feet
And is pounded as we run,
In wonder we laugh
About everything
And nothing,
We make games,
With rules
We break as we go,
Imagination colors everything
Technicolor,
And we see things and each other
Not just as they are
But how we might imagine them to be,
Guardians watch our play
With vigilance and quiet amusement
We will lose this play with age,
But for now we are carefree adventurerers,
On the terrain of our childhood.

 

Vicarious Summer Discovery

July 26, 2017

Cushion of soft, warm grass underfoot,
Fiery lick of sun upon skin,
Subtle scent of windblown fields,
Wind whispers through forest greens,
Distant roar of running motors,
Background chirp of busied birds,
And the vocal squeak and groan of children’s swings,

She vicariously relives
forgotten childhood memories,
Via her daughter’s green gaze
Of a midsummer wonderland