Out of Order

Out of order

The door is covered in paper, but the light is on inside.
A white piece of paper held to the window with a single yellow strip of tape.
Out of order, it says.
Up and down, up and down.
Forward and back, forward and back.
Ears covered but noises abound.
Forward with the words, backward with the melody.
Suddenly more resistance, suddenly less.
Constant motion, willing it to stop.
Cold and hard in hand.
Around and around and around.
Going somewhere, but going where?
Beating faster, seeing darker.
Brighter suddently, seeking attention.
Concentration limited, refocused.
Inside, seeing what?
A sign taped over the door.
The door, covered in paper.
Out of order.

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Stop Bullying.

It may not be the primary cause of the day but it should be a focus of each of us every day: stop bulling. Now. It happens in schools and in neighborhoods and at camps and in the workplace. It matters. Please share.

Journey of the Dreamer

Journey of the Dreamer

All black, yet still he sees.
Images flashing through his mind, a smile upon his lips.
All around, there is a buzzing but he hears it not.
Music plays in his ears.

Haze lifts, transforms into white and gray cotton-ball looking
Clouds.
Clouds rise up, blue skies appear
Pure.
Pure blue into the horizon where the sun brightly
Shines.

As the world moves by, thoughts move
forward.
The future.

Ideas pervasive.
Opportunities endless.

Shaking slightly, sometimes more.
May be present but maybe distracted.
Happily perpetual motion.
Brightly. In the eyes.
Lines distorted, forward.
On the journey.

Not The Same

Look up.
Open your eyes.
To the beauty and variety of nature.
Differences that complement one another.
And create the whole.
A better place.

The Special People In Our Lives

I haven’t posted anything in a while. I do want to share what was on a recent birthday card from my Grandma. This is certainly true of the special people in my life –

The Special People in Our Lives

by Emily Matthews

The things special people
just naturally do
Make all our lives brighter
and happier, too –
It might be the warmth of a welcoming smile,
Or the time someone takes
just to visit awhile…
It might be a hug
or a heart-to-heart talk,
A companion who’s willing
to go for a walk…
It might be a favor,
a kind, helping hand,
A listening ear,
the words, “I Understand.”
They’re little things,
but we know beyond doubt
Each one’s at the heart
of what life’s all about.

I Close My Eyes And Smile

I close my eyes and smile.
Not because something amazing just happened.
Just because.
Just because I was thinking.
I was thinking about what makes me happy.

I close my eyes and smile.
You see, I was looking at old pictures.
Old memories.
Old memories of meaningful times in my life.
I was thinking about the people who are important to me.

I close my eyes and smile.
I hear music from my earphones playing softly.
Playing meaningfully.
Playing meaningfully through these memories.
I was thinking about how our senses are intertwined with memories.

I close my eyes and smile.
Not because someone just did something extraordinary.
Just because.
Just because they were, they are.
I was thinking about what makes me smile.

The Station: A Poem

Trains come rumbling through the station all day.
Nearby, roads are crumbling under tires.
Black locomotives glow from the sun’s ray.
Smoke fills the air blown by the coal fires.
Inside, the clink clank of change in machines;
A man waits on the chair, tears in his eyes,
Dressed in a flannel shirt and baggy jeans.
Dragging paper bags, he thinks of the lies.
So long ago he was sent to the street,
Left with nothing but the clothes on his back.
Never had money or enough to eat.
Ready for change he looks out to the track.
Black smoke rises, it won’t be a while.
Taken aback, he’s greeted with a smile.

The Circle Game

I was going through old files with my Grandma today and came across the lyrics to one of my favorite camp songs: The Circle Game.  I always enjoyed this song and now that I have rediscovered it, I find it to be relevant again, just at a different part of the circle.

Yesterday, a child came out to wander
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star

And the seasons they go ’round and ’round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

Then, the child moved ten times ’round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like, “When you’re older”, must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams

Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town
And they tell him, “Take your time. It won’t be long now.
‘Til you drag your feet to slow the circles down”

And the seasons they go ’round and ’round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game

So the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through.

And the seasons they go ’round and ’round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and ’round and ’round
In the circle game
And go ’round and ’round and ’round in the circle game.

Don’t Quit

My Grandma shared this poem with me.  Someone gave it to her when my Grandpa was sick.  I like it a lot:

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will; when the road you’re trudging seems all up hill;
When the funds are low and the debts are high; and you want to smile, but you have to sigh;
When care is pressing you down a bit, rest if you must – but don’t quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns, as everyone of us sometimes learns.
And many a failure turns about when he might have won had he stuck it out.
Don’t give up; though the pace seems slow – you might succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than it seems to a faint and faltering man.
Often the struggler has given up, when he might have captured the victor’s cup.
And he learned too late, when the night slipped down, how close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out – the silver tint of the clouds of doubt –
And you never can tell how close you are, it may be near when it seems afar.
So stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit – it’s when things seem worst that you mustn’t quit.

Poetry Category

I have added a new “category” to my blog for poetry.  I used to love creative writing, but over the last few years have been doing it less and less.  I enjoy the ability to express myself through words and develop meaning through imagery.  While life is as busy now as ever, it may well be a good time to start positing some of my old poems and begin composing new ones.  I will occasionally post works by other authors and will, of course, note these as such.

I think I will enjoy this.  I hope you will as well.