Tag Archives: Anti-Bullying

Speak Kindly

The lie we’re taught when we were young:
words hurt less than sticks and stones;
but words slung at the right velocity
will resonate through our history
while bruises and bones mend
words from either enemy or friend
like seeds planted within our soul
tear us down or help us grow

so speak kindly today. grow something beautiful. 🙂

Salt in the wound

I grow furious
with the perpetuation
of the negation
of my gender,
through handmedown
stories created to
subject
neglect
find defect
in everything

I am

by hands
un-bled by the moon
nor birthed memory from womb
but have painted every ”
good thing done
in the shadowed
story
of babel’s fruit.

I am

neither weak
nor the cause
of your ill fortune

We, neither male nor female
neither old nor young
rich nor poor
straight nor gay
creed or none,
are the masters of our souls.

Master peace and find peace.  Master self and others will see your truth.

Master hatred and find only hate.

Worthmont High

It stands

beneath the limbs and

merriments

the canter call of

time

its bricks reach up towards

multi memoried

skies

as intrepid feet

lean forward

push onward

skuttle backwards

laugh and mingle tears

within its soul;

It stands.

It stands

amongts the triumph

and struggle

its cold stone veins

leading the just and

the mightly defeated

in ordered hours

and lingered speeches

in the pursuit of

knowledge

the pursuit of gain;

it stands.

It stands

in silence

a witness to her shuffle

his hesitation

her fixation

his motivation

her courage

his redemtion

to Monday callings

and thursday maulings

to Tuesdays lastness

and Friday’s madness

it stands.

It stands

as its voice goes unnoticed

its brick notes and

roof top melodies

linger a testiment

unspoken to the fortitude

of perserverance

and the suppliment of

faith

For in these halls

little souls stand

and she makes sure

she never falters

never gives sway

for all the comings

and goings of a day

the black the blue

colbalt and shrew

madness and

due of tears

she stands.

For someday

when hands stop lingering

over plastered walls

and paint stops mending

the cracks and fall

ing spaces

when voices stop

and doors weld shut

she will be remembered

for the words

emblazoned on her skin

 

“Knowleldge is found

with open hearts, clasped hands,

and couragous spirits”

 

and

She stands.

Who is Wesley?

Part 2 to Wesley’s Words

The face was circled
to near perfection
in faded red
on black and white
with the words
‘what is a life’
written pain
stak
ing
ly
small along the white
edge
neither mingling
meandering nor merging
with the photo paper’s
story
but filling Mason’s head
driving his hands
veined with hours
of plays, throws
and connections
to waver over glass
trace the words
to perfection
and wonder
what is a life…
…what is a life?

The circled
young boy
stared out from
hundreds
other faces
eyes seeing places
and dreams of
the future
so obvious
was the obliviousness
of this
young man
as if his dreams
were so far out
there was no
light
no future
reflecting back.
then the words
what is a life…
…what is a life?
came slamming back

Coach was old
his words made no sense
nonsense
figure it out
figure what out?!
why, how
when?
This is ridiculous!
Mason didn’t need
this…

What is a life?

The picture hastily
shoved to precariously
to haphazardly
tossed to the
edge
to the edge…
crashing smashing
tumbling down
from the bedside
to the ground
in pieces
frame and bits
lay more than just
a photo graph
a softer edge
lay unearthed
from tomb of wood
and glass.

LOCAL BOY
DEAD.
Five teens where
questioned in the
death of a local boy
this evening.
A call tipped off police
to patrol the area
off of 5th and Grand.
A scream
A scuffle
A muffled
brawl? perhaps.
The line went dead.
the operator said
The line went dead.
The five men
remain in custody.
Names withheld
due to the sensi-
tivity
of crime
and time
but sources suspect…
a sixth.

Mason skipped the rest.
Local boy, dead.
his age
ripped from a page
of yesterday
lived on the other
side of tracks
with
a nobody no letter no jacket
no money no future
no life
no life cuz
he’s dead.
Found with a pink barrette
clutched in his hand
and F@66%7
scrawled on his back
in indelible ink
to obviously sink more meaning
as his attackers
tattooed their
judgement into
his black and
blue
skin.

what is a life?

An article 30 days later
stapled
and worn
confirmed a sinking
suspicion
The 5 were part of the
Local High 6.
but no proof
no
ev-i-dence
no recollection
or defection
of witnesses
no sense of right
or wrong
no candle light vigil
no memento or
mournful sigil to mark
the young life passing
by.
Even this passage
was relegated in
subterranean
cache
just above the lottery
numbers
page 8
where this hate
ful incident
and
obstruction of
a justice-less life
for
Wesley
was left
to be forgotten
as if it would be
forgotten
and
it was…
save by one.

and
Mason kept on
tracing the words
in his head

What is a life?
What is a life… 
worth.

911 TRANSCRIPT – May 7th, 1969
Police Operator 2472
What’s your emergency?

{{Whispers}}

5th and Grand
a scuffle, fight, a boy down.

What is the location?

5th and GRAND!

{{typing}}

5th and G.R.A.N.D?

YES!

{{TYPING}}

What’s your name?

My name? I.. um… Mar…
Damnit man
You have to send
someone?
like now!

{{typing}}

Can I have you name son?

{{more typing}}

Sir,  Let me get your …
Sir are you there?……………
sir…….
hello?……

Wesley’s Words

His days are numbered

cumbered and layerd

with vice

well whithered hours

mix with sour

moments believed

to be lost

and he wonders

if the price was

worth the cost.

His hands lay bare

tattered and worn

from gageing to

wiring, saddles

and thorn

as they cast

credit on framed

fame

ages gone

his was the life to be

grand

now he sits in empty stands

waiting for the field

to blossom with fierce

beasts

claw, talon, and shields

but sometimes he wonders

why he is here.

His, wife is beautifuly

aging, she works in

the office

mingles the

papers

His children are grown

some forgot

some known

all are proudly his and

most would say

he’s everyone’s trust

But he wonders

has it

been enough.

Most days he

lectures morning

tradition of wood, shop

and farthing

lingers in hallways

leather on paved

doorways

After the noon

he picks up the skin

and teaches

what it takes to win

but what are they winning

when the timer is up

when the moment of luck

wears out and

all they have

is looking at them selves.

As fading features

fade farther under glass

pondering

will he say enough.

Will he

say

enough.

 

Coach….  Coach… 

we’re ready….

 

Stumble, tumble,

meander and maze

he takes a breath in

as words work on

the way

out of his mind into

the air, held for a

second on tongue

cheek and hair

before diving

in.

 

“We

suffer this field

day in

day out

we bleed for the ‘Mater

the glory and crowd.

We tramble those

who dare to engage

we revel in

glory

or languish when

halls of great men

call others to their side.

We wear colors and letters

with pride

but…”

His conjuntion lending

silence a nod

as he looks to

the glowing board for

council and pause

as almost men

wait

they… wait

 

“but what is worth a life

if that life does not find

life worthy?

You are not just warriors

you are leaders and

take care

those you trample should

ONLY be out HERE!

The halls and ways

of the walls of our

days hold our

souls they are the

same, different

scuffle, shadows

of forgotten shoes

they are less and more

rich and poor

they are

you

they are your charges

not stones to be kicked

not boards for bantering

your bitting wit

Not the conquest of your

smaller mind

not the details found

on cheaper wine

they are your concern

care and court

they give weight to

your sport

for if they did not

exist

your worthy game

would not be

worth

playing…

am I making sense?

Treat that place

as what you protect

not what you pillage

because what you pillage

may come to haunt

you…. when time

clock and luck

run out.”

 

He tosses the ‘back

the worn out frame

one face circled

in the crowd of

hundreds.

And inquisitive faces

return nothing

as coach’s

back

fading.

 

“Figure it out

see you at

practice

on Tuesday.”

Upside Right Thinking

earth circle round

get pushed up

get back down

the world is sometimes up

side right and

Somedays we lose

all our fight

but just when

the when is too much

to think about

the sun rises

the moon sets

and another day

dawns with another

chance to take a step

towards courage

us, change.

Fire for Sam

She paces with

cadance, attention

and hesitate

in polished shoes

and polished smile

waits

her hands fiddle

with paper pointed pens

eyes lingering over

when

she sat in the desk

just to the left

of wonderment

and infront of

never going to make it

but she made it.

And it is then the

world shift begins

The bell rings

in

a distant past

a mind of 12

and a heart of glass

she scuttled here

every day

in the every way

getaway life

of a nothing girl

the invisible world

of not bad enough

nor good enough

for anyone to notice

a slip through the cracks

girl

a lingering spirit world

girl of just inside doorways

and subsequently out of way

when the Others

paraded by.

Even teachers

professors and mighty

persons failed to

figure her out for

more than a mously

girl with mousely hair

but… fate has a way

of hearing prayers…

fate has a way

of knowing the hearts

of even the smallest

whisper

and her whisper came

in the form of

Ms. Setaworldonfire!

She gleamed when she walked

into the room

a sense of pride

the newly doomed teacher

of English Comp 104

she

swayed to the back and forth

with a smile lingered

on hope and expectation

and plans

of great things

from each and

every

including Sam.

Could it be possible

one soul could reach out

of the darkness

see into the light

what every other eye

had dismissed

diminished by lack of

attention?

Could it be possible

for one hand to write

out the lines of a spark

so sharp

to start a fire in the

places called hopeless

and redefine the meaning

of maybe into a dream

of possibilities?

She straightened herself as

the clock stroked close to 7:50

the sounds of lockers slamming

doorways jamming

the smattering mattering

morphology of the life of school

transforming a building into

a world all its own

and living

began to breath.

Sam began to breath.

As one foot

two then three

until there were more than

thirty

Her smile

lingered back and forth

with expectation

fire made plans

that started in a desk

just to the right of wonderment

and just in front of

never going to make it

but she did.

“My name is Samantha…

This is English Comp 104. 

Yes please, shut the door… 

Shall we begin?”

Evan’s Reprieve

He twists

shifts and sifts

through sheets

newly laundered

as if he is swimming

in a sea of solitude

comfort and relief;

today is Saturday.

today is

saturday.

The only day

left unmolested

by the comings and goings

of school yard antics

sideshow panics

where his face is

made up as

beautiful as his

lineage has imposed.

Where every girl he

knows throws

and throttles to be

the hand upon his knee

the

one wearing his letter

fetter and ring

because he is

king,

of nothing.

He twists more

realizing the mental

images

the soulful onslaught

of wearing an unwanted

crown

is creeping into his world

and it is Saturday!

Sifting tighter.

Stop

door bell.

What now?!

Evan…. EVan

EVAN! Come down!

And so the play begins

the drop down

dive and bend

to the will of the

money makers and

game gang bangers

of his ‘sophisticated’ life

Meet Mr. CEO

and his queen

meet the paster and

his dreams

we gave money to

the church and the

charity

our boy will be

known be

seen

and all he

really wants is to be

back in bed

because it is

Saturday.

But here they come

the Duke and his wife

with dutchess in tow

because the wheels of

torture must continue to

pull tug and tow

his line into the future

but its not

his future

its not his

 

because it is Saturday

he longs to sneak off to the waters

edge

to dip his toes into the sound of

nothing

and dream of warmer hands

and a life he will never have

because all he hears is

expectation

the drive and motivation

the grandchildren he will

be making

the woman he must bed

because he must wed

his life to the vices of his

father

and be the ‘Man’

and they will sing

great is the king

but damn it

it is Saturday

Evan isn’t listening

he is out of his mind

he is running out of time

the court is adjourning

and he is turning into

the very thing he hates

the Football jock instead

of the boy who sings

the Frat man on campus

instead of with the man

on campus

…. and it seems

hopeless

to know all this

as he stares out the window

and dreams

Saturday

is a reprieve…

unless you

are the son

of a king.

Charlie’s smile

He mumbles

when he talks

the

wound of his voice

barely reaches the floor

as he searches for

escapes out

on his way down the hall

in too high jeans

and a belt

anchoring him to self

so he doesn’t slip

out of

place.

His hands grip books

covers and shields

deflecting the

pushes, punches

and wielded words

sharper than edges

of the door way

he often finds

himself greeting

every Monday

and Wednesday

at 8:05.

He is brilliant

in his mental

meanderings

of geometry

calculus

and science

his

mind sees puzzles like

diamonds to be

polished

clear and bright

as the bruises he

hides from the

inevitable trip

to the bathroom

trip

to the bathroom

trip in the bathroom

he just tripped

and

he doesn’t complain

he keeps up appearances

as the soles of his feet

keep account of

the days till

he can stand

straighter

be handsome…er

be

important

because

his mother says

he will be

and right now he

still believes her

even as the waves

of every suck the wind

you don’t get in today

you must be gay

because no girl

would want you

lingers at the gate

of his educational

hell

the bell

is

ringing

in his ears on the way

home and if

he walks a little faster

if he

catches the right

canter, carry and case

the Thursday Crew

won’t give chase

the

Thursday crew won’t

chase

wont

chase…

He just tripped in

the bathroom…

And His eyes are blue

like the ocean

in berm-u-da

so

his mother says

as she asks

him each morning

to keep his

head up

and smile,

the world will smile

back

but…

she doesn’t

know…

today is Monday.

It’s Monday…

and

He”ll just trip

in the bathroom.

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I want to shed a poetic light on abuse, in-equality, and bullying.  It is one thing I can do in my every day life to help make a difference.  You can too, by sharing a piece here that speaks to you to someone that may need to hear it.  Or if nothing else, visit one of the organizations I support like Over My Shoulder FoundationThe L-ProjectDiversity Role Models, Trevor Project, and Give a Damn Campaign.

Reach out today and make a difference in the life of someone who can’t. You will find the weight of love, the burden of friendship, and the plight of forgiveness is more joyful than the lightness of forget, the sweetness of popular, or the treasure of perfection.