Tag Archives: Liberty

Who am I

Who am I but the words on the page
the syllable and sentiment painted out in
curves, crescendoing innuendoes and soulful
minded verbs racing or crawling towards
some end, that even I do not see until the
last letter is
written
Yes, who am I but the words on a page
written years before my time, or a time before my
aging mothers
for life and liberty for
love and struggle
for the prick of dreams unfinished and the
languishing joy of a hope well received
I
I ….
I am a the words
and you ears
my canvas.

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A word on the 4th of July

On the 4th of July, 1776,  our nation’s founding father’s committed these lines, abandoning any notion of the cavalier and embracing the heart of courage:

“When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.”

These were written in defiance of a tyrannical crown and dismissive parliment who bore down on the colonists law and order without representation, that despite being Englishmen and women, were not treated as such.  They were dismissed, disregarded, and living in an age of oppression and subjugation to a crown that no longer gave them ear… by any means.  They were second class citizen’s of the crown.  Which gave rise to this:

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.”

This moral imparitive – this utopian promise – has become our nations breath, if not her soul.  Though these words are still not fully realized in our nation by all her citizens, be encouraged.  Equality will be realized for it is the higher ideal founded and firmly established in the veins of all who call the United States home!

Happy 4th of July!

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.”

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?”

See me as I am

{in honor of today – Day of Silence}

I speak not a word
for the word distracts you
from the reality we are the same
I walk into a store and am
turned away
because you do not serve my kind
I walk down the aisle
and I am arrested
because the constitution has no room
I am discovered
and dragged out and beaten
because my love is hated
I am vocal
and you see an agenda
instead of our sameness
so today
I speak not a word
So you can only do one thing

SEE ME as I AM

Equal.

My Day of Silence

I remember a day of silence. It was not a day of rememberance, nor a day of joy, nor a day of  being brave, nor a day for courage. It was a day of silence – of no acknowledgement of my existance. And I remember it well.

A perceived slight at the hands of this geek

this braces wearing

band playing, A making

never popular

ever on the outside

set a off a fire storm

from every girl

in school.

Not a single one

lifted their eyes

lifted a hand

lifted a smile

lifted a word

for an entire day.

Not a single

girl, had a thing

to say

to me.

Save two

just outside of the

‘ones’ the perfected

the wealthy

the beautiful

the wanted

the non-hand-me-down

I get around

cheerleading

misleading

everyone seeing,

and everyone ‘loved’,

decided to shed

light and give

me a clue

to what was

happening

and why.

The crime?

was lingering

in the favor of the boy down

the street

who had taken a liking

to me;

we spoke

and broke every rule

of highschool love affairs

which clearly states

in everything but greek

an ex-lover can never

speak to a geek

and soon the speak

became a speck

a peck

a kiss

a lingering desire

and the world then

was set on fire

and they conspired to

make me pay

in the only

way possible

to not cause confusion

or retribrution

from the leadership

and the pastors

of churches

preachers, teachers

and mothers….

just

be

silent

don’t lift a word

to the satisfaction

of heard

don’t smile

or greet

not a hand shake

or eye to meet

her…

meet me.

And this day was just one

of many

but it is indellibly marked

upon memory

without fail or forgetfulness

I recall all their faces

sitting on benches and

taking their places

in the history of my mind

and I regret not

being strong enough to

fight back

to just stand up and not

care to failing to

find silence my friend

but in a school of less than 400

where everyone knows

everyone’s sister, brother,

father and mother

that is

not an easy feat for

a young teen to

complete

and though I confronted

I witted

wiled and wisely

wiggled out ever

word to stop the

day I heard

no sound

that day

will remain

as will the faces of the

season and her ‘cheer’sisters…

and the only good

that came of it

is I am determined

to not let it

happen again

to

you.

‘Memory’

{{written in e.e.cummings style}}

 

Memory is more fragile than porcelain

more strong than granite’s soul

more stuck on repeat than mockingbird

more weightless then summer’s gold

it is maddeningly vivid and vivacious

and sanely it nevermore is

than all the stars flickering in violent

contraction are beautiful

Memory is less forever than rainbows

less forgetful than why

less remembered than sometimes

less hopeful than unhurt

It is always loud in soft places

and never quiet in traffic jams

or when all the night has

covered land, and see and eyes

Memory is tougher than hide

more weaker than shattered glass

and only when cats have tongues

will memory ever be unlast

Speaking Statistics

Let’s draw it

trace the lines of

faces come undone

mix their visages

with rhyme

and time

to define

our dire

situation

in this

me-aification

all the same

world-nation

where voices

outside the dream

beg to live in

peace

but instead

are left for dead

at

defamation

fist filled inflamation

1 out of 4

intimidations

at the end  of  soles

black and blue

with the residue

of hate.

and every day

I think this

this has got to stop

how do we make it

stop

what words

will trace the lines

of the faces undone

so they are not

forgotten

what spit can be spun

what fist thrown unrung

will change

this….

and bring us back

to prismic solutions

absolutions of

fear

to a place where

9 out of 10 becomes

0 out of 10

and

160 thousand

don’t have to

stay in

where 2 to 9 times

more likely to die

becomes 10 times more

likely to stand up and fly

likely to stand up and fly

where 13 million hurting

becomes 13 million healing

and 25% giving less than 5%

turns into 100% of doing something

where every 7 minutes

turns from 7 mintues of tears

to 7 minutes of hear

ing something other than

the sound of another

kid being bulled

seriously…

are you following me?

this is not some

backyard do it yourself

statistics

this is unfortunately

very realistic

so

let’s draw it

trace the lines of

faces undone by

the unheard crys

and the

oppression of lies

mix their visages

with rhyme

and time

to define

our dire

situation

so the next generation

doesn’t have to.

Intrepid Feet

Intrepid feet step largely out of the ordinary into new territory expecting nothing but the blessings of the path laid before and knowing even when the gales blow, the lightening strikes, and the cougar stalks, the path is still a blessing and must be made – for no change every came of those who stayed inside with doors locked and windows drawn. No change ever came from fear – only intrepid feet stepping out of the ordinary… into extraordinary spaces.

::speak peace and intrepid on::