The Deep End

I’ve gone to the deep end of life

And swam back to safety

I played with fire and ran with scissors

I tripped the light fantastic then fell over myself

Lessons remain largely unlearned

It’s so easy to get lost

To not see the trees for the forrest of....

What?

What is that forrest?

Why is it there and why do I keep trying?

Because that’s what the problem is, you see

That yearning for more

More answers

More knowledge

More of life

The search is continuous and fraught with perils unseen

Biting of the serpent's apple is only a snack

There are entire meals that we can sit down to

In the end we just devour ourselves

Eroding, eating away, decaying

The debris of the universe

But there’s never a point in quitting

The curse of being pain free is to try the painful

Wisdom begets risk

We know no other way

So be it

Dive in, dive in

The Football Game

The long bare legs of young women

Who are wearing very short pants

Or very short skirts

Some pale, some tanned, some of darker skin

They are walking, dancing, bouncing on a warm Autumn afternoon

On their way or outside the football stadium

The middle aged man, whose daughters are of the same age or older

Can’t not look but is careful not to leer

There are so many

There are also children

And the elderly

People of all ages

Flocking to the football game

Rival colleges set to do battle on the grid iron

The middle aged man loves these Saturdays

Bands play and march

Organized cheers and chants fill the air

Long held traditions are honored

New wrinkles added in the name of money

The commercialization of amateur athletics

Yet the flow of money is not enough

Other sports must be cut

Where does all the money go?

The middle aged man grumbles at the thought

The football teams play

Passes, runs, tackles, blocks, kicks

The home side is superior and establishes dominance

This makes the air seem crisper

The musical notes clearer

The pretty girls even prettier

The setting is magnificent

An 87 year old stadium nestled in a canyon

Hills and trees ring one side

Vistas of the Bay Area the other

With the home team’s win, these views seem all the more

The more breathtaking

No breath is actually taken

More like given

Life seems richer to the middle aged man as he walks home

Especially as he watches those bare legs

Clarion Call

Testosterone fueled violence

Manic frenzies of flying fists

Ugly language spewed angrily

The death of calm

And of reason

Respect demanded but seldom offered

Lies, thefts and vandalism

Poor, desolate lives of repressed agony

Relief sought through artificial highs

Sex used to express desperation 

But love hides there

Compassion, dignity and grace too

The challenge is to draw it out

Mobilize the rich and powerful

(Not to mention the middle masses)

They must see the broken lives

The communities in death throes

They must be rallied to help

So many others are merely diversions

From the crying need for urban relief

How have we forgotten?

Never mind, we must remember

Care for and love our lowest

Cause them to reside on a higher plain

Give them from our bounty

Challenge the angels that they secretly are

By challenging the angels that we secretly are

Restore respect and dignity

Or we are all lost

Elegy for an Inner City

Clashes at midnight

Strife in the streets

The bright glaring color of danger

Illusory hopes dashed by ugly realities

No way for some to crawl back from the abyss

Their dreams crumbled up into slimy decaying little wads

Escape is momentary and only creates more hunger

Flying fists and gunshots define lives forever

Permanent scars from deadly hates born of raging loss

The epic tumble of cities into quiet nightmares

Hollow words from officials do nothing to soothe or change

Flowery orations from holy men fill voids but soon evaporate

The dead do not rise

The wounded heal in body but not in soul

A sunny day suggests hope

But today replicates yesterday as it will tomorrow

Still we push on

Ever determined that our small efforts will make a difference

Without this conviction there is no hope

The human spirit is indomitable

Without it...cities are so much junk

Responds Well to Praise

Atta boy

Good job

Super

Way to go

Excellent

You’re a star

Say five positives for every negative

Get back in your seat, Johnny

-- Now I owe him five!

Johnny stop talking to Sally

-- Now I owe him ten!!

Gotta put a gold star on his homework

Darn, he didn’t do it

Johnny, quit throwing spitballs

-- Now I owe him 15!!!

Good choice not to strangle anyone, Johnny

-- Down to 14

Focus back to class, they’re patiently waiting

Get out your notebooks

Nice job of getting out your notebook, Johnny

-- 13 to go

Johnny, stop hitting Sally with your notebook

Up to 18 now

Those who can teach!!!!

A Sub’s Day

On the bus with the sad, the disaffected, the forlorn

They stare at the passing concrete

Lost in empty thoughts, dreading another lost empty day

Walk a few blocks to the school through an industrial area

Cold and unwelcoming

Yesterday’s dreams litter the sidewalks

Desolate minds create this blighted version of life

Cawing of crows an appropriate accompaniment

The job is at a school for rejects in a rejected district

The flotsam of the jetsam of other schools

Angry or stoned or bored or beaten 

Or all that and more

Failure permeates as they share a desperate destiny of defeat

Can’t fool ‘em about it either

Already bitter at 17, cynical, savvy

Resigned to lifetimes of loss

If they think about it

So they avoid thinking

At all

These are young veterans of jousts with police, judges and parole officers

School a safe haven, a place to share war stories and to hatch plans, and to chill

For a precious few, it’s an avenue of escape, a last chance

I’m stoic, silent but flexible

Showing no fear, nothing

Ready and glad to help

Putting in a day’s work, frustrated that I can’t do more

Anxious to leave though

Go home to a place where smiles beam sincerely

And pleasantries are exchanged freely

Where there is a trust and hope and eager anticipation 

Of another day

Is There a Map to Eden?

The roar of the sunlit freeway

And the wail of catastrophic collisions

Sully the sanctity of precious perfection

How profane the assault of engines on our senses

Where is the tranquil and serene?

Is there a map to Eden?

We need a respite from the bombastic bluster

There must be a route to lightness through heaven

An extended trip to blissful beginnings 

Under shade trees of Saturday with drizzles from below

Misty laughter and fuzziness all around

Find the route to gorgeous nights of sexy freedom

Leave behind the metal and the mashings

Say farewell to jack hammering hate speech

Time to savor the delicious laughter 

In the long thrilling afternoons of kisses