Free? To What Degree

I looked up from the stack,

written words bound in red, blue and black.

Moments captured and left on a page

stories of young and old, known with age.

There he was sitting quietly, up and out of the way,

for such a young one, not really much to say.

First thing that caught my eye were the braces attached to his shoes,

traveled to his knees, right below his denim blues.

A book lay in his lap, our eyes did meet,

as he watched me write on a small white sheet.

His feet didn’t touch the ground,

that chair a bit large for the young boy who sat without making a sound.

He took in all that was happening nearby

my mind and heart did employ with a quiet sigh.

 I wonder what he thought of those who walk unaided,

Is being “normal” overrated?

A gesture from someone who looked a lot like he

both feet on the ground, no longer, hands free.

I hadn’t noticed the rest of him there,

lying on the floor right beside that oversized chair.

His feet lightly stepped with the assistance of two more,

bringing a total of four feet on the floor.

He was across the room as quick as could be,

his voice chattered with anxiousness, something in the next room to see.

A sight of freedom as he entered through the big double doors 

a smile on his face, lifted him high up off the floor.

Birds that could talk and fly around,

making an unusually loud squawking sound.

Allowed to fly without any assistance,

Freedom came without resistance.

 

They..the boy and birds.. flew across the room as quick as could be

Feet off the ground, hands free.

Eternal Friend

Barbed wire friendship
mature hearts don’t understand

Secret mission
don’t dare travel into tainted land

Thunder rolls and storm approaches
kindred spirits, smile coaches

Herded like cattle, pushed and shoved
human hearts, yet unloved

Stripped and showered, no more pain
How could it be so insane?

Hand held to the end
barbed wire friendship

Eternal friend

Three Woven Circles

The Basket

Sun and water drenched reeds take time

to become

functional for a carrying basket

 

A circular pattern centers the basket  

in a way

that brings clarity and organization to the woven pieces

 

Color and design enhance the meaning and purpose

in such a way

that time is preserved and a story is told

 

The Man or Woman

Victorious and defeat drenched moments take time

to become

usable for a wisdom filled man or woman

 

A circular pattern centers the heart

in a way

that brings clarity and organization to the journey through life

 

Love and hate enhance the meaning and purpose

in such a way

that time is preserved and a story is told

 

The Bible

Heart captured word moments take time

to become

guidance and laws for many

 

A circular pattern centers the Word

in a way

that brings clarity and organization to a chaotic life

 

Life and death enhances the sacrifice

in such a way

that time is preserved in eternity

 

The Basket, The Man or Woman, and The Bible

Carried moments are protected through time

to become

a cherished story to be shared with others

 

The circular patterns bring all things together

in a way

that is hard to distinguish beginning and end

 

Weaving the three together

to become

complete becomes enough to hold on to all that can and will be.

 

Beneath the Surface

Beyond this moment

stretches contours of orange, tan, green and brown,

giving way  to seeds that have been encased and held within.

Cotyledons mature through light drenched melodies and storm filled choruses.

Each new leaf awakens

carrying promises of mosaic lyrics

into a space that lures time,

Capturing moments of what if

that reside in a chaos left standing still.

No Zigzagging

Crossroads… asked to wait,
a dash dares to meet.
Points found in two sets,
common and greet.

Does the agile line need to dance straight,
or can it weave or bound across a page?
For what circumstances,
do the lines need a stage?

Confidence found in parallel gait,
where distance puts perspective within sight,
strolling upon a path where destiny
brings an intersection to a moonlit night.

Straight edges deceived with thoughts of a life altered fate
upon a constructed grid where all has a place to be
ruled and measured..in a position of their own
where spontaneity isn’t allowed … never free.

Agile

Face Analysis

Representations on a face are perceived
Gestures and signals, falsely believed.
Study a face when it knows no one is there
Truth and honesty will be more likely to share.

A smile can be seen, but yet sadness is inside.
A face can show presence, but yet distance does abide.
A wink that shows acceptance, but yet rejects,
Words that flow, but yet are filled with circumspect.

A hand that twists the strands of hair,
Lips that move, yet words aren’t there,
Eyebrows that shift closer with strain
A gritting of teeth, displaying pain.

Study a face in a moment captured aside,
from all that surrounds and tries to hide,
Truth and honesty are sure to be there
In a face that doesn’t know that you really care.

Study

Free? To What Degree?

I looked up from the stack,
needing to put spoken words in the back.
There he was sitting quietly, up and out of the way,
for such a young one, not really much to say.

First thing that caught my eye were the braces attached to his shoes,
traveled to his knees, right below his denim blues.
A book lay in his lap, our eyes did meet,
as he watched me write on a small white sheet.

His feet didn’t touch the ground,
that chair a bit large for the young boy,
but as I watched him taking in the life around
my mind did employ.

I wonder what he thought of those who walk unaided,
Is being “normal” overrated?
A gesture from someone who looked a lot like he
both feet on the ground, no longer, hands free.

I hadn’t noticed the rest of him there,
lying on the floor right beside that oversized chair.
His feet lightly stepped with the assistance of two more,
bringing a total of four feet on the floor.

He was across the room as quick as could be,
his voice chattered with anxiousness
The next room brought a sight of freedom
To some degree.

He entered the next room,
as I watched through the doors,
birds that could talk and fly around,
making an unusually loud squawking sound.

Not allowed to fly without some assistance,
but freedom came without resistance.
Both boy and birds flew across the room as quick as could be
Feet off the ground, hands free.

Degree

I Noticed You

I noticed you.
You sat quietly with a tattered book bag,
and several warm coats beside you.
Your cheeks, windburnt and red
your gestures and movement,
nothing else need be said.

As I left,
A walkman and headphones borrowed your time
I wondered where you’d go,
Where your feet would soon be
Would you find warmth
or a kind face to see?

I noticed you.
It was dark and late at night.
You sat with a light glow in your face
In a not so warm protected space.
Why were you there so late at night,
Should I have said or done something
as I drove out of sight?

A moment in yesterday where perhaps I should have done more. I did nothing for this woman and today I wonder…was she placed within my sight so that I may be used in some way to meet her needs. I could have given her directions to the Mission, etc. When I noticed no drink or food on her table, should I have bought her a sandwich or cup of coffee? OR was she there to give to me…she did bring me sense of knowing that our world is full of those who survive in their own way. It may not be in a way we understand, but yet should be respected. I pray that I know for sure next time what it is I need to do.

As we approach this cold holiday season, please take note of those around you. I know there are people who are standing on street corners with signs and you never really know, but perhaps those few coins you have in your change container in your car, might just make a difference. I no longer question whether or not they will use it to buy their next bottle of alcohol, I simply know that life has taken them to a place of desperation…a place of holding a piece of cardboard on a corner. If they are being deceitful, that they will have to answer to someday….if I walk or drive past a need…that I will have to answer to someday.

Mercy

Past Meets Present

Fifty yards from Crooked Creek
a soft breeze blew through the cottonwoods
on a Kansas farm.
Dust muffled voices are heard through
the sound of metal and other hand tools
hitting the soil.
Unearthed pieces of pottery, a stone pipe and
shell beads from the Gulf Coast
amongst pebbles and dry soil.
In the dark colored ashes
scattered corn cob remains
and remnants of buffalo bone
let one know they stood where others had lived
and lingered long ago.
Voices of present became quiet as the sounds of the past
hit the sound waves proclaiming. “We were once here.”