dancing with shadows…

dancing with shadows

those melodies
that
have
set the tempo
of
your life
have
disappeared
into
the
drumbeats
of
time
you
always
off tempo
enjoying
all the missteps
you’ve
made
never regretting
the toes
you
stepped on
it was
just
part of life’s dance
anyway
they
should’ve
never
asked
you to dance
in
the first place
or
held your dreams
so
close
to
their broken hearts
guess
that’s
why
you’ve always
worn
those
steel toed shoes
cuz
all
of life
is
a construction zone
one
never knows
when
the sky
will fall
crushing
the tips
of
your tomorrows
by the way
whatever happened
to
all
those old dance cards
you held
seems
you were deserted
on
the dance floor
no one
to
hold
or
dream about
guess
that’s what happens
when you
happily prefer
dancing
to
the off beat

 

 

just talk to the hand….

just talk to the hand

please
don’t say
those words
again
about
us
all getting along
because
we can’t
hell
even lovers
can’t
do that
so
why
do we pretend
that
the embedded
rebars
of
ignorance
and
hate
can be chiseled
from
centuries
of
layered
contrived history
each
previous
attempt
has been
paved over
with
more
hatred
and
fabricated
reasons
to
fear
others
that
are
not understood
nor
acknowledged
for
that matter
so
please
do not
bother me
with
can’t we
all
just
get along

 

 

just just-in-time friends…

just just-in-time friends2

called
on
an
as needed
basis
otherwise
their
faces
are
quite
invisible
no need
to
warehouse
personal relationships
nor
store
past emotions
of
devotion
when
one can
merely
send a text
requesting
that
everything be dropped
on
their behalf
but
best to wrap it
in
phrases
like
we really should have lunch
or
i’ve been thinking
so much
about
you
for the longest time
however
better yet
is the admission
of
the sin
of
omission
with
some
act of contrition
words
deeply personal
admitting
to
the neglect
of
your special relationship
with
said friend
seeking
their absolution
before
asking
for what
you
really
want

dropping the ball…

dropping the ball

the old pastor
approached
the young man
after
hearing him
berate
a teenage parishioner
who
had 
dropped
a fly ball
spinning around
this novice
of
life
yelled
don’t tell me
how to coach
old man
smiling
the gray haired
parson
said
i wasn’t trying to
i was
hoping to
teach you
how
to think

on the occasion of your birthday…

on the occasion of your birthday

love’s
now
forgotten
laughter
a mere
memory
family
the battleground
for
lies
the
person
now
sadly
just
a
name
on
a faded
birth certificate
with
no remembrance
of
the
truth