Category Archives: Poetry
The Other Side of the Tracks
They laughed at him;
the staggering old man
wearing the stench of life
struggling to drag his
overflowing suitcase
to the other side of the street.
He bellowed
a loud grunt of frustration
as he gave a hard jerk to
dislodge his suitcase
from the death grip
of the tracks.
As we crossed paths
I didn’t laugh,
make eye contact,
look up,
nor verbally acknowledge
his existence
out of fear it would expose
my own issues that
I drag like shackles.
But I did ponder…
“How does anyone ever move forward,
carrying so much of yesterday’s baggage?”
Dream Killers
There are no statistics
to keep track of how many dreams
are murdered daily
there are no reparations paid
to the children whose dreams are
stolen and replaced by hopelessness
there are no apologies given
for taking their beautiful smiles
and turning them into distrustful frowns
there are no peace offerings made
for the tragedy we’ve created
by not believing in them
there is no cocoa butter rubbed
over the scars left by the mental rape
that was forced on the bright futures of tomorrow
there are no words
to inspire them
to keep trying
no hands reaching out
to lift their dreams
off the bloody floor of despair
no welfare
to help get their dreams
back on their feet
no “Love-Support”
to provide nourishment
to their hope
no ears
to listen to their ambition,
without judgment
without unwarranted advice
without pouring a bucket of water
on that fire that burns from the deepest
crevices of their soul
there is no empathy
to feel their pain,
or encouragement
to help get them through the storm
that always precedes success
there is nothing,
all we offer are cages
to place their dreams in
a wheel
for them to run on
until they collapse
from the frustration
of not getting anywhere
discouraging stories
of the people who tried
and failed like they will,
if they foolishly ignore
the flawed logic we use
to convince them that their dreams are
unreasonable
unachievable
unreachable
…and when WE speak, oh –
we, being their family,
their friends,
the ones they share their innermost fears
and most sacred desires with
when we speak,
we crush their spirit
under the guise of love,
love,
…because we love them
we fear seeing them
experience the hurt
of failing to achieve their dreams
fear,
…because we fear
we steer them
down the safe path to nowhere
and advise them to be more like us
try,
…because we never tried
we believe it’s better
to safely avoid failure
than to boldly pursue possibility
listen,
…because we listened
to the Dream Killers who came before us
we perpetuate the cycle of
Killing Dreams
there, are no statistics
to keep track of how many dreams
are murdered daily
there, is no barometer
to measure how bad it hurts
to have your dreams killed in the name of love
…but believe me,
death is far less painful
than life without a dream
Can’t Blame Her, Don’t Blame Me
I opened the door,
she stopped
looked
clinched her belongings
while getting in her
defensive stance
like she was going to
have to fight me off.
Can’t blame her,
they don’t meet too many like me anymore
“Gentleman”
I said,
“Hello. Good Evening.”
She shifted her head down
like she was throwing her body
into another gear,
you could hear the rhythm
of her toes pressing down
and her heels picking up
as she race walked past me
no eye contact
no response.
Can’t blame her,
they don’t meet too many like me anymore
“Hospitable”
I asked,
“Is this seat taken?”
Immediately
she flashed her engagement ring
from a ceremony
that never happened with
a boyfriend
she had left so long ago
he was barely a distant memory.
She responded
“I’m married.”
Not that I asked,
all I really wanted to do was
rest my feet.
Can’t blame her,
you have to be careful who you trust
there are a lot of unsavory characters
out there,
and besides
they don’t meet too many like me anymore
“Real”
We just met
natural connections
based on deep dialogue
and reflections
on life
love,
and what it means
to live in this world
Time flew
to the cha-ching of
light libations
fantastic conversation
kicked over a light melody
under the hypnotizing glow
of the moon
I offered to walk her to her car,
she paused
before grabbing her bags
looking me in the eyes
and saying
“I’m parked just up the street, I’ll be fine”
as she proceeded to walk away
Carrying with her
insecurity,
fear caused by a lifetime of history
with games, and
people trying to take advantage, and
men with ulterior motives
hidden desires
aggressive tendencies, and
rape
Can’t blame her
for wanting to take her chances
with the unseen monsters
of the dark alleys
rather than letting me into her space
I looked like the baggage she was carrying, and
even though the dark alleys had their danger
they weren’t as dangerous as the horrors she
had already come to know
Besides
They don’t meet too many like me anymore
“Brotherly”
I only saw her once more,
in the morning paper
a story of a lady
who never made it to her car
I vaguely remembered her name
but the eyes I saw in the photo
were unmistakable,
they were the eyes of the lady
I had met the night before
the sister I let walk to her car alone
my sister
Now I carry her memories like
gorillas on my back
those eyes,
her eyes
staring into my tortured soul
my emptiness
So don’t blame me
for holding the door open
or speaking
or conversing
or being real
or treating you like a lady
or offering to walk you to your car
or worrying about you
Just know that we all have baggage
and LOVE,
is a lighter load to carry
than the burden of what if
or what I should have done.
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