Tag Archives: Equality

Puzzle Pieces

What sound do your dreams make
when you are reaching out
screaming up to the universe?
Mine resonate in pixel-ate-it color
searching to put the puzzle
of our rainbow colored world back together
after unknown fists have sought
fought and thieved away the pieces…
slowly away.


Carving Board

I am not

your carving board

I. am. not. your carving board!

I am not the place to hold your

hatred when it’s dull edge

needs to feel souls bleed!


I am not your carving board!

I am not

your punching bag

I. am. not. your punching bag!

I am not skin holding your

worthlessness when i’s frayed image

needs to feel like it has knuckled teeth


I am NOT your punching bag!

I am not

your garbage bin

I. am. not. your GARBAGE BIN!

I am not the bone structure waiting

for the deragatory spit you spew

when language has your fill


I am NOT your garbage bin

I am not your sale

I am not your deal

I am not your break up

slide down

lay back and un-feel

while you thrill

I am not your undo

your untrue

your reason to forget

I am not your sin

your stick up fed up

get luck – y dirty

clothes pin

holding up the laundry

you refues to hang out

to dry

neither am I your

false pride

I am not your shadow lying

your peeping eye prying

your dogma flaunting

hatred signing

standing on the corner

mocking mourners

I am not your breaking

nor your entering

nor your black and blue


no.  nO. NO!

I AM courage

though you strike me

I AM bravery

though you cut

I AM authentic

though you disparage

I AM me

though you think I’m not




so no

I am not your cutting board

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:


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:


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!

Ruby Red

She sits

lingering in the front of the mirror

with every intention of painting

smiles upon her lips

nails slightly chipped linger gently over

silver and gold flaked appliances

of her trade, she waits

for.  the….

right moment

when the song on the radio

evades sound and

transcendent bound – aries

then. she…

wades into life

painting away 5 o’clock

and men-tal

notes of doubt

with a pale concoction,    #7.

Leaning into reflections

the soft color of her skin

radiates bright with each

brush of perfection

with. each… brush


there just right

she sits back and admires.

her – technique is flawless

her – skill untouched by fear

first the base of life

a touch of charcoal here and

here  .

a splash of smokey gray

a sparkle to accentuate play- fullness

delight – a butterfly in flight

and as the melody

rhapsodies to climax

she finalizes her transformation

with the stroke of midnight and


leaving behind any trace of

the who

is worn every day

from dread a.m. to just an hour ago;

and lives;

ruby red.

Salt in the wound

I grow furious
with the perpetuation
of the negation
of my gender,
through handmedown
stories created to
find defect
in everything

I am

by hands
un-bled by the moon
nor birthed memory from womb
but have painted every ”
good thing done
in the shadowed
of babel’s fruit.

I am

neither weak
nor the cause
of your ill fortune

We, neither male nor female
neither old nor young
rich nor poor
straight nor gay
creed or none,
are the masters of our souls.


Master hatred and find only hate.

Worthmont High

It stands

beneath the limbs and


the canter call of


its bricks reach up towards

multi memoried


as intrepid feet

lean forward

push onward

skuttle backwards

laugh and mingle tears

within its soul;

It stands.

It stands

amongts the triumph

and struggle

its cold stone veins

leading the just and

the mightly defeated

in ordered hours

and lingered speeches

in the pursuit of


the pursuit of gain;

it stands.

It stands

in silence

a witness to her shuffle

his hesitation

her fixation

his motivation

her courage

his redemtion

to Monday callings

and thursday maulings

to Tuesdays lastness

and Friday’s madness

it stands.

It stands

as its voice goes unnoticed

its brick notes and

roof top melodies

linger a testiment

unspoken to the fortitude

of perserverance

and the suppliment of


For in these halls

little souls stand

and she makes sure

she never falters

never gives sway

for all the comings

and goings of a day

the black the blue

colbalt and shrew

madness and

due of tears

she stands.

For someday

when hands stop lingering

over plastered walls

and paint stops mending

the cracks and fall

ing spaces

when voices stop

and doors weld shut

she will be remembered

for the words

emblazoned on her skin


“Knowleldge is found

with open hearts, clasped hands,

and couragous spirits”



She stands.

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
small along the white
neither mingling
meandering nor merging
with the photo paper’s
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
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
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
figure it out
figure what out?!
why, how
This is ridiculous!
Mason didn’t need

What is a life?

The picture hastily
shoved to precariously
to haphazardly
tossed to the
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.

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-
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
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

what is a life?

An article 30 days later
and worn
confirmed a sinking
The 5 were part of the
Local High 6.
but no proof
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
Even this passage
was relegated in
just above the lottery
page 8
where this hate
ful incident
obstruction of
a justice-less life
was left
to be forgotten
as if it would be
it was…
save by one.

Mason kept on
tracing the words
in his head

What is a life?
What is a life… 

911 TRANSCRIPT – May 7th, 1969
Police Operator 2472
What’s your emergency?


5th and Grand
a scuffle, fight, a boy down.

What is the location?

5th and GRAND!


5th and G.R.A.N.D?



What’s your name?

My name? I.. um… Mar…
Damnit man
You have to send
like now!


Can I have you name son?

{{more typing}}

Sir,  Let me get your …
Sir are you there?……………

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


ages gone

his was the life to be


now he sits in empty stands

waiting for the field

to blossom with fierce


claw, talon, and shields

but sometimes he wonders

why he is here.

His, wife is beautifuly

aging, she works in

the office

mingles the


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


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


will he say enough.

Will he




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




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


or languish when

halls of great men

call others to their side.

We wear colors and letters

with pride


His conjuntion lending

silence a nod

as he looks to

the glowing board for

council and pause

as almost men


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


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


your worthy game

would not be



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


And inquisitive faces

return nothing

as coach’s




“Figure it out

see you at


on Tuesday.”

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