'All swim' whistle,
water sent splashing,
the chaotic entrance of youth.

Adults scramble in the melee
while a man I do not know
bumps into me,
his hand down my shorts.
Confusion.

I ride home in shame.
Silent. Burning. Shame.

I am only 10
and tend to wince
at loud voices,
and right and wrong
depend upon the
time of day and
how many beers
my father drinks.

Country roads whip by,
sweet corn in the wind,
I watch the sun set
over the hill.

Once it's gone I know.

There will be no redemption,
 no reclaiming of innocence.

That shame feels like swallowing hot coals is all too familiar.

Mother says, “You don't look sick to me",

it's her answer for everything.

The angry heart does know no peace
The fires burn and nothing can ease
the feeling for violence great or mild
for Anger strikes the man, woman and child;
When we give way to our temper
Our reason this beast will hamper
and make us throw caution to the wind
for Anger is truly a hideous fiend;
So we have to tame and tell
this fiendish creature to go to hell,
We must train our thoughts to rise above
Animal Feelings to Gracious Love.

When life is good, I force myself to look,
for smaller miracles will go unseen
when I'm not led by Spirit's finger crooked.
When life is good, I force myself to look;
my poet's eye would sleep in shaded nook,
content with heaven, earth and all between.
When life is good, I force myself to look,
for smaller miracles will go unseen.

the squirrels running
on fallen leaves make pathways
into the future