Driving my high school son
and his friends home,
metal, heavy on the volume,
I listened.
"Why believe? Don't you know
God abandoned
us long ago…"
I couldn't understand
the rest,
but the boys?
They talked of how
much they love
the song and a band
who tells it like it is
to the world.
It made me remember
my rebellious days,
my days of disbelief.
when we knew it all,
had faith only in ourselves.
nobody could tell us
differently,
so I don't try to tell him.
I was once much like them-
the boys
in my car.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Thank you!
I had a few minutes and logged on just in case....and yowza! new writings! What a thrill to read your new words and thoughts. xxoox
teacher
in the stores,
the smells of
newly boxed
crayons and
Elmer's glue
beckon-
a new school year
begins
the kids as yet
unknown to me
say my name
while I sleep
and we wonder
about the other
for me it's always
love
at first sight
as I watch them
tiptoe into
carefully planned
lessons and
walk confidently
out
they teach me
more than I
could ever teach
them
yet they call
me
teacher
and when the year
closes,
I send them off,
hoping I've done
my part
and missing them
before they're
out of sight.
the smells of
newly boxed
crayons and
Elmer's glue
beckon-
a new school year
begins
the kids as yet
unknown to me
say my name
while I sleep
and we wonder
about the other
for me it's always
love
at first sight
as I watch them
tiptoe into
carefully planned
lessons and
walk confidently
out
they teach me
more than I
could ever teach
them
yet they call
me
teacher
and when the year
closes,
I send them off,
hoping I've done
my part
and missing them
before they're
out of sight.
Freewrite of Writer's Group Night
We hide from
the not knowing,
hoping this time
will be
different.
He'll take us to a
movie
or
the playground.
Still,
we hide from
the possibility
of his anger,
that oozes
like red
Georgia
mud,
sparked by
something,
anything,
someone,
anyone-
as he makes his way
home.
So, we hide under
the covers
feigning sleep,
or in the closet
holding hands,
fingers clenched
together.
Don't breathe.
Don't sigh.
Not a whisper.
hearts tense
with the
not knowing.
the not knowing,
hoping this time
will be
different.
He'll take us to a
movie
or
the playground.
Still,
we hide from
the possibility
of his anger,
that oozes
like red
Georgia
mud,
sparked by
something,
anything,
someone,
anyone-
as he makes his way
home.
So, we hide under
the covers
feigning sleep,
or in the closet
holding hands,
fingers clenched
together.
Don't breathe.
Don't sigh.
Not a whisper.
hearts tense
with the
not knowing.
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