Lost
unto
the ocean
silver tears
turn time
to grain
and then
the rain
drips down
and disappears
the waves roll out
and roll back in
the grief too deep
to reach
TL
Poetry
Lost
unto
the ocean
silver tears
turn time
to grain
and then
the rain
drips down
and disappears
the waves roll out
and roll back in
the grief too deep
to reach
TL
Windswept
ahhhhhhhh
the idea
of love
that Empire State
feeling
what a body
will do
fer it
love can
drive you mad
like the Mad
Hatter
in Wonderland
like Jack in Titanic
like Francesca
in Bridges
like Love Actually
like Mieke and Brandt
in The Exception
like Frank Farmer and Rachel Marron
in The Bodyguard
like Whitney Houston
like Cher
like Queen Bey
like Elizabeth Taylor
like Taylor Swift
like Britney Spears
“Baby One More Time”
like Pamela Anderson
like Maria Shriver
like Tina Turner
like Shania
like Mariah
like Molly and Frank
in Falling in Love
in Karen and Denys
in Out of Africa
like Father Ralph and Meggie
in The Thornbirds
like Edmond Dantes
in The Count of Monte Cristo
like Andy Dufresne
in Shawshank Redemption
like Michael
in The Reader
like Connie & Paul
in Unfaithful
like David and Diana
in Indecent Proposal
like Shelby in Steel Magnolias
like Noah & Allie
in The Notebook
like Mr. Darcy & Elizabeth
in Pride & Prejudice
like Frances
in Under the Tuscan Sun
like Somewhere in Time
like Past Lives
like Romeo & Juliet
like Pip in Great Expectations
like Arthur & Morgan
in The Road to Avalon
like Angela Nikolau
at the tippity top
of New York City
with the wind in her hair
and the sun
at her back
blinded by bling
willing to fall
fer it
…
fer dat
free-fall-feeling
of
l
o
v
e
TL
Reality
7 years
i cheered
for football
and basketball
was co-captain
junior year
and captain
senior year
but they never
once
saw me cheer
in 7 years
i had to beg
for a ride
to the games
from neighbors
and others
and catch a ride
back
dreading
what was waiting
…
behind the door
TL
Damage Done
the constant
crack of cans
opening
each one
thrown out
the back door
a collection
to crush
on a concrete floor
empty cases
of silver bullets
and then it begins
…
in the glassy eye
slurred speech
wobbled walk
spitting on the floor
spewing vile and hate
evil raging on a red face
things escalate
the feeling of doom descends …
everywhere
monsters are made
at the bottom of beer
cans
and hard liquor
bottles
alcoholics have no
recollection
of the destruction
but the child
in the corner
cannot forget
no matter how hard
they try
they cannot
forget
TL
Walking Away …
growing up
i took a lot
of walks
especially
in the flame
of summer
it was a way
to think
my own thoughts
and let go
of the breath
i’d been holding
as if i were under
water
walking was different
than running
i loved running
‘cause it felt like flying
but sometimes
i didn’t have it in me
to run
walking didn’t require
much
i could drag my feet
along
if it was too tough
to lift ‘em
off the ground
i’d take off walking
to each dead-end
sign
and turn back around
yearning for the quiet
of trees
there was no screaming
or constant cussing
no slamming doors
or flying objects
no broken glass
or violent fists
no silent tears
streaming down
the mirror
or seeping into the pillow
there was a stillness
in the grass
the wing of a bird
brushed against the sky
a pasture of horses
across the street
that knew me
knew somehow i needed ‘em
they’d stand out there
withstanding the worst
of weather
i’d watch ‘em
out the school bus
window
bracing for impact
whenever i took a walk
my walking always
led to them
and whenever they’d see me
coming down the road
they’d stop
whatever they were doing
and move toward me
in a graceful gait
they’d let me pet ‘em
on the head
and feed ‘em apples
they belonged to the people
who lived in the big ‘ole house
in the middle of a lot of land
edged by miles
of wooden fence
i would makeup stories
in my head
‘bout the folks who lived there
and they were always …
happy
i was a daydreamer
my whole life
no matter where i was
or what i was doing
alone or in public
i was daydreaming
it was a way
to cope with chaos
like all those walks
i took
down that long stretch of dirt
from one dead-end sign
to the other
and back around
to the pasture
where the unicorns
were waiting
for me
TL
Too Late for Tears
t
h
e
y
who go
unnoticed
unchecked
unhappy
behind
small smiles
they live their little lives
in an imaginary
world
created in the cracks
in the eruption
… the interruption
of childhood
p l a y
they never had
a chance
born into
traumatic
circumstance
too young
to get in a car
and drive away
too scared
to speak up
and say
too conditioned
to accept
the way it is
children don’t get
a chance to choose
how they are
raised
some get lucky
and make it
out …
but some
never get to leave
the black box
….
laid to rest
in a meadow
down
that knows no
walls
no doors
no locks
the wind blows
through
and through
TL
Avalon
snow in the sea
it glistens
like the rain
through the trees
a breath of frost
on the ground
high on the hill
the bells are ringing
an eternal spring
TL
Golden Boy
he felt
the earth
beneath his feet
along the rugged
trail of trees
each step
drawing him closer
and closer
to the center of his soul
as he climbs higher
and higher
to the summit
of a sunset
he is not alone
an Eagle flies overhead
beckoning him further
along
whenever he grows weary
he stops
and rests on a rock
a butterfly lands on his hand
resting, too
he can hear the chorus of birds
chirp
the squirrels scraping
against the bark
he listens to the quiet
of deer walking
sees the sunlight
dance with the wind
he makes his way to the river
and bends down
his cup runneth over
he watches diamonds
wink on water
the whisper of wildflowers
on the bank
a yellow leaf drops down
and floats on by …
he watches it
‘til it disappears
from sight
he feels free
happy within
he continues on
his path
he needs no map
at the crossroads
a little boy
looks back
stops and waves
before he takes off
flying
TL
Baloo Birthday
how is
the weather
there
it’s raining
here
the ground is
saturated
with a week of rain
since the sun
moved to Texas
on the second
in its 20th year
we have to light candles
round here
to mimic the ray
a lamp over a plant
to keep it green
the rain to keep it
real
no rain … no roses
right
only in the silence
do you hear
sight and sound
the senses most profound
or is it feeling
encircled
and held
like a ring
eternal …
that you wear
within
no matter
where or when or why or what
or who
the ring is true … true love
is you
my beautiful baby
Baloo
TL
The Giving Tree
“once
there was
a tree …
and she loved
a little boy
and every day
the boy
would come
and he would
gather her leaves
and make them
into crowns
and play king
of the forest
he would climb
up her trunk
and swing
from her branches
and eat
her apples
and they would
play
hide-and-go-seek
and when
he was tired
he would sleep
in her shade
and the boy
loved the tree …
very much
and the tree
was happy
but time went by
and the boy
grew older
and the tree
was often alone …
… then one day
the boy came
to the tree
and the tree said,
‘come, boy,
come and climb
up my trunk
and swing
from my branches
and eat apples
and play in my shade
and be happy’
‘I am too big
to climb and play,’
said the boy,
‘I want to buy things
and have fun
I want some
money
can you give me
some money’
‘I’m sorry,’
said the tree,
‘but I have no
money
I have only
leaves and apples,
take my apples, boy,
and sell them
in the city
then you will have
money
and you will be
happy’
and so
the boy climbed
up the tree
and gathered her apples
and carried them
away
and the tree was
happy
but the boy stayed
away
for a long time …
and the tree was
sad
and then one
day
the boy came
back
and the tree shook
with joy
and she said,
‘come, boy,
climb up my trunk
and swing
from my branches
and be happy’
‘I am too busy
to climb trees,’
said the boy,
‘I want a house
to keep me warm,’
he said,
‘I want a wife
and I want children,
and so I need
a house
can you give me
a house?’
‘I have no house,’
said the tree,
‘the forest
is my house,
but you can cut
off my branches
and build
a house
then you will be
happy’
and so
the boy cut
off her branches
and carried them
away
to build his
house
and the tree was
happy
but the boy stayed
away
for a long time
and when
he came back
the tree was
so happy
she could
hardly speak
‘come, boy,’
she whispered,
‘come and play’
‘I am too old
and sad
to play,’
said the boy,
‘I want a boat
that will take me
far away
from here
can you give me
a boat’
‘cut down my trunk
and make a boat,’
said the tree,
‘then you can
sail away …
and be
happy’
and so
the boy cut down
her trunk
and made a boat
and sailed
away
and the tree was
happy
… but not really
and after a long
time
the boy came
back again
‘I am sorry, boy,’
said the tree,
‘but I have nothing
left
to give you –
my apples are
gone’
‘my teeth are too weak
for apples,’ said the boy
‘my branches
are gone,’ said the tree –
‘you cannot swing
on them’
‘I am too old
to swing on branches,’
said the boy
‘my trunk
is gone,’
said the tree,
‘you cannot climb –’
‘I am too tired
to climb,’
said the boy
‘I am sorry,’
sighed the tree,
‘I wish
that I could give you
something …
but I have nothing
left
I am just
an old stump
I am sorry …’
‘I don’t need
very much now,’
said the boy,
‘just a quiet place
to sit and rest
I am very
tired’
‘well,’
said the tree,
straightening herself up
as much as she could,
‘well, an old stump
is good
for sitting and resting
come, boy, sit down …
sit down and rest’
and the boy
did …
and the tree was …
happy”
By Poet Shel Silverstein
Adapt
with
the windows
down
rolled past
houses
and glimpsed
light pink
roses
climbing
a chain-link
fence
and somehow
they reached me
through the metal
without words
like a bird
in the rain
TL
IF
“if you can
keep your head
when all about you
are losing theirs
and blaming it
on you
if you can
trust yourself
when all men doubt you
but make allowance
for their doubting, too
if you can
wait
and not be tired
by waiting
or being lied about
don’t deal in lies
or being hated
don’t give way to hating
and yet
don’t look too good
nor talk too wise
if you can dream
and not make dreams your master
if you can think
and not make thoughts your aim
if you can meet
with Triumph and Disaster
and treat those two impostors
just the same
if you can bear
to hear the truth you’ve spoken
twisted by knaves
to make a trap for fools
or watch the things
you gave your life to
broken
and stoop
and build ’em up
with worn-out tools
if you can make
one heap of all your winnings
and risk it
on one turn
of pitch-and-toss
and lose
and start again
at your beginnings
and never
breathe a word
about your loss
if you can force
your heart
and nerve
and sinew
to serve your turn
long after they are gone
and so hold on
when there is nothing in you
except the Will which says to them
‘Hold on!’
if you can talk
with crowds
and keep your virtue
or walk with kings
nor lose
the common touch
if neither foes
nor loving friends
can hurt you
if all men count with you
but none too much
if you can fill
the unforgiving minute
with sixty seconds’
worth
of distance run
yours is the earth
and everything
that’s in it
and
which is more
you’ll be a man
my son”
Poet Rudyard Kipling
(i have lived every single syllable of this transforming poem since reciting it in a high school graduation speech in May of 1991 … 35 years ago … jest yesterday)
The Return
and low
after all
the weight of snow
and searing sun
wicked wind
and raging walls of water
lies a speck of sand
at the bottom
of the sea
were it dust
it would float on up
and away
to another land
in time
but circumstantial seas
buried it beneath
the depths of oceans
far and wide
forgotten there
over time
the bygone traveler
just begun
takes a turn round the bend
to sail the stars
in search of life
where it starts
where it ends
stirring up the surface
where the sun and moon
are mirrored
it leaves a wake
the speck of sand
then can take
to travel up
from the depths
through the coral reef
and strands of weed
to break the surface
like a wild whale
racing with the wind
one heads to the blue beyond
the other to the shore
where castles
there
are built by hand
in a magic winter
wonderland
TL
he’s gone …
with the wind
TL
(Nov. 19, 1938 – May 6, 2026)
Man in the Arena
“It is not
the critic
who counts;
not the man
who points out
how the strong man stumbles,
or where the doer of deeds could have done
them better.
The credit belongs
to the man
who is actually in the arena,
whose face is marred
by dust and sweat and blood,
who strives valiantly,
who errs,
who comes up short
again and again,
because there is no effort
without error and shortcoming,
but who knows the great enthusiasms,
the great devotions,
who spends himself in a worthy cause;
who, at best,
knows,
in the end,
the triumph of high achievement,
and who,
at the worst,
if he fails,
at least he fails while daring greatly,
so that his place shall never be
with those cold and timid souls
who neither know victory
nor defeat.”
– US President Theodore Roosevelt, 1901-1909
Yeah, No
when they …
wheel ‘ya out
with your bundle
and ‘ya go forth
all careful-like
and super slow
over every bump
and dip
in the road
and then
you’re home
and it begins …
your new life
… this new life
that grows inside of you
and then outside of you
turning the burrito blankey
into a cape
the baby flies
down the hall
and the clock falls
off the wall
and you get stuck
on the seconds
the minutes
the hours
but time keeps
turning over
and over
and over
and you panic
and try to buy up
all the watches
all the clocks
but it’s too late
you’re too late
and you can see
the sequin cape
sparkling out the driver’s-side-window
as it flaps outta sight
all carefree-like
hitting every bump
and dip
in the road
boom booming
further and further
away from home
and it begins …
your new life
… this new life
that grows inside of you
and then outside of you
turning the burrito blankey
into a cape
TL
Up the Mountain
at first
school was
good
i remember it …
how it was
in pre-school
then kindergarten
1st Grade
2nd Grade
3rd Grade
4th Grade
5th Grade
but around
6th Grade
I noticed
a change
she had held a lot
in
but it would eventually
spill out …
at home
or in the car
or behind closed doors
she was being bullied
because of me
and she didn’t want to tell me
about it
‘cause she knew how much it’d hurt me
like it hurt her
even though she looked white
like her Daddy
the children
had seen me
their parents had seen me
and they all knew from a glance
that she was not just white
like her Daddy
that she was Asian, too
we were not prepared
for how that would
play out
I had even weighed the thought
of home-schooling her through the middle-school years
and when the bullying got really bad
in high school
I asked her several times if she wanted to switch schools
but she had worked so hard
academically
had been eyeing the Valedictorian spot
since grade-school
so she stayed
and kept climbing
despite the hate
and betrayal
‘til she made it happen …
her Valedictorian speech
was amazing
as was her full-ride scholarship
to college
where she is continuing
to crush it
in Chemical Engineering
already the recipient of two academic fellowships
she’ll head to Texas this summer
to intern at a highly competitive company
where she’ll get paid to do what she loves to do
so it won’t be work
and when she comes back in the Fall
she’ll continue tutoring college students
from various majors
who need help with their writing
from a peer who won’t judge them
for it
but will instead
encourage them
and believe in them
‘cause she knows
that Belief
is where it all
begins …
TL
Easter ain’t Easter
without Granny
(and she’d agree)
TL
Papa
waiting on
food
stood there
staring off
and in the distance
i see this guy
making his way
down the long corridor
he looks like Papa
the Papa i remember
who was heavyset
and walked with a limp
he didn’t need no cane
no walker
no wheelchair
back then
he’d hobble along
just fine
like this guy does
i had the urge
to follow this guy
into the vision center
and tell him
how lucky he is
to be able to walk
such a long distance
without a cane
or a walker
or a wheelchair
to keep on going
no matter what
no matter the aches
and pains
and bad days
to keep hobbling along
‘cause he’s doing just fine
he might not think it now
but if he only knew
how hard it is
to get up from a recliner
steady yourself
and shuffle one foot
in front of the other
to get to the kitchen
… he’d get up
and hobble himself
everywhere
TL
(written Jan. 11, 2022)
Roses
the roses
were bleeding
think they still are
but it’s dark
back there
so i can’t be sure
i can hear the petals
crackle and crunch
like the leaves
like snow
like fire
like an echo
i pick ‘em up
and turn ‘em over
and they turn red
in my hands
and i’m standing there
looking down
at the abyss
as if i’m watching myself
from afar
i wake up weeping
the pain is as real as it was
that night
i feel my way through the dark
and turn on the light
it feels like
it just happened
but it didn’t …
that was 31 years ago
the last gift
i gave you
was red
TL
(Written March 1, 2024)