113 Lockwood Street

So this is the last few days before I move out of the home that I have lived in for 8 years. 113 Lockwood Street has been a blessed place and is filled with memories. My Jilly and I bought this home in 2001 after having lived in an apartment for two years. We were so excited to be moving here. There were times when I would go the long way home to our apartment of School Street and I would imagine pulling into the driveway and spending the evening in peace, away from the chaos that was School Street. Today I find that it is hard to appreciate this moment in this beautiful home that I have been so very blessed to live in and that is so much more than so many people on Mother Earth. I suppose by writing this I am making sure that I, in some way, show how much I love this home. The memories are endless, and it is a fact that without this home I would never have been able to move into our new home. It is because of this home that I am moving forward into the next chapter in my life with my family, but not without bitter sweetness. I can only hope that we are as happy and as fullfilled in our new home as we have been here. I can look out every window here and see our touch, our love, and our vision. May the family that is next to call this beautiful home their own continue to appreciate what they have and to love and respect 113 Lockwood Street as I do.

SCHOOL

SCHOOL
chatter
hallways full

children move in herds
pushing towards their future
encouraged by them I watch

“education institution”

COOK'S

Bless my eyes this morning, Jah sun is on the rise once again.
Bob Marley – So Much Trouble in the World


moon rise
Milky Way
Big Dipper
1 a.m. seashore
early morning
with loved ones
Cook’s, South Wellfleet
nature’s paramount
sitting atop
a 150 foot dune
distant white caps
vantage point
with endless vision
above the rolling choir
of the Atlantic
and only when I am ready
descend to the ocean side
to witness the rising of the sun

CMT

…and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards, For to-day we have naming of parts.

Henry Reed – The Naming of Parts

I closed the door and asked for quiet,
waited for the rustling of papers
and children to stop,
passed out purple booklets and spoke:
Open to page 40 and read along as I read the directions aloud.

DRP, Degrees of Reading Power was the test today,
and yesterday we had Editing and Revising,
tomorrow Reading Comprehension,
next week Mathematics I, II, and III.

It is important for students to
eat a good breakfast,
get a good night’s sleep,
relax, breathe, concentrate,
and take their time.
Our school funding is dependent on this!

How easy to forget the obstacles –

I had no breakfast ‘cause there ain’t no food to eat.

I was up all from the screaming and yelling,
background noise from my conflicted parents.

Argued with my little bothersome brother
and couldn’t find any clothes to wear.

The reverberations from the ambulance
and now the tapping pencil from the boy at the next desk
continue echoing in my head!

But tomorrow we have Reading Comprehension,
and today we have DRP.
Hey, it’s only middle school.

BATTLES AND THE RAVEN

for Dad

As the sky seemed not to be able to contain or settle on one decision,
Rainbow, full or colors, display skies clashing thoughts,
We accept both, sun and rain alike, our spirit and excitement we’re unable to contain,
The game must go on…

The faithful have turned out, once again, to witness the story untold,
The story unfold,
Umbrellas and sunglasses, and an enthusiasm that likens ours,
We take our positions, willing participants of this clash,
Our black armor shimmers with night and skies offerings,

Our general, kept at bay, yet the mighty spirit moved forth without,
And we clashed…

White Steele and leather come together as one
They come alive in the Raven as nights cold penetrates with pain,
Attempts to cease foiled as he, the Raven, battled within, and without
As if to mock the spirits of game and earth,

The battles raged on, as we witness the rising of the Raven,
We follow as one, solitaire, as a Mighty Diamond, towards victory…

The Raven smiles when receiving the token of his heroics,
And we smile, well into the dark of night.

The Strength Starts at the Roots

A Writing from Booklet

The two sides of the book begin to awaken
and come together and join images in the middle,
greeting each other having never met,
yet undeniably having a connection.
As I viewed my finished booklet I read it,
as if the depth of War and Peace, yet no more than 15 words.
It spoke to me and showed a journey from beginning to end,
from the roots, the foundation to the roots, to the foundation.

I see a spiritual journey that lifts me up from the earth
and from the sweet smell of the flowers.
I journey and make connections along the way,
find love and friendship
and receive the most beautiful gift of father hood.
There is a message to be positive until the next venture
and until home, where it is like nothing I have seen before.
I journey through the glowing green of the Maple,
the fields of grass and rise up as I go and love the earth as I do.
Awaken to see the strength that starts at the roots
and they sing a lifelong song of imagery and acceptance
of all that was and will be.
The fog covered maple in middle where the front meets the back
can be interpreted with fright or beauty.
Draped in a blanket of haze and sodden
I move past the towering figure as it reaches out in every direction.
It talks to me in a composition of wind and rustling branches “live your best life,”
it states…and I am clear of every word.
I see the longest and most defined extremity of the tree
reaching and lifting up to the bird,
who sits peacefully looking towards the future, towards the lifeline.
It meets the clock ticking on towards the next breakthrough.
Up and up and up away from the little village at the base.
From this summit I can see the savior and I feel at home here as it is like nothing on earth.

DIG

The spade pierces the silence with a shuddering blow
splitting the darkness and exposing her, deep russet.
The cadence and rhythm peels back layers,
scattered pieces of her everywhere.
leaving her open and vulnerable,
take his own rubbish and cover her over
like a blanket replacing her being and stillness
with unfamiliar shapes and shades that will remain,
take what is left of her thrown about with little attention,
toss it over his mountain of refuse
as if to hide the remnants of his ever being there,
In silence she accepts the offering
for she is the keeper.
But the day will come when she will move oceans
split open her darkness peeling back his layers
and silence will come to her.

LAMP

Out over the azalea and cherry tree
into the front window of the yellow cape across Lockwood Street
the lamp shines every night,
aglow amid life’s happenings in the neighborhood.

It is a golden lamp with a white stained-glass shade,
and at dusk it bursts from the darkness of the home,
casting shadows into corners and blazing the blackness,
a reminder of days past.

Now, a time later, the family that once shone light and love
into the home has passed into all things; the home is silent.
No children laughing, no meals at the table;
just a gathering of dust.

There is a plastic chair on the stoop; no one sits anymore,
no one chats under the overhang on the patio.
Tomato stakes hang on to the remnants of last year’s yield.
Everything is surrounded by the movement of life.

Everything is left, but nothing is touched; nothing is needed today,
except for the lamp, the overseer of all gives light to the crooked awning
and the untilled garden where the luminosity reaches,
awakening at the end of every day, the spotlight of the life that was.