Facing Death

I think I may soon die, my friend,

This road we tread must have an end,

The days we walk are numbered sure,

And none will find this life secure.

I sense corruption at my heel,

The brightened day is but surreal,

Yet, I believe that I am blessed,

Excitement rises in my breast.

I long to hold the one I love,

Then praise my Maker up above,

And let my soul go fast asleep,

And pray the one I love won’t weep.

To My Love

Meet me on a quiet hill
Far away from city strife
In a place so distant that
It's seldom seen by human life.

Touch me in that secret world
Which only you and I will know
That hidden spot, that sacred shrine
A home where just we two can go.

Yes, hold me in that magic realm
And love me as you hold me there
Speak promises of dreams and bliss
Then seal each promise with a kiss.

Enduring Spirit

Each dawn with tedious rhythm early breaks,

Same graying walls, relentless, dingy, old,

The keys on chains, the bars, the bare yard makes,

Each dweller in this dying land feel cold.

I pray, read books and study, talk with friends,

Walk thrice around the endless, dusty track,

My hopes, my dreams, have perfect happy ends,

For tattooed, angry throngs I watch my back.

The singing in our chapel behind bars,

A view of blue sky, clouds, a single gull,

And love words wrapped in letters from afar,

Conspire to make the dreary day less dull.

These prison walls don’t hold the strength to stay,

My love, my joy, my dreams, or block my way.

Love

Love

In the Danville Post Office,

Waiting, at first arms folded, foot tapping,

At the tail end of a lengthy queue,

Slowing of words, careful speech, couched in solicitude,

To the faltering girl at the counter,

(Which, upon seeing, unclenched my teeth),

I suddenly glimpsed it.

On the old Post Road, in hands,

Painstakingly guiding out of stumbles,

Providing strength and stability,

Freely given,

To one crippled by time, by illness,

I saw it there,

And my breath was caught away.

At Bonsall Park,

“You go first,” “I’ll help you,”

In words (and looks and attitude),

In the simplicity of a child, not always so wise,

It was very evident,

I was shamed by my own inadequacies.

I saw it in a Roanoak County Courthouse,

The judge speaking words,

“25 to life,” those killing words,

The father hugging his wayward son,

Encouraging smile masking tears,

It was there,

Challenging my understanding.

In the simple hands cuddling and comforting,

One squirming, noisy, disruptive infant,

At the Raleigh Church of Christ.

At the side of a bed at Jacksonville Hospital,

Wiping away sweat and spit from a no longer pretty mouth,

On a warm fall afternoon not many years ago.

At the funeral of Jeremy Coucher, in 1974,

His wife sobbing at his graveside,

The hand touching her elbow,

The soft words ruffling her brown hair,

I saw it there.

Conflict

A man sleeps right beside me,
I talk to him each day,
We go to church together,
He holds my hand to pray,
We visit kids in tandem,
Each holiday we share,
And when I face the doctor,
I trust that he'll be there.

I love a man who loves me,
He lives so far away,
I never get to see him,
I've seldom heard him pray,
His voice I can't remember,
His touch I've never known,
I suffer life without him,
He calls a prison home.

And every hour that passes,
As days flow into years,
I ponder my existance,
While holding back my tears,
What about commitment?
What's love supposed to be?
And I marvel that such conflict,
Resides inside of me.

Cat Door

O, rectangle of nothingness,

Rigid in quiet possibility,

A means of egress from the cold,

Or regress from a quarrel,

A way of escape to the wild places.

Tiny emitter of whiskers, paws and fur,

Savior from litter, like glitter,

Spread over a child’s floor.

You’re a trickster, allowing in new friends,

The baby deer, once frigid from the snow,

Now slumbers on the bathroom rug.

And the masked stealer of cookies or other treats,

A cuteness hiding teeth and claws,

Enters through you, as if bidden.

You, open gap where ears emerge,

And where eyes glance furtively around,

Before a fluffy body pops inside,

Or where is seen a glimpse of only a tail,

And a pair of back legs as they depart.

You’re a passageway from home and hearth,

To foreign parts, then back again.

Why Teachers "Cheated"

Parents are responsible if their children aren't up to par, even if they say, they "didn't know it." Why didn't they know? Don't they help their children with homework, pre-quiz them on their spelling words, discuss their ideas for reports and read those completed reports, help them pick out and read library books, drill them on math facts?? Teachers are pushed to the wall by the extremely unrealistic "No Child (no matter how limited) Left Behind" law and threats against their livelihood if they can't teach children who NO ONE ELSE lifts a finger to help. In the district where I taught for 10 years, many children are obviously neglected by "parents." They eat breakfast at school and are left for after school tutoring, come to school without appropriate attire and basically have to be taken care of by the school district. As I teacher, I bought many a jacket or backpack and tried my best to teach and tutor. With as little help as parents give, it's a miracle that some kids learn anything. And those neglected, undisciplined, unloved, unattended children then disrupt and interfere with the rest of the classroom, making the job even more hopeless. It's no surprise to me that they cheated. But very sad, indeed, that it has come to this. Wake up to the reality. It's the parents!