they enter
through the revolving door
twirling in and out so quickly
dust flies up behind them
they enter
running up the down escalator
energy so palpable, smiles so bright
we can’t help but do the same
they enter
off the elevator
one primped, polished toe in front of the other
gazing endlessly at reflections
they forget why they took the ride
they enter
through the back entrance
sometimes they stay
but mostly they leave
they enter
through the front door
hugging hello
embracing goodbye
’til we soon meet again
teeshirt art previously published
Monthly Archives: September 2015
humanity
nothing within
without
humanity
These Faces
Did I ever see my children
as these faces I see now
My eyes periscope across the ocean of manila brown desks
I’m thinking many thoughts
especially how to remain afloat today
and not sink like a sub
The endless falsetto voices lost in the banter of youth
are not affected by the tepid grey tile and dull institutional cinder block
as am I
On these first days
when teachers gaze across that sea of bright, clear eyes
do they see my children
as I see them
Not evaluating as an instructor
but visualizing with the hopeful heart of a parent
I wonder
Max and Caroline
painted oh, so long ago
In my six years as a substitute teacher for all grade levels, just about every teacher I’ve had the honor of working with goes above and beyond what is expected, in an ever changing educational environment. Teachers are a compassionate group. Many educators’ patience is wider than an ocean of manila brown desks.
Fa11en
Originally published 9/11/14
For Americans, September 11th has become a day of reflection. On this day we remember the fallen, the injured, the loss, the lessons, the heartbreak, the world…
On that pristine cloudless day in 2001, the New York skyline was blackened. Americans were shocked by tragedy. What happened afterward was nothing short of spectacular. A collective spirit rose up like a phoenix. We grieved a long while then began rebuilding the fallen stone.
After 9/11 many of us looked for ways to help out. I painted hundreds of beach pebbles then planted myself in front of the local grocery store. I sold these rocks for $1 but many teary eyed people donated so much more.
Through the generosity of many, I was able to donate over $1,200 to FDNY Rescue 1. They lost eleven men, half their company. The portrait below is of FDNY Rescue 1, Firefighter Gary Geidel (44 years of age), lost 9/11/2001. This portrait went to his mother.
There are many parts of the world that can’t look back–their lands are still war zones. I pray for worldwide peace. It is very, very difficult…but not impossible.
For those who lost loved ones on September 11, 2001, my thoughts are with you on this sad day.
The Colors of Humanity
Imagine our earth a giant color wheel
each of us a gorgeous dot of pigment
equal reds, equal greens, all colors equal
but we humans don’t think in terms of equal
quite as much as we should
we are alike
but ‘enjoy’ thinking otherwise
we tend to shove one another around
crash head to head
we cancel each other out
and become void
we choose to destroy our brilliance
yet
if we agreed
equal to be equal
equal reds, equal greens
if we learned to stand
side by side
what beauty there would be
on the color wheel they call this complimenting
on the earth we’d call it peace
I can’t think of a more beautiful, earthly color coexistent than a parrot
parrot in Prisma pencil done around 2002
opposing colors on the color wheel are called complimentary because when placed side by side they brighten, when these same colors are mixed in equal measure, they create a neutral or gray
For My Friend, Who Thinks She’s Lost Her Words
I am writing this for my friend
who thinks she’s lost her words
who thinks her words
are trapped beneath rocks
who believes she doesn’t possess the thirst
to move those dry mountains
my dear friend
needs to know
her words, those languid thoughts
the beautiful ones under the rocks
will seep into the rich black soil
decompose
reform
then be carried onward by industrious insect and
cyclical underground element
until they flow into jostling aquifers
cascading into wild rivers
roaming up as sparkling wells
into crystal waters that feed bubbling fountains
in thirst she will sip
and those wet words
her words, will quench her imagination
saturate her parched muse
and her pen will flow once again
with the beauty
she thought she’d lost
somewhere along the way
Turquoise Eyes
Dedicated to my dear friend, Deb who has done nothing but encourage me to keep writing even when I believe (as I do often), I am anything but a writer…
anntogether 