A Humble Thank You to the Public Safety Writer’s Association!
This really does not require any words from me. I had to share because I just love it. I hope you enjoy it too!
Oh the decisions, both good and bad, that have been made around a five foot table. This poem is dedicated to my wife’s Aunt Donalee Strand, who makes it the fiber of her being to ensure everyone has a place at her table. We love you.
Thanks for taking a listen to my version of Calmness of a Warrior.
Each time you listen puts a smile on my face. I cannot believe how emotional a person can get when you actually have to read a poem out loud.
So here is something new for me. I decided to try reading a couple of my poems on here. I wanted to give you a little audio presentation and maybe some background on what inspired each piece.
I am by no mean a professional voice over specialist, but I found this to be somewhat of a fun project. Thank you for taking a listen to Broken Windows. Your support is so amazing!
Moving Forward in Reverse
The past never leaves, but is blind,
Blurring visions of the future,
Events that once were left behind.
Memories reincarnate from a time gone by,
Moving forward seems impossible,
Reparation vacant, reinforcing the question why.
Is it the enemy or a gift given by events beyond any control?
Appearing without out discrimination,
Memories climbing up a tunnel from a dark hole.
A dwelling opponent with appearing from dark resurrection,
What if this, I could have done that,
Opposing it’s will with no ability for correction.
A gift when remembered and lessons have been learned,
A cluttered path becomes clear,
An advantage in life’s choices, and the freedom you have earned.
Take the past’s lessons, plan and rehearse,
Better late than never,
Moving forward in reverse.
Garden of Trust
In this vast world filled with humans, seek those that one can trust,
The inside is true and what matters,
The outside insignificant, beautiful or covered with rust.
To see a person for who they are takes not your eyes,
Listening with one’s ears,
Sorting out the truth and the lies.
Eyes locked in place, speech genuine and profound,
These are the words to believe,
Straying from truth, when the conversation turns to the ground.
Seeking similar souls and building a safe place,
These seeds of a beautiful garden grow,
The weeds pulled and are displaced.
As the flowers grow, harmful intentions sound off like a symphony of 1000 horns,
No matter how much work or beautiful this garden of roses,
there will always twice as many thorns.
A family, church, perhaps battalion with a battle plan,
History has proven success through a constant,
the strong leading Front Man.
A squad patrolling in the jungle or the sand,
The sergeant on the street,
Or the lead singer of a band.
This person has no gender, their color does not matter,
A soft tongue yet careful ear,
Measuring what is heard through the jeers and the chatter.
Standing in the front, yet among those they appear to lead,
Hard, compassionate, yet fair,
Accounting for all, ensuring every need.
Defining those around them, speaking for the mass,
The best of what is around,
Polished like fine silver, transparent as glass.
The Front Man must know that they simply represent,
all that surround them,
No matter the scratches on the surface, a tear or dent.
Walking softly yet hidden beneath, a reluctant hammer,
Good, bad, or indifferent,
A buffer from hell given, recipients of inadvertent glamour.
How did they get there, are they volunteers?
Chosen by fate, life, or other means,
Suffering the boos and the relishing the cheers.
Be it a soldier, cop, or nurse, sometimes even a music fan,
Willingly or not are defined,
by the words and actions of the person they call their Front Man.