Strangers

The credentials of Identity

How shall thee be defined?

Reflection of a mirror-

Or trusted words of a giver-

Comfortable compliments or words that send a shiver

Up the spine.

Keep it in line-

Or should one follow the curve

Defined by nerve

Or by definition of despise

Or by love-

By inherent appreciation of the dove of peace

Or by anguish obtained by ambition of reach.

What defines the Being

of one Being such as us?

By the things we want but say that we “must”

Have

Or be it through the people we trust.

The homes lived in-

the cliques and gangs who reach and cling-

the beauty of a voice as a natural sings

Exhale.

So what makes you?

The failures tripped

Marked successes or excesses-

Faith locked down blesses

After years fallen over chasing traceable truth-

Thee be expressive of youth or wisdom of age

Writing articles of life prior to turning the page.

So defines Identity

Who thee am, was, or could be-

Particles of being

Always staying never leaving

behind lines or behind lies

Never uncover the truth-

Only One (maybe lucky two)

Will ever know the definition of You

The artist on the street-

There he stands in the midst of it all,

Among the French architecture,

Wide-eyed tourists, and victims of the fall.

The artist on the street-

There he stands in the open sun,

The irony of six months gone

From when the chaos had begun.

The artist on the street-

There he stands on the sidewalk,

Behind his life’s works-

Silently friendly, conversing in quiet talk.

The artist on the street-

There he stands with a welcoming smile,

He begins to tell his story

While explaining his artistic style.

The artist on the street-

There he stands unlike the night before,

Unlike tonight when he’ll lay cramped

In a makeshift home that replaces the one that is no more.

The artist on the street-

There he stands in hope and disappointment,

In faith, in love, in forgotten memory,

In a frozen moment- in time already spent.

The artist on the street-

There he stands as we shake hands and say goodbye.

“Ford, good luck and God bless you,

We’ll not forget, nor will we try.”

A sight seen the world and over

In khaki shorts and graying hair comb-overs.

Camera in hand and water in tow-

Setting themselves up for an impossible show.

Opinionated about comfort-a usual scene-

Frustrated in translation when they don’t know what they mean.

Keeping up pace but losing the vision-

Disappointed-slightly-by the cultural intrusion.

Don’t leave a tip, but promise to come back-

Please give me something for all that I lack.

Gray smoke billows toward

The clear blue yonder above-

The forbearing witness

Of the oncoming flood of fire

Climbing ever so higher on the dry slopes

An empty southern wind pushes forward

As we close distance with the heat-

An unwanted, metal-piercing heat-

Licking our space with golden tongues

Invading the already suffocating surrounding

One moment, one blink-

The heat’s heart within reach-

One breath, one pause-

The engulfing confusion takes hold

Then, in a single second, it passes…

White frost slowly rises toward a stranger-

He with brown eyes and blind sight-

A nomad- tried and worn-

Like the others left confused in plaid

Left exposed through holes in their soles

The cold northern air slaps the skin

As you close distance to another, a stranger-

A bone piercing, thought-numbing chill

Forcing the mind to focus-

On the lost and blinded stranger

One step, ever so close to him-

One look of seemingly meager meaning-

The overwhelming shame of laziness causes inaction

Turning away so as not to see

Too late- looking back and he is gone.

Bam goes the Intercity...

There they walk so slowly by

So many different dispositions

As varying stars up in the sky

Contrasting faces (stop)

Chocolate-chip cookie beliefs

Businessmen slipped up in Dockers,

Sinned-up Saints by Robin Hood thieves

The colored man, the immigrant,

The foreigner, the native, the American:

Defined as One in a land,

Can such be in existence?

Can one truly keep their identity

When one must fit a mold?

Model citizen defined on paper

By birthright and resistance to cold.

The Great Assimilators (stop)

Jump up or look down

Depending on how it’s looked upon

If integration brings up a smile or a frown

Rejecting their past and tongue

To the future in hope (stop)

Suffered sorrow and broken backs

From struggles back home

So they dedicated themselves

To the first geny’s (pause) who’ve never been exposed

To their brother’s struggles in poverty

And the unheard cries of their sister’s woes

Independence and Dependence

What separates them both?

A two letter prefix-

An inflated growth

Independent child

You used to need a hand across the street-

Now you scream in protest

For all you believe

Independent child,

You couldn’t vote just then-

Now you can and do

Choosing who will do justice for man

Independent child,

You sat in the back seat-

Now you’re pushing the pedal-

Running full speed in a race to beat.

Independent child,

Don’t forget who you are-

Who held your hand when you feared the world-

Race with braveness into the dark.

Every day, unceasing eyes watch over me.

It seems I cannot breathe.

Every move I make must be calculated.

Every decision seems to be based on others’ approval.

Do I rebel, or do I stay?

How can I cope,

When all I want to do

Is run away?

They mean no disrespect,

Yet they impose their will upon me.

Their presence is a load

Upon my tired soul every waking day.

Should I live free or do I pay?

How do I know they love me,

When all I feel is their disappointment

That I have not yet run away?

They have not written it down,

But some of my freedoms have been taken.

I am not even sure they have noticed

That I am tied down and cannot break free.

Should I feel shame?

Should my heart be forever broken?

A deep emptiness runs within

As clear thoughts turn to run away.

I know there is love.

As for respect, I do not know.

Their actions belittle me,

Yet their love showered upon me.

Are my only options to run or stay?

Who am I to turn when dusk turns to dawn?

Who will carry my burden?

Who will listen as I pray?

That one in the room,

Is she the one?

The floater…the loner…

Lines of cliques can never be undone.

Most liked in the class

Time past time has passed.

Waiting to go home

To be comforted at best.

Can’t be disturbed

By the groups that don’t let in.

Trying not to be noticed

As class starts to begin.

A floater from group to group;

No one specific to be near;

Don’t show care too much…

Because loneliness one can bear.

PLEASE BE KIND

WAIT IN LINE

The phone rings but no on answers

At least, not at first.

Ring…ring…ring…

The sound of sweeping stops

As a friendly but worn voice answers

“Hello”

Out in the cold, where I am not,

A strange couple loiters by a trash can.

A unique combination, the two-

The young one with shaking hands

And the elder with the hushed voice.

Two seats down, country music plays on

From airline-like headphones.

Heavy on the accent, and natural to

Her ears

She rocks on with quiet determination

And smiling eyes

Tapping a beat with her index finger.

SEATTLE 8:05 PORTLAND

9:40 SEATTLE 8:05

Out in the cold, I seem to be the smoker,

But it is only an illusion…

I pass by those true to the definition

And with an almost imperceptible nod,

We are connected as common strangers.