Author: lbstowe

What you suppress will jump forward in kids.
They won’t repress & will reach for what’s hid.

The world is their oyster before sea’s seen.
Their fresh minds, for each single thing, are keen.

Kids make their own minds about what life brings.
Unique atomic responses to things.

They oft want to be what parents are not.
A few fledgling stumbles shooting their shot.

Then off to live lives in this world of ours.
Each generation must set their own bars.

Words, like magick, rely on intention & tone.
A skill set practice & talent, alone, can hone.

If one has to ask, it is probably not right.
Wait patiently for a phrase’s time to alight.

For, everything said has both a time & a place.
It’s not getting it all off of chests; at a pace.

Whenever one can’t swallow up all that they chomped;
Confession is good & even better when prompt.

Ask, “Does this thing on my mind need be said by me?”
If “Yes”, draw from this wisdom ; if “No”, take a knee!

We are not those young people anymore.
Every single cell’s fallen to the floor.

We’re completely different; & will change, still.
Yet, it, I recall like yesterday’s thrill.

Electric skin, vacant hearts & the sex.
Washing ashore with all the other wrecks.

Shed & slough the skin of shame on the go.
Keep what is useful; what you feel & know.

I would indeed recall you, at my door.
We are, & are not, those kids anymore.

These words I write herein are my daily bread.
The hunger for which gets me past pain & bed.

Spiting my circumstance & the world at large.
I commit my cares to a blankness’s charge.

Spilled out in bulk & then sorted for uses.
Employed by the day as each piece produces.

Basket; left on the digital stoop with a name.
An orphan of ink who is hiding from fame. 

At last adopted by spectacles & eyes.
Hopes of happy endings are worth all the tries.

So much is murdered for the sake of story.
No asides or b-rolls deliver glory.

It’s not the quiet part that receives limelight.
Nor sleep’s dreams or bland nitty gritty outright.

It’s the haloed moments wreathed in flashbulb fire.
It’s completions coinciding with the wire.

It’s the photo finishes & the nicks of time.
It’s making brief points that surprisingly rhyme.

The glamorous victors of history won’t show…
All tedious moments that polished their glow.

Some need a villain; that’s their way.
Outside color co-signs their gray.

Cast out bright ones as enemy…
To, lend their dullness clemency.

The square cannot abide the globe…
Two dimensional homophobe.

Well rounded folks bristle the cruel.
Who’re always in line first to duel.

They’ve a single trick: sharp corners.
Still, globes remain deft performers.

They do not balk at fearsome shifts…
Balls can go far as water drifts.

They can bounce off hard responses…
& braid of them renaissances.

May sharper angles smooth with time…
Whilst, orbs remain adeptly prime.

Air moves like smoke…for, smoke is its mask.
In invisible silence it basks.

Air makes circles like rippling water.
Air bears aqua; colder & hotter.

Water & Air’s smokish clouds trap Light.
These three play prism for rainbows bright.

Rainbows in winter need slushy snow.
Rainbows in heat are any spray’s show.

Digital weather maps, all…color.
Nature & Life, sans spectrums…duller.

None should have to play dumb for your comfort.
The teethmarks on our tongues are unnumbered.

We’ve always had to play it down for you.
We wrongly reinforced your attitude.

We allowed rule by mediocre tastes.
We donned bushels & let light go to waste.

We let ourselves be bored by dos…more don’ts.
Sadly, we bowed for all you would…more won’t.

We’ll try to use well; our spare attention.
Good necessities bear good inventions.

Life’s a conversation with the universe.
Each newborn baby’s cry is just the first verse.

We learn the language of simple existence.
We thrive in circumstances of resistance.

The more we struggle, the more we learn & grow.
Pushing past the trivial is how that goes.

When we learn to ignore life’s static & noise…
We navigate new situations with poise.

A life lived focused on the promise of hope…
Isn’t a life bereft of tactics to cope.

Persons raised in the shadow of betrayal…
Build their lives by that narrow mind’s portrayal.

A parent who plays the consummate victim…
Primes kids to cast villains by silent dictum.

Being cast aside leaves notable trauma.
Every soul seen as a “question mark, comma.”

Seen a generation’s siblings raised in shade.
Seen them build character by enemies made.

They think inventing bad guys can polish turds.
All cows think cowboys are a threat to the herd.