A HARD LESSON

It’s a scary, helpless feeling being bullied.

You feel like the biggest coward the world has ever seen…

If you have ever been bullied…you know exactly what I mean.

I was a whole lot younger when a bully took my money every day

and the guilt and sadness I felt back then has never gone away.

I never told my friends or family…I was too ashamed

and though his face pops from my memory every now and then…

I long ago forgot his name..

But I’ll never forget how he made me feel…and all he took from me

for not only did he steal my money…he stole my dignity.

He made me feel weak and frightened…and I am still appalled 

at how he made me feel inferior…how he made me feel small.

So when I see bullies out there today

with guns, with intimidation…searching for respect they have not earned…

I’d like to share a little wisdom about bullies I have learned:

Bullies prey on our weaknesses and in doing so they think they’ve won

but a bully will back down when we stand together as one.

Because despite how they portray themselves…

a bully is not strong, or confident…or wise

a bully is just a coward…the bully is his disguise.

So I will stand with anyone standing tall 

for Black Lives Matter…

for Native Americans…for women

for anyone oppressed or bullied…in this land…

having finally learned a lesson

it took me 50 years to understand.

AS IF WE'RE ALL THE SAME

I wish, while getting older, as adults we could devise...

a way to grow up and mature…but keep our child eyes.

For children do not see differences in our color, sex or name...

They hold hands and talk to everyone…

as if we we’re all the same.

Children welcome all visitors who enters through their door.

Theirs is a world of peace and love…They do not think of war.

I have no proof it would be different

but I do love to surmise...

what our world would look like today

if we had kept our child eyes?

Would we welcome all visitors who enter through our door?

Would ours be a world of peace…would we never think of war?

Would we not see differences in our colors, sex or names

Would we hold hands and talk to everyone…

as if we were all the same?

HOW TO FLY

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” Gianna’s father asked…

“A bird!” she said with glee.

I want to soar across the sky and play up in the trees…

“Well, come on,” he said grabbing her hand…

without ever wondering why...

“We have a lot of work to do…

if we’re going to teach you how to fly.”

THE MAGICIAN

I’ve never read a magic book…never studied…never crammed

I am in no way a magician although…I like to think I am.

When our children and grandchildren were young…they thought I was too

as I was able to surprise them with the few simple tricks I knew.

I could steal their nose, make a pencil turn to rubber, make a quarter disappear

and as they were watching my every move…find that quarter in their ear.

My repertoire was basic…but on my every move they hung….

to them I was a magician…at least while they were young.

But children and grandchildren grow up…and it wasn’t long before

the magic tricks I fooled them with when they were young…didn’t fool them any more.

But the funny thing about this even though my magic’s no longer there

when we all get together…there’s still magic in the air…

There is magic in the way we talk and laugh…and there is always a surprise…

a little magic in our touch…a little magic on our eyes.

So even though I’ve never read a magic book…never studied…never crammed

and technically I’m not a magician…I still like to think I am.

Because a magician doesn’t have to perform tricks….

doesn’t have to pull a coin out of thin air….

a magician only has to have the knack…

of finding magic everywhere.

GET OVER IT!

These poems I write I write for me…I like to take the time

to put my feelings down on paper and to make my stories rhyme…

It’s kind of like a daily diary…it’s something I love do do

and when I’m finished I like to share the words I write…with you.

What I write are my feelings, my views…I write about the world I see

and I don’t desire nor do I expect every one to agree with me…

And when you don’t agree I’m usually fine with that…

but yesterday I have to note

I was a little saddened by one response…by what one person wrote.

I posted a poem about how George Floyd will never get the chance to teach his daughter how to fly…

lamenting how he cried out…

how it was a tragic and senseless way to die.

That same day I received this note…which saddened me I must admit

The note said, ‘He’s not the first and only person to die!

and ended with, ‘Get over it!”

Get over it…get over it…these words reverberate inside my head

Get over it…get over it…is what whoever wrote this said.

Get over how a person…any person had to die this way

Get over how another person’s life was so callously taken away.

Get over the tragedy the inequity….the inhumanity?

I confess it is always going to be a challenge getting over it…for me…

So the question I must ask the person who said, ‘Get Over it’

be you a woman…or a man

Is the problem how difficult it is for me to get over it…

or how easily you can?

'He’s not the first and only person to die! Get over it.’

WHY BLACK LIVES MATTER MATTERS

Here’s a simple lesson I wish everyone could be taught:

When we say Black Lives Matter it doesn’t mean other lives do not!

Of course all lives matter…that point is undisputed

But that has never been the case in this country…despite being constituted.

So when we say Black Lives Matter this should be your first thought

It means that other lives have mattered more and Black lives…they have not.

When we see a person drowning we try to rescue them without thinking

We don’t look to save everyone in the water…only the one who’s sinking.

But for over 200 years we have been the ones pushing them under the water

holding them down…

or sitting on the shoreline…content to watch them drown.

So when you hear Black Lives Matter think of it as a synonym…

for people who are only asking for an equal chance to swim.

Think of it as a way for all people to achieve equality

So we can finally become 

the country we were constituted once to be..

So never again will any group be made to feel inferior or small

So after 200 years when we say all lives matter

It finally will mean all.

THE SOULD OF OUR NATION

I once thought the soul of our nation was a mix of colors 

A mix of colors shining bright

but I was wrong…the soul of our nation is the absence of color

the soul of our nation is white.

(Which is crazy when you think about it…I mean that statement can’t be right

because there’s not a person in this land who’s DNA is purely white!)

Still, I falsely thought since my life was easy…since I was safe and free

that everyone in America…had it as good as me.

What made me realize my mistake…what made me start to seethe

was when George cried out for his Momma…

when George yelled, “I can’t breathe.”

It was when I watched a white man deliberately take a black man’s life

and I thought, “How can we be so unkind?”

It was when I saw the pain and sorrow grip the world

It’s when I saw the friends and family he left behind.

I am sorry it has taken me so long…to hear over 200 years of pleas…

from the Indian reservations to the slave ships on the seas…

How could I have ignored them?

They’ve been pleading every day…

but now that I have heard them…I know they’ll never go away

Nor should they…for it’s time we listen to their pleas

It’s time we make some changes…before our time is gone

It’s time in the battle for our nations soul…to decide what side we’re on.

And perhaps we’ll find when we put an end to their over 200 years of hell

in saving the soul of our nation

we’ll have saved our souls as well.