Month: March 2025

Warmongering

I carried my truths like stones,
polished by years of belief,
each smooth, sure, heavy—
ammunition I thought was strength.

I brought them to every table,
carrying them like bucklers
as though each conversation were a battlefield
where all must yield or withdraw.

But stones do not grow,
and barriers do not breathe.
I learned this in the quiet,
when chairs stayed empty,
and silence lingered longer than any guest.

There is a loneliness in certainty,
in the need to be right,
to be whole only when others
reflect the shape of your mind.

I now know that gentler things endure:
the curve of a question,
the pause of listening,
the quiet folding of hands
without answers between them.

Now, I carry these stones quietly
and leave them in my pockets.
I feel their weight but do not cast them.
I meet eyes instead of waging wars
and touch shoulders instead of taking sides.

In the absence of needing to be understood,
I am known more deeply—
not by what I believe,
but by how I connect.

It’s been a beautiful day and I was able to see the kids relish language. I’ve been fiddling with this and decided to put it up for your … enjoyment? I enjoyed it…

A Penny for a Thought

A jar of pennies sits on my shelf,
half-full, half-empty,
a peanut butter ghost
with a dull copper shimmer
as afternoon light drifts in.

They are small, forgotten things—
loose change from hurried hands,
pockets emptied after long days,
tossed in without a thought.

Once, they meant something.
A time when a penny could buy a moment,
when they jingled in palms
instead of settling in dust.

Now, they sit—silent, waiting,
a slow-growing fortune
too small to matter,
too much to throw away.

A weight. A whisper of almost.
Yet somewhere in that jar,
there is still enough for something—
a child’s smile, a lucky find,
a start.

I turn one over in my fingers,
watching the way the light catches,
letting it be—
turning small things into gold.