Poetry

Friendship

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The River

Teacher's Lament

“If you really loved teaching,” the senator said,
“You’d do it for free.”
I replied, “And if you valued education,
You’d be willing to pay me.”
Our actions show our values.
We spend more
On what’s important to us,
Whether we spend
Time or money.
Teachers are paid
For the time we spend in class,
Not for the hours
We spend preparing,
Grading papers,
Counseling,
Comforting,
Encouraging,
Learning,
Trying to inspire.
That time is spent
Because we love teaching.
“You’d do it for free”
Shows how much
Value is placed on education.
To him, the work we do
Is worth nothing.

The Visit

Her eyes sparkle
As she
Takes my arm
And leads me
Through the memory-filled
Museum of History.
“This is the guy
Who writes that column!”
She proclaims.
We are greeted
By smiles, handshakes,
Nods of appreciation.
We sit,
Surrounded by artifacts
Left behind by
Warriors,
Explorers,
Adventurers
Who faced the challenges
Of uncertain futures
With courage, vision,
And conviction.
“People don’t often
Take the time to express
Appreciation,” she explains.
“I like what you write.
You write from the heart,
And there is love
And Truth
In your words.
You don’t know
How many people
Are touched
By what you say,
And I asked you here today
So that you could see
That what you do
Has meaning.”

The Old Saddle

The old saddle
Carries the smells
Of well-worn leather,
Horses,
And the dusty
Scent of history,
Of countless
Rides across
Empty prairies,
Among the foothills
At their edges,
And along mountain streams.
The cowboy
Who owned it before
Left the stamp
Of his independent spirit,
Quiet solitude,
And inner strength.
When I sit
In that saddle,
I feel the connection
To the past,
To my horse,
To the land,
And to the truth
Of who I am.

Gentle Morning

The gentle cooing
Of mourning doves
Greeted me
As I stepped outside
Into the warmth
Of the Colorado sun.
The pale blue
Skies are clear
This morning,
The late spring
Snow nearly melted.
I enjoy the peace
Of the moment,
Letting tranquility
Seep into the
Dark crevices
Of my wounded soul,
Knowing the quiet
Will soon be
Driven away
By the
Cacophony of life.
For now,
It is enough
To be standing
On the gentle edge
Of comfort,
A cup of coffee
In my hand,
Letting the peace
Of the morning
Wash over me.