Talking Doesn’t Solve Anything
Good ideas need to be put into action
They were the wild ones, kids who didn’t listen
When droning lulled curious minds into stupor.
For them, the page before them was a blank canvas
Begging for scribbles of lyrics and squiggles of blue
Spiraling tumbles around the corners, up the sides,
Small focused ones so intent on creation others woke
To pens in grubby fists, rough paper shadowed
By time worn desktops gouged by drifting minds
In long-gone times when baseball was everything.
Screens guarded summer windows and phones
Channeled messages when someone beloved died.
Sunlight drew day’s passing with long, hot beams.
Edging slowly from the front to the back of the classroom,
Bright glare muted to a golden glow when release came.
The playground offered rusty swings strong enough
To hold teachers when they remembered who they were
At heart and played disguised as wrinkled, old kids
Closing their eyes and pumping their feet until they flew
Like the birds pecking under little kid picnic tables
Now that kindergarteners have been herded inside
So the proper order of things can be restored:
Cool…
