what is it
to listen to
God, a voice
within that knows
right from wrong
freedom from slavery?
what if we
could all live
fearless in our
love for humanity
for the decency
of all people?
what if the
north star still
shines bright, if
only we be
not blind to
our inner truth?
what if we
are all Moses
wading in water
helping everyone across
to that dry
land of faith?
wet is all
and everything depends
on these drops
speaking to us
seeping into soil
down window panes
tickling the worms
in love with
this spring storm
we all are
surrounded by falling
sky, asking important
questions, do you
listen? are you
kind? do you
feed the earth?
I played Little League baseball (ages 6-12). My last year I made the Arlington County All-Star Team (Virginia) as a first baseman, but then ultimately chose to play tennis in middle and high school. Historically speaking, I know more about baseball than any other sport.
what you were going to do
you are not going to do
snapped branches, green
leaves blowing in wet wind
sirens and sky flashing
counting seconds on fingers
until thunder rumbles again
lights flicker, then gone, darkness
descends, no netflix or iphone
nature wins again
Our power was knocked out for 53 hours. It was one of the largest power outages in Nashville history. In my neighborhood of Green Hills there was at least one tree down on every street.
This was a good team, but I left FOP the following year to play for Optimist. I later played basketball in high school. Basketball is still my favorite sport.
My first job in San Francisco was as a bilingual volunteer coordinator at the 30th Street Senior Center. In all my years of travel abroad I never spoke more Spanish than at the senior center.
and when the virus
constricted air from over
58,220 lungs, no one
came to the door
informing us of death’s
arrival, no uniformed soldier’s
solemn words to comfort
ventilator’s failure to save
lives, this war of
no bullets, no answers
to the endless quest
for vaccine’s hopeful solace
we look to blame
those who cannot contain
this invisble reaper, as
if this were one
person’s fault, as if
we could just drop
a nuke and make
it all go away
instead we walk by
black granite names, mourning
the many more, expiring
with each passing day
The first print reference to a “promposal” was in the Dallas Morning News in 2001. Our mariachi-inspired band publicly serenaded our dates ten years earlier.
Daniel W. Polk 