Missing A Beat

What is felt

in the moment of loss

when all of fortune

becomes a confusion,

in a how do we respond

to losing schedule.

Suddenly thrust

into the dramatic nature

of coping,

the fear sets in gradually,

the indecision,

the loss of pattern.

The self took a vacation

while the psyche

stepped back and said

wait, a second, I’m not sure

this can be handled just yet.

Options had taken the day off.

So this is who I am

greatest fears,



in distinct fashion

I crashed and burned.

In A Crossfire

Emotions aside

Thoughts scream

A daily absence

Time driven

Thoughts prevail

Confusing the brain

When present means

Facing fears

We fight the torture

Of a lonely mind

Find the refuge

Heart and soul

Passion of life

Settle screams.

How To Connect

I’ve struggled with writing lately. It seems my ideas all fall down the paint of a wall, just clinging without any recourse to jump off and search meaning. I can sometimes feel inspired, but I cannot seem to piece together my words the way I would prefer. It seems I have lost a knack for letting my stream of consciousness dive right in. I’m searching for words.

I reflect back on some of my early writing. I could write in phrases with Shakespearean pentameter like it would roll off my tongue. Of late, I seem to confuse my poetry with prose, and it just feels like it is dragging down the paper. I don’t know what to do with my writing.

There are some moments when I can fall into a groove but its impact is brief. I want to take a story and run. I want to write a poem that seems calculated but free. It seems I have fallen off a path where I was that poet that people tell me I am. I want to let my words run and tell stories both in the framework of poetry and prose. It feels to me now I’m falling into some zone that has wonderful potential.

I’m telling a story, and it is helping me come to terms with who I am. I have lived a life of wonder in the hearts and minds of hundreds of students over a couple decades. I ought to have plenty to write about. I want to be that conversationalist that plays with words and winds tales from the memory of my mind. I have a few to tell.

Today, I’m directing theatre. I won’t go into it only to protect the players, but the truth is they bring me alive. I can feel their energy and I want them to feel successful in their efforts. They seem to smile, to indicate they are into it. Rehearsals have been playful and as I write this I wonder if students are sensing my commitment. I’m laid back but I get things done, on the stage. It feels good again to be designing a show and using such an organic process. As I’ve already realized, I have a lot more time to work on the show. And that project is what keeps me moving forward, finding purpose again in my life. It could turn into a real promise, if we can pull off this show, together.

I feel like I lost my way, even though that’s how I have felt nearly my entire life. Because of the loss of a marriage, and a relationship within the course of 15 months, I have pursued so many different endeavors trying to find my way. It’s only now as I write this that I feel a sense of confidence in my words. How did I get here, by simply wanting to have a conversation with the reader? See that’s the thing I have done as a director, helped kids along the way, find themselves and feel validation. So, I’m trying to find my own by examining my last couple of years.

I used primal scream, exercise, meditation, all later culminating in endless marathons of television (how unfortunate), and in that time my writing took a sabbatical. Tonight, I feel like this is the first time I have written anything significant in weeks, and as I do, I am really speculative to what I am putting on the page. Seems rather foolish, really.

So when I speak of wanting to connect, it is finding my groove, my mojo, if you will excuse the overstated expressions. I’m listening to beautiful music right now and that I think is the reason I’m feeling a certain freeing energy in my writing. I think I’ll just let this ferment for a while.


I Want

I seek recognition

I want

It’s scary to think about

Our lives tied

Each energy holds truth

Falling together

… and everyone rolls

One side Two


Standing posture

Stay resolute

Why How


I scream

He bleeds

I am sorrow

She is rage.

Am I Tacky?

I am laying in bed imagining myself in a Hollywood script – lifetime movies. I look around the room, the layout, electric light and battery cable attached to the wooden headboard. Am I tacky? He thought to himself. How do my friends feel, am I well?

This is the every day mind of a youthful ambition. To know the right words as we will wish we could. Or, is it only me? The mystery begun.

He carried himself with grace pushing through the room and then he forgot where he was though knowing he was safe in bed he sighed, always we might feel safer. It was like he was living out his diary in every move. And suddenly I’m letting myself lose my mind, astonished the result.

I am a case study that is being allowed a pleasant life if leads accordingly. I am well liked and I support kids, 100%. But, I feel this anxiety over-dramatized. I am experiencing an existential crisis and I seem like everyone believes I’m fooled and I can’t be. I have to be steadfast and assured. And then I carry on. We all carry on and I love life simply trying to pay back my debt to society. I sometimes confuse that debt with life.

How much do I want my perceptions to be absurdly dramatic, like a scene? A moment in time lived in a minute.

All played out on a set. The entire routine. Standing near the counter hands on granite, hunched over, staring at feet, the luster of wood dimly lit, underneath. Next move. What movie set am I living my life on?

These are words to say, good morning. I’ll write another day.

©️ aquietwalk 4/2022

When I’m Scared

I reach incorrectly

step aside

and watch the film develop

inside my head

in my dreams where I yearn

to be always

figure out the scene.

Such is the mystique

of forever winding the rope.

© aquietwalk 4/2022

When I Believe

I cannot disagree

with advice

people try to tell me all the time,

it makes me sometimes

crawl to a stop,

slowly fade into the grout.


I want to be free,

to not run around scared

watch wheels in motion

that haven’t ever found a way

to make themselves known

when lost on my own.


When I close one book

the next seems nearby

so easy it is

for me to fall into other worlds

simply to deny

no, rely

upon some distant arm of guidance

comes down to speak to my psyche

tell me everything is going to be

all right.


And then it starts all over again,

another scenario to embrace.

© aquietwalk 3/2022

This Embittered Bridge

Standing nearby

wondering about the walk

a concrete path

overlooking angry seas.

I want to walk across

unsure, unsettling fear,

I don’t know if I’ll ever recall

what stood before my crossing

an ocean

a spectacular horizon.

Can I glance at you

if only for a moment,

to see whether there might be solace

a place to land

still again

after falling.

© aquietwalk 3/2022

While Dying One Day

Felt like forever

to know this moment

is to fear finding

home again,

that place we might

lay our head at night.

Yet there is a certain fear

might overcome

any moment of solace

if we let it come.

Trying to find a way home

I want only my peace.

aquietwalk 1/2022