A credit to the human race, No matter how it goes, Before you're sent to outer space In white protective clothes, Forget the media event, Reporters and TV, And see the change you underwent, Without a guarantee. You could have gone the other way, With street gangs, fists and thugs, It might have been the easy play To hide behind the drugs. But, no, you said, my life is mine, I want to make them proud! Your studies, books and grand design- Success is what you vowed. The science fair was just a step To what was yet to come, And NASA saw a brilliant prep No longer from a slum. For six long years you made your name, The moon and stars your plan, 'Til finally your fate became The project you began. So you deserve to contemplate On virtues you extoll, Extend the media debate: You're children's model role.
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Three homes to choose from, all so inviting. The red birdhouse- that’s my style! Painted windows, like stained glass, replace mundane views with novel visions. Pensive sheep relax on a high mountain meadow, their shepherd daydreams. Wheat is harvested with machinery designed to cut splay blankets. Longhorns are strolling to join the others, driven from Oklahoma. An artist's outlook is seen in painted glimpses of rural portraits. Free from scissors and indoor vase, wild roses bare exuberance! From the height of accomplishment to the gloom of despondency, often the virtues of prerogative are enjoyed inconspicuously. Direction and purpose are selected, distracted from a simple observation, the value of this right, immeasurable, but elemental in our existence. We are where we are in life directly as a result of our prerogative, earning both joyful credit and tortured blame, incredulous to our posture. The hovering bald eagle, wondrous, and the roaming vagabond, those of the mobile rich and the blue collar, all share this same privilege, oblivious. |
AuthorJack has published over 350 poems in his career, many with his own photography. He specializes in a view of the commonplace and Americana. Archives
March 2021
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