To lead: to be a monument, a pillar, a symbol to others; or a defined concept that places pressure rather than inspires, causing withering rather than bolstering the idea general audiences see when they watch the play where the hero triumphs over evil.
So lost in the stories, both true and fictitious, are we that the simple definition of leading
has been removed from our mindscapes.
We see heroes leading the people against the armies of darkness,
Washington leading his troops against the British,
but not the hardworking mother taking a double to feed her children
or the gay teacher who inspires their LGBTQ+ students just by existing.
We forget that the plain initiative to give someone a lollipop on their worst day
can inspire them to seize it instead; no unfathomable event needed
to lead.

Inspired by Drew Dudley’s TED Talk “Leading with Lollipops”

today.
Said some things
never thought I’d say.
Reminded of a little boy
collapsing under the strain
of heavy accusations in my name.
I didn’t want to take the blame
or the shame
crushing me like a ten-ton weight.
I never wanted to feel like that
again.
So I crafted my walls
built my armor of chain.
I throw it up, whenever fingers point my way
that little boy shivers inside
clutching his torch of sputtering flame
he no longer remembers
any other way.
But the light is shining in
the walls are crumbling and thin
he feels water on his face
the cool touch of rain
things are beginning to change.

My wife opened a new jigsaw puzzle
only to find there was 
a Ziploc bag holding the pieces.

She will decide whether
to be mad about it later,
depending on if all the pieces are there.

The blueberries that we picked from the garden last night
Were gorgeous, plump, juicy
And utterly flavorless.

The same constant deluge that caused their size and abundance
Washing away all the sugar and substance

The dawn today broke bright, humid
And completely colorless
From the smoke drifting down from our northern neighbors

Another disappointment on what was supposed to be a laid back start to vacation
And quickly morphed into a constant stream of emergencies I will have to tackle when I finally make it to work

But for now, we’re walking, the dog and I
My (usually compliant) asthmatic lungs burning in the haze
And this afternoon’s forecast calls for more thunderstorms

I should be in pain—

My eyes should be glazed,

Sunken down to the bone.

My words should be short,

And my yawn should be a roar.

I should be miserable,

And I definitely shouldn’t

Look at the raindrop on my arm

And see a sunflower bloom.

But what can I say?

How are your feet

Supposed to hurt

If they’re swept off the ground?

Her shoes
Sit quietly on the floor 
Next to the door
Ready to go

The stories they could tell
of the journey they have seen

Someday they will remain perfectly still
For now ……

In the morning bouncing out the door
by evening weariness sets in 

So many lives they have touched 
along the way
sharing love and compassion

Sometimes bright and new 
others worn and tattered
Bravely they go

Her shoes
Her journey 
Her story
A gift to the this world

slb

She’ll end up doing
the right thing.

I just know it will take her a little
longer
than both of us planned.

Tell her
it is okay.

Tomorrow will come.
We will both find chances to grow up.

We will both find our own
kinds of peace.

She will grow out of her skin
and into me.

I will take over.
Until I too fade.

Whoever I become
will eventually write the same
about me.

Tell her I love her too.

Not a Dodoitsu

I’m not a logodaedalus
nor prone to sesquipedalianism
so, I doubt I’ll ever indulge
in a logomachy match.
But if there were such a tournament
it would be hilarious.

They approach without hesitation
because I make it easy.
It disgusts me in a way.
With outstretched hands
and trembling tones,
they make their request.

A closed throat,
tight lips—
hesitation dripping
in anxious silence.
I answer,
because silence feels like cruelty
when someone is drowning.

I’m the anchor in their chaos,
the post they lean on,
the order in their mess.
Yet no one asks
if I’ve grown tired of standing still.

How many fires must I drown
with ashes from my own collapse?
Praise tastes hollow
when it’s served on a platter of exhaustion.
Strong, they say—
as if strong means disposable.

I’m called dependable,
like it’s a gift—
not a burden.
The agonizing truth is:
my heart refuses to say no,
even when it begs to be spared.
It pounds like a war drum,
dragging me toward battles
I never chose,
for causes I don’t believe in.

Is my existence tied
to what I offer others?
To hold their weight
while burying my own?
Do I exist to be the bridge—
walked on, then forgotten
once the crossing’s complete?
Left alone, burning?

They still call.
I still answer.
Most nights, I wonder—
am I truly valued,
or just expected?

Flattery has faded.
Connection has thinned.
I’d rather be wanted
for standing my ground,
than needed
for giving myself away.

I was flipping through the photographs
When I landed on one of your face,
I skipped over it, not needing a reminder,
But went back guiltily anyways,
I had been listening to sad songs getting over you
But all the feelings came rushing back,
Seeing your hair, it was longer back then,
And your ever so bright smile,
All of my feelings of you resurfaced,
But I’m drowning in your eyes again.