The transfixed glare of the blue eyed man

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His eyes



a piercing blue

not ears or noses

or even tongues

but through you

to the core of you

and then showing

so much more

his eyes a map to the places he had been once

each mountain climbed, each river


his eyes piecing to the heart

of the conversation

and then leading it

down a river

to a place none of us had been

but we could see

through his piercing eyes

that this was not a happy place

the wind whispering in our ears

as his eyes whirled us through the air

towards some mystic


place of rocks and loss

the map fading

we could not find out way home

It was here

his eyes said

as we looked around

on barren plateau of rock

that held nothing

no roots that could gain purchase

or mighty trees leaning with wind

simply five souls

and a set of piercing eyes

seeking something


not knowing

not understanding

what was sought


worst of all

how to get home.



What more than fish can you fish for?

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There by the dock

just past the bridge

where I am standing

two old men fishing

their poles leaning toward the water

their caps pulled

low over their eyes

I stood

above on the bridge

watching the water go by

watching the men fish

but there was nothing to catch

or perhaps they

were not trying their

eyes closed

their hats low

pulled down over

ears that covered

could not hear

the fish

shouting at them

“catch me”

“no me”

one so bold

jumping into the lap of the man on the right

who looked down

and smiled at the fish

I heard his whisper even from my perch

“I am not fishing for fish

my little friend”

as he placed the fish back into the water and

it swam away.

Why would men fish for something other than fish

by the bank of the river

with their caps pulled low.

What is they fish for?

I watched the sun fall

from the sky

its day job done

it slid into night

and I wondered

what was it the

fisherman sought?



A Saturday recap (and really very little to say)

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I am struggling this am to come up with something to talk about so we start as always in that case with the overall stats of my blog. Heading towards 1600 posts and nearly 3 books worth of content between the two blogs (see my amazon author page if you want to get up-to-date with the Sandler Boggs dream and my other books.) Transitional Services is coming out in the next 90 days. That is exciting for me as it has always been my dream to be a published author (with my own personal material). The Board of Education is coming into shape for IASA which I find extremely exciting. It feels a great year coming although it is pretty early.

Communication remains an issue with some of the people I interact with frequently. I don’t mind bad communication – you can get around that. No communication becomes an issue as it limits everyone. My new favorite issue is the concept of presentation “stump the chump” where one person is willing to make a presentation to the group. They start talking and everyone who is smarter than they are interrupts them. If you were smarter in the first place why didn’t you sign up to make the presentation rather than stumping the poor person willing to actually do the initial work. I’ve read a number of books on good presentations and have NEVER heard anyone mention the stump the chump process, ever. My new rule is going to be give the person the amount of time they asked to finish and hold all questions to the end. It really makes people look a bit controlling when they jump in and derail the presentation.

18,000 views of my two blogs (and counting) nearly 120,000 SPAM posts to my account – which scares me. For ever 1 real view there are 10 spam viewers. I guess that says something about my blog doesn’t it Smile

Time to get moving for a Saturday with the kids!



I am, you are, we are dedicated!!!!!

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What does dedication mean?

I’ve been involved with a number of charitable organizations over the years. I was a union representative when I was a school teacher and have represented various organizations over the years in relation to pursuing goals as well. I recently have run into a group of people that are engaged and involved with a project I am working with for an organization that make me nervous.

It is the sense of entitlement they have.  Not as I talked about in my other blog this morning the flawed communication patterns that entitlement often produce. Rather the sense that a small contribution equals a large contribution. That entitled conversation that their “tiny” contribution matters the same as a huge contribution by another person.

Why do people think that their contribution is so valuable?

I mention the negative or high-value communication issue of “they must come to me” in my other blog this morning.  But what else is driving these normally wonderful people (giving their time is awesome) to be prima donnas? What is the goal of this communication? Because to me it shows a lack of dedication to what is going on around them. They are dedicated to promoting themselves and not really helping the organization they are involved with.

To me, dedication means the following (and of course I may be screwed up it wouldn’t be the first time).

  • Engaged: I participate in the processes of the organization
  • Involved: I attend meetings and if I cannot, I notify the organizer of the meeting at least 24 hours in advance
  • Aware of the contribution of others: others give more than I do – be aware of how much they are giving
  • I work within the channels of the organization: Communication and Community are the same thing – if you go around someone once, they will not leverage your skills in the future (for fear of you going around them again)
  • There are no special communication rules just for me: This is a continuation of the bullet above but it also speaks to how I work with, support and speak about the organization to others.

A wise man once said “Enter the room with the heart of a servant.” That to me is the essence of dedication. That your gift isn’t wiped out by your presence.

Dedication, giving of yourself for the betterment of others. Frankly you do not and probably will not ever get a thank you. If you do get a thank you cherish it!


What instrument does the Penguin play?

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I watch the penguins play

the grainy video seems cold and distant

yet the penguins seem almost to frolic

on my desk

making me smile

they do loop-de-loops

in the water

and struggle walking on the ice,

as I do

the ice beneath seeming to move

with ever step

while my foot in the air

plunges downward

to an ever changing venue

unlike the penguins

I trip and fall

prolong in the snow


look at me laughing

pointing their

handless flippers

waving them in the air

“look at the fool, look at the fool” they squeal in penguin

a language

as hard to learn

as it is to comprehend

but I can read the flapping flippers

the beaks in the ever so tiny smile

as I lay in the snow

watching the penguins play…



In the end there was no ending

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The party ending

they would not leave

their half full glasses topped

with ice and

old scotch not

old enough to drink itself

but old enough to

go to war and die

to vote

to pour itself an apartment

music pouring from the stereo

around us

in us

in the scotch

like Martin or Sinatra

voices spinning a tale of

bourbon and ice

as the night

poured into the room

the party over

they were still there

but the scotch was gone

the whiskey empty

the last cigarette

slowly fading

its tendril of smoke reaching for the ceiling

but falling short

the ashtray full

the clock empty

and still they would not leave…



The lost sailors rowing to their wives waiting at home

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Just keep rowing

as though

the water pouring into

the sinking boat

wasn’t enough motivation

the captain kept shouting

“just keep rowing.”

and we did

making a foot of headway

and losing an inch of boat deeper

into the mysterious sea that surrounded us


and yet

not alive

the sea ebbed and flowed

giant waves rocking us

but not to a peaceful good nights sleep

giant waves rocking us

shouting captain extoling us

We push onward into the night

but we lose more boat than ground

we gain

each wave

a little more

water into the sinking boat

each oar

grabbing water and

pushing it behind us

gaining ground

but losing the war

we struggle mightily

“keep rowing”

the captain shouts

shortening his exhortation as

time now short

lingers in the air around us

like a lost puppy

droopy eyes and

sad reminder

of what we do not know


now with water crashing over the gunwale

will never know

we row

into the depths

never stopping

on the journey to hell.



Did you hear the smartest man in the room?

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Around you the noise buzzes

but you are right


oozes around you

as you approach

the eyes turned

your opinion




the pronouncement quiet

but all hear

all know

for you are right

the statue,

buried as in Shelley

the only remains of an empire

What was

will never be again

but they fear

the wrath

like Zeus’ fire bolts launched from on high 

always right

Do you see?

The whispers begin to spread

your soapbox grows out of the floor

and rising towards heaven

you ascend

you are right.

Eyes watch you

eyes see you

but do you hear?

Your ears closed

with sand

your rise to heaven begun

you are right

as sand falls from your ears and you wonder

was there something


you did not hear?


Once more into the breach

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Around the flickering fire

the smoke rising

as the torch is lit

and passed

each one quietly acknowledging the

god of fire

the power of the flame

touching it

with eyes

(hand burn but you knew that

learned that long ago)

as the smoke reaches up

and up

watching it float among the people

seeking pockets

and lining

to hide in

the smoke swirling around you

the lost memories

of what once was

sliding into the smoke


causing your eyes to tear

just a little

for we are men

in touch with the memory

but letting it go

always letting it go…



An infinite light

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As though a candle


its light struggling to get out

I am the whispering wind

and flowing around the candle

blow the light


up and down

Spreading the light across the floor

the cat chasing it

trying with declawed paws

to reach it

shred it

kill it

play with it?

Then the quiet comes

within the quiet

the last steps taken

the last steps

the last


it falls

we fall

and the trees laugh…