Visions

Behind my eyes the visions fleet 

of your sparkling eyes that shine so sweet.

They crease as your smile lights up the room 

and the words of the heart that you spoke so soon.

All these visions far, yet right in arms reach 

it pains me to witness my fake dreams repeat.

I know you're not here and what I see too, 

mean phantoms taunt my heart strings with you.

You were taken too soon, stolen away, 

from the conversations meant for to help sway

the human in ourselves in our strength and our power, 

to manage the trials and the doubts of the hour.

But alas all I have is a computer screen 

housing images, the same ones that haunt all my dreams

And some pieces of paper that you held in your hand 

and the walls that I live in where ghosts of you stand.

I'm still bitter towards the frailness of humanity 

that ended your presence long before it should be.

I am glad I was yours, I am sure I chose you 

and despite your tough absence to your word you were true

when you followed the plan and brought me up here 

to earth where you taught me a path that was clear.

You allowed me to make the mistakes I must make 

without over riding the path I must take.

Some would say I have all that I needed from you 

to console for your absence and it somewhat rings true,

but for days like today when consoling thoughts cease 

on paper the words of your death see them flee.

I sit here staring blankly into the distance

seeking visions of you in somewhat of a trance

to see your eyes that sparkle so sweet 

that crease when you smile, never to cease.

Cheryl Rae Burge 10/10/1945 - 1/28/2007

https://www.legacy.com/amp/obituaries/saltlaketribune/86207822

                                                                                                               - MDB 

LLWS and the Zipper

A couple weeks ago I was in the break room heating up a lunch in the microwave that probably wouldn’t serve my waistline very well but fit my desire to get back to work perfectly.  During this meal prep session, I watched ESPN broadcasting on one of the many TVs in the room.  On this day the Little League World Series was playing.  I love watching the LLWS because of the passion these kids feel for what they are doing.  For their age group, they are the best of the best surviving local, regional and super regional tests to make it to this stage each year.

In the game that was being broadcast, a young man stepped to the plate intent on doing some damage to the baseball.  A serious concentration on his face, eyeballing the pitcher in hopes that his intensity would take the edge off the incoming pitch.

As the camera angles changed and panned through the scene creating a story line, the commentators reviewed game and historical performances to fill time between pitches.  At this moment I noticed something that even made me embarrassed.  Unbeknownst to this this young batter, that was so intent upon performing in the moment, he had his pant zipper all the way down.

I watched each pitch pass, ball. ball. strike. ball.  I was screaming in my head,

“when will he notice and zip it up.” 

“Someone please tell him, so he won’t be so embarrassed!”

Then the next pitch came.  The young batter swung and made contact sending the ball sailing over the outfield wall.  His face lit up the moment he made contact knowing that it was well hit.  His hard work, patience, intensity and effort paid off in this moment in time.

He trotted around the bases and across home plate stomping on it with both feet hit team gathered around him, cheering and patting him on the helmet in full celebration mode.  Off they went to the dugout with more runs on the board and steps closer to winning the game and ultimate victory.

Now the voices in my head, as this scenario unfolded, had great intent.  I felt for the boy.  I didn’t want to see him embarrassed. There was nothing I could have done 2000 miles away across a tv signal to right the situation and reduce his embarrassment, but what if I could have?

What if the coach at third stepped up after seeing the zipper and had the boy fix it?  Maybe the pitcher or catcher from the other team had pity on their opponent? Maybe the umpire or worst of all what if the PA Announcer blared over the PA system for all to hear, “Batter please zip up your zipper, how embarrassing”

In this scenario how likely is it that the young batter would then lose concentration?  All thoughts of hitting a ball well, let alone hitting it over the wall would be long gone because the embarrassment.  The horrifying thought that everyone now only saw the wardrobe malfunction and that his reputation would forever suffer.  Not only would the batter know but everyone in the stadium and even worse everyone tuning in across the nation and across the globe watching ESPN.

In the end, the fact that the batter had his zipper down had no effect on the performance of the young man in the game.  It did not affect the ball going over the wall or the runners crossing the plate.  It did not stop runs going on the scoreboard.  The un-imagined embarrassment was of no consequence at all until later in the dugout when it didn’t matter because the important moment had passed.

How often in business and in life do we set out nit picking small things and suggesting the target of our comments should or could be embarrassed or otherwise harmed?  Do we stop to understand the significance the issues we comment on and how they may fit in the scheme of things?

Mentioning issues or giving feedback about truly damaging or harmful scenarios is a valuable gift we give each other when it is done with true intent to help or to work as a team. Do we however, evaluate our comments before we make them?

By giving the wrong feedback or by giving it at the wrong time we risk destroying another person’s ideas, enthusiasm, concentration or energy over things that in the course of business or life will have no effect on the outcome if left alone.

Let those around us perform at high levels, hit the ball over the fence and score runs for our team.  Choose the feedback we give wisely so that we do not kill success.  Stop them if they step to the plate without a bat in hand but be "ok" with them taking swings with their zipper down on occasion.

tiny

The infant rage, not searing pain, you faux think it touched like the rain. 
It runs down in a channeled place, you make it flow and leave no trace.
It’s easy to forget it’s there as one drop two, then pair by pair,
You can hardly tell but your mind does know when time to time a gushing flow 
makes you gag the angered pitch and in control you hide the itch.
Silently and out of sight you dump what holds a tearful fight.
Yes I said it, if the truth be had, not drops of water touching land,
but the tears squeezed from deep injury, fierce nature rejecting inquiry
of innocence and gentile care who’d dump the lot and face the fear.
Without a sign or even flinch this is no forgery or glitch.
It will not go or look away.  It won’t be silent or leave the fray.
You no longer can bear the load, not one more step forward down the road
The crushing weight from deep within has you stretched so very thin.
But that drop will come, it is in the books, like a loss to salvation’s crook
That care not your dire straight their blinds drawn shut to others fate
‘til the shell of you slums lifelessly at the roadside not a sight is freed.
But gratefully your soul retreats no longer bearing anything
As tiny as that infant rage you’ve gone unnoticed from future gaze.

Separation

Yesterday, Jan 28th, it was  10 years since my Mother passed away.

In July it will be 6 years since the loss of my Father.

March 7th it will be 17 years since my Sara came and went.

This Thanksgiving will be 20 years since losing my Grandma Lorraine.

This year it will also be 28 years since losing my Grandpa Burge.

The time flies as we get on with things.  Occasionally we have a fleeting glimpse of those missing.



We choke up, we may even cry but for certain our heart aches for the lost potential.

But time moves on. 6, 10, 17, 20 , 28 years pass and to our human eyes our relationships seem forever static.

I know they aren't, but to our human understanding it seems that way.

I long for the interaction and growth.  I miss that most.

I cant help to think they miss it too.  Absence on either side has to be equally painful.

At some point we will catch up, we will reminisce, we will fill each other in.

It will seem like no time has passed but fresh on our minds will be the separation.

Will we appreciate more, pay attention more and not take for granted.

Is this the reason of our separation?

I miss all of you.

TRUTH

I have spent years betraying me

For causes just or naught

I killed dreams, underachieved.

Was mean, dead, ill tempered.

I stopped good things, started bad things

Even though my heart sang a different song.

I denied blessings to me and mine.

I can no longer sin against my existence

I will dictate me

My false walls of protection will crumble

My excuses and justifications

Fade to nothing

I am me

And will forever be.

-mdb

One Man's Burden

I bear the burden of a million years, a million people and a million tears.

But this deep silence haunts every thought, not what I sought or what I wrought.

But faultless I will never be in many things not this especially.

This pain, pressure, regret, sorrow, anger, fear and heart so hollow

Are my millstone right or not; to carry or let go, what ought?

The lights have dimmed and faltered in my soul forever altered.

The hope extinguished just the same, turned from great foundation to total shame.

From as far as I could see to what will never be.

Face in hand and heart dead still, I face what’s left without a will.

This silent burden smothering me, killing me, until nothing is left of me.

I die.

-mdb

Lost

Explosion of the truthful state,

blows up the mind, tears up the eye, shreds the hurtful lie.

When confronted the movie of a thousand years,
exposes futility, clutters tranquility, mocks the use of try.

The foundation of people crumbles,
taking all structure, killing all venture, making each living cell cry.

The soul of the cell fouls to black,
The movement ceases, it shrinks and creases, leaving only blight,

but still stoic stands the man,
swallowing his death, hides stolen breath, traveling still, lost in fright.