Poetry by Dan Beams


            
 


            
False Floors and Foundations



            As the father of a fifteen year old daughter and an almost thirteen
            year old boy, I find myself inundated with what I deem "inappropriate
            and radical" societal influences.

            
It's difficult for me to discern how many
            of these ills represent a genuine threat. Sometimes I'm convinced,
            as my children suggest, I've taken on that same stodgy, hard-line
            persona that my father once had. I'm certain my parents believed
            the evils that lurked around every corner in the early eighties
            were just as detrimental as I believe those are today. I'll have
            to admit, knowing that my parents are unlikely to visit the blogging
            world; that I certainly strayed from the ideals they laid down
            and my father attempted, repeatedly, to pound into me. Some of
            those escapades remain secret to this day, as well they should.

            
My daughter seems to have developed a similar
            personality and set of morals as I have now, which is very different
            from my late teens and early twenties. At least at this point
            in time she appears to be the least of my worries. I recall just
            a few weeks ago my wife and I were discussing my days of lore.
            My senior year in high school I was kicked out of honor society
            (another story for another day). I'm careful not to reveal too
            many of those stories around my children, but my daughter heard
            enough as she entered the room. She looked at me and with a most
            serious voice said, "Dad, you sounded like trouble back
            then." There I sat, rightfully accepting what was mine.




            My son though, I'm afraid is going to be very much like me; a
            terribly strong willed child. In recent years I apologized to
            my mother for the hellion that she was blessed/cursed with (and
            she only knows about a quarter of the whole truth). I understand
            that some personalities must learn from experience. I'm just
            uncertain if I can withstand all of the experiences, young Jacob,
            has in store.

            
The title of my poem deals with false floors
            and foundations. I believe the world provides us with many false
            floors and trap doors, yet I'm also confident that if we lay
            a solid foundation our children will have an appropriate base
            to return to and to build upon.

            
False Floors and Foundations

            Celebrities, stardom, and fame

            An American fable

            Like a drunken fool 

            Sits too long at a poker table

            Fragile wings of a moth

            Drawn too close to the flame

            Are those that desire 

            To hear their own name

            
The same paper people

            Cut from the same flawed stock

            Trying to distinguish themselves 

            From an identical flock

            Attempting to be unique 

            In precisely the same way

            Convinced being discovered 

            Will liberate them some day

            
Anxiously preparing 

            Their fifteen minutes of fame

            Unaware at sixteen 

            "Forgotten" is now their new name

            Seeking acceptance at private clubs 

            Not soliciting members

            A fire that once raged 

            Reduced to smoldering embers



            We've glorified themes 

            Winning at all cost, and teaching to brag

            Children wander circular paths 

            Unable to find the checkered flag

            Shattered pieces of the original sculpture

            Exhibiting failed symptoms 

            Of an increasingly failed culture

            
We must teach lessons long overdue

            Of hard work and of ethics 

            Though society tells them untrue

            But where does one find 

            Theses illusive, vanishing ideals?

            Those that insulate against loss 

            When the world only steals

            
Disappointment, anger, and pain 

            Coping skills we must teach

            Molding of minds

            Before drifting beyond our short reach

            A product of what they observe

            So by example, set a high bar

            One that continues its course

            No matter how near or how far

            
Children may stray from instruction 

            Taught when they're young

            Cursing the 'sadistic warden' 

            You've blithely become

            But in time they'll return 

            Like wandering sheep to the staff

            Wishing to repay sacrifices 

            You've made on their behalf 

            

            
 

            
Dan Beams is a 40-year-old
            self-described simple man. He lives in a small town in central
            Illinois, with his wife, Beth, and two children, Allie 15, and
            Jacob 12. By a strange twist of fate, the loss of his job last
            year, led to his love of writing. Although this new passion is
            less than a year old Dan has established a great connection to
            the intrinsic power of the written word. Writing has again impressed
            upon him the fact that the key to a successful life is to possess,
            in great abundance, those things not easily measured.

            
You can read more of Dan's
            poetry at http://poeticjustice-dan.blogspot.com/



            For more poetry by Dan visit page1