Buster

Buster walks at a very easy pace. A cool, refreshing breeze wafts across his snout. He sniffs, making out his favorite smells. However, mingling among these is something unfamiliar. He stiffens his tail, raises his ears, and sniffs again.

The strongest smell is roses. Buster knows he and master are getting close to the rose lady’s house.  Bacon!  Buster thinks. His chin gets wet at the thought.

With every step the smell of roses grows. Yet so does that new smell -- the bad smell. He feels a thumping inside him, and continues walking at a very easy pace.

“He should be right here somewhere.” The voice is masculine, but soft and barely audible. It's not master. Buster's sure of that. The smell is stronger now, putrid almost, and Buster knows it's one of those moving things master calls a car.

“You better be right about this.” This voice is deep, raucous, and Buster can hear it much more clearly than the first voice. Buster knows along with that first unfamiliar voice, this one comes from the car.

Where is it! Where is it!  Buster speeds up.
Buster feels a light pressure on his neck, straightens his head, and walks again at an easy pace.  He hears a loud screeching sound, and now Buster smells burning rubber.

“I’m sure they’ll be here. He walks here every day with his dog.”

“You better be right or…” Buster hears a sound like flick, and, for a brief moment, he smells fire. Then the fire is gone and he smells funny smoke. Master hates the smell of funny smoke.

“I am… I am…”

“Ya better be. The boss takes the stand at ten tomorrow morning and…”

“We're gonna get 'em. He should be right around..."

The voices stop. Buster looks back at master, and master smiles at Buster. “Good boy,” master says, continuing forward.

Assuming master hears the voices too; Buster puts his head up, and increases his speed until the pressure around his neck gets tighter. He slows down, looks up at Master, who's now scowling.

Why is master unhappy?  Buster looks forward and walks at an easy pace.  He also smells roses and bacon too, but barely notices.  The car is getting closer, and all Buster wants is to get master to safety. Why is master unhappy?

Buster smells strangers and creatures and artifacts unknown to him. But the pressure increases around his neck as he wanders to inspect these.

“Speed up!” The raucous voice says, louder this time. The car whirs louder and louder, and the smell of car fumes and funny smoke gets stronger. The bad men are coming right at master. They want to harm master! They want to harm master!

Buster tenses up, and then increases his speed. He's certain master will follow along, but the hold on Buster's neck tightens. Buster’s panting now, and he can feel a thump, thump, thump in his chest.

Buster stops and turns to look up at master, who reaches down and slaps Buster on the snout causing Buster to wince. Then master motions Buster to follow him as master starts forward at a very easy pace.

“There they are," the raucous voice says.

“Right there! See! See!” It's the soft voice. “Tike is right there! See! See! I can see the mutt.”

Buster stops on a dime, and master stumbles over him, falling hard on his hands and knees, spewing up a cloud of dust. Buster jerks to the left, away from the oncoming noises, until his neck snaps back, and his black, furry form slams to the ground, sending a puff of dust billowing into the air. An audible squeak escapes his throat.

He can feel pain on his side, and the pressure in his neck is excruciating. Ignoring all this, he clambers to an upward position and makes a noise louder than any noise he's ever made. Master's now up on his feet, holding the leash with both hands. Red stuff is oozing from scrapes on master’s legs, and master is ignoring this as he tugs at the leash.

“Ah, right on schedule; just as we planned. Get the creep!” the human with the raucous voice shouts.

Buster shudders, and then stiffens as the pressure on his neck tightens again.

“Come along boy,” Master says, and Buster nearly topples over before his legs catch up with his upper body, and he's scurrying alongside master again.

Buster sniffs and sniffs as he never did before on these walks. His head is high and at attention, and an eerie growling escapes his clenched jaw. His head aches. Now the pressure on his neck tightens, and his head's pounding.

Master says, “What’s wrong with you today, boy?”

Buster knows what master wants, but Buster doesn't care. Buster lets out a series of barks.

“Settle down, Buster!  SETTLE DOWN!”

With a mighty force, Buster rushes forward, running fast as he can, breaking master’s grip on the leash. Buster rushes to the woods, craning his neck often to be certain master is following him.

When master is shielded behind the trees, Buster stops and looks back at the path. A big yellow car zooms off the black surface, spewing up dust where master and Buster walked mere moments earlier.

The bad smells linger in the air, and then disappear, as does the sounds of the car.

Master is safe!  Master is safe!  Buster rushes to master and licks master's hand. Master hits Buster, who winces.

As master flings the leash around Buster’s neck, tightening it just so, master’s smell is strong. He has a glare Buster hasn’t seen since a time long ago.

Buster neck jerks as master steps away, forcing Buster to walk alongside him. Buster walks at a very easy pace.  The smell of roses is going away. Buster walks with his head high, tongue lolling from one corner of his mouth, panting. His chin is wet.  Going home! Going home!

Back at home, master puts Buster in his sleeping place. Buster tries licking master, but master pulls his hand away too fast, slamming the door as he leaves. Buster lies down atop his blankets, sets his snout over his front paws, and waits for master to return. His stomach is growling.

The Outsider

Section 1: The Outsider

As a child, he sat alone, glasses taped at the bridge,
nose red from the endless sniffles, the quiet weight of his own company pressing like winter’s chill.
They saw him as different – an outsider marked by silence and the half-shy glances he cast downward.
They laughed, taunted, cast him off,
and he grew used to the solitude,

He found solace in the pages of books,
in thoughts they would never bother to understand.
He learned there was a world within himself, a different world –
one that didn’t need their approval or laughter.
And in that silence, he discovered a strength,
a better kind of different.

He was the outsider.

Section 2: The Outsider’s Aspiration

The outsider knows what he wants to do.
He wants to be a thinker, writer, teacher,
To do things that make sense,
What needs to be done,
What's proven to work.

Section 3: Love for People vs. Restrictions of the System

He wants to work with people,
because he loves people.
He loves to listen to their stories,
to teach the right way,
rooted in scientific fact.

So he chose a path in healthcare,
becoming a respiratory therapist,
drawn by the chance to help, to heal,
to be there in people’s most vulnerable moments.
He thrives on the human connection.

But the system won’t let him think freely,
won’t let him speak the truth,
without the risk of becoming an outcast,
without fear of losing his job—
a reality that caught him by surprise.

Section 3:  The Shifter and Historical Parallels

He entered the paradigm with fresh eyes,
an ability to see what is and is not.
And he began to shift it,
creating a new way,
one that would make more sense for his job.
He is the paradigm shifter.

He knows how Copernicus felt,
when he proved the Earth wasn’t flat,
yet had to keep it a secret,
for the last 30 years of his life,
fearing he’d be silenced forever.

Section 4: Institutional Stagnation and Paradigm Paralysis

He feels like a pawn.
They place him where they want
And expect him to do his job
The way it's always been done
Even if what he does doesn't matter.

It's called a paradigm paralysis,
The greatest obstacle to progress.
The inability to see the truth
Or the refusal to see the truth,
Is the greatest obstacle of all.

It's a paradigm paralysis,
Not seeing beyond the current thought process.
It's not seeing out of the box.
It's being stuck in a pattern,
And not seeing a better way.

Section 5: Questioning Established Practices

While your mind is shut, his is open.
He sees the foolishness of your ways.
He sees the observer of reality,
Watching you do that and do this,
Just as they've done for years.

"Why do you do it that way?" he asks.
"That's how we've always done it," you say.
"But do you ever ask why?" he presses.
"Do you ever stop to think—
Why prescribe a bronchodilator for pneumonia,
When it’s meant for asthma?"

Section 6: Historical and Modern Medical Myths

You'd think people would want the truth.
Yet for 2,000 years doctors studied Galen
And they did even after the truth got out,
That Galen never dissected a human corpse.
Instead, he dissected an ape.

Galen described an eight-segment sternum.
And even while the Galen passage was read,
While the chest was being dissected,
And a three-segment sternum was revealed,
Nary a person thought to say, "Galen was wrong!"

Andreas Vesalius did say Galen was wrong,
And he proved Galen was wrong,
Yet he was called a liar and a quack.
"What Galen says is true!" his peers hailed.
They were stuck in paradigm paralysis.

Section 7: Modern Medical Paradigm Paralysis

That's why there's no cure for asthma,
Because all dyspnea is STILL treated as asthma.
Hippocrates defined dyspnea as asthma.
And so we still treat all dyspnea as asthma,
Even though the evidence shows it's not.

Bronchodilators are bronchodilators,
Yet they are used to treat cardiac asthma,
And pneumonia, and collapsed lungs,
Lung cancer, kidney failure, croup,
And rickets along with bronchospasm.

It's called wasted medicine for no reason.
He's a respiratory therapist for 12 hours
And he sees bronchodilator abuse first hand,
He knows it has no effect on the patient,
And so does the patient.

Yet few patients question the procedure,
Because doctors have earned their trust,
And so few think to question,
Anything a doctor orders.
They just want to get better.

In fact, even most doctors know the truth,
Yet they have no choice but to order them,
Because that's how it's been done forever.
And doing it any other way would make sense,
Yet it wouldn't make sense to them.

Even if a doctor knows the truth he can't speak it,
Because he'd be an outcast among his peers,
He'd be castigated by the doctor clique,
And reminded that the truth doesn't matter,
Because bronchodilators are thought to cure everything.

The COPD patient was on 100% oxygen
For eight hours in the Emergency Room,
And the patient did not stop breathing.
Yet later he was ordered on 28% oxygen
Because of the hypoxic drive myth.

He watched as the patient's dyspnea worsened,
As his skin turned from pink to blue.
He called the doctor who refused more oxygen.
The patient suffered as a result,
Of the paradigm paralysis.

Yet even if the doctor knew the truth,
He'd have to accept the myth as truth,
Because the clique accepts the myth,
And the courts accept the myth,
And, hence, the myth becomes the truth.

Section 8: Desire for Change and Personal Constraints

He knows it and you may know it too,
Yet what is he, what are you to do?
You know about paradigm paralysis.
You know it from your observation.
You know it by scientific fact.

He doesn't want to be the first to speak,
And neither do any of his peers.
So he keeps his mouth shut,
And you keep your mouth shut,
And nothing ever changes.

He knows we could probably cure asthma
Because the wisdom exists right here.
Yet it's just beyond our scope of understanding.
It exists just outside the box,
Just outside the paradigm.

And so he carries on—

The weight of what’s wrong pressing at his mind,
Yet he grits his teeth and moves forward.
He has a family to feed, bills to pay.
It’s worth it, he tells himself,
For he loves to think, to wonder, to dream.
He also loves his patients, truly enjoys helping people,
And he endures as a respiratory therapist,
Because his coworkers—his great crew at the down-home hospital—
Make the long hours lighter.

Section 9: Resolution and Acceptance

Paradigm paralysis prohibits people

From seeing valuable information,

even what's right before our eyes.

Yet he sees it, and he remains silent,

Just like Copernicus did.

So progress is slow, even STALLED!
Morale among the workers is low,
And resources are wasted,
Money is wasted,
Time wasted.

He feels like a pawn, stuck on the wrong path,
Yet to others, it's the only path they've ever known,
Because they don’t see path B, the way out.
All they see is the same pattern, path A,
A path that’s been worn down by time,
And yet, no one dares to ask if it's the right one.

He knows what he wants to do.
He wants to be a thinker, writer, teacher,
To do things that make sense,
What needs to be done,
What's proven to work.

He discovered a new paradigm,
and he's therefore the outsider.
He doesn't understand the current paradigm,
Yet he does understand the new one.
He's an outcast if he says what he knows.

Section 10: The Solution:

To create a blog,
To write poems of what he learns and thinks,
To share his ideas with the world,
Hoping others will learn and shift the paradigm for the better.
It's a small move, but as Laennec learned,
Sometimes the shift happens long after the shifter—the outsider—has gone.

He's the fresh eye and the hope
For everyone who wants to fix the system.
Yet he needs courage to speak up.
He knows what to do:
He must make waves—hence the small waves created via his blog.

He cannot quit his job,
So he did this.
Because he has four young mouths to feed,
He’ll suck it up,
Keep his mouth shut tight,
And do what he loves.

He loves reading, observing, and listening to new ideas.
He loves to question the things he’s ordered to do.
He loves to draw a line from point A to point B,
And ask, "Why can’t we do it this way?"
He’s the outsider. And now, he's also the blogger—
A small but meaningful act.

He’s the outsider—
Seeing what must change,
Bound by what cannot.

Inhale me into your lungs

Draw me deep into your lungs,
Flowing through your tubes, then out.
No mother stops to ponder me,
No child halts their play to say,
"How great air is, how fun to breathe."

But unseen, allergens ride in with me.
Bronchioles tighten, trapping me within.
You stand tall, yet weighted, frogged up,
Lips tinged blue,
Reaching high on the bed, gasping for me.

Breathe me,
Inhaler me,
Let me save you,
Once more.

My Callie

Callie's riding round the house on her blades
That she purchases at her first yard sale
Such a frugal shopper she is
...just like her grandma was.

Laney's running 'round the house
With a smile on cheek to cheek
Her speech is quite impressive
...just like her mother's is.

Jordan's lying on the couch in the basement
Playing the Wii and watching ESPN
He pretty laid back that way
...just like his father.

Myles is sleeping in his new crib
Worn out from all his playing.
Play, play, play, play, play, play
...just like 9 monthr's do.

Crystal is our shopping for Callie's party
Because tomorrow is Callie's 1st Communion
Can't believe she's that OLD already
...it seems time flies so fast.

I'm sitting here writing this poem
Listening to the laughter of my two girls
Enjoying happy times at home
...just as good dad's do I suppose

Worked all night last night at Shoreline
And Jordan's game was out of town
So his dad stayed up, and he stayed up
...and so his eyes now burn

And so the dad cracks a Natural Ice
And he enjoys the cool, refreshment
As he searches his mind for the right words
to use in this frivolous poem.

It's raining outside so here we sit
Now Callie and Laney are in the tubby
Myles still asleep, and Jordan silent downstairs
A peaceful night here on the home front

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Crying! He hears crying

Cring!  He hears crying.
It's Myles!  It's Myles who's crying
He's awake!  He's crying 'cause he's awake!
He wants out!  He's getting angry now!
I can hear the visciousness in his cry.
He wants me to stop whatever I'm doing
to cater to HIS needs
That's the way he is, my Myles.
Crying!  Still Cyring! 
He wants out!
So now I have to stop typing
and cater to my little boy's needs

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Two brothers in a tubby

Two brothers in a tubby
Splashing and splashing,
and laughing and laughing
Two brother's in a tubby

Fast forward 35 years
Two sisters in the tubby
Slashing and splashing,
and laughing and laughing
Two sisters in a tubby

Fast forward 35 years

Two siblings in the tubby
Splashing and splashing
and laughing and laughing
Two siblings in a tubby

Who will they be?

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The outsider says

The outsider says:
If the alarm goes off
and you're not ready to wake
.......get up anyway

The outsider says:
If someone asks how you're doing
and you're feeling gloomy
......say, "I feel great!"

The outsider says:
If it makes you feel
uncomfortable
........don't do it.

The outsider says:
It's better to have
an awkward moment
.....than to say something stupid

The outsider says:
If you don't like the feel
of the tux
.........wear a t-shirt

The outsider says:
If party preparation
stresses you out
.......eat out instead

The outsider says:
If your job's no fun
and stresses you out
.......get a new one

The outsider says:
If you don't want to sing
at the birthday party
....stand behind the singers

The outsider says:
If your kids are screaming
for no reason at all
...... use your selective hearing

The outsider says:
If picking up after kids
is wearing you out
......get used to it.

The outsider says:
If you don't wanna go to your son's game
'cause you tired and worn
.......go and enjoy it.

The outsider says:
If you squabble with your wife
and she stresses you out
......work it out dummy

The outsider says:
If you wanna keep a bad situation
from becoming a major mess
....stick to your principles

The outsider says:
Look outside the paradigm
or simply outside the box
....for more solutions

The outsider says:
Everyone else does it
the same as everyone else
....just because

The outsider says:
Be an observer
and a free thinker
....to see what they don't

The outsider says:
Find it inside yourself
And be yourself
....because you can

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