“Joy welcomes every fallen sparrow”©

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Wail naught for blisters found and labors wrought,

wail naught for them found on mind,

temptations net to capture favour’s trappings,

wail for those found on thine soul…

when a heart bears the sores that harden,

the stone outcroppings that hinder one

to sally forth and on, o’er the beyond be held

firm away from thine longing spirit…

scent of plenty unfelt, unbeknown.


Tell felicity her desired return shall soon

be bothered no more, found and born in 

flashes of said merriment returned…

no dalliance is found in living, 

where life is found in love and currents strong

to carry all whom turn aside the auguries

of doubt, the darkness of prophecies foretold.


The gates of joy welcome every fallen sparrow,

the day shines bright, the pith of happiness be

thine own, savor long the fardels man shall bear,

fear nothing… weary though this life become

and worry sweep thee from thou feet… turn 

naught away from conscience, pale though it

be, face head-on the traveller thou call

thineself to be, the strength within thee

calls out for thou to continue on…

to make straight past dread of death,

concerns of despis’d love or to measures

taken and found unworthy.


Lift thine head to heaven… see the good we

do sets no timely scorns upon thy head…

knowest thou it be undiscover’d country

we seek… pause grants thee thine respect.

“It’s a girl”©

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In days past, a different time

and place indeed,

this could be sure reason to

celebrate, I plead,

but in some countries this is

a death sentence…

to be discarded, unregarded,

as gender happenstance.

To what does this tell the ones

looking on?

Protest… protest now- before

they’re all gone.

There is no valid or viable reason for the United States of America to be just like China here… to remain WITHOUT laws on the books, stating clearly,”Abortions due to unnatural reactions or reasons for desiring a male are not just cause or do not justifiably demand an abortion be desired or should be promulgated; furthermore, those who knowingly provide them (based on gender alone) should be guilty of a crime most heinous- gender bias to end.

“Faint is the breeze of change”

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Has not the wind blown…

a breeze to feel,
the lightest of sensations
to the wrath of a tempest
and in your face…
this is what it is like to
have a muse,
a notion of something
tugging at you,
the pulling of thought
that would drain you if
it could… leaving your body
but a husk if not responded to.

This is the sad truth for a writer,
one inspired to a mighty truth or
mere passing fancy, and
can only be thought of if
the winds blow your way…
where change starts with the
faintest of beginnings, be it
mortal or eternal.

“A dirge offered Squire Madeline”©

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Dearest Madeline, Squire Madeline remember…

from within the fires of this cold December,

there will be no sparks of your life lost

in these hearts so near… to near the cost,

your touch will be within these our hands…

the same to be right here in these our stands,

and when thoughts of you try to slip away…

we should remember your compassion strong today,

the zeal for life you carried on with laughter

could never be felt by one quite brighter,

you’ve taught many by sheer folly to be

as you were… now for us all to then see,

and we would then lose you in heart for sure…

should we then not measure, allowed to endure,

can we not lose and emptiness surely to follow

if our memories would falter… our lives to go fallow,

we must remember, Squire Madeline, your spunk…

ever were you damn feisty… a frown to debunk,

you found true a space in your living to share

and taught us your way; which reached forth from care,

that smile displayed prominently and none could deny

you your devilish fun humor… though some would so try,

you cast all doubts to the wayside, you did ignore…

for you knew love is a treasure in heart to go store,

but sadly they don’t realize the lessons you taught…

to try as you did, heed the trap, be not caught,

your zest was the best… find some cause to smile,

to find even you in our thoughts for more than awhile,

you’re the ideal to afford us our laughter too new…

for it came from your heart, you were true blue,

to give to the point of your own sacrifice, of course,

the twinkle in your eye… that gleam as a source,

there was no dirt under your goal but for glee…

those are the times so tender and special to me,

to have stopped and made it a point to then talk

and share of your life… your time… your joy to so walk,

to jump out and startle the rigors of life so gray…

was this not to our honor… your way to go sway,

to learn to kick about the Autumn leaves high

in the air, without cares… an earned child-like sigh,

’tis from the simplest joy… the moment we share…

this way your life and be damned if you dare

not to satisfy the inner child inside us all now,

to stupidly let them wither as lost in the how

we allowed it, to just cower to fun… not your way,

this not of your life… you took time to then play,

so dearest Madeline, though you left us behind

and the pyre goes to ashes… the ashes we find,

but the light of your life glows on in my heart…

I find this not a finish… quite truly my start

to the rest of my life… though days may be numbered,

you see, you’re still here and dearly remembered,

and though we’ll not see you or touch you no more…

who knows in the grand plan what we have in store.

Can you tell us now… past those gates where you’ve gone?

Can you not wink and whisper back from the yon?

Is there found no other place than the heart between

that will offer us forth feeling and what it does mean?

I will think back on those pranks you did play…

even the littlest things… the things you would say,

so it is in this dirge that will not be found…

it is that we call sadness to never abound,

you showed us more than that… your mission to jest,

and then you sent us out and gave us to test-

as it is now… as you’ll not be here to so spurn,

forced on to lead and show the lessons to learn,

the spirit of a sprite, to dance with a wink…

we saw the frivolity that caused us to think,

if there was nothing more to learn in this life

we would not be challenged without all the strife,

and so the deepest place you have seared in intent

was your lesson of time, be happy when it’s spent,

so this is for your life to a full Seventy Five years,

let us live out our lives and minimize our tears

as you have, Squire Madeline… to us as you lent.

“When the Mosque empties… the return of why”©

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Grieve the sorrows of why…

of how…

the behavior’s nook,

the spot what panders to

sure release of tears to drain,

empty your heart of troubles


know when the Mosque empties

the teaching spirit still remained,

see the mosaics of handiwork…

centuries of craftsmen’s toil that

lifted license to hope so frail,

to stall and wane to idle… cause

of circumstance and will…

draw the veil, draw the veil

to Temple’s rants of anger… peace

discussed once long ago…

who would know love of brother’s release,

the way to protect and act as honey

flowed, milk should sour… faith to cease,

what little edifice or building for

Chapel come… the word denied and tried,

more now to brimstone come…

and hate be done

until all have bowed and cried,

this thirst by curse to sell one’s

soul for goal of power denied,

this the return of why…

of how…

the behaviors contained within

our souls,

the Inquisitor released to budding

desires and taste of power…

fondle not the moment to savor

for well is not here… not this hour,

no time to waste or to dwell

on past as basis for your Ivory tower,

this is the fallow ground unearthed

by all to spare the other’s heart,

shunned has been the wisdom to rely

on any but yourselves and art,

to your failed religions… the wake,

servitude to rest on mediocrity by start,

this to grieve the sorrows of why…

of how…

to behavior’s nook,

the spot what panders to

sure release of tears to drain.

“To remember Christina… Jan. 8th, 2011”

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Christina Green, age nine, the littlest victim

of violence in Tucson, Arizona, to soon…

so close to the gate of this man’s fate,

A man consumed with day to day life…

a twenty two year old… that had not yet

lived beyond his own days of his hate,

should it be found to be the reason young

Christina was snatched away from all of

us, a life yet to see her fullness in bloom…

may her memory, a life so young and tender,

serve us well… to understand fomenting of

hate will be that which secures our doom,

so lift her high… her youth a firm reminder,

the tragic consequences we all face under

such perverse scrutiny, not to see any good…

the good that may be just around the corner,

the streets of opportunity and tolerance…

where Christina stood- if only we could.

Sadly, knowing she was born on 9-11 [the day of this event itself] is enough to make one think more of her than not. She didn’t get the chance to fully enjoy her life… shortened by such selfishness so ill-conceived.

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