Magazine Posts

A lonely tree,
stands strong, on the hill.
A picture of strength,
a testing of will.
One solitary figure
is what you see,
for your single voice,
speaks out to me.
Make the changes
we are needing now.
Make your pledge
and then avow.
For life is important
and we must endure
until a change
becomes the cure
of injustice,
in the World today,
changes the treatment
of others on this day.

I hadn't written for days,
not even in hours,
until this time.
Watching all the sorrows,
poured forth on their march,
for days on the morrow.
Drown out the pain
enter the chaos,
for we are God's children.
All of us.
Pray for each other.
Pray as you please.
Pray for salvation,
down on your knees.

* History Will Judge the Complicit || by Anne Applebaum - The Atlantic             

* Trump began the day with a call to Russian President Vladimir Putin || by Heather Cox Richardson from Letters from an American

The fire is lit,
It will be ready soon,
But smolders from
The wet wood.
Smoke curls over twigs
And wooden limbs.
As the heat grows,
flames flicker and dance.
The odor of smoke
fills the room,
as a puffy white cloud
goes up the flue.

For what purpose,
is this life of ours?
Can the answers be
found in the Stars?
Born into a World
of pain and hate,
must we also,
love and satiate,
a life of hunger?
Must we forego,
no place to live,
or abode to go.
We must live
on the streets,
as we strive
in this World
to stay alive.

The roar of thunder
outside our door,
makes me wish,
for even more.
I love the sound
of rain on the roof.
Makes me feel humble,
certainly not aloof.

Amongst the grass
there lies a stone
of greyish blue.
It's all alone.
No other rocks
to now decry,
or for us
to ask why.
A task of
asking now,
from Heaven above,
free of hate,
with unrelenting love,
for a single life,
now; here alone,
whose old heart,
is that lonely stone.

A green, colored Mule, was wandering along,
humming the melody of a beautiful song.
As he wondered, mostly out loud,
should I join up with a crowd
of people or other just like me?
Not with people as I won't fit in.
It will be with Mules; they are my kin.
What about the green shade of your skin?
Color only matters to people, there in.

I write not for you.
I write not for them.
I write for myself,
for the predicament I'm in.

A rolling ball of thunder,
with lightning at its back.
A Spring, Summer storm,
report of possible hail,
is what I heard.
Why then, is there sunshine?
The absurdity of our weather,
confuses most of us,
where are Spring-Summer
feels like it is now Fall.

The grass is not greener
on the other side of the hill.
We could go play there,
but that's not the rule.
No gathering in crowds.
Stay locked in your home.
No more going out.
No more can we roam.

A small wayward waif,
passed me by,
on his way to play,
once more,
in a Park, with others,
like it was before.
A long time will go by
prior to this virus end
where he will once again
play with a friend.