The ball will bounce
any direction.
A bouncing ball is
not perfection.
So be prepared for the
bounce results,
for it may only
bring insults.

A rite of passage
and old refrain.
Why is it now,
I can't remember your name?

At least six investigations into discriminatory mortgage loan “redlining” have been halted or stalled........Read more

Why wax and wain
of a sad refrain.
It makes no sense,
in this experience,
when whines and cries
portend our demise.

Down the path, like a runaway car,
the lives now lost, near and far.
You care not; that's easy to see,
as your lies will live an eternity.
As a president you are the worst,
when your lies cause your World to burst.
Citizens both far and near,
want to know when you'll disappear,
in the coming months, it will do
for next November, please vote Blue.

"Just start writing,"
He said to me.
"Let your thoughts go
and you will see,
the words coming forth,
like weeds from the ground
and jump to the paper,
for now they are found
to be unrestrained,
nothing in the way."
Writing, keep writing
until your hands cramp
and your brow becomes
annoyingly wet, as
I try to pull words
from my head or mouth,
to keep the flow coming,
by not going "South"
away from it all, if you please.
Get thee down on your knees,
pray to the Lord, not in vain,
calling forth all by their name.

Revenge is mine,
sayeth the Lord,
so at this time
please fall on your sword.
You need forgiveness,
for this fix you are in.
Please do not lie to us
and not one word about Sin.

Words are coming to me,
without a plan.
Words with a meaning
I don't understand.

Where go you now,
my youngest of friends.
Do you seek redemption
when persecution ends?
Why do we treat people so?
What will happen now
to those unlike thee?
Do we help them? How?
Or must they all flee,
away from this place,
with hook and ladder
for you my friends
Black lives matter.

* What Happened to Crime in Camden? by Sarah Holder - Citylab

* Former Police Chief Of Reformed Camden, NJ Force: Police Need 'Consent Of The People' || by James Doubek ~ NPR 

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.