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Tolerance


Always speak words of kindness,
and sing out songs of love.
Build a nest in your back yard
for a snow white dove.

Quench the flames of hatred.
Stomp out bigotry beneath your feet.
Give a budding olive branch
to everyone you meet.

Love all peoples as your neighbor.
Treat everyone as your friend.
Carry high the torch of peace
until intolerance comes to an end.

Lift up high the burning candle
so that everyone may see
that hope still lives in this world,
and that one day we’ll all be free.

Witness


Eye of the tiger.
Eye of the lion.
Eye of the dreamer.
Which one beholds?
Which on holds?
Which one sees
a child’s tears?

Ear of the mouse.
Ear of the elephant.
Ear of the warrior.
Which one listens
as the wind
creeps across the veldt?

Wings of the eagle.
Wings of the dove.
Wings of the chicken.
Which wings fly the highest?
Does it really matter?

Kiss of the lover.
Kiss of the rapist.
Kiss of the child.
Which one is the sweetest?

Helpless


Let them find rest
from the bombs
falling by night.

Let them find rest
from the bullets
flying by day.

Let them find rest
from cold death
that walks with them.

Let them find rest,
for they are
the innocent,
they are
the children.

They are too young
to be pawns
in any war.

Freedom means nothing
to minds shocked
by death.

Democracy means nothing
to bellies
that are empty.

Politics mean nothing
to lives
forever shattered.

Orphaned and homeless,
battered and bloody,
they have no part
in the great Arab spring.

They cower in buildings,
battered,
amidst the windows
shattered
among their possessions
scattered
by bombs
forever falling.

They lie in their filth,
with no one to clean them.
They cry for their mothers,
grenades are their answer.

Soldiers march by
glance in the window,
see the movement of life,
and raise up their rifles.

From my new book of poems, “Serendipitous,” Just click this link to get your copy today http://amzn.to/2dbCxrH

My Song of Freedom


We marched down in Montgomery Alabama.
Went to Washington with Martin Luther King,
and words of hope, freedom, love and peace,
filled up every song we used to sing.

But our brave new world has crumbled
to our everlasting shame.
Our promises lie broken by the wayside,
and we only have ourselves to blame.

The torch of freedom we once held so high
has fallen from our failing hands,
and our poor world has not known any peace,
since the bloody war in Vietnam.

It was our apathy and our greed,
that derailed the bright freedom train.
All the blood and tears our dear one’s shed,
have truly been spilled in vain.

What would our loyal comrades think of us?
Our friends that now have died.
I fear that we would see deep disappointment
shining out from their cold dead eyes.

We marched down in Montgomery Alabama.
Went to Washington with Martin Luther King.
and words of hope, freedom, love and peace,
filled up every song we used to sing.

If we should light the torch of peace once more,
perhaps strong young hands will hold it high,
and then every voice here on our earth,
may overflow, with a brand new freedom’s cry.

A House Divided


A cold wind is blowing, blowing over towering snow topped mountains, across the breadth and depth of the prairie lands, sweeping through the eastern seaboard, chilling everything in its path, from the Canadian border, to the Gulf of Mexico, stealing away hope, peace, common sense, kindness, love of neighbor, reason, with every puff of its bitter breath, and leaving hate, despair, anger and rage in its wake.

It seems as if a great evil sword, wielded by some giant maniacal hand or a scythe held fast by the grim reaper has divided America in two, split the peoples of the land into left and right, without hope of any common ground. The great experiment in a republic, in a democratic way of life has become a house divided. Not since the civil war has there been so much bitterness, so much vitriolic rhetoric hurled at one and another.

To my mind, a politician is supposed to bridge the abyss, reach out across great chasms, unite, not divide, bring together not separate, but in this election year, the two candidates warring for control of the White House have done the opposite. Instead of discussing the issues of the day, instead of coming up with a workable plan to deal with climate change, unemployment, with the fading middle class, they seem more at ease in telling everyone why they shouldn’t vote for their opponent, instead of giving anyone a reason to vote for them.

The one thing that worries me, is if America falls from its place in the world, falls from grace, the rest of the countries will go down the drain with it.

A house divided
cannot stand,
for it is like
it was not
built upon a rock,
but instead
placed on a tiny
spit of sand.

When the storm
gathers it’s might,
and great waves
come crashing,
come roaring in
upon the shore,
the house divided,
will be
a house no more.

Oil


Oil
greases the wheels
of industry,
fills the pockets
of the mighty,
stains the earth
with blackness,
takes you to
the store.

Oil,
sun, and wind.
Wheels turn,
and pipelines grow.
A spider web
of steel,
welded together
with sweat and tears.

Protesters march,
but the oil still flows,
for our life
has become one,
with this
black, ugly gold.

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The Day of Desolation is Upon us


There are no knights in shining armor
to chase the dragons from the sky.
No noble men to sit upon a throne.
All that’s ever been good and holy
has turned to black and bitter smoke
and been scattered by the westward blowing wind.

Candlelight can no longer pierce the darkness
like it was always meant to do
and guide the last weary soldier home.
It doesn’t really matter anyway
because all he’ll find when he returns,
are bloody fields, filled with the dead and dying.

The waking sun hides his face
among the clouds of war
and a dark rain that burns
is forever falling from the angry sky.
Red flowers blossom on the killing grounds
as bullets and bombs fall among us.

Don’t worry friend as you smoke one last cigarette
it’s only that the day of desolation is upon us.
To our shame we have only ourselves to blame,
because we always preferred the sabre and the sword
to the man that carried an olive branch in his hand.

We have honored the soldier and his wars
above those who would speak peaceful words.
We’ve planted the seed of aggression
among the peoples of this world.
Now the harvest is ready for the taking.

Blood and bones now grow
in the fields of shriveled corn
and dead fish pollute the lily ponds.
The night air is filled
with the perfume of rotting flesh.
and the buzzards have come for their feasting.

Well the day of desolation is upon us.
We’ve been well paid for our labor of greed.
As you lie on your death bed
feel free to dream of better days,
and turn all your thoughts far away
from this day of desolation that’s upon us.
Turn all your thoughts far away,
from the day of desolation that’s now upon us.

  • Keeper of the Sword

    It is often a simple thing, the roll of the dice, the turn of a card, or a chance meeting that can change one’s life forever. For Josh Campbell, and Morgan Connelly it was a seemingly harmless chain of events, a fight after school and performing a ritual that neither one of them believed in.

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    Full of fear and excitement Keeper of the Sword (The Sword of Kings) Josh notched an arrow to the bow string, pulled it back to his ear, took careful aim and released the shaft of death, and before it reached its target, a second bolt sliced through the dark. (To find out more, just follow the link.)
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