Grateful Dead

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Careful, you maverick. They might be reading this.

Paper Boy Paranoid old man reports his stolen paper. Story on page five. -Lycia Harding

That's quite enough from you, slo.Go on, back in the hutch.

Just breathe... Breathe...Gasping, into light you're thrown! Like glass, your turning leaf is blown clear of sweet slumber's song but there's no need of hers - you'll sing your own. You, newly born of mother's prayers, will breathe your first of earthen airs and thirsty, let your voice be heard 'til she's dispersed the drink she shares. As leaves are, by the wind, bestirred, with each new breath, you'll find you're spurred on by survival's undertow as well as by debts love-incurred. Oh, precious child, I love you so! What wonders of this world you'll know but one day too, this life you'll leave... Take one last breath and let it go. Yes, breathe... - Lycia Harding

We're so closeAnd yet so far I guess that's just The way things are And we'll all know When Heaven's here That's the place where no one lives in fear so Shine There is nothing better for you to do with your Time Than be a rainbow of love We're living on A miracle We pick and choose Of our free will And each new day We choose our path And only love can make God laugh so Shine There is nothing better for you to do with your Time Than be a rainbow of love We're so close And yet so far I guess that's just The way things are A smile here A heart-ache there So many things that we all share so Shine There is nothing better for you to do with your Time Than be a rainbow of love

you guys are too smart for me.

I have existed as I expected yet been disaffected by decisions to which I succumb. In the future, I reckon, as poor choices beckon, I'll be less nimble than numb. A rising inhuman feeling, I'm apart of being, but a part of the decidedly dumb. In my condition, unable to speak without contrition, unspeakably sedated and out of commission, I find myself among the unsung. With debilitating humility from declining mental agility, a lesser primate, I have become.The devolution's hastened by faux revolution raisin' in the name of the orangutan Trump. A regular Ape Lincoln, with a gorilla tactic inklin', the only change his devoted will get is a chump. Yet, the worst of it, as he threw his shit, too many fell for this relative chimp's speeches on stump. In time and despair, perhaps we'll care, and American humanity recognizes insanity, then gives him The Donald Dump.

If the drum is a womanwhy are you pounding your drum into an insane babble why are you pistol whipping your drum at dawn why are you shooting through the head of your drum and making a drum tragedy of drums If the drum is a woman don't abuse your drum don't abuse your drum don't abuse your drum I know the night is full of displaced persons I see skins striped with flames I know the ugly dispositions of underpaid clerks they constantly menstruate through the eyes I know bitterness embedded in flesh the itching alone can drive you crazy I know that this is America and the chickens are coming home to roost on the MX missile But if the drum is a woman why are you choking your drum why are you raping your drum why are you saying disrespectful things to your mother drum your sister drum your wife drum and your infant daughter drum If the drum is a woman then understand your drum, understand your drum your drum is not docile your drum is not invisible your drum is not inferior to you your drum is a woman so don't reject your drum don't try to dominate your drum don't become weak and cold and desert your drum don't be forced into the position as an oppressor of drums and make a drum tragedy of drums If the drum is a woman don't abuse your drum don't abuse your drum don't abuse your drum don't abuse your drum - Jayne Cortez

My life has spanned the decay of decadesAnd precedents predict present charades. I found the light but it’s starting to weigh Man's on a mission where the other’s prey. Too much is not enough, I'm frayed to say Old black gold and pipe dreams drive our freeway. Greed cedes family trees through winds that sway Now the heat’s on, let’s toast, "God, It's Fry Day." Yet the climate's cool when the right pals pay Cuz reason's chilling in the USA. Rewind yourself before memory fades After DJ Trump spins, tweets, and evades.

Is Trump building a covert bridge too farTaking us back to the USSR?

Dear Sirs: I have been enjoying the law and order of our community throughout the past three months since my wife and I, our two cats, and miscellaneous photographs of the six grandchildren belonging to our previous neighbors (with whom we were very close) arrived in Saratoga Springs which is clearly prospering under your custody Indeed, until yesterday afternoon and despite my vigilant casting about, I have been unable to discover a single instance of reasons for public-spirited concern, much less complaint You may easily appreciate, then, how it is that I write to your office, at this date, with utmost regret for the lamentable circumstances that force my hand Speaking directly to the issue of the moment: I have encountered a regular profusion of certain unidentified roses, growing to no discernible purpose, and according to no perceptible control, approximately one quarter mile west of the Northway, on the southern side To be specific, there are practically thousands of the aforementioned abiding in perpetual near riot of wild behavior, indiscriminate coloring, and only the Good Lord Himself can say what diverse soliciting of promiscuous cross-fertilization As I say, these roses, no matter what the apparent background, training, tropistic tendencies, age, or color, do not demonstrate the least inclination toward categorization, specified allegiance, resolute preference, consideration of the needs of others, or any other minimal traits of decency May I point out that I did not assiduously seek out this colony, as it were, and that these certain unidentified roses remain open to viewing even by children, with or without suitable supervision (My wife asks me to append a note as regards the seasonal but nevertheless seriously licentious phenomenon of honeysuckle under the moon that one may apprehend at the corner of Nelson and Main However, I have recommended that she undertake direct correspondence with you, as regards this: yet another civic disturbance in our midst) I am confident that you will devise and pursue appropriate legal response to the roses in question If I may aid your efforts in this respect, please do not hesitate to call me into consultation Respectfully yours, - June Jordan

Don't know about The Donald's true desiresDetail's in the devils fanning, "You're fired." Is he building a covered bridge too far Taking us back to the USSR? If rushin' love's not for covert lootin' Perhaps hushed rendezvous pleasin' Putin' Repay debts with risky, Rusky rootin' And addressin' Russia as well suitin'. Trump soundly renounced all intelligence Announcing, "Mexico pays for the fence!" Then he chose one unworthy of two... Pence Cheer leader for synchronized sycophants. Trump's tenure will defile his rank's living With labored days, no raise, no Thanksgiving. His eviction requires complete sieving Of toxic tax tactics, he's not giving.

The Emperor,his bullies and henchmen, terrorize the world every day which is why every day we need a little poem of kindness, a small song of peace, a brief moment of joy. -David Budbill

I wonder if the sun debates dawnsome mornings not wanting to rise out of bed from under the down-feather horizon if the sky grows tired of being everywhere at once adapting to the mood swings of the weather if clouds drift off trying to hold themselves together make deals with gravity to loiter a little longer I wonder if rain is scared of falling if it has trouble letting go if snow flakes get sick of being perfect all the time each one trying to be one-of-a-kind I wonder if stars wish upon themselves before they die if they need to teach their young how to shine I wonder if shadows long to just-for-once feel the sun if they get lost in the shuffle not knowing where they’re from I wonder if sunrise and sunset respect each other even though they’ve never met if volcanoes get stressed if storms have regrets if compost believes in life after death I wonder if breath ever thinks of suicide if the wind just wants to sit still sometimes and watch the world pass by if smoke was born knowing how to rise if rainbows get shy back stage not sure if their colors match right I wonder if lightning sets an alarm clock to know when to crack if rivers ever stop and think of turning back if streams meet the wrong sea and their whole lives run off-track I wonder if the snow wants to be black if the soil thinks she’s too dark if butterflies want to cover up their marks if rocks are self-conscious of their weight if mountains are insecure of their strength I wonder if waves get discouraged crawling up the sand only to be pulled back again to where they began if land feels stepped upon if sand feels insignificant if trees need to question their lovers to know where they stand if branches waver at the crossroads unsure of which way to grow if the leaves understand they’re replaceable and still dance when the wind blows I wonder where the moon goes when she is in hiding I want to find her there and watch the ocean spin from a distance listen to her stir in her sleep effort give way to existence - Naima Penniman

Music functions in a pattern. Patterns. Patterns function in a whiz; the worse for patternistry which is not there. The gems of few lines. Then - music functions whole, patterns into system patterns. Thus do patterns become history and music - forms. Yes, do pages of phrases write motion, still things - that move, that have lines in mystery, because the best music then forms benign of misery. Blues yes! The blues do. But there is the music -in the blues that do and mercuriate to fire straight lines, non-curve, in monohorizontal unperplexed – in placate history with story-flight that flies faster than the bumblebees, yet with a blue aura: time in history does form this semblance, gravity in norm as unquested and easy, easily drawn. Straight go: time as music alive between the heats -plus-non-plus quicker in deed than Hurricane Jackson the heavyweight, more Alice in Wonderland before the feet think twice is Monk's music is. Feeling driving non-driving diz. - Henry Grimes

All the plans That were made Let them die Let them fade... After all's said and done Only here a moment Then the moment's gone I'll spend the day in my own way from In My Own Way - Ray LaMontagne 'Ouroboros'

One night a man was crying, "Allah! Allah!" His lips grew sweet with the praising, until a cynic said, "So! I have heard you calling out, but have you ever gotten any response?" The man had no answer to that. He quit praying and fell into a confused sleep. He dreamed he saw Khadir, the guide of souls, in a thick, green foliage. "Why did you stop praising?" "Because I've never heard anything back." "This longing you express is the return message." The grief you cry out from draws you toward union. Your pure sadness that wants help is the secret cup. Listen to the moan of a dog for its master. That whining is the connection. There are love dogs no one knows the names of. Give your life to be one of them. - Rumi

We were dancing - it must havebeen a foxtrot or a waltz, something romantic but requiring restraint, rise and fall, precise execution as we moved into the next song without stopping, two chests heaving above a seven-league stride - such perfect agony, one learns to smile through, ecstatic mimicry being the sine qua non of American Smooth. And because I was distracted by the effort of keeping my frame (the leftward lean, head turned just enough to gaze out past your ear and always smiling, smiling), I didn't notice how still you'd become until we had done it (for two measures? four?) - achieved flight, that swift and serene magnificence, before the earth remembered who we were and brought us down. - Rita Dove

we're gonna need to get organizedlive beyond boundaries soften our hearts talk to each other we're gonna need to leave behind our baggage relinquish our comfort release our control co-exist we're gonna need to give up our addictions confront our pain ask for help give more than we take we're gonna need to dream bigger work harder get dirty take time we're gonna need to remember we're gonna need to forgive we're gonna need to let go we're gonna need to let go we're gonna need to feel fully revive our intuition make up our minds enact change we're gonna need to look at ourselves reconcile our ignorance sacrifice shame make amends we're gonna need to need less peel away the nonessential go hungry break a sweat we're gonna need to heal our fears tell our secrets share with our enemies love ourselves we're gonna need to study existence refine our dreams mediate our shadows cure our disbelief we're gonna need to practice magic we're gonna need to cherish water we're gonna need to grieve we're gonna need to move on we're gonna need to stay focused we're gonna need to be strong tend our commitment to beauty fuel our devotion to truth we're gonna need to pray we're gonna need to follow through endure burning we're gonna need to surrender we're gonna need to trust we're gonna need to give light we're gonna give light we are light we are - Naima Penniman

So it is the duty of the artist to discourage all traces of shameTo extend all boundaries To fog them in right over the plate To kill only what is ridiculous To establish problems To ignore solutions To listen to no one To omit nothing To contradict everything To generate the free brain To bear no cross To take part in no crucifixion To tinkle a warning when mankind strays To explode upon all parties To wound deeper than the soldier To heal this poor obstinate monkey once and for all To have kids with pretty angels To display his dancing seed To sail only in polar seas To laugh at every situation To besiege all their cities To exhaust the primitive To follow every false track To verify the irrational To exaggerate all things To inhabit everyone To lubricate each proportion To experience only experience To deviate at every point To offer no examples To dismiss all support To make one monster at least To go underground immediately To smell the shark's ass To multiply all opinions To work only in the distance To extend all shapes To acquire a sublime reputation To consort forever with the runaway To sport the glacial eye To direct all smouldering ambitions To frequent only the exterminating planets To kidnap the phantom's first-born To forego no succulent filth To masquerade as the author of every platitude To overwhelm the mariner with improper charts To expose himself to every ridicule To ambush their blow-nose Providence To set a flame in the high air To exclaim at the commonplace alone To cause the unseen eyes to open To advance with the majesty of the praying serpent To contrive always to be caught with his pants down To sprinkle mule-milk on the lifted brows of virgins To attach no importance whatever to his activity To admire only the absurd To be concerned with every profession save his own To raise a fortuitous stink on the boulevards of truth and beauty To desire an electrifiable intercourse with a female alligator To lift the flesh above the suffering To forgive the beautiful its disconsolate deceit To send the world away to crawl under his discarded pedestals To have the cunning of the imperilled wave To hide his lamentations in the shredded lungs of the tempest To recommend stone eyelashes for all candid lookers To attribute every magnificence to himself To maintain that the earth is neither round nor flat but a scomaphoid To flash his vengeful badge at every abyss To be revolted by only the sacred cow which piddles at the toes of the swamp To kneel with the blind and drunk brigands and learn their songs To happen To embrace the intemperate hermaphrodite of memory It is the artist's duty to be alive To drag people into glittering occupations To return always to the renewing stranger To observe only the funereal spectator To assume the ecstasy in all conceivable attitudes To follow the plundering whirlpool to its source To cry out nervously with every knock To stock his shelves with plaintive confessions and pernicious diaries To outflow the volcano in semen and phlegm To be treacherous when nothing is to be gained To enrich himself at the expense of everyone To reel in an exquisite sobriety To blush perpetually in gaping innocence To drift happily through the ruined race-intelligence To burrow beneath the subconscious To defend the unreal at the cost of his reason To obey each outrageous impulse To commit his company to all enchantments To rage against the sacrificing shepherds To return to a place remote from his native land To pursue the languid executioner to his hall bedroom To torment the spirit-lice To cover the mud with distinguished vegetation To regain the emperor's chair To pass from one world to another in carefree devotion To withdraw only when all have been profaned To contract every battering disease To peel off all substances from the face of horror To glue himself to every lascivious breast To hurl his vigorous cone into every trough To unroll the hide from that repugnant rhinoceros Time To refrain from no ownership To crowd the squat-rumped centuries into his own special residence To plunge beyond their smoking armpits - Kenneth Patchen

Perhaps we don’t need another mean meme.

Check out my new 75-page novella, 'The Grateful Dead' that includes characters, places, scenes, and phrases from over 150 Grateful Dead songs. See if you can find them all! Synopsis: Jed tries to decide whether to return to Tennessee or stay in the land of Fennario where he lives the good life in a house with his friends: Cassidy, Mason, Stephen, August West, and Jack Straw. Here is the link to the story: https://wordpress.com/posts/drawingsstories.wordpress.com Jacob Sackin www.jacobsackin.com

my house's stairway is seizedwith vertigo. Matter having forsaken its laws, we land in hell, ascending to heaven. Shadows move along ladders under the silence of ordinary things there is another silence: it belongs neither to the leaves nor to the dead with a crown of birds circling him a child is running in an abandoned house the stairway takes the measure of its own emptiness I myself am the stairway that Time has used in its funeral course wheels lift water in the gardens of Hama and come down not waiting for the river to put out the fire Here we are left with the river Seine and Paris's poisons. I prefer gardens where linden trees get ready for a lunar voyage The stairway that separates my room from my memory whispers in my ear... I am not at the mercy of men since trees live in my fantasies men and trees long for fire and call for the rain I love rains which carry desires to oceans. Between one airplane and another space is disoriented stars sneak into holes and brides go naked to wells their innocence wanes under our eyes You and I are made from a worm-eaten wood The Word has sunk we are left with no cry gesture or gaze silence to us is forbidden. We are threatened neither by life nor by death nor forced to admire the Spring I found earth-castles on the edge of the desert's torrents I took their marble stairs but could not find my way either up or down then I understood that I was in a state of non-reason and non-madness and that the gardens of Andalusia were standing ready to die. Two cities Two tears Let insanity keep between its skirts legs within its black eyes the fright of my adolescence and the nocturnal walk on the hills: which hill? I mean the kingdom that a man carries in his gut when his love's fulfilled. Two cities which are neither Beirut nor Damascus two tears: neither of alcohol nor of rain Yes there has been a truck and a blue-eyed woman from Russia —grey olive tree— I was a butterfly caught by a fire: neither the day's not the night's but the incandescence that radiates from the body like a receding sickness, Let tombs stay open! The stairway which leads to my room borrows its metals from Babylon The Prophet's Ascension had two movements we fell into whirlpools of mud and the wind followed his horse A tempest went after the sun's steps The Prophet swam through waves of clouds a river of gold carried his vessel and away from the sun he reached Paradise a Paradise made of light. The stairway which leads to my room leads to an observatory I own two telescopes to observe stars and black holes and take mechanized stairs which advance with no advance my hair spins with sunflowers Illegitimate is this linden tree which shakes by my door let us get ready for Hell! Cursed be messengers tossing about water's tranquility and building forest fences Oh that the wind go quicker than us! that we may be smothered by light! This linden tree standing by my door weights heavy on my days I will finally marry it and we shall bring children condemned to terror this tree looks at me with insistence: It will be kept waiting until Time's end. - Etel Adnan from "The Manifestations of the Voyage" from The Spring Flowers Own & The Manifestations of the Voyage.

To Believe11/10/17 I have died a thousand deaths Still you take away my breath And Lord I need you by my side Or I won't make it through the night You've shown me things I never knew There's mystery in all you do And even if the sun don't shine I'll love you 'till the end of time You lift me up and lead me on You gave me hope when it was gone I saw your smile through my tears And knew there's nothing left to fear Some things we aren't meant to see And some things they won't ever be As long as it's still you and me There's still a reason to believe chorus And yes, there's still a magic we can share It's running through our fingers and it's floating in the air And yes, oh baby yes I still believe If we try we can find everything we need The seasons come the seasons go There's always something new to know Cause nothing ever stays the same The weather always wants to change So feel the sun and watch the storm And let each day a new love form A vision of what's meant to be To hold us for eternity And yes, there's still a magic we can share It's running through our fingers and it's floating in the air And yes, oh baby yes I still believe If we try we can find everything we need

Wow, amazing

Thanks

Once, you opened up our eyesOnce, you said "let there be light" Once, you walked upon the sea Once, you rose to set us free Once, you calmed the storm above Once, you fed us with your Love Once, you made the dead to rise Once, you turned water to wine For you are the life and You are the way and You are the truth that brightens our day So I'm just gonna watch and wait for Love Once, you travelled through the land Once, you healed us with your hand Once, you taught us to be kind Once, you changed the course of time For you are the life and You are the way and You are the truth that brightens our day So I'm just gonna watch and wait for Love

Most of my lifeI’ve lived alone In this life Watching lives unfold. Those I’ve loved Were loved unknown No love’s returned If love’s untold. When I leave Dead leaves on bone All I leave Are leaves unrolled.

HIGH ! ! ! I AM : HUMBLED . I AM : RUBY FROM LONG BEACH . I AM : WITHIN : THE : MINDSET : OF : BEAUTIFUL : MELODIES AND SYMPHONIES . PLEASE . . . LOVE MORE PLEASE . . . . . . . . . FOLLOW : THE : GOLDEN : BRICK : ROAD . . . . . . . . . MAY : I : HUMBLY , ASK : MAY : A : GRATEFUL DEAD - TYPE BAND { S } . . . . . . . . . PLEASE ! ! ! PLEASE ! ! ! PLEASE ! ! ! . . . . . . . . . LOVINGLY , AND , HENCE , HUMBLY : PROVIDE { THROUGH & WITH GOD . . . ALL THINGS ARE POSSIBLE . . . } : A : MUSICAL : SENSE : OF : FREEDOM ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! : ALL ! ! ! WEEK ! ! ! , VIA : BALBOA PARK , san diego , CALIFORNIA , WITHIN : REFERENCE TOWARDS : THE 4 / 20 FOR 25 ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! LAW ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?

Who cries for the homeless, hopeless and illFinding scripture dry and prescriptions refill? Once hooked, they’re praying for pure poppy pills Because life’s not easy climbing man made hills. Who sings for those grown lonesome and old With their dreams denied and denials untold? Hardened by aging and shoulders turned cold From the restless young and the recklessly bold. Who walks with those of color in this land On a trail of tears facing a pale plan? Bridges burnt, walls built, and the clueless clutch clans As hate becomes common for our fellow man. Who knew the tales we learned when we were young Of justice for all, doesn’t include the unsung? Until they have a ladder to climb each rung Our leaders still speak with a serpent’s tongue.

well said.

Thanks, Time to emphasize empathy because immigrants aren’t the enemy.

....mud on my face, mixed with a tear.

The rains came in the FallThe leaves covered the drive We stayed inside and waited… Waited for the warning bell to sound And the people we knew to assemble For things that were meant to happen Waited at Otter Crest Beach Down the long twisted road Towards the jagged cliffs and tunnels Waited in Ketchum, Idaho Whiskey drunk at the Pioneer Saloon Drawing her picture on a coaster Waited, as the New Year passed On the long snowy road to Jackson Flakes hitting the window - the music up loud Waited for the road to open outside Driggs Sliding down Teton Pass, with the palest light rising The only sound – tires breaking through new snow Waited out the heat north of Tucson Under the slow fans and adobe walls Through the startling quiet of the nights Waited by the winding ribbon of the Rio Grande Past the sandy banks in the steps of boot heels Under the yellow moon with only the murmur of water Waited five days on the Saharsa Junction train platform The sweltering humid Monsoon flooding the tracks Barely noticing the rats scurrying across our feet Waited all night in a truck stop diner outside Laredo Flies batting against the dirty windows and falling Returning to hurl them-selves at the glass again and again Waited for fear of the unknown to pass by Waited through the pain that is my lover Waited for the whispers in my heart to cease

Empathy is not pathologicalAs refugees run north from gangster wrath. They help support an aging demographical So immigration is just a logical path.

The vibe is Trippy, Hippy and deep,But she has promises to keep, After cake and lots of sleep. Sweet dreams come to her cheap. She rises from her gentle bed, With thoughts of kittens in her head, She eats her jam with lots of bread. Ready for the day ahead. Whose Tapestry is that? I think I know. Its owner is quite happy though. Full of joy like a vivid rainbow, I watch her laugh. I cry hello. She gives her Tapestry a shake, And laughs until her belly aches. The only other sound's the break, Of distant waves and birds awake.

The little wars between us never pause for longIt’s always August somewhere and forever far behind The words that cut and scar, and write the saddest lines I always found your hand as it reached towards mine Even in the lost days when we barely spoke a word Following every crooked step, dark angels watching over us Then September came and Violet was there, and brighter days Always the steady side-long glance at the unspoken moments Waves of heat radiating off the pavement in the hot Sacramento sun… …Hours before the show

The same as it’s always beenQuickly, quietly and carefully We are continually leaving Never a moment of insignificance Or ignorance from how small we really are Just the constant, familiar forward motion All the truth was never wasted time Or the beauty in the fading pictures Even the torn years still worth the ride All it took was a sly smile on the East bound bridge The world slowed enough to finally notice Everything bright, clear and present The same rain falls in the tall grass Just before the dunes and salt spray Those waves bringing us back Running full speed down the narrow drive Years went by like whispers in the palms Our eyes always focused on the road ahead

Change begins with a meaning not a memeas news tie rants that demean and redeem to trying true untried treacherous schemes with deflection reflected in muddied streams. Would a King have need to alter his theme when the policies policed past extreme extinguishing light a distant hope gleams of life not lived just in afternoon dreams? Though the furor denies folks real esteem some stay mum to silencing this regime damning yanks for what eternity seems to deals lost by pitches of little league teams. The subpar deceived to ascend supreme but when they go low, turn on the high beam highlighting lies until the message screams then increase heat as the tea party steams.

Sadat with Begin and Gandhi ‘fore KingNations lost foundations to peace building But harmony isn’t how we or the world sing And blood’s still gushing like hot water springs. Bet on wise women for peace to have a chance Before the puppet does his shadow dance They addressed advantaged deviants’ advances Now give them a hand so each life enhances. Denigrated and denied for far too long Women aren’t playing good old boy songs Deeming to undo what the men did wrong Because man’s fighting unless doing bongs. Today’s woman will bring this cabal to tears Sweeping in souring deals ‘til the swamp clears Fair ladies will help to rebuff four gone years With a peace from justice and the touch to fear.

He takes bread with butterLoves to boast and ham Truth has never been uttered From the mouth of this man. He must play the rallies To hear the cheers and hands Divides by aid from allies United is not in the plans. He hates mother nature But Fox is his best friend Now he is endangered Though RINO’s still defend. He adores oligarchs Rushin’ to their demands Whenever Putin barks Puts his head in the sand. He deserves bread and water Desserts for the conman Turns out he’s a squatter Hides rubles in foreign land. No more bread with butter No more kin and klan No more will we shudder Get rid of the money man!

All true - immigrants are not the enemy.

Empathy is not pathologicalAs refugees run from the gangster’s wrath They support an aging demographical So immigration is a logical path. There’s a cost to Costa Rica When hunger hounds El Salvador Where’s the salvation for Guatemala In the clamor for our vice amor. We once beckoned with a beacon Now we behave so insecure When we grow older and weaken We will have wished more help were here. Our history has an oft whited bend As the land turns a little more brown Once natives were bled and branded red men But that’s past dark for those northern bound.

Pompeo erupted when told to hit the road. Korea will be m*a*s*h*d if Trump unlocks and unloads.

Not a poem, but beautiful nonetheless:

In the seventies, you and I called it "having sex" or just "doing it," and we did it wherever and whenever we could: in the shower, on an air mattress in a tent, in saggy beds in cheap motels.
Somewhere in the eighties it became making love. Our honeymoon lovemaking was the best ever: in a real bed with no one to interrupt us. We were going to do this forever. In the nineties we did it on a schedule: calendars and thermometers and keeping track. After the babies, making love meant keeping promises. It was as routine as you putting on the suit and tie and shaving every morning, and me doing laundry and having dinner on the table every night.
The babies grew up and left home.
After 2005 making love was you saying I was beautiful even though I was vomiting and bald, and my skin was gray.
In 2008 it was your turn. Sex was out of the question. Making love was me changing dressings and cleaning the drainage tubes as gently as I could.
By 2012 making love was just this:
lying beside you, our hands touching knuckle to knuckle;
smiling and crying; letting the morphine do its job;
saying good-bye.

- T.M.

Hey Man, kiss off. First thing in the morning, not even a cup of coffee in me and now you got me crying like a baby. I don't need this.

Thanks, that was really nice. Very true. This September will mark 40 years with my wife. Talk about a long strange trip :-)

Made me cry like a baby too. Beautifully written life experience.
And Congratulations on your 40 yrs with your loved one! That's no small feat.

Take care
Joe

Thanks for that. Really hit home with a lot of stuff I've been going through. Now pass the Kleenex box please.

Each moment individual separate, never touching.
A space, a breath, three sneezes, and a bless you.
Pristinely rough, the challenge is that
Nothing ever happens.
Free and clear, nothing touches you,
Nothings touching me.
In golden light fading, we watch
Our faces becoming drawn,
Revealing parents and lizards and tigers inside.
The heart is like cement.
Oh so easy to get harder and harder,
Until the only solution is to
Take a sledgehammer to it,
And smithereen it back into tenderness.
Ive missed being here, its good being back,
Although being forced back into the
Digi world was unwelcome, here I is back in it.

Lots of love, be strong and upright for the people
Around you to be supported by.

Andy

thank for that :)
https://mybk-experience.onl https://www.mc-d.uno/mcdvoice/