Page Seven


A Mommy's Tears:

Clouds drift in sky blue
Hiding an seeking games play

Shapes  ships under sail
Shapes of Teaddy Bears

Angels frolic among clouds
Soft wings sounds summer rain

Spirit soars, arms wide
embrace the heavens

Free of pain, no more hurt
wings of soft gossomer white

Girls i watch, tear drops fall
hold close want ,hearts them feel

Look them around,
Tiny hands touch own cheeks

Wet on fingers them feel
Shy smiles, look them at me

Reach for them and them for me
Feel tiny hands my cheek,touch tears me

Tiny fingers hold one tear each
Put fingers heart me, heart them

Say treasures from the Heavens
Our Mommies Tears,more precious gold.

©August 2003


Vietnam, 196-
Kicking pebbles in the street,
Blood stained glass under his feet,
Bodies lying all about, people crying,
Mothers grasping those who died,
Fathers carrying little ones who cry,
People begging and ripping at his sleeve,
His uniform tattered from head to feet,
Carrying a child with a broken leg,
He lays her down as he takes a rest,
She is not dead, but barely alive,
Blood from a blow, caused by sniper fire,
He wraps her up in his military garb,
Keeping her safe, away from harm.
Checking his own wounds,
There's a gaping hole, deep in his ribs,
The blood still flows, staining his shirt,
Drying on his pants, he stands up again,
Carrying the girl away from this carnage,
He step getting weaker, but he does not falter,
Soon he is close, to a haven for the two,
He gives the girl to a Nurse, as another,
Tends to his own wounds.
Years later
Shocked and amazed at this man's heroic deed,
A gentleman stands silent, at the soldier's grave,
Tears streaming down his face, as he holds the picture,
The picture of his daughter, the little girl he rescued,
He lays the picture on the grave of the man,
Who saved the little girl, who could have died,
In the enemy's hands.
Walking away with a feeling of guilt,
He should have been there; he should have been killed,
His daughter beside him, as she takes his hand,
She looks at the grave of the man who saved her.
Her leg long since healed, but emptiness in her soul,
She never got to thank the man, who saved her from the turmoil.
Danielle N Calhoun
© August 20, 2003


The Penitent
Musing with grim memories wrapped around him like a cloak,
While hollow-eyed wraiths swirl about like noxious smoke,
His mind drifts through the rubble of his lurid recollections,
Masticating those doleful days like chewing sweet confections.
He gently strokes the aching as though caressing a sweet lover,
Yet searching, probing, scanning, always seeking to discover
Some reason for the haunting - or a cure for the psychic pain.
Or, perhaps at least the coda for this damned, recurring refrain
That plays forever and ever on the soundtrack in his brain
Like an alluring dirge, a funeral march, a melodious elegy.
He syncs to the mournful rhythm of his personal threnody.
He molds a sharpened stiletto forged of steely, unearned guilt
And thrusts it like a harpoon into his vitals to its hilt.
Then rising like the Phoenix ascending from the flames,
He takes his seat and wearily starts his penance once again.
©Thurman P. Woodfork 8/21/2003



We remember September Eleven
firey smoke rising to Heaven...
the murder of thousands of inocents
a touch that day of Satan`s essence
Our grief is not quiet...
It wails in the streets
For all times this will be a sign
upon the broken New York skyline
Horror unspeakable we did record
'Vengence is mine '...saith the Lord...
but this be the prayer that runs through the land...
'Lord,tip the cup to our lips... and let us drink,
for we need to feel the hilt of the sword in our hand
prepared for the time when good and evil meets'
No,our grief is not wails in the streets...

Faye Sizemore


Dark September

In the wind does drift memories still
of Dear Ones taken against their will
on that fateful day in September
We do pause often to remember...
and remember a terrorist act so senseless
which ended many innocents happiness
They have failed to tear us asunder...
for all that came from the ashes and thunder
were hands reaching...pulling us closer together...
Now we do seek out terrorists and we will forever...
until all their ashes we are able to cast to the wind
in vengence... for lives lost in their Twin Towers sin

Faye Sizemore9/2/03

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