GHOSTS OF OUR ANCESORS

Where are the heroes that are rising from the earth?

Where are the youth who have ignored the truth?

The heroes and youth are no longer brave,

The truth is dead and buried in graves.

And ghosts of our ancestors are crying, crying, crying.

The truth is no longer remembered or respected.

And each of us prepares for civil war,

No longer do we listen like we did before.

We hear our own words and cut other words short.

And ghosts of our fathers come marching, marching, marching.

There are rumors of blood being shed in the hills,

There are dreams of street battles just for the thrills.

There are fingers poised to blast away,

Neighbors and relatives killed if they get in the way.

And the hearts of our fathers are bleeding, bleeding, bleeding.

We could be the heroes that are rising from the earth,

We could be the ones who respect the truth.

It will be our blood that will stain the soil,

Until our hatred ceases to boil.

And our ghosts are satisfied with

Crying, crying, crying

bleeding, bleeding, bleeding

marching, marching, marching.

Dying. dying, dying.

The ghosts will be satisfied when all is quiet and still.

September 24, 2017

Dan Roberson

 

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CHOICES

 WHICH CHOICE SHOULD I MAKE?

 

I’m not crazy even though you disagree.

I’m simply a man wanting justice, for people like me.

This world is full of lonely people ready to explode

They carry heavy burdens and they need to unload.

Just because I got angry when you killed the cat.

Life to me is precious. What do you think about that?

“Animals are just creatures”, you said once or twice.

Some should be burned alive, the others frozen in ice.

You called my mom a slut right in front of her face,

I love my mom. Your remark was way out of place.

My blood was boiling, your tongue had no control,

Yet you continued talking, words that were cruel and cold.

You laughed, “There’s no reason for her to live.”

We had both watched a bag lady pull children from a fire,

Without concern for her own life, she didn’t stop to enquire,

What color, social group, language they spoke,

They were children, worthy of rescue from the blazing pyre.

You laughed, “There’s no reason for her to live.”

You continued talking, words that were cruel and cold,

My blood was boiling, and I finally lost my control.

Am I crazy? People might have a reason to ask.

I’m almost sorry I chose you to be my very best friend,

And now I’m trying to decide whether I can forgive you.

Should I walk away, turn you in, or let our friendship end?

July 15, 2017

 

DEBBIE

                SHE FORGOT TO WRITE HER NAME

She was in a rush, at least walking fast.

I thought she might walk on past,

But she didn’t.

She became intrigued by what I was asking.

Asking questions about what her friends knew,

And when they knew it, sort of presidential questions.

“Who are you, and why are you questioning them?” she asked.

“It’s a fun way of finding out more information about friends,” I said.

“What do you mean?” she asked, evidently not convinced.

“Put down ten questions about yourself with answers,” I said.

“Everybody has secrets, more than what you read.”

She was convinced suddenly, and her questions flowed like water in a stream,

Tumbling one after another, as in a rapidly growing dream.

“I want to see what you see when you talk about me.”

Then she blurted, “I want you to make a poem about me!”

In case you are ready to assign blame,

Debbie is her name. Also known as ‘LIL Debbie.

She loves being a grandma with nine kids,

And loves her own three children, if you should ask.

She loves to travel, evidently enjoying the company of others,

Every day she does extra things that make people smile,

 whether it’s a friend, a patient or a stranger.   

She’s married and she loves the food her husband cooks.

Debbie is a shopper extraordinaire, using coupons to have fun

But still stay on a budget.

Debbie was a single mom with three children and three jobs

For many years.  That kept her strong through the years of tears.

Debbie might ask anyone some questions, as I found out.

She wants answers that don’t leave any doubts.

She had to scramble to keep up with her kids,

And she learned to be a multitasker in order to cope.

Debbie is an optimist with lots of hope. 

If you want more information look for her smile,

Then sit her right down and chat for a while.

June 24, 2017

COMMITTED

Commit is a strange word having many meanings.  I just explained what it meant to me when I accidently hit a wrong key.  I spent the next thirty minutes pulling out my hair, screaming at myself for being so left brained, (or is it right brained?).  I was ready to be committed, locked up for the night or more, simply because I had earlier made a commitment to write about one word for the day.  I want to keep my word, even if just for myself.

For me to commit to love or life

used to have an old fashioned meaning

to me it was a covenant

a pledge of fidelity, love, and honor

to husband or wife.

meaning vows that could not be broken,

not just a momentary token.

I am sad to say this very day

there are temporary marriages,

disposable in society’s eyes,

easily tossed away even if someone cries.

lasting until someone deemed better,

for richer or more, better looking,

something external, surreal

not honesty, hard work that’s real,

committed to more than temporary ideal.

someone who is like fool’s gold,

a flash in the pan, but otherwise worthless.

My love, life, and future was based on biblical teachings and the examples of my parents and siblings. My commitments were based on covenant and sacred vows, my word, and my own way of choosing who I am. I write and select the things kept safe in my heart, and I am ashamed when I fail myself or others. I am committed to my personal beliefs and that commitment, such as respect for all people, drives me forward to our future.

june 23, 2017

LEANN

I watched her enter and sit down at her accustomed place.  She stretched and rubbed her neck. It was evident she carried the tension of the world on her shoulders.

 “Could I massage your neck and shoulder?” I asked.

“No,” she replied.  She made it clear she would remain untouched, without the relief she would receive.

She was a beautiful woman, intelligent and wise, but a contradiction, much to my surprise. Without any discussion I began putting this woman into words.

She wants love but deep inside she’s afraid.

Afraid to be alone, not wanting to lose someone once again,

She struggles to open her heart and trust another man.

Attention is on her list, she wants desperately to be kissed,

Yet she hides behind castle walls, Even when love calls. 

Needing affection, she still stays emotionally apart,

Afraid to be connected to her heart.

She has learned to love less,

Hiding behind walls and avoiding stress.

She claims to be an open book and says anyone can look,

But she doesn’t expect to be given honor and respect,

She doesn’t talk about neglect or reject, or feelings to suspect.

 

She needs attention without begging,

Affection without complaining,

Appreciation without whining.

Her mind is ready if love calls,

But her heart is locked within castle walls.

She squeezes the last drop out of routines,

Listens openly without condemning,

She shrugs off compliments,

A woman who knitted her heart tightly,

An only child with an only child

She shrugs off compliments

Whether intense or mild.

She’s discovered she can trust,

Until time’s very end,

A handful of people

And one best friend.

Her world still contains fun foods

Like a banana crème pie,

Filled with tasty ingredients

Straight from the sky.

June 22, 2017

 

 

JUST ONE MOMENT

Life is a temporary stop in our journey through the heavens.  We will have time to visit without feeling rushed. We will  sing or dance or do all the things we imagined we could do.

Time is a variable. Each plant and each animal has its own time line. My space is located within the space allocated to humans.

I am a transient passing through worlds parallel, overlapping, and superimposed but to me there is only one lifetime I can live. I tried to explain all that to Albert but he was having trouble understanding all of the concepts.  Finally I said, “Albert, time is relative.”

We took a train trip and I explained the difference between riding in the train and watching the train go by. It took a while but gradually he began to understand.  I think he might be able to explain several theories if he pays attention but he is still fuzzy about the speed of light and how light can be bent and go even faster.  I’ll explain it again next week. I’d hate for him to give up when he’s this close. On the other hand, he could learn to be a poet and become famous. No one ever gets famous learning obscure mathematical theories. And maybe Albert could be a politician. No one ever knows what they’re talking about.  (or cares)

June 21, 2017

THE OCEAN IS GOING, GOING, GONE!

THE BEAUTIFUL  POLLUTED SEA

 

I must go down to the sea again,

And once more plead our case,

But what more can I say

To defend the human race?

The greenhouse effect

Nature will correct

But will the ocean always survive?

 

I must go down to the sea again

To stare into the sea’s angry eyes,

The gulls no longer scream at me

Or turn cartwheels in the sky.

There’s not much good left on earth,

The spaceships are full of trash

I can’t get away and there’s no place I can fly.

 

I must go down to the sea again,

To count the fish that have died,

I’ll run in the morning mist,

And pretend I was kissed

By a nymph who still has a smile.

I’ve been told the ocean is cleaner

Than when Columbus sailed the ocean blue,

But I’m not convinced; what about you?

 

I want to go down to the seas again

While the sea still has a chance at life,

It won’t be long before life’s all gone

And heroes will sail no more,

One more trip aboard a ship

Before we cast Satan overboard,

Quoth the angel to Satan,”Nevermore.!

 

 

I must go to the seas again,

But I know it’s already too late.

The sea is rising along the shore

And the world will fight its fate

Like a fish it will go belly up

And sing the warrior song

Beautiful world! We who are about to die,

Salute you.

Stack our bodies and start the flames,

The ones who fought , remember their names

Honor them forevermore.

We fought with vigor, and we fought with  pride.

The ocean covers all our friends who lived and died.

 

The ocean is overflowing with God’s own tears

Because of man and his foolish pride.

I must go down to the sea again,

But I’ve long forgotten why.

No one wants to try.

June 9, 2017

 

 

 

OTHERS, LIARS AND MANY MORE

OTHERS, LIARS, AND MANY  MORE

 

Hezer did not listen to their lies.  Everything they said seemed to be poisoned arrows aimed directly at him. Why did they continue to speak their malicious words? Why were they lying? What had he done to deserve this?

                More and more people were beginning to hate him.  He could feel the hatred, see their eyes grow cold, and know they were talking about him behind his back. “Don’t talk to him. He’s not someone we want to associate with.” “Did you hear what he wants to do now?” “People are disappearing.  He’s got to be stopped before it gets worse.”

 The lies were growing, stretching from small sores into festering, gaping wounds that he could not stop.  The more the lies were told, the more the lies were believed. The lies became the truth, comprehended and interpreted to be facts.   Facts were created out of imagined truths and soon there was no distinction between fact and fiction.

His skin was brown and soft, different from theirs.  He was one of the newly created liars, his DNA altered by scientists eager to produce a race of people who could survive under the extreme conditions of a nuclear war.

 At first scientists were proud to claim they had made improvements to mankind. But it was only a matter of time before things began to change.

 The media began with grandiose announcements informing the general public that scientists were gods capable of building a new future.   With the cooperation of everyone the new people could be blended into everyday life with no harmful results. The new people were reputed to be extraordinary workers, requiring less sleep and less rest. In addition, they were very friendly. That brought up the possibility of less hate between nations and less wars.  On paper and in controlled situations everything seemed perfect.  Everybody was thrilled to see changes being made.

As the years passed and war loomed over mankind without actually happening, the differences between the liars and normal humans became festering sores.  All the things humans wanted to do, the new people insisted they could do better.  The liars were reputed to jump higher, run faster, and have better sex.

A lie gets better in the telling, while the truth is always the same.  Stories became ludicrous as the stories stretched and grew.  The liars changed the truth in small increments, made the lies deceive humans who were ready to believe.  Scientists rushed to tell the truth and make claims based on fact, but it was too late.  The lies were no longer lies.  They had been told too often with no opposition and now all the people believed them.

Because the liars had few differences, the others, (the common humans) were concerned the liars

would begin taking over. The others struck first, quietly replacing the liars in their jobs. Humans retook  power positions. This time the others were careful to keep the appearance of being fair with no discrimination.  Laws were enacted to increase the number of lies. Lawyers, politicians, and sales personnel were expected to lie consistently.  Their habits were already well established.

The truth is plain, although it has been known to be naked, harsh, or ugly.  Lies come in many colors, and can be very pretty or very ugly.  The liars came in many colors, which made them very special and easily seen.  They were often targets and many had been attacked and killed by frustrated others. Although liars liked being noticed and admired, they were opposed to being killed. The others, or humans as they liked to be called, deviated from the plain truth, and many others would testify in court that liars did not have as many witnesses as others did.  Therefore the liars must be lying. Others ignored the fact that “it only takes one to tell the truth. It takes many to keep a lie.”

Wars did not stop because the liars were created. Wars were often started because of miscommunication between political groups. Liars became the scapegoats in many countries and were forced to defend the truth, especially when others covered up the truth or divided it into small portions.  Liars continued to ask for the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

The world became divided into four distinct levels.  But that was after the world lost much of its wisdom and hope. It was a time of lies and secrets, a time to restore life and love, and a time when all things beautiful became a part of truth. But that’s another story that deserves to be embellished and expanded, stretched and interpreted, loved and hated, and turned into choices which began at the very beginning of time.

 

Others became the highest group. Liars were the middle group. Many were in the next level.

The lowest group were the poets, singers, philosophers, and others who told the truth.  

June 4, 2017

 

 

Imaginary

What is imaginary? Except for distorted stories, embellished lies, and mathematical impossibilities, imagination is a loneliness changer.  When I was growing up in the verdant hills of Oklahoma, I had a lot of time to think alone and invent playmates.

There was no television set, radio, or big city lights. I did have a younger brother who was my shadow.  He followed me around and we studied snakes, insects, farm animals, and people.  Life was exciting when we let our imaginations take over.

We played marbles, climbed trees, invented implements of destruction, captured crawdads, knocked down wasp nests, and read.  Sometimes I thought my brother was the lucky one because he was two years younger.  Because of his age some of our neighbors thought he was entitled to life’s little extras.

One neighbor, Mrs. Olson, lived alone in the house next door.  Once or twice a week I would go to her house and draw ten to fifteen buckets of water from her well for her cooking water and her bath water.  While I worked, she would read to Billy.  Often she would get out her family pictures and show Billy places she had traveled. I was envious that Billy got to use her viewer because the pictures were 3D.  Although I was irritated, I also noticed he was given cookies and ice cream.  I believed in fairness and this was not fair!

We moved every two or three years as my dad got a new job.  There were always new neighbors and new friends and new things to discover.  I was in the habit  of picking up little sacks which had been thrown on the ground.  The sacks originally contained bubble gum and were always empty.  On a string looped at the top of the bag was a small cardboard circle.  When I pulled on a circle the bag would tighten and the contents remained inside.  My intentions were to keep my steelies, cats eyes, boulders, and other marbles in a bag without losing them.

But one day when my imagination was running wild, and I was bored, I told Billy he could collect ten of those circles and the people at the store would exchange them for an ice cream cone.  I watched him rushing around gathering the circles, pleased with myself for playing such a prank.  After ten circles were in his possession, he went into the store. I expected Billy to come out of the store mad or crying.  Instead, he was carrying and eating a huge ice cream cone.

“How did you get that cone?” I asked.

“Just like you said. I traded the circles for the ice cream.  Thanks for telling me!”

My mouth fell open. Then I raced around picking up circles.  When I went inside the clerk said, “Sorry. That was the last ice cream given away. Maybe next week.”  I was disappointed but forever hopeful as week after week I stopped at the store looking for my ice cream.

My world was small and yet it was filled with ghost stories, constellations, woodland animals, insects, and warm gingerbread.  I did not have to imagine family love.  It was always there.

June 3, 2017

WHAT PORTION SHOULD I KEEP?

My dreams, my thoughts, my love, my life, my time
if I divided my day into precious moments
which ones would I keep
and which ones would I waste?
if every part was subdivided and clean,
would I be satisfied with only a taste?
what parts would I cling to?
Wasted life, unmanaged thoughts, neglected love, unfulfilled dreams,
I’m organizing now, paring down my list of friends, leaving no room for love.
I’m tired now, there is less joy, fewer ideas to employ,
I see my problem. I like to collect.
I want bigger dreams, more powerful thoughts, passionate love, longer life, and time for each friend and loved one. How can I portion out my life so it has more meaning?
I can choose to love you more, share my dreams, help those in need, and my life and my time will fill the void.

June 1, 2017