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4 Brave Americans

faded glory

Was Ambassador Stevens Democrat
or was he a Republican?
Well it matters not in the least to me;
for he was an American.

It’s a painful boil within my heart
a sad grieving upon my soul.
That my country just looked the other way
while our enemy reached their goal.

A goal to humiliate this strong land
and to rub some shame in our face.
To show us there’s no one beyond their reach
they think us an infidel race.

The media mocks the cries for answers
call it ploys of Republicans.
despite the party of Benghazi’s four
they were four brave Americans.

c.d.m.2/11/14

 

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A Cry for Help

American tragedy

Akira bowed, to get beneath
shelter the cliffs could provide.
Amidst strangers and family
all seeking a place to hide.

Her little one clinging to her
cried loudly for food to eat.
She staggered in sheer exhaustion
from fear and sweltering heat.

A cacophony of voices,
echo questions and debate
wondering, now where do we go
oh God, what will be our fate?

To be driven out like stray dogs
because of faith and belief,
they ponder over the future
and if it will bring relief.

Some have died while on this sojourn
covered by dust starved for rain.
No time to mourn their passing,
too burdened with angst and pain.

Hiding there they hold their breath and
wait in anticipation,
that help will come from somewhere else
for Christians in their nation.

Then far off in the distance they
can hear the comforting sound
of someone raising a standard;
and mortars pounding the ground.

Time to defend the innocent
and defy the cowards hand.
A call to the Christian nations
to gather and take a stand.

Cheryl Davis Miller 8/8/14

 

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Charlie

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I once knew an orangutan
who loved to drink iced tea.
He would come by for a visit
just to entertain me.

We would meet beneath the willows
and sit there side by side.
Me listening as he spoke of
his journeys far and wide.

He only would grow quiet as
he sipped at his iced tea.
That traveling orangutan
who people called ‘ Charlie.’

He’d lived through famine and plenty,
he saw good times and bad.
Surviving long wars and peace times
still he was seldom sad.

He’d share the reason of his hope
and high expectancy;
his trust was in the Lord’s great love
for all humanity.

Friend if you question my stories;
true legitimacy.
Go talk to the orangutan
who’s simply called ‘ Charlie.’

Cheryl Davis Miller 7/31/14

 

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The Farm’s Story

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While driving a back road, the other day
came across an old farm in sad decay.
I pulled off to the side, to view the site.
Wondered how this farm, fell into this plight.

Searching I pictured sights from; long ago.
The farmhouse was blanketed by the snow.
Smoke curled from the chimney, by night and day.
Kids ignored the cold, while busy at play.

Looked once again and saw Spring drawing nigh.
As play was replaced, by chores by and by.
All hands were required, to work the farm.
With each generation; farm life lost charm.

With summer came work, from daylight to dark
and seldom a chance for, a play-day lark.
A dip in the creek; seemed a rare treasure.
Life on a farm, left small time for pleasure.

With Fall’s arrival, came new work to do.
There’s meat and tators; to mention a few.
Cords of dry wood, to stack neatly in rows.
Then stock the larder, and fill the silos.

Winter comes to offer, a brief repose.
Dad works on the books and Mama she sews.
Kids all enjoy; what seems a holiday.
Climbing the hill, to ride down on a sleigh.

Each passing year, the desire has waned.
“Jobs are in town,” all the children explained.
Venturing off, they all leave one by one,
parents pass on and the farm; it is done.

Farm life’s been replaced, by sad memories,
I thought as I sat there, beneath the trees.
A life style forgotten and left behind.
One trip pass that farm, brought this all to mind.

   Cheryl Davis Miller 2010

 

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The Moon’s Woe

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Moon has danced within Earth’s orbit,
gliding by her through the night.
Watching her throughout the ages,
then beholds a woeful sight.

When up is down, and down is up;
in is out; and out is in,
good is bad; right always is wrong,
Earth falls in a mad tail-spin.

Close the door, turn down the madness,
for she can’t take anymore!
Someone stop the Earth from trembling
please show mercy, I implore.

Fear she’ll tilt right off her axis
if she is not lent a hand.
All this madness has her reeling.
Sigh; she does not understand.

Mens inhumanity to men
acted out in wars and strife.
Innocents caught up in madness,
never have a chance at life.

Raging Red; for blood is seeping,
someone, please stem the wounds flow.
Lest all’s lost with no survivors.
Moon reflects, a wistful woe.

Cheryl Davis Miller  7/23/14

 

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A Cheap Trade

American tragedy

Thought I missed you, but realized
you’ve been gone many years.
So long in fact, I wonder why
that I would still shed tears.

You made a choice to disregard
all that you have been taught.
Then sold yourself, to later find
it’s not all that you thought.

Thinking you’d caught a big fish who’d
provide security,
only to find you’re now a slave
your life’s blood is the fee.

I hate to say this but I know
the worst is yet to come,
when seeds you’ve sown in dis-regard
take root to then blossom.

I’ll ask you now before that day,
” Do you still ‘ like it ‘ ?” or
are you just holding your breath at
what you know lies in store.

For you left all behind in search
of lame security,
only to find that he provide’s
not but anxiety.

cheryl davis miller 7/23/14

 

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ANGER

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If I could roll this fury up
into a tight-knit ball;
I’d drop it in a deep dark pit
of bitterness and gall.

Those rancid acids would destroy
it to the very core;
so I could face tomorrow with
out anger anymore.

Then I’d unfurl the tentacles
that’s held joy captive;
so once again in peace and love
my battered soul could live.

Cheryl Davis Miller 7/9/14

 

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Going Back

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I oft-times wish, I could go back
and live my life again.
With knowledge gained from ups and downs
and places I have been.

I’d love to know, what I know now
and feel as I did then,
I’d change so many choices made
if I could live again.

That’s not the way life works out though
and sad as it may seem,
we can’t go back but must go on
to go back’s just a dream.

 Cheryl Davis Miller  7/9/14

 

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Sometimes I’d Love to..

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Sometimes I’d love to run away,
go to a wilderness.
There I’d live a quiet life far
from business and stress.

I’d find a stream, or hidden bay
and make my home right there.
Without neighbors, wars or strife
no worries, stress or care.

I’d raise a garden, gather nuts
and fish my heart content.
No job, no bills, no phones to ring
no car payments or rent.

Towards eve, I’d build a lovely fire
to roast my fish upon.
Eat and then dance ‘neath starlit sky
until the break of dawn.

Then climb into my blankets warm
to sleep and dream all night,
with no alarms to wake me up,
each day would start out right.

Sometimes, I’d love to run away…

Cheryl Davis Miller 7/9/14

 

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Jive Talk

Jesus saves

Speaking to the air, there is no one there
who is it you’re talking too?
You turn from the Light; deny the might of
the Savior, Who died for you.

Said now you have found, a ‘new way’ that it’s
one of many, so ‘they’ say.
Not so, according to Jesus; Who said,
” I’m the Truth, the Life, the Way.”

I weep for the path you’ve chosen today,
for the destinations sure.
Apart from the Lord, you’ll find nothing there’s
no future; no hope; no cure.

You claim that you’re now enlightened and feel
pity for close-minded me.
My mind’s one with the Eternal One, so
you can save your sympathy.

Cheryl Davis Miller 6/14/14

 

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The Vision

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The shadows on the window blind
said all I need to know.
A heartless tryst as plain as day
just like a picture show.

It left me shaken, broke in half
my thoughts in dis-array.
The vision I stumbled upon
while seeking you today.

Of course you say, ” It matters not,
it was a huge mistake.”
You’re unaware to me it is
far more than I can take.

I’d like to say, that I’ll be fine
and my life will go on,
but for tonight I only hope
I’ll live to see the dawn.

Cheryl Davis Miller 6/11/14

 

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The Catawbas

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The Catawba’s are in bloom
bringing back sweet memories
of you and I there, beneath
that stand of Catawba trees.

The sunlight dancing over
the water trickling by;
reflected in your dark eyes
from a cloudless summer sky.

I hear you whisper softly,
black hair blowing in the breeze.
Birds singing as they watch us
beneath our Catawba trees.

Fifty years seem to pass by
and I travel back with ease;
as I behold the white blooms
of those old Catawba trees.

Cheryl Davis Miller 6/9/14

 

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A Trilogy of Age

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“““““““““““““““““

  Them

Who’ll shed a tear, when they are gone?
Their lives who shall recall?
Who’ll lay a wreath at their tombstone?
Will any visit at all?

Lives they gladly lived for others,
for children and family,
for church friends, neighbors and strangers,
they gave their lives lovingly.

Now they have grown old and feeble,
all strength and wealth now is gone.
No knocks at the door, nor phone calls.
Who’ll weep when they have gone on?

“““““““““““““““`

 Her

What’s the cause of her pessimistic view,
and oft spoken remark,” Oh well.”
She flows from a child-like joyful state
right into a mean doubtful spell.

I can tell that it is a learned practice,
not part of her nature at all.
What made her lose hope in the future?
and made her heart bitter as gall?

Heartache and loss are the culprits of what,
drove her to this gloomy outlook.
The twinkle in her eyes has told me so,
I can read her, just like a book.

I pray a change comes and turns things around,
dispelling her woe-full despair.
That the Lord, touches her family soon,
and remembers Dorothy’s prayer.

““““““““““““““““

     Him

Alone with his thoughts, going round and round.
He sits quietly seldom making a sound.
I ponder where his thoughts would take him to,
he’s seen a lot; being he’s ninety-two.

He’s spoke of clearing a virgin wood stand.
He and his father cut them all by hand.
There ‘ neath the shadow of huge hemlock trees;
the boy laid the ground for the man’s stories.

His eyes would shine brightly as he’d recall;
how they cut them down with a two-man saw.
Then just as quickly his eyes turn dark;
he grows quiet and his mood becomes stark.

You know then to hush; and just let him be.
He’s turned from the past to eternity.
His greatest adventure’s out there somewhere.
Unseen as yet; it’s one he cannot share.

“““““““““““““““

          Cheryl Davis Miller 5/28/14

 

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Thirty Minute Stall

American tragedy

The longest half-hour of all time;
the last thirty minutes of a shift.
You wonder,” Will someone relieve you?”
Or just leave you stranded and adrift.

Those thoughts cross your mind, as the clock ticks.
Each tick seems forever and a day.
A hand turns the knob, someone enters.
Then you are finally on your way.

Such is the life of caregivers and
to most it’s a matter very small.
But if you have been a care-giver,
you know of the thirty minute stall.

                   c.d.m. 5/26/14

 

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A Daughter, a Friend

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A daughter begins as a
babe in your arms.
She blossoms and grows into
a doll full of charms.

There are worries and doubts as
the teen years roll round.
But time will fly like the wind
with hardly a sound.

One day you look; childhood
has come to an end.
Don’t be sad, for then you’ll find
she’ll now be your friend.

So the circle goes around
same as in the past.
Love shared by mom and daughter
will forever last.

c.d.m.  5/7/14

Photo courtesy of Terri Jean’s Photography

 

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Missing Mom

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I’ve thought of Mom a lot today
as Mother’s Day draws near.
Remembering the little things
I’ve missed of her this year.

Like how she loved vegetable soup
or soup of any kind.
A yard sale and the Dollar Store;
where treasures she would find.

Slippers made of gold lame and
dusters in every hue.
A simple gift from one of us
no matter what; would do.

I miss sharing life’s ups and downs
in her I could confide.
No matter right; no matter wrong
she’d still be on my side.

I miss her smile; I miss her wit;
her humor, and her love.
I miss her but I know some day
I’ll meet her up above.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom!

c.d.m. 5/7/14

 

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Heart of Hospice

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They will enter in smiling,
with ‘oh so much’ concern.
May appear to be angelic,
unless you can discern.

They desire to bring an ending,
to all the suffering;
with cloaks disguising what in fact
they truly want to bring.

The baggage that they carry in
hold’s what they wish to hide;
Kevorkian’s own methods of
stark death will be applied.

Hospice root’s run deep within the
Hemlock society.
Mercy killings on the menu
for weak or elderly.

It started with the infants and
moved to the elderly.
Next it will be the crippled or
defective mentally.

Then they’ll move on up the ranks to
all those who do not work.
The plan at the heart of Hospice.
This world’s gone berserk.

Cheryl Davis Miller 5/2/14

 

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Little Jay Carney and Friends

faded glory

A limerick for little Jay Carney.
Whose filled with political blarney.
His boss tells him jump!
Jay being a chump;
lies more than a Carnival ‘carny.’

Try telling the truth Jay, you may find your mouth stops twisting. :)

Al Gore swears’ the earth is heating,’
cause us ranchers have cows eating.
Say’s they then pass gas,
and will soon surpass,
the fumes his jet’s excreting.

Have you heard about Hillary?
She thinks she and horny Billy
deserve one more chance
to at the ball dance.
That our doubts are all just silly.

Tis the tale of Eric Holder.
If he could somehow be bolder.
He’d perhaps grow a chin
fill the office he’s in;
release the I.R.S. folder.

Did you see Nancy Pelosi
behind Obama so cosy
when she rose to her feet
sitting down missed her seat
she had all four cheeks, then rosy.

 Cheryl Davis Miller 5/1/14

 

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Fox in the Whitehouse

hen and chicks

Fox in the Whitehouse

 ‘Fox’ is in Obama’s Whitehouse; what do you say?
That old Rooster blames ‘Fox News’, more every day.

Other Networks could ask questions, and let us know.
Perhaps they’d have more viewers like; O’Reilly’s show.

I know, it’s hard to speak out from Obama’s butt;
the ‘Lame Stream’ media stays in that, same old rut.

Go on; blame Fox Network, if that’s the best you can.
When ‘Fox’ is all that’s left perhaps; you’ll understand.

c.d.m. 1/5/14

 

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Truth for Benghazi

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[Truth for All of US.]

‘ Move to the sound of the gun’s.’
Run to the sound of battle.
Respond to the call for help.
Rise as the sabre’s rattle.

Never retreat and then hide.
Nor lie to cover our shame.
As brave American’s died,
a video bore the blame.

For many whose hands were bound,
couldn’t respond to the sound
and they knew right from the start,
the video had no part.

Remain no longer silent,
now’s the time to speak your piece.
Display your hearts so valiant;
make this horrid lie to cease.

That ‘we’ may hold our heads high;
Americans one and all.
No more our hearts or hands bound,
we all may answer the call.

c.d.m. 5/1/14

 

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An Answer to ‘Time’

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‘ Time ‘ declares,” The Tea Partie’s done.”
and ” We have them on the run.”
We’ll let them believe what they will;
those liberals on the hill.

For out here; in the middle land
we prepare to take a stand.
While they ‘think’ the Tea Partie’s done,
we say, “We have just begun!”

We declare,”Enough is enough,
of all that pen and phone stuff!”
We believe that we have a say,
’bout all those taxes we pay.

‘We the People'; want to be heard,
no more of our laws altered.
So you think the Tea Partie’s done?
That’s what they thought in Boston*.

             c.d.m. 4/24/14

*Home of the original ‘ Tea Party.’

 

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To Live Free

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If I could find a place to dwell
where I’d no more be found,
I run to that most blessed place;
let quietness abound.

There in that precious place of peace
where no eyes look on me,
no more the shame of failure’s weight;
I would at last be free.

Free from all man’s expectancy;
and judgement of the same.
Freed from my lack of self-esteem
and constant sense of blame.

There I would hide and celebrate
no more to suffer shame.
To live free of that hurtful voice;
my silence overcame.

           c.d.m.4/18/14

 

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What The Shoe Spoke

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That lady threw a shoe, at you
but we wanted it to be a hatchet.
She got to throw a shoe at you;
and the rest of us wish we could match it.

You deserve much more Hillary.
That’s what she was trying to show to you.
Should have been a pair Hillary.
Hoping karma’s not ‘out done’ by a shoe.

Close to forty years Hillary.
You have tried to both rule and destroy us.
Pay-day’s way past due, Hillary.
Just reward for all of your corrupt-ness.

   c.d.m.4/11/14

 

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Remember

faded glory

Oh remember, America’s greatness
‘fore these sad, and appalling times.
Those who recall, the pride of the nation
‘fore elected, masters of crimes.

There’s no time, to give into tyranny,
none for weeping for the past times.
Let us stir the blood, that flows in our veins,
by the sound; of Liberty’s chimes.

 Look who we came from; a vast legacy
none cowards, to Kings they’d not bow.
They look upon us, their sons and daughters,
to speak,” These crimes we; disallow.”

Enough blaming, and pointing to other’s
enough lies, claimed innocence.
Saying they serve us, they serve but themselves,
no penance, from a seared conscience.

Time for the common man’s voice, to be heard,
bring peace to chaos; of today.
To lead from our midst, as in day’s of yore,
plain speech, common sense led the way.

Yes remember America’s glory,
she led out of her servant’s heart.
For she still deserves all; our allegiance,
and watch o’er, the battles rampart.

              c.d.m.3/4/14

[last verse of the Star-spangled Banner]

O! thus be it ever when free men shall stand
between their loved homes and the foe’s desolation;
Bless’d with victory and peace, may our heaven rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation
Then conquer we must, for our cause is just
And this be our motto ” In God is our trust!”

And the Star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

 

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Jolly’s Race

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 The Recent Race

The recent race in Florida’s,
a taste of things to come.
If we keep our eyes on the ball
and Democrat foursome.

Obama, Reid, Pelosi and
Billary must succumb.
For common sense to rule again
might need exorcism.

Must watch the grave yards and the polls
the dead are meddlesome.
If we make picture I.D.’s law
no more votes; postmortem.

When cool-aid pushers are all gone
we’ll rid delirium.
The recent race in Florida’s,
a taste of things to come.

   c.d.m.3/13/14

 

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Peeping Tom

window picture

 Peeping Tom

I looked out my window to see
someone was staring back at me
Grabbed my robe while closing the blind
still no privacy could I find.

There on the phone and my p.c.
peeping Tom’s opportunity,
to know my business, day-to-day
each thought I have; and word I say.

Tom try’s to say it’s for my good,
for my defence, it’s understood.
He say’s stop acting paranoid,
for my own good Tom’s been employed.

Beg to differ, if I still may
don’t want my business on display.
Send a drone to my property,
to shoot it down seems fair to me.

Tarred and feathered, was at one time;
punishment for Peeping Tom’s crime.
Let’s revive it, what do you say?
Let’s stop that peeping N.S.A.

        c.d.m. 3/8/14

 

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Mr President

Progressive-Obama

  Mr. President

Sounds like Rodney Dangerfield,
not a beloved President.
Complains of getting no respect
in one most recent tangent.

There is no substance to your words,
and there’s much less to your back.
So when you speak; no one gives heed
due to incompetent lack.

Lack of what you ask? I will say
of character, strength and more,
like honesty and common sense.
Seems this nation you abhor.

Else why the lies and cover-ups
the military cut backs.
You will not listen to our voice.
No amnesty for wet-backs.

‘Not a smidgen’ you have decried
no truth in allegations.
‘We’ shake ‘our’ heads in unbelief
why should not other nations?

You’ve failed your race; you’ve failed us all
the one thing you stand fast in.
Please just follow Nixon’s lead,
else America’s a has been.

           c.d.m. 3/2/14

 

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Get Harry

eagles

I will now share the saga
of old Harry Reid.
Who delighted in making
America bleed.

He stood on the Senate floor
and said ‘we’ have lied.
As Nancy and Democrats
also have implied.

While Boehner has stood weeping
at the mean remark.
The Obama’s have flown off
on another lark.

The Senate was rolling like
an old dog in carne,*
and nodding in agreement
to old Harry’s yarn.

Uncle Sam bowed his head spoke,
” Enough is enough,
the Tea Party must rise up
and call Harry’s bluff,

Root out the Progressives and
the RINO’S alike,
send all of them packing down
DC’s old turnpike.

Then gather the Eagles with
a heart for the land,
to come take back the reins for
united we’ll stand.

     c.d.m. 3/3/14

*carne=’s a dead animal

 

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Age

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We were young and gave no thought to
anymore than the day,
to life or death, sickness or health
simply lived, come what may.

Believed ourselves invincible
while in the blush of youth.
Until tomorrows ravaged us
with evidence and truth.

Quite suddenly the signs appear
of immortality.
They come in from your blind side, just
appearing glaringly.

Then as those before us, we must
except what fate demands.
To realize we all grow old
and trust we’re in God’s hands.

c.d.m. 2/18/2014

 

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If.

sheeple

We did not see until; too late.
We would not heed the call.
We thought ourselves Americans.
With one heart one and all.

So with sad heart we must report,
it now is plain to see;
our gracious land is over run,
by a rank enemy.

This enemy does not comply,
at all with common heart,
of those who fight for freedom’s voice
as they have from the start.

No this foe will divide us and
sow upstarts in our place,
so as to tear down Liberty
and mock her to her face.

Then to declare themselves the friend
of the down trodden man.
The only source of answers to
the woe’s of common man.

If we had seen, if we had heard,
before it was too late,
perhaps we could have saved the day
and changed our nations fate.

                                                                              c.d.m. 2/18/2014

 

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The Canvas

canvasI looked upon the canvas blank
my heart leapt ‘neath my breast.
I lift my palette of mixed hues
my brush tip I caressed.

I pondered ore the empty span
drew plans out in my heart.
I drew the brush across the plane
my vision fell apart.

How does one reach from mind to hand;
to express hearts desire.
How do you meld the two as one
‘fore vision does expire.

Oh failure is a bitter pill
when dreams do fall apart.
For eyes grow dim and hands grow weak
from emptiness of heart.

What’s left when dreams have fled the soul
and emptiness remains?
Except to bid this life farewell
and slip this sad life’s chains.

           c.d.m.2/11/14

 

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Bloody Hill

 clinton

 Bloody Hill

Old Bloody ‘Hill’, in a voice very shrill
screamed out,”What difference does it make?”
Now shares the regrets of her and dear Bill;
say’s Benghazi’s a hard one to shake.

How could we ever believe this sincere,
and not just a move for her career?
She managed to stand in the Rose Garden,
to co-sign the lies of the henchman.

She’ll paint up her lips, and brighten her eyes
and come out in a youthful disguise.
Perhaps shed a tear, so as to endear
herself for what is, her grand premier.

Madame, we think you have done quite enough,
for you have destroyed all that you touch.
True American’s now will call your bluff,
forgive Benghazi? You ask too much.

         c.d.m. 1/28/14

 

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Responsibility

Cheryl pics 170

Madame for the outcome of Benghazi
you ” take responsibility.”
I wish you would take the time to explain
what those words really mean to me.

Does it mean you failed to answer the calls
sent often from that far off place?
Then stood by and sent another to lie
for the President to save face?

What promise did you receive for your part
in that horrible act of shame?
How do you gaze in the mirror without
ever feeling this deep disdain;

of the many people who feel you failed
the office we trusted you to?
We shall always remember Benghazi
every time that we think of you.

We all come to the end of life Madame
to stand before God Almighty.
I pray you’ll have reconciled with Him then
and repented for Benghazi.

           c.d.m. 1/22/14

 

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The Flower Child

  peace

           Sad ideal’s of a generation past
fluttering through my thoughts today.
Those long gone sixties seemed to pass so fast.
Memories of my yesterday.

         Graffiti made of peace signs, everywhere,
and covering our garments too.
The older crowd would often turn and stare,
as hippie vans were passing through.

Flowers in the hair, and upon the face,
marked us as the flower children.
We longed to touch and change the human race,
honestly thought change had begun.

Spoke of free-love and of ending the wars,
lived a dream of simplicity.
Melodies strummed softly on old guitars,
leading our songs in harmony.

Well time has passed and we all have grown old,
forgetting those sweet melodies.
Our innocent ideals it seems we’ve sold,
and settled for a life of ease.

            c.d.m.  1/22/2014

van

 

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Inspector Clue-less [ Is he? ]

Progressive-Obama

Inspector Clue-less [ Is he? ]

Other nations describe our ‘Leader,’
as ‘clue-less'; I wonder ’bout that.
Could anyone be so ignorant?
Or does he pretend the ‘ding-bat’?

I doubt he could graduate Harvard,
with the little wisdom he’s shown.
How he was elected the first time,
is a mystery yet unknown.

I think he knows how to play opossum.
Pretending the part of Clouseau.
He has a further agenda and
eventually we shall all know.

His plan is to be a World Ruler,
oh but not just in name only.
Like Nero, and young Napoleon
a World Ruler’s what he must be.

So don’t close your eyes nor turn your head;
presuming him clue-less or dim.
Cause that’s when a opossum makes his move,
so we best keep our eyes on him.

                 c.d.m. 1/18/14

 
 

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American Shame

Benghazi_

Shame upon us America
we have looked the other way.
Refused to see or hear the truth;
believing what liars say.

Had it been our’s left there to die;
then perhaps we may have cared.
Those lost patriots families
painful grief we would have shared.

We just watched, our favorite shows
those so-called realities.
Ignoring those few speaking of
Benghazi’s atrocities.

Now the truth is coming out for;
all America to see.
Will we go watch some more TV
or wage war for Benghazi?

          c.d.m. 1/15/14

 

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The Tale of the Mountain Healer

Mountain Healer

Rose Ella,

At one time in the mountains of fair West Virginia
the people lived happy and free.
They prided themselves in their independence
and natural abilities.

These people had ventured from far away shores
from Scotland, and Ireland, and Wales.
Remembered their homelands in the words of sweet ballads
entertaining each other with tales.

Life was not easy as you may surmise
they lived off the wealth of the land
Why any would choose, to live in those mountains
town’s people could not understand.

Up in those hills there lived a young beauty
by the name of Rose Ella McNye.
A sprite of a girl, with flaming red hair
and eyes like a blue summer sky.

Rose Ella had never had schoolin but she’d
learned at her grandma’s knee.
What you could reap from the mountains and valleys
and make into home remedy’s.

Many’s the time folk knocked at her door
seeking help for an ailing loved one.
She’d gather her bags of herbs and dried yarbs*
and off  thru the woods she would run.

The day came when she met her a suitor
by the name of Newt Matheny.
Folks warned her,” Rose Ella don’t court him,
he comes from a bad family.”

Rose Ella disregarded the warnings
they married and started a clan.
After 3 or 4 children she realized;
she’d married a traveling man.

Rose Ella saw to the farmin
did her doctorin with babies in tow.
Newt stuck to the drinkin and makin of moonshine.
when he felt like it he’d up and go.

During one of his many adventures;
some one knocked, on Rose Ella’s door.
She went to help while her babies were sleeping
never dreaming of what lay in store.

As she returned about sunrise
fear gripped her heart at the sight;
of her cabin ablaze to the roof peak;
two babies were lost in the night.

A week or so later when Newt sobered up
he learned of the loss they had shared.
Ran back to Rose Ella who sat in a daze
with streaks of white all through her hair.

Rose Ella regained most her senses
so her three babes left she could tend.
She and Newt never more shared the same bed.
Some ailments you just cannot mend.

 the true story of my great-grandma ,             c.d.m. 3/09

*yarbs are wild roots and leaves, as opposed to those raised in gardens

674356191_d4991c4a46

 

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The Little Church

Jesus saves

He walked towards town from the highway
at the corner  set his backpack down.
He searched up and down the Main Street
with  sad heart here’s what he found.
An empty lot garbage and weeds;
a sign welcoming people to town.
The place he’d sought help so many times
was demolished; and torn down.
“““““““““““““““““““““““`
He ambled across Mulberry Street
slowly entered the Police Station.
Most times he tried to avoid that place
but he needed some information.
” Where ever did that ‘ little church’ go?
It once sat in the center of town
I use to go there and they’d feed me.
T’ was the only ‘soup kitchen’ around.”
““““““““““““““““““““““““`
A van pulled off  highway thirty-three.
Drove by where the church had  been.
The driver spoke to a store owner,
” Excuse me can you help me my friend?
Tell me where did that ‘little church’ go?
It use to be down on East Main Street.
I had five babies and they helped me
that small congregation was sweet.”
“““““““““““““““““““““““`
That ‘ little church ‘ tho small and shabby
was filled up with God’s sweet love and light.
It prayed for and covered this city
with the wing’s of God’s angels in flight.
A place for those tired and weary
those in need of a helping hand.
The world needs a thousand such churches
to just spring up and cover our land.
““““““““““““““““““““““““

Where did that ‘ little church ‘ go?

c.d.m. 5-17-11

 

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A Passing Train

train 3

Last night from bed I heard the sound,
a passing train.
Another soothing sound I’ve found,
is falling rain.
If when I pursue fleeing sleep,
I could record these sounds to keep,
I’d fall to sleep, and hear again,
a passing train.
“““““““““““
Or rain upon the rooftop pound,
a sweet refrain.
But ‘Hubbies’ voice would then abound,
he would complain.
See opposites they do attract.
For he and I could prove this fact.
So on my iPod, I’ll retain,
a passing train.
“““““““““““

c.d.m. 2011

Octogram poem style created by Ms. Sally Yokum of Fanstory
Rhyme scheme: a B a b c c b B,a b a b d d b B
Capital B designates repeated lines.
Syllable counts 8 4 8 4 8 8 8 4 in each of two stanzas.

train 1
“““““““`

 
 

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Go Away Snow,A Prayer

winter frost

From the North, to the South,
and the East, to the West,
Nasty Old Man Winter,
has tried his very best.

To blanket us over
with cold, wet snow.
To cause giant ice-sickles
to grow and grow.

To bury us alive
in layers of white.
And create icy roadways
to give us all a fright.

Even the children
now say, ” It’s ENOUGH !”
They are tired of chapped lips
and cheek’s red and rough.

Who wants to go on looking
like that fat Michelin Man?
We are tired of this snow
we’ve stood all we can stand!

So now with one objective
and in one accord;
We pray SNOW GO AWAY
In the name of our Lord…
AMEN
c.d.m.2-8-11

 

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The Nest

Albert the Squirrel

Alberta the Squirrel had a very fine nest.
In a crook in a Maple tree; high it did rest.
She had a mate named William, she called Billy Boy.
He was her life partner, and he brought her heart joy.

They fashioned their nest all safe, snug, and warm.
Tended it well so it could weather a storm.
Each spring they would add soft layers anew.
In preparation for the birth of a baby or two.

One morning the sky turned ominous and gray.
The wind’s picked up and the tree’s began to sway.
As lightning flashed they heard a terrible sound.
The earth seemed to shake as their home tumbled down.

They crawled out of the rubble breathed a sigh of relief.
As they looked all about them in utter disbelief.
Grateful they’d survived at first they were glad.
As they surveyed the landscape their hearts became sad.

All they had worked for in a moment disappeared.
It seemed it was exactly as they had always feared.
Billy looked at Alberta in complete dismay,
“What shall we do now?” is all he could say.

Alberta looked up with a tear in her eye,
spoke” I haven’t the heart to even give it a try.”
Rustling in the leaves broke the silence all around.
They heard their friends voice’s such a beautiful sound.

There was Rabbit, and Squirrel, the Birds, and old Coon.
Saying” We’re here to build; if by the light of the moon.
We know it is the season to birth your little one.
We’re here to lend a hand until the work is all done.”

 ‘Moral’ of this story;”All things come to an end.’
One thing lasts forever the love of a friend.
So don’t build your nest out of money or clay.
Build upon true friendships, build, love, and pray.

                  c.d.m. 4-4-11

 

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One Life

turkey-run-045

One Life

I’ve only one life, to live or give
only one life, and that’s all.
Only one life to spend as I will
one life to answer the call.

 At sunrise I must decide which way
to spend the hours of each.
To waste it upon me and myself
or sacrifice for out-reach.

Sad to say the balance tips somewhat
in fluttering time away;
but I make a choice to change it now,
and the change begins today.

     c.d.m.  1/1/14

 

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Quick Change

007

Esther Sue she’s the ‘want to be Jew’
not happy with being herself.
Fifty odd years she was called Jean till
she put her old name on a shelf.

Tell me how does one change from Christian,
then decide ‘now I’ll be a Jew?’
It really escapes understanding
at least with me, how about you?

First she quit eating her bacon then
she acted like we should quit too.
Said we all called G_D by the wrong name
and we needed to learn Hebrew.

We worshipped the Lord on the wrong day
and needed to learn to make myrrh.
Guess nothing was right in our worship
at least not according to her.

The thing that amazes me most is
how Christians have lasted this long.
Also why she now seems so bitter
if her Judaism’s so strong.

c.d.m.12/21/13

 
 

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Obama-cares?

chi-town2Chaos and calamity
that’s what it is to me.
Headline news keeps talking of
Obama-care; does he?

Has it ever crossed his mind;
what all he has fouled up?
Has his plan been from the start
the health plan of Europe?

Well if you haven’t heard it yet,
their plan’s not working great.
Need to turn our ship about,
before we share their fate.

What part of ‘ We the People,’
can you not understand?
This is still America,
and not Chi-towns gangland.

Go home Sir, before you destroy us.

c.d.m. 12/26/13

 

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A Tale of Christmas Eve, by a friend

T’christmas decorations

T’was Christmas eve with no snow on the way
Grandma and Grandpa had called it a day.
There was he in his boxers and her in a gown
they’d turned off the TV and went to lay down.

When out in the driveway they heard a loud clatter;
doors slamming and lots of voices in chatter.
Looked from window to cold ground below,
to see their children with grandkids in tow.

Gramps rushed to the door ‘fore they tried old keys,
from a long-lost time when they were kiddies.
“Surprise they shouted while coming in view;
our presence’s our Christmas present to you.”

Go to Facebook and your eyes will behold
Grandma and Grandpa looking tired and old.
In gowns, no make-up, no teeth, messy hair
please delete that finger that’s up in the air.

                                                                          Connie J. VanMatre 12/24/13

 

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Home for Christmas

Christmas

No home to go to for Christmas,
more than just the homeless can tout.
There’s other’s alone on Christmas;
so that’s what this short poem’s about.

Many my age do get lonely
especially at this time of year.
As children grow-up and marry
and parents must move to the rear.

I made those choices long ago.
That’s when I decided to stay;
at home with my kids for Christmas.
So kids with the new toys could play.

Now years later, too late I fear;
I think that I made a mistake.
I should have went home for Christmas.
Home’s one place we should not forsake.

Now there is no ‘ home’ to go to,
for mother and dad have passed on.
Sadly I taught my own children;
and my chance to go home is gone.

            c.d.m.  12/ 24/13

 

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Too Busy

 

DSCI0765 

Can I call you back in five minutes
she said on that day to her friend.
Rushing along to complete her chores
not knowing her friend’s life would end.
““““““““““““““““““““““““““
Running each day we continue on
too busy; too busy we cry.
Cramming too much into one lifetime;
while we never once question why.
““““““““““““““““““““““““““
We buy and give; but not of ourselves;
then wonder why we feel lonely.
I’d much rather have you sit a while;
and perhaps share some time with me.

        c.d.m. 12/20/13

 
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Posted by on December 20, 2013 in life stories, open door, Writing

 

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Vanessa, I and the Queen of Sheba

winter frost

Vanessa, I and the Queen of Sheba
we lived in a mystical land.
Vanessa and I proclaimed Karmen Queen
at three she did not understand.

Karmen’s royal throne was a baby crib
she ruled a vast empire.
She ruled as we played; and squandered the days
sometimes she would inquire;

“Can I come out there and play Barbies too;
I tire of being Queen?”
“Nay nay our Queen, you must rule from your throne’’
her citizens could be mean.

We were quite young and we just did not see
we were being unfair.
We’d curtsy and bow say, “You rule from there now.”
we could be quite the pair.

Now that were Grannies; it’s hard to believe
how time sprouts wings it seems.
At times we return to that mystical land
of our Queen of Sheba in dreams.

                        c.d.m. 3/2009

 

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