The red beating of the heart and soul
Amidst the green, green meadows
Brings the warriors to battle–strong, determined, whole
Lurking in the early morn as mere hints of living shadows
Whispers of unheard footsteps gliding o’er wet fields of dew
Startled breaths gasped in hollowed throats
Then soldiers’ war cries on the clearing air flew
Scrambling from long-ships and skimming wee boats
Approach the shores of doom
The aftermath a blazing fire in the sun rays hiding the gloom
I remember the first books I read as a young child
I became a part of the beauty of words and magic of far off places for a while
I lived in castles with roaring fires in winter months, warm and cozy
I ran through lush, green meadows in summer, my cheeks rosy
I wore long frocks made of silks and satins
I held up my skirts and petticoats while crossing crisp, cool rapids
I used to think I had been born in the wrong century
I knew I would return to the medieval times eventually
For that is where I belonged
Was I wrong?
No, not really–we can go anywhere and experience anything
Our imagination is the strongest part of our mind
And we can live in any place and time
Just by opening a book or tapping the screen of our tablet
The happiness and wisdom of a child is within us; Let’s Go!
9/11 by Deborah A. Bowman
15 years from that which Americans have never recovered
Friends, family members, co-workers, neighbors … all beloved
Gone in the blink of an eye in a blasting inferno of fire
We lost the battle that day when we didn’t even know we were at war
But has it changed so very much?
Terrorists bringing death, destruction, and such
All around the world, in their hidden camps, glorified
Trying to totally erase a specific ethnicity … genocide
Acts of horror, devastation, blood and gore
And oft’times, they didn’t even know they were at war
Even within our sacred borders …
We don’t even know that we are at war.
The Labor of Love
by Deborah A. Bowman
Should it hurt to love someone?
Accept their barbs, lies, and the battles they’ve won?
That left you trampled in the dust, desolate and confused.
Or should you just turn away, separate yourself, be a recluse?
There can be peace and freedom from no interaction
From those who we are expected to love without condition.
Guilt seeping in with every whispered taunt.
Trying to accept and believe, but left only in want.
Sometimes it’s best just to lie down and rest,
Safe from the anger, jeers, and jests.
Sometimes it just isn’t funny anymore.
The time will come when you need less to achieve more.