Heather Days

From the rough

Of the grass

Long and blowing

In the late summer wind

The fall

Is upon us

With its linear sunlight

And orange hues

Touching the changes

And nothing you can do

So the early fall

Sets like the Heather days

As the summer fades

Away

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Dirty Hands

Dirty hand

Never quite know

That in the depths washed

You can not quite get all of the

Dirt

If dirt is on the hands of man

Whose hands toil in the dirt

No notice is paid

But on the hands of a banker

On the hands of a tycoon

We wonder

Where does this dirt come from

The dirty hands

That can’t be washed clean

Oh to Fly

Oh to fly

Away from the noise

Higher than the clouds

Get away

When the world

Is pulling me down

Oh to fly like a bird

In a fresh moment

Go with the wind

Go sing songs

Songs of love

Songs of hope

Birds will fly

I wish I could go

Twelve Days of Silence

What moves us

To action

What brings us to our knees

Of in action

Whose words do we believe

When the mountains

Block the path to the seas

When the desert winds

Keep us from our kin

In the silence we must learn

As the silence continues

We continue

To grow

Wise

Not old

 

Unconstitutional Emoluments

Take the pay

Leave the people

Who is taking the stubs

When the president wins

Paid in advance

With taxes due

Who would have knew

What one man can do

With unfettered desires

To light a blazing fire

While a waining night fades

The ultimate game has been

Played

Grip of Power

Display the power

Training our eyes

Not to wonder

Bearing down

Fists of thunder

Hold our breathe

Let go

The ones who have the power

Will soon let us know

That when their rains come

They will be a shows

Of the terrible grips of power