When you-know-what has hit the fan,You have two choices—picking one;You get to work, do what you can;Or choose to panic, start to run. Some people pause, think what to do;But not to help, solution spinned;But they will sound good—(nothing new)—Essentially a bag of wind. But then, when things go bad
I’d like to thank all those whose first thought is to give;The ones who auction their own lives so others live.There is but one descriptive term–humanities!It is not done to garner praises aimed to please.There is a crisis, there is need, that’s all she wrote.There is no greater accolade we
I guess you can say I’m a weirdo of sorts;Refusing to think the way everyone courts.I’m speaking of how you define certain things—Like beauty, for instance, responses it brings. If it’s good to look at—I mean really good,Most label that beauty, think all of us should.But beauty, to me, is
This human life has factions far beyond the norm; Like where two people meet, a bonding starts to form. And, if that bonding’s meant to be, you’ll often find That each one will, quite often, read the other’s mind. To one, the other’s comment came out of the blue; So
The big bad wolf could learn from us— Without a lot of needless fuss; We seniors surely know enough To show him how to huff and puff! But, at the same time, Heaven knows, There’s something else we should propose— That what he’s after, after all, Won’t go well with
You know the average Leprechaun is small; The average just above your knee is all. In every other aspect though you’d see They are like us in their anatomy. There are some differences, like pointed ears, But nothing obvious, so it appears. Their craftiness and penchant to connive Have been
In celebration of National Poetry Month, April, the Fox Valley Music Foundation will be host to a call for poems. This call is open to any student writer, kindergarten through college, currently residing in the Fox Valley region of Illinois. Submission deadline is 5 p.m., March 31. No exceptions! Each
Back when we, as a nation, first began Already, as a people, quite dispersed. The Irish were disparaged to a man, Considered, on the social scale, the worst. When common labor beckoned, slaves were sought; But slave owners said No!, with sullen ring. “Our slaves are worth more than what
VIII. By Fermina Ponce The blacks of my land hurt from oblivion, my ancestors reel under their ebony headstones. The elders and the children seem to vanish in a needless death, wide hips are said to have tired of birthing smiles and there is no respite in pearl grins. The
However short or long your lifetime is right now There have been some events of which you’ve made a vow You do not want, in any sense, to see again,, At any time, no matter what, or where, or when. The strange part is, each of them will but fade
It’s time we came to grips with how we came to be; We did not get to be a nation by decree– Our war for Independence did not do the act; We weren’t coerced, we were not forced, and that’s a fact. Our Constitution took a great amount of time
To most of you, what’s said here won’t mean anything, To others, it will bring back haunting memories. There are those episodes in every life which sting Each time they are remembered, doomed to never cease. In looking back, each one will violate the norm; What you feel would be
When you were just a kid, with all that childhood stuff, Were you aware you were a diamond in the rough And, like a diamond, measured for potential worth, A lengthy process that began before your birth. But this does not relate to fame and fortune here; Your “average” life
I know that Christmas is long gone—a memory; But something happened then that’s still dumbfounding me. My daughter had become a problem months before, And every day since then had been a constant war. It seemed that nothing that we tried did any good; And, believe me, we did everything
In searching how our ancestors had lived and died, We always looked for evidence they could not hide. To know how they existed, and on what they fed, Would always come to this—how did they treat their dead? No matter their primeval state, to each his own, Respect and honor,
You may not be a Jew, and so the Holocaust Means next to nothing in your mind—the human cost. In your mind, they had to have done something to bring This all about, which would explain most everything. And, since you were not, are not, personally involved You won’t concern
We need to make a service call, so then, of course, we call; But we get someone who cannot speak English much at all. We try to make “it” understand that we don’t understand; But seemingly there’s no attempt to bridge the language spanned. So what has happened to “good
So this year’s Christmas now has passed; Was it one that you wished would last? Well, then, allow me to this hint to drop— In Christmas, where does it say “Stop!” For Christmas is an attitude; With invitations to intrude. Which means just this: invite them in; “The more the
By Marilyn Huntman Giese I cannot believe two weeks from tonight is Christmas Eve. How did that happen? The older I get the more distracted I am. And then there is the ego! Can you believe an 87-year-old widow has the audacity to print a book? A book on nursery
December 7, ’41: Pearl Harbor Day! But most of you were not alive then, or too young, To recognize its impact then, in any way; But that day must not be allowed to fade, unsung, Because of passing time, advancing years or not, For in and of that day this
