Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Eva McGrinn, (The wandering ghost of Liberty)



 It's October and time for a ghost poem...


Eva McGrinn
 
This is the poem of Eva McGrinn
She was first killed in Old Berlin
She died at the sword of Marcher Drone
Withered and naked she died alone

Eva McGrinn walks the halls
She moans of losts and sometimes crawls
Cries of deceit for which she was scorn
A nasty bitch from the day she was born

Hate and evil is her claim to fame
Robbing and murder was her game
Marcher Drone knew her will
And made her his goal that he would kill.

Anger and loathing was her only friend
Orphaned and cold, her will wouldn’t bend.
Slutty for money and disease was her life
Marcher Drone gave her his knife.

That was the end of Eva McGrinn
With the news of her death, everyone wins
“Eva didn’t stay dead” the old people say
But rose in America and wanders today.

Carried by horse back across the divide
At the house on the “Springs” she resides
“LIBERTY LIBERTY” She cries at night
Haunting the houses, she feels just right.


Opening doors and creaking while walking
Waking the babies and stammers your talking
She is too restless to reside with kin
She’s the evil maniacal, Eva McGrinn

Grace

Friday, January 24, 2014

FSM - My take on the whole thing.


I have observed there are those people who proclaim to be of a specific religion yet haven't worshipped a god since childhood.  There are the arm-chair quarterbacks that believe because they were schooled in a religious family and church they have the right to judge other righteously. And, we can move on to the devout or active believers that proclaim have gods ear. All the way up we go to the professionals who not only are devout, but found a way to make money off Him. Continuing on, we have people that 'draw near to' [him]'with their mouths, but their hearts are far from him'. And we can conclude with those who have spent their life studying, researching and then conclude that there is no "Him" to worship. Were are you?

 I cannot say I have learned all that the professionals have learned. But, I have never had the desire to perfect the craft of religion. I cannot say if the path I took to learn of a "Him" was the right path. I will tell you that I have done a plethora of research. I have studied, prayed, fasted, bled, cried, searched sought instruction. I have done all within my power to develop a testimony of a "Him".  Uh yeah, it didn't work. Despite my best work, I cannot tell you I am right. I cannot tell you what happens after our life on this planet ends.

I once saw a Meme on Face Book that said "Using the bible to prove there is a god is like using Harry Potter's books to prove the existence of Dumbledore".  I will not begin to tell you I am right or judge you for your belief.  My belief? I just don't know.  I cannot begin to believe the words of man.  And, as of yet, there is nothing to tangibly establish a post mortal existence.  I guess The closest I can get to religion is, I believe we may be a spiritual being having an earthly experience.

Don't choke.  I said it. I do believe that something happens after we die. I also said, 'I don't know.' How can I know. I haven't died yet. Right now, I have everything to live for. I have less than 50 years left to do everything I want and experience my bucket list.  My life is my search for truth. Shall you walk with me?


We learn of Man's search for happiness
As we walk this earth
We learn of our kin's expectations
And of our own self worth.

We go to church, temple and pray
To Allah, God, Buddha and "Him"
As children we learn the "truth"
And earth life can seem quite grim

While you walking this existence
Pray if you want, Okay
But don't use a god to Reconcile
your bad behavior today

If in the name of the god you love,
your father teaches hate
You're being taught bigotry
But, you're alive and it's not to late.

Search your scriptures, read your books
strip off all your sins
Learn to love with out condition
Now your path begins

Because if you're still, like a sheep
And choose not to feed your quest
You'll remain just like that sheep
and never know what's best. (c)

grace



















Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Not a happy daughter




I am convinced my mother totally hates me. And, I think I have been relegated to "Closest-port-in-the-storm".  Nowadays I know she sees me as nothing more than one of the kids she raised.

For the first 25 years of my life, I was her pride, her joy: her besty. Being the only girl and the baby put me on a perfect pedestal. I got everything I wanted. When you looked up spoiled in the dictionary, yes, there was a picture of me beside the word. But, then the lines begin to blur. I chose to marry outside my race, outside my culture and outside my hemisphere. By the time I was 35 I had left her second love behind - the church. (Oh, I had a dad. But, I believe she went from being the wife to being his room mate long ago). By the time I was 40 I was my own person. Mom no longer had much to talk to me about.

Our conversations went from how we serve the lord to, why mom stayed with such a terrible person. Oh, sure we had our hugs and vacation times. But, I no longer am the bouncy 23 year old looking for that perfect spiritual white husband that mom can brag about. I left the family's religion behind. I let her know that I would no longer entertain her superstitions. I went on with my life and she with hers.

Then dad died.

The night my father died, I laid on mom's bed and started a conversation that has spiraled our relationship into the trash can. I wanted to know why she tried to pawn me off on my aunt when I was 11. I wanted to know why mom chose to stay with a child abuser. She lied to me for the last 40 years. And, I called her out. I guess I understand. I am no longer blind to the secrets mom kept to keep me innocent.  I am no longer blinded by a religion she loves with her heart. Have I let her down? Or, has she let me down. Do you know what makes me sad. It's not loosing my moms favor. She bases her bigoted love on how close I am to her god. No, the pain comes that I cannot share this with my besty - my daughter. I can be thankful - in the end, that I have no secrets to hid about her father, my husband.

Baby Grace fair and white
translucent and so fair
Spinks of freckles on her face
and wisps of auburn hair.

She grew up 15 years ago
She chose her path with thought
And tossed aside her false pretense
she made a better lot.

Her brothers and their wives would struggle
to deal with their molester's
When grace reached out to speak the truth
They welcomed her grand gestures.

Old daddy sat in pure disgrace
And the family shunned him well
Mom who may have loved him once
went through her private hell

Within 10 years forgiveness came
And hugs where shared around
Brothers came to support our mom
And grace stayed out of town

It's no wonder she's so bitter
Mom lives away from Grace
Grace exposed the open wounds
And put nothing in it's place. (c)









Saturday, May 4, 2013

Radicalized Republicans







Radicalized Republicans

I had a plan called “Radial”
To show the sins of Right
I decided to make a meme for me
I worked hard through the night

I have a pic of Michelle and Mitch
The ugliest on the net
I learned to us my paint program
Attention I will get

The bombing of Boston hit my heart
The men were radicalized
But in our land we have our strange
If people would just surmise

Being Left or Muslim is
No different if you’re crazy
You mind can still succumb to crime
When thoughts get skewed or hazy

If those you know have bad agenda
And work beyond the fray?
Notify authorities
And tell of their radical ways

Thursday, May 2, 2013

Amphetamines






If you have a teenager, or if you are "blessed" with the joys of being ADD, Then you will appreciate my situation. I am over 50. And as I get older, I struggle more and more to stay calm, stay focused and stay at my desk. ADD isn't something one necessarily grows out of.

It’s the little round amphetamines
that I mean to take
That keeps me on my tasks each day
But don’t keep me awake

Perhaps I can do some Adderall
Down the hall today
To hasten on my profession
And in my seat I’ll stay.

I wish it wasn’t anxiety
That gets so serious
But I’m inflicted with such pains
I get delirious.

ADD’s prescriptions are
Tons above the rest
For giving me the peace of mind
So I can do my best

An elderly broad I might be
Maybe not a young chick
But give me tax code for the rich
And my drugs will do the trick

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Ode to the Jellybelly




We are all victims at some point in our life. Everyone of us (who have access to candy) will or have been victim of the jellybean. Here in Kansas City we hear people say "I'm going to the store. What flavor of Koolaid you want?" And response is usually something like "my favorite flavor is green" for example. What's your favorite flavor of Jellybean, green, red or blue? Today I walked past my co-worker's desk and was offered  a snack sample of jellybeans and almost died when I bit into what I though was a banana flavored bean and it turned out to be - ugh, lemon. There ought to be a law.



Silly yellow jellybean
Taste like a potato
I think I should be able to buy
a bean that tastes of tomato

If we had a salad bean
Roquefort would be the taste
That had us run to the store
In hoards we’d go with haste

Don’t forget the steak and peas
Made of these jelly rounds
We’ll say that they are calorie free
So we won’t gain the pounds


Saturday, April 27, 2013

A Bug's poem


I grew up with a father terrified by spiders. When he was very small his grandmother used to lock him in their root cellar (basement) because he was so hyper. As a result we were whipped if we thought it would be funny to throw a piece of lint on him (or anything really) and say "spider".  After a couple of whippings here and there, we learned there were other ways to tease daddy that didn't hurt as bad. This is one small poem to honor my father.





A Bug’s poem

A little bug of the hive,
not a Whoville who
Called me on the phone one day
But all I said was “shoo”

She buzzed around my living room
And lit upon my shoulder
“Scram you little mighty Mite”
“Take off’ is what I told her.

The little bug, small and blue
Did not become too vexed
Instead she girded up her might
And hid her thoughts perplexed

And then she brought me tender sweets
Like honey fresh and new
And aphid-suckle fruity drinks
And sugar from honey dew.

She caressed my shoulders softly
And tickled me on my ears
She whispered sweet little words
And soothed my buggy fears

She is my little baby bug
A texting chatty dork
Who finds and soothes my woes away
At home or when I’m at work. (c)