Now I will take ya'll further back in my time
The time when I realized angels were taking care of me
They were always mine
My Daddy was quite different when he came home from Vietnam
My Mother became secondary
His mission in life was to show others God is number one
Don't misunderstand me, I know this is true
Yet I saw it my in mothers eyes at times this made her blue
Daddy stayed in the army but we also opened our home
It became a place of residence for the unwanted
We called it "The Manor"
A place to find Christ and no longer rome
During this time I was a very young child
In my eyes this enviroment felt a bit wild
Everyone rejoicing, singing hymns
Then out of the blue great vibrance would come
Someone would burst out speaking in tongues
Oh, so very much going on
My sister was upstairs jammin to psychedelic rock
Hangin with the hippies who were supposed to be
downstairs at church or the rehab class
Yet they had wandered away
To the psychedelic world that led them astray
I remember once seeing one of the alcoholic homeless men
Sneakin into my Daddy's bathroom
Drinking his aftershave
To satisfy his alcohol crave
Ah, the good Ole' daze
After sometime we moved "The Manor"
To the country, in the sunshine
A place we called "The Farm"
A big ole Victorian home, the stairs to the attic were gone
The stories were that the house was haunted
The scary tales my sisters told me yet still
I never felt any harm
The Cape Fear River flowed thru nearby
I watched the Baptisms as I played on the side
Spiritualism in my heart so very true
It buried deep inside me as I grew
I decided not to let it escape
For in my heart I knew the true cost it intakes
Even then I longed for a simple life
Trouble free, I dreamt, at no price
I sure did get happy when I would see
Grandma and Papa pull up
It meant we were heading to the beach
In Papa's SUV
That is always when true PEACE would arrive
Inside of me

We all are broken scattered here to light each other...

Standing outside the broken window of life
Breathing In the poison, feeding on the strife
Crooked perspectives, singular views
Pain or numbness, which ever we choose
Dance, or play the music, either way the same beat
Watching the world die, bitter tasting treat
We watch, like spiders, weaving our web
Spin it out with words, views of life's flow and ebb
Feeding like ticks, off the emotions of others
Be it their actions, or smiles of fake lovers
Empathic designs, binding together
All we, watchers, into forever
This broken window, through which we all stare
Gives prysmic views, though never a glare

Little black boy and black girl wear your natural hair with love
For years we have been told that our natural hair was *****, *****, bad, and ugly
But the truth is our natural hair is strong and beautiful
Little black boy and black girl wear your natural hair with love
Wear your lion's mane and let the world hear you roar
For years we have been told that our natural hair was *****, *****, bad, and ugly
But the truth is our natural hair is strong and beautiful.

Written by Keith Edward Baucum

These poems do not live: it's a sad diagnosis.
They grew their toes and fingers well enough,
Their little foreheads bulged with concentration.
If they missed out on walking about like people
It wasn't for any lack of mother-love.

O I cannot explain what happened to them!
They are proper in shape and number and every part.
They sit so nicely in the pickling fluid!
They smile and smile and smile at me.
And still the lungs won't fill and the heart won't start.

They are not pigs, they are not even fish,
Though they have a piggy and a fishy air --
It would be better if they were alive, and that's what they were.
But they are dead, and their mother near dead with distraction,
And they stupidly stare and do not speak of her.