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Oh Christmas tree, Oh Christmas tree
How quick I disassemble thee!
I check each cranny and each nook
for every ornament and hook.
I pack each carefully- Heaven knows
None of our snowmen must lose his nose!
I roll the garland in a ball
And take the lights off last of all.
Then I put you upon the shelf
Next to that small mischievous elf!
When I was young our trees were real
and while that memory holds appeal,
To **** a live tree every Yule
Would be the action of a fool
Granddaughter Lucy 8
First poem

Sunshine

Sunshine is bright.
Moonlight is too.
The sun shines on my sparkly shoe.

When it ends
There is still light
Cause moonlight is bright.
Lucy called it Sunshine because that is what Grandma calls her.
I have a poem called Grandma Sunshine. Of course it is Grandma’s favorite.
 Nov 2017 Don Bouchard
betterdays
tiny bird thief, that cheeky sparrow
lionheart in brown tweed plumage as he
steals  breakfast from the cat's bowl

the cat looks on confused
dinner (he only wishes) stealing breakfast
what a topsy turvy world
must go contemplate this,
conundrum  in the sun patch, by the window
Would the Famine have happened if the Irish were armed?
Not with staves and pitchforks but with rifles and bombs.
Would all of their grain and their British bound beef
Been kept there in Ireland to give them relief?

We were serfs of a sort, slaves in our own land.
Against British oppression we had no chance to stand.
When our subsistence crop failed the absent landlord
Seized our pitiful homesteads and made them sheepfolds.

With the green grass of Ireland their final repast
Irish died by the thousands and their deaths weren’t fast.
Hunger, like Cancer, gnaws a man to the bone
They lie now in mass graves without even a stone.

The poor Irish Catholic was a man with no rights.
No wood for his coffin; No oil for his lights.
What “relief” was provided was cause for despair
as the hungry and  the dying built  roads to nowhere.

The coffin ships sailed and the old women weep.
Some took the soup and renounce their belief.
Such a strange Famine; it boggles the mind
That food was exported- it was sure genocide.

Then we had no rights they were bound to respect.
Their might gave them right to extort and collect.
We were then subject to their whim and decree
Till we learned to fight back and we made ourselves free.
Victorian Britain  took the occasion of the Irish potato famine to crush a subject people. Poor Irish tenant farmers were forced off the land and their hovels were destroyed while their  absentee British landlords continued to export food from the island to the Empire.
 Oct 2017 Don Bouchard
JasFow
She holds her own hand
Sweaty and cold
Shaking with a quiver only she can see
Green eyes echoing back and forth
She feels everyone else watching
Even when no none notices her
A sip of coffee satisfies nothing
A bite of the lip only helps momentarily
The pain distracts little by little
But the fear stays
Extrovert when convenient
Introvert when the other is needed
Smiling to everyone but herself
She cries to herself in the mirror
One moment, laughing enough to cause a crowd to join
Next, sitting quietly, chewing her inner cheek
Not a fear passes as she walks across a stage
But trembles as her paper is read aloud
Her best enemy lives within her head
She's living with Anxiety
My stomach makes me feel like I'm sick as I sit alone in an empty room, feeling judged by the "no one" there
Depression was setting into my soul
Listening to the news on TV can lead me this way
Negativity is guidance for the majority of what they say
My energy began to drift away
Laziness, napping, TV watching increased
My desire for taking walks decreased each day
Purpose for being no longer existed
This morning The Holy Spirit woke me I decided not to turn on the TV
Got up read Matthew 28:18-20
Remembered that I am alive
Jesus healed me, He saved my life
I decorated our house for autumn
Moving life forward
Remembering, like autumn leaves falling bring forth life's seasons
The future as my purpose to share Jesus
The reason
The reason
The Light, The Light, The Light
When I do not let it shine the darkness seeps in, depression overtakes my mind
I have to praise The Lord all the time
Have you ever committed a sin
Again and again and again

Where it becomes a part of who you are
Scar upon scar upon scar

You started out asking forgiveness
Feeling sorry like nobody's business  

Until it knocked on your door once again
And you let it come waltzing back in

Hating the time that you give it
Wondering why you can't quit it

You battle it so many times
Is this fast forward or is it rewind

Like a comfortable recliner set up in the den
You start to relax around the same sin

Thank goodness there's no film at six
Showing the shame of this over used sin

Like a cancer that clings to the bone
A sin that won't leave you alone

Wretched man that I am
Who can save me from this over used sin

Thanks be to God, who delivers me
Through Jesus Christ who sets me free
I'm so thankful when God the Father looks at me He sees me purely cleansed by the blood of Christ, wretched man that I am!
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