I WAS a boy when I heard three red words
a thousand Frenchmen died in the streets
for: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity-I asked
why men die for words.
  
I was older; men with mustaches, sideburns,
lilacs, told me the high golden words are:
Mother, Home, and Heaven-other older men with
face decorations said: God, Duty, Immortality
-they sang these threes slow from deep lungs.
  
Years ticked off their say-so on the great clocks
of doom and damnation, soup and nuts: meteors flashed
their say-so: and out of great Russia came three
dusky syllables workmen took guns and went out to die
for: Bread, Peace, Land.
  
And I met a marine of the U.S.A., a leatherneck with a ******* his knee for a memory in ports circling the earth and he said: Tell me how to say three things and I always get by-gimme a plate of ham and eggs-how much?-and-do you love me, kid?

You can spit on me
The feelings I have
Might break but never crumble
You fall and I watch
As you burn in your own
Stupidity
Laughing as the flames grow
You can’t stop the downward
Spiral to the end
Where you sit, taking
My order, doing what I say
For once you hear
Because you can’t do anything
Else, you are waiting
For your life to begin
Forever waiting
For everything to be
Handed to you
Yet soon, it won’t be

I'll Close My Eyes And Let You Lead The Way,
But You Have To Promise Me That Your Gonna Stay.
I'll Let Go Of Your Hand And Follow Your Voice,
I'll Give You My Trust, I'll Make That My Choice.
Tell You All My Feelings You Never Found Out,
Because With You I Have No Doubts.

Aaron, I'll Trust You All I Can,
But It's Hard You Gotta Understand.

Cotton painted clouds in the winds they do ride
Upon depth-blue skies
The warm bronze sun is fixed
By stagnant breezes’ matrix
Surely, there’s no tempest to compromise

Majestic mountains with proud protruding cliffs
Unblemished beauty, no buts or ifs
The water a certain green blue
So crystal clear its sea through
Look about, there are no shopping eyes
Surely, there’s no havoc to compromise

There’s no fear in which to wallow
Hallowed is this enticing hollow
It’s me in perfect harmony
With the universe you see
It fevers me!

The memory of my father is wrapped up in
white paper, like sandwiches taken for a day at work.

Just as a magician takes towers and rabbits
out of his hat, he drew love from his small body,

and the rivers of his hands
overflowed with good deeds.

After you left me
I let a dog smell at
My chest and my belly. It will fill its nose
And set out to find you.

I hope it will tear the
Testicles of your lover and bite off his *****
Or at least
Will bring me your stockings between his teeth.

Lori Armstrong
August 1998


Standing tall and silent, like the Sentinel guards of the Forest,
They appear to be listening to Words of Wisdom from an
Unseen, wise, and wonderful Mentor.

They respond in a shy, childlike, gleeful laughter,
Which is Felt, more than heard, by the passerby.
Happy with the whispered answer,
They slowly start to move in a Graceful rhythm,
A sweet and enchanting Dance.

Their outstretched arms surround each other,
Presenting the massive creation of a joy-filled group hug,
A bond of Camaraderie is their own as they sway back and forth in Unison.

Like children playing the game, “I’ve got a secret”,
They seem to simultaneously hide the Mysteries throughout history,
Yet, unwittingly revealing every Moment in Time
They have ever witnessed just by their Presence.

If they could speak, what would they Speak of?
Would we Understand?
Would we Listen?

If they could cry, how deep would their Tears flow?
Do they cry and we are just not ready to Hear?
Would we wipe their tears? … Or cry with them?
Could we truly feel their Sadness? …Their joy?

Could we share in their Trials and their Triumphs?
Do we dare try, for could we endure what they have Endured?

Would we sing along to their Songs of Yore?
Would we understand the Passion in their Words?
Could we carry the Harmony, …
Feeling the Peaks and Valleys of the expressions in their Music?

Their wisdom in age is Unfathomable.

Their vulnerability to man is Reprehensible.
Yet, unfortunately, Comprehensible.

Their story is one of Peace, Love, War, and Chaos, …

But still so Silent to so many.

Their grandeur is taken for Granted, …
And yes, even Exploited.

Their majestic silence is Comforting, appreciated Individually for their gift,
Solitary in the meaning to the receiver.

Breathtaking is their Beauty.

Admirable is their Resiliency.

Gloriously enthralling is their History.

The Creator’s History.

The History of a Gift.

Flailing light of coursing dread
Fills my mind with painful cries
Start the crippling hopeless feeling soon
Shove the depression to the front
You’re alone, it needles
Alone now
Alone tomorrow
Alone forever
Panic only fuels the spreading fears
Alone and worthless are the whispering thoughts
The catcalls of mockery rip shreds of the soul
Run harder before it runs you down

cc111911

Dear native brook! wild streamlet of the West!
How many various-fated years have passed,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! Yet so deep impressed
Sink the sweet scenes of childhood, that mine eyes
I never shut amid the sunny ray,
But straight with all their tints thy waters rise,
Thy crossing plank, thy marge with willows grey,
And bedded sand that, veined with various dyes,
Gleamed through thy bright transparence! On my way,
Visions of childhood! oft have ye beguiled
Lone manhood’s cares, yet waking fondest sighs:
Ah! that once more I were a careless child!