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Faun Jun 2020
If it is wrong after a child turns a certain age, then why is it ok in the first place
If it is wrong for the law to use on a criminal why is it right for a parent to use on a child, they say spare the rod spoil the child, I say spare the rod and spare the bad relationship with your children
I say spare the rod spare the decrease of grey matter in your Kids brain
I say spare the rod spare the higher chance of alcoholism as an adult

Parent should be associated with comfort not fear
discipline should be associated with correction not pain
and spare the rod spoil the child is *******
It’s is not eve a verse from the Bible

And yes I am biased mom because according to my sister you started physical punishment at the ripe old age of 6 months old and continued until I was almost thirteen

Ever since I can remember I have been afraid of you and I cannot come to believe that is my anxiety’s fault because all anxiety has some truth to it

I still remember when my little sister had temper tantrums you would send her to her room and spank her every hour until she stopped crying and I recently talked to her and she does not remember it her brain blocked it out
and yes it was not a deadly beating but it still hurt her, and that hurts me

And I do not blame you I do not blame me
I blame this messed up system of our government and religion that tells people it is ok to hit a child but not another adult because hitting an adult will send you to jail but hitting a child In the name of discipline is praised  
I have more to say, but I don’t have all day
s s f w s May 2018
In a pornographic poem
ee cummings wrote
may i feel ,
Fell the nicest of the rhymes into
Brooks of sholas
Untidy caveman and lady in water
Heard the words in the streams
Though evaporated few from the stream
There stood ee Cummings on the banks
With the inks for liquid state
Somewhere he again stood
With the inks for gaseos state
Aftermath of reading the verses of sanity. And the Cycle continues liquid gas liquid gas liquid. Poem verses are heard by many , are being heard live and many to be heard. Embrace the moments Past, Present and Future . Prosper
JV Beaupre May 2016
Canto I. Long ago and far away...

Under the bridge across the Kankakee River, Grampa found me. I was busted for truancy. First grade. 1946.

Summer and after school: Paper route, neighborhood yard work, dogsbody in a drugstore, measuring houses for the county, fireman EJ&E railroad, janitor and line Pabst Brewery Peoria. 1950-1962.

Coming home from college for Christmas. Oops, my family moved a few streets over and forgot to tell me. Peoria, 1961.

The Pabst Brewery lunchroom in Peoria, a little after dawn, my first day. A guy came  in and said: "Who wants my horsecock sandwich? ****, this first beer tastes good." We never knew how many he drank. 1962.

At grad school, when we moved into the basement with the octopus furnace, Dave, my roommate contributed a case of Chef Boyardee spaghettios and I brought 3 cases of beer, PBRs.  Supper for a month. Ames. 1962.

Sharon and I were making out in the afternoon, clothes a jumble. Walter Cronkite said, " President Kennedy has been shot…” 1963.

I stood in line, in my shorts, waiting for the clap-check. The corporal shouted:  "All right, you *******, Uncle and the Republic of Viet Nam want your sorry *****. Drop 'em".  Deferred, 1964.

One of many undistinguished PhD theses on theoretical physics. Ames. 1966.

He electrified the room. Every woman in the room, regardless of age, wanted him, or seemed to. The atmosphere was primeval and dripping with desire. In the presence of greatness. Palo Alto, 1968.

US science jobs dried up. From a mountain-top, beery conversation, I got a research job in Germany. Boulder, 1968. Aachen, 1969.

The first time I saw automatic weapons at an airport. Geneva, 1970.

I toasted Rembrandt with sparkling wine at the Rijksmuseum. He said nothing. Amsterdam International Conference on Elementary Particles. 1971.

A little drunk, but sobering fast: the guard had Khrushchev teeth.
Midnight, alone, locked in a room at the border.
Hours later, release. East Berlin, 1973.

She said, "You know it's remarkable that we're not having an affair." No, it wasn't. George's wife.  Germany, 1973.

"May be there really are quarks, but if so, we'll never see them." Truer than I knew.  Exit to Huntsville, 1974.

On my first day at work, my first federal felony. As a joke, I impersonated an FBI agent. What the hell? Huntsville. 1974. Guess what?--No witnesses left! 2021.

Hard work, good times, difficult times. The first years in Huntsville are not fully digested and may stay that way.

The golden Lord Buddha radiated peace with his smile. Shots in the distance. Bangkok. 1992.

Accomplishment at work, discord at home. Divorce. Huntsville. 1994. I got the dogs.

New beginnings, a fresh start, true love and life-partner. Huntsville. 1995.

Canto II. In the present century....

I started painting. Old barns and such. 2004.

I quietly admired a Rembrandt portrait at the Schiphol airport. Ever inscrutable, his painting had presence, even as the bomb dogs sniffed by. Beagles. 2006.

I’ve lost two close friends that I’ve known for 50-odd years. There aren’t many more. Huntsville. 2008 and 2011.

Here's some career advice: On your desk, keep a coffee cup marked, "No Whining", that side out. Final retirement. 2015.

I occasionally kick myself for not staying with physics—I’m jealous of friends that did. I moved on, but stayed interested. Continuing.

Honest distortions emerging from the distance of time. The thin comfort of fading memories. Thoughts on poor decisions and worse outcomes. Not often, but every now and then.
I carved my name into a desk.
I didn't think much of it then
But looking back at the mess
I can see the innocence

No walls to hold him
Just a desk to learn
And mark on a whim
To know I was here

And the lesson began

So they took my hands
Beat them with the edge of a rule

Hard enough to hurt but not bruise
To cut but not bleed

Just skin

So I looked down at my desk
And my name in pain
Trying not to cry
Tears tried in my eyes

My name is blurred
The table is blurred
Like a white washed wall at twilight.
A Major's contribution
A personal Private's affair
The Colonel that blossomed
Into a General's sense of scandal
Catching all Lieutenants unaware
Then came a Corporal punishment
And Mastered the Sargent
With such care
Limiting the whole base
To all and much despair
The big day was a week away
The streets were being swept
Folding stands erected
Where homeless, last week slept

To make a good impression
The Mayor told one and all
To step up and take note
To answer his loud call

We must show the whole country
We are the best at what we do
We have to show the country
The best side of me and you

This meant weeks before this
The police were out in force
Removing the imperfections
Both on foot and out on horse

A cleansing of the city
Make it nice for all to see
It brings up bitter memories
At least it does to me

It happened back in Europe
A little corporal took command
He did his little cleansing
With his little **** band

The town had hung up bunting
Like the banners in Berlin
being homeless is a problem
It's not where a cleansing should begin

The mayor had plans for plenty
Marching bands and lots of press
He'd only answer pre-set questions
In case it all became a mess

He had to have it perfect
It was his first parade you know,
the streets were freshly steam cleaned
There was nothing he didn't want to show

The displaced folks all huddled
Down in the park, a mile back
Veterans and soldiers
Whites, Hispanics, and some black

Their town was in transition
They were the cities hidden sore
They would never be accepted
Never let inside a door

The Mayor stood on the dais
Waved and smiled as folks went by
It was a town of smoke and mirrors
He showed the world a great big lie

Like the small Austrian corporal
who refused to change and would not bend
The Mayor lied to his country
It was the beginning of his end

— The End —