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Whit Howland Jul 14
torchlight dances
on the aquamarine
blue of a hotel pool
deep in 1963

when happiness
was still on the Hi Fi

coulda woulda shoulda

Whit Howland © 2019
fifty years have come and gone
since that fateful November day
when men of greed and fear of peace
took the chance away

removed all hope of paradise
a world serene and free of hate
divided not by war, but sea
where love directs our fate

we run and hide from truth we fear
denial is the easier pill
we laugh at those who held the truth
whose innocent blood did spill

should the Sun soon set
on our Camelot lost
when evil conquers good
they will find no mention in our history books
of the ****** in the wood
Henry Brooke Apr 2018
Voice of reaon,
calm soothing nerdy one,
quite close to you although internaly
lightly bruised
by his celebrity,
it's with great felicity that
he waves at you
through his blue or brown eyes
you can fell even through the grizzing

and there are cheers as his breath says good bye
and his hand does the peace and love
and all gathered around him
shove friendly for a handshake
milkshake of people and smiles
he's gonna win this race
we are gonna end this
hatred about race

he's gonna fix some thing
he's gonna be good
he's gonna put us in a time
we could't have dreamed of in a milion year
we always wished it come
paradise,  yet fresh here in america
next is the world
next is the world
next is living together

he shook many hands as the ground around us shook
with the foots walking and pushing gently
behind his podium like a bird
he calmly politely turned around
and smiled still as he left with some body guards

everyone was still chanting and it was all so good

we had a messiah
a not bought polition
he was white inside
and every color out
so he walked in the
filled hall like a fruit basket
airs of

he has been shot
**** what is he saying what have I heared
let me fold my glasses what this is absurd
he was our messiah he was the peace
and now a metal piece thrown through him you say ?
now please let me not stay here
oh wow
like his brother
its so sad
its takes my words a away
i didnt want him to not continue
he was ours
we were his
all together on the same
lether swing singing
and so happy and fun just one second ago
his smile still shines on me
and now

now well,
we need to find a solution

but i cant look

i want to protect them from the crooks.

peace and love

rip jfk + rk
after wathcing a video of the Robert kennedy assasination
the ******* the stairs saw nothing
heard nothing
no shadows
no creeking wood
no killer
words mangled
and twisted
and cut
fall out of history
silent lies
like a virus
poisons the truth
hides the light
grips the throat of all those who knew
and every breath reminds them
until their last
that they were seduced
by evil
oldie - there's a book called 'The ******* the Stairs' a witness in the school book depository who was in a position to see Oswald coming down the only stairs and means of escape if he had indeed been in the ******'s nest - but she did not see Oswald and like numerous witnesses that poked holes in the WC report - her testimony was not considered
They echo through our dreams
clear as church bells
on a crisp Sunday morning
'from that direction
where everyone is looking...
don't you see?'
smoke continues to rise
some 50 years later
from a fire still burning
of greed and hate
the bitter taste remains
the nightmare of truth
keeps it veiled in shadows and silence
hiding in the blinding light
of paradise
What would be the worth
of a day waltzing around
our favorite city
in our best suits and dresses
only to die suddenly
like the Kennedy curse?

I’d wear my Jackie O. glasses,
and you’d greet the public
like John F. on campaign,
never to know the tragedy
that was about to happen.
Garage-sale-picked for 5 Washingtons
the American Eagle patch was fading
like my eyes every time
I see Hillary Clinton,
Bill Clinton’s wife,
the former first lady,
the liar,
whoever she really is,
hits the debate stage.

The jacket was worth a pretty penny,
but with the market crash,
the seller is lucky i even paid her cash.
Credit is how 58 million billion dollars
of debt came to ruin America’s
perfect JFK looking face
in exchange for a growing
tumor-like deficit.

Maybe I’m too subjective,
a conservative.
I’m mean could Hilary be so bad?
Or Bernie?
Or even Putin?
I just wanted a cheap jacket.
I just wanted something that
was mine and wasn’t ruined,
but the patch was fading,
like my faith in making our
America, country, United States,
better than the past.

I have something within me that I cannot
Bear the burden of of its insinuation.
In the sport-ability of chit-chat I have
Often tried to conquer these thoughts
And with infinite pain I have hazarded
A thousand things hidden within myself.

“Excuse me,’’ I said upon seeing his face
Coming toward me while walking in Central Park.
“Are you who I think you are?’’ I asked.
“I suppose that depends on who you think I am,” he replied.
Not wanting to be made out a fool I asked
“OK, are you best known as JFK?”
“Well not exactly, he was my father,” he said with a smile.

I stuck out my hand like an idiot – but -
He offered his hand and shook mine like a man.
“I can’t believe it,” I said, “You really can
Bump into anyone in the big apple.”
He said that he had to be going, had to finish
His walk and get back to the office.

I asked him if I could tag along, just walk with him.
He said, “Sure.”
He kept a brisk pace, it was a cool day but comfortable.
The leaves were turned, mostly all fallen and
Then I realized that it was November 22nd.
“I’m real sorry about your dad,” I said,

“It broke my heart when I was a child.”
He nodded his head and sort of slowed his pace.
“How old were you?” he asked.
“I was 9”.
“I was 3”, he said looking at the ground.
“Yeah I know,” I said, “Everybody knew.”

He stopped and turned toward me,
Tilted his head to the left and point blank said,
“You know the story about my dad’s assassination
Is all BS don’t you?”
He caught me completely off guard but before I
Could say anything he turned back around and starting

Walking away from me like I had the plague.
I stood in my tracks but after he had gotten about 10 paces
He stopped and turned, “Well, do you want to walk or not?”
I half jogged to catch up with him and when I did
I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Look I don’t know you and you don’t know me, “ he said
In a rough almost angry voice.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asked.
Still half jogging to keep up with him I answered,
“Sounds like you need someone to talk to.”

He slowed a bit, “I just got confirmation on who killed my dad.”
OK, about this time I’m like you saying a few choice curse words
In my mind – like holy sh…. You know..
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Hell I don’t know,” he said, “It’s all circumstantial.”
Coming to a complete stop, “There’s got to be a way that I
Can tell people, let the whole world know that I know who did it.”

He turned to me, “What would you do if you knew who took your dad
Away from you when you were just a baby but if you told anyone about these
Murdering, slime ***** they would most likely **** you too?” he asked.
“I don’t know sir,” I said shrugging my shoulders.
“If I had your money I’d figure out a way though,” I continued.
With a questioning look he asked, “OK, if you had my money what would you do?”

“I don’t know, man,” I said - “Maybe name a building after them or a street
Or something that everyone knew you named.
You know, like a hint or a clue or something.”
His eyes got big, “That’s it,” he said, “By God that’s it.”
He shook my hand again and asked me my name.
And a few short years later he was gone too.

But the name – the name he named his business – there’s your clue

They say that time heals all wounds.  That isn’t always true. Sometimes what is needed to heal some wounds is justice. I hope that someday this particular American wound gets its fully deserved justice. One thing for sure, there can never be any justice,in this instance or any other, without Truth. What is it about JFK Jr. that whispers to me that he is not really gone?
I remember watching
Back in 1963
A Presidential funeral
There on my tv

My son watched his son
And he saw me cry
Then my son looked up and said
"Why did he have to die?"

Five years passed, a Memphis death
Was felt throughout the land
My son watched this and said to me
"I do not understand"

I looked at him, looked at the ground
And looked high into the sky
My son, said "Dad please tell me?"
"Why did he have to die?"

Again that summer, sixty eight
We stood along the track
We watched the train go past us
We knew he wasn't coming back

My son, a little older
watched as I tried not to cry
He said "it's ok to feel that dad"
"Why did he have to die?"

Years went by and he grew up
Got married moved away
I remember sitting watching
On that warm September day

Two Towers tumbled to the ground
My heart broke, and I cried
My son, went in to save them
"Why did he have to die?"

I'll never get an answer
Till the angel's song is sung
"Why did he have to die?" I'll ask
Why do the good die young?
trf Oct 2017
let's pause...
     media makes minds
     slander glow.

     forget flaws...
     endless signs
     their ubiquitous flow.

     the heat is on...
     it's benign
     all round the globe.

     dancing with the stars...
     literally speaking
     will be his next show.

abort the mission
the race can't count down from 10

heed submission
time clocks are wearin' thin

acts of contrition
your ****'s meanderin'

history books
can't help but mention sin

a crispy crook
tan with an orangish blend

can we look
inside our never end

for we've been duped
as most are ignorant

cool aid troupes
think that their relevance

succeeds truth
loud talk small like the wren

please drive a coupe
and release more documents.........
this inside joke i'm not privy to
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