They gave their lives for an Irish nation,
Paid the ultimate price for our freedom.
Each of them signing the Proclamation
Which would guide Ireland in the years to come.
Thomas Clarke was the first signatory
With Patrick Pearse and Seán Mac Diarmada,
Also Joseph Plunkett, James Connolly,
Éamon Ceannt, Thomas Mary Mac Donagh.
Alas these were seven of many more
Who died as we fought for independence.
Whose names should be honoured for evermore
By us, our children and our descendants.
Never should we forget their legacy;
We owe them our freedom, our liberty

Pray, And then Do Something!!!!
Be Still and Know.....
Face your Problems, don't Facebook them...
............

The Language of the Mob.
Never a place of Witnessing.

Look Up... Oh say can you SEE..
by this Dawns early Light
what WE Gratefully Hail
Christ's  Heaven and Life...

Liberty's Light  Shining Celebration Up
Beauty's tears of fading illumination out
Life falling softly into the arms of Grace...
Comfort the wounded, they are many..

Listen...
Sound of Clutter riding fiercely upon the breath of Giving..
becoming more like a machine gun.
Do you hear the Sound of fighting
within the streets of NEW Divinity?
******, ****, defamation... all threats,
Yes... each of them given..   Its true ..Backdoor gifts of rage..

Once a puppet show for re-emerging Wisdom
Now a strip tease for an endless line of dancers
This is the Made in Hollywood movie  that all have demanded
get your pop corn out...you are Witnessing the Question of Choice..

Nation sold  for the drop of a dime
Free Choice...
the right to Vote by Public Declaration
Now held in the arms of  What?   the Secret Ballot?

Prayer. The power of WORD
Spoken by the Giants of Robot imagination
a trigger, tied to the experience of feeling..

The scientific formula of Good,
magnified by ONE million strong
Are we focused on the Good First,
or the Oneness of Anything?

..."Give the money to the Representative
and it will all go away"....
But it won't...

Do You Understand the Question Now?

Peace.

"America, the beautiful," you once were said to be.
Where men would fight to keep this place the land of brave and free.

But now instead these men that fight are left so far behind
They are pushed way to the back, out of sight out of mind.
It is my hope that by the end of this you'll see,
Although they fought with courage we are all but free.

America, America, upon which God's grace had shone 
With liberty and justice for all, where'er the flag was flown.

But now there is another flag that mocks God in his face
What is now a symbol of sinful lusts was once that of God's grace.
And now no longer do we have what's called a home of liberty
For where is justice in the killing of the unborn, this I just can't see.

America, once beautiful, so far you've come since then
You did your best to play the act, but forgot your lines again.

You tried so hard to conquer hate, by making laws to call it crime
Our courts are full of useless debates that in the end just waste our time.
We sit and act like nothing's wrong, as if we're clean and pure
We breathe our last so painfully, yet still reject the cure.

America, America, where will the line be drawn?
Or will you slowly crumble into the fading dawn?

You say if done for love then it's all fair and good,
That these sinners are all just simply misunderstood.
But what about the ******, or the *******?
Everything they do still brings themselves a crooked, ***** smile.

America, so sick with sin, or do you still not see,
Our country has been littered with gross *******.

You fill the minds of all the kids with things they should not see,
Showing your approval to things that should not be.
You now begin to act like you for them know what is best.
Forcing rules in all the schools and claiming parents as the pest.

America, America, will there be hope for you one day?
Will there be a time at last when you hear the truth we say?

To you who are no longer sick, to whom the cure He gave,
Will you let this country fall into it's miry grave?
Will you not help to guide the shot, nor correct their aim?
Will you not choose to take a stand and with one voice proclaim:

“America! America! May God's grace to you be shown!
May you return His truth, into the land we call our home!”

America, so beautiful, you can someday become,
When the fight to stand for Truth, becomes a battle won.

7/12/13

Lights lie flashing their sirens with the opening of the dawn;
In the sun streaked streets the artists mix their
Painted faces with oiled pigments;
The dusts of the streets, the dust of the leaves that burn with
The cold and rust with the heat disperse with
The knotted storms that rope the
Blazing frosted earth that lies there forever escaping into air.

Luminous yellow and flamed coloured red are streaming like
The moon and sun reversing and crossing each
Other in a street of luminous people
Where the warmth of great passion hangs in perfumed bottles,
Where people are beautiful in their young
Youth, people arranged like flowers
Burning with ripened love, soft and delicate in innocence.

The Eiffel Tower, the pinpoint of our dreams lies open as a free
Flamed metallic torch that ferments with its iron
Emotions; an almost Romanesque
Renaissance coloured with the Millennium stars that rocket into
The sky then stay for a while turning into dust
And becoming our ashes as we
Summon on again to the fires of our morning lovers we had left.

©Jack Aylward

Remember,
Days folded beneath caverns caved in blanketed ice,
She's a griffon, or a way, to be something else,

Already not confounded,
I breathe my last,
Breathe of solitude entering a form of reason and thought so,
perfect,

Already I know the ground,
does not delay,
clay vantage points,
and constant fears of disaster,

Truce? Draw?
Whatever collapse that keeps us calm,
Collected,
Like warn out drawers,
He cries,
"Shallow not ye bothered quiver!"

Also,
Don't see the days that didn't make sense,
That doesn't make sense,
Welcome November

When 'the few' get more and even more
When 'the more' get less and even less
Until all that's left is just 'not enough!'

When the law becomes brazenly unjust
When the poor are trampled underfoot
Until “justice!” becomes hallowed text

When Free-thought is replaced by bigotry
When dissenters are silenced violently
Until 'liberation!' is whispered angrily

When enough there are with “nothing to loose”
It is then that a revolution becomes possible
It is then that a revolution becomes inevitable

Feeling at this time, that I should really go to bed, but
Still I lay awake, and contemplate, what Fred Hampton said:
“If you dare to struggle, then you dare to win, if you dare
Not to Struggle, then you don't deserve to win.”
They shot him dead in his bed, tell me how long has it been?
10, 20, nearly 50 years, since the things that happened then,
What happened to the Panthers, Malcolm X and Dr. King, or
The Anarchists in Spain, the songs of victory they'd sing?
What happened to the world of struggle, in which they all used to live?
Where liberation's sweet embrace propelled the efforts they would give
You see, we need to put the ‘unity’ back into ‘community,’ and
That begins with you and me, living side by side, and
Working with each other, taking measures to deride, the
Ills of our condition that serve only to divide,
Those old notions of race, those old notions of gender, with
Raised fists, as we march, taking heed to engender,
A whole new way of life, and a vision to render,
Filled with class consciousness, making us a contender,
Maybe I could lie down, and I could find some rest now,
If we would only stop to realize that we're the real ‘how.’

Shrouded in Liberty
it moves across the land
gorging on the hearts
and faith of
small ones;
they whose homes
invaded by the cause,
depleted of life,
of love,
of choice,
find protection
a misnomer.
Buried deep in details
of little consequence
where minutia
is a governor
stealing choice
to feed the appetite
of this machine.
Where has gone
the mighty power
that once united all;
will Freedom
end this war
before a mighty fall?
Bring back the ghosts
that won it well
the proud, the free and brave;
their spirits needed in our own
to lead us from our grave.
Apathy would bury us,
cloaked in ignorance of bliss
while shrouded in Liberty
the beast deceives;
No army advancing
but what we're sold,
driving back the small ones
step by step;
the edge of a grave
ready for us to slip
into darkness.

Am I not your poor your weak?
Your wretched refuge from a teeming shore?
Do you not still hold the lamp?
Before me at the golden door?

Who is able to decide..
Who is the free and the brave?
The ones who sit back and enjoy?
The wealth gained day by day?

The ones who never had to prove
Or be alone against the struggle
The ones who never faced the storm
Never even touched a shovel?

Is this not the land I'm told..
That is free and for the masses?
And position is not imposed
Or subjected just as assets

As an American I have to ask
What was the point of all this war?
When we are simply going back..
To all that we were before?

The belief that one was equal to all
The terrible government crippled us all
And beneath the rubble did they not crawl?
To fight back against this demonic brawl?

In the end all I have to say
Is we did not give millions of lives away..
To keep waging war or giving labels..
Just give me one reason how you are able?...

To decide who deserves to be free..
Who decides where serenity is allowed?
To say that to be an immigrant..
Has simply overflowed the crowd?

Is America not for the free?
For the ones who fight every day?
The ones that lay awake and pray
For poverty to go to grave?

Is this the land not for the brave?
Not for the ones who battled their way?
The ones who fought every night and day?
Does the lamp still not guide their way?

My hands are of wrinkles
Worn out by the passing of time
And yet dearly cherishing on my palms
A small pendant silver & bright

Wear it not around my neck
For my poor eyes see not
But leave it brushing on my hands
For be it a gift from God

Like a Jackdaw
you threw freedom away
And stood on the windowsill
Eyes resting off the lane

The pendant such beautiful gift
A shining star falling from above
And yet lay still in the hands of another
The truth a Jackdaw would not want

The universe plays a winter song
A soprana, tenor, bass & alto,
You lift your wings & slowly left
Scared to be called a thief of a pendant, a desire that was no fate of yours.