Watching the news
    so hard for me
My tears, my anger
       as  genuine
        as they are
      Seem so cheap
      How could we
   ever make it right?
       The stripping
          Of dignity
     The humiliation
There are no words to  
even describes the atrocities
                Done
      Do I feel guilty ? No
                   For
I did not  put them through this
      Do I feel responsible? Yes
      Do I feel ashamed? Yes
         My heart is crying
   We all need to remember
         Respect and honor
      we owe  to each other
      remember sometimes
    We make the right choice
       for all the wrong reason
          sometimes we make
            the wrong choice
       for all the right reason
       We can make this right!

“I’ll be fine” she said
“The golden apples are within my reach.
I hear the distant thunder
And the flash of lightning
Lights the sky beyond the hills
But if my steps are ever forward
This muddy ground can’t trap my feet
And keep me from the prize I’m seeking.
I need only to climb up that tree.”

“I’ll be OK” she said
I have a sturdy ladder
And the shining apple tree
Is in a meadow not too far away.
It’s heavy - who will help me carry it
And hold it steady while I climb?”
There are many who raise hands
To offer buckets for the fruit
And shaded sheds to store it in.

“Tomorrow starts today” she said.
And dressed in apple picking clothes
With sturdy ladder climbing shoes
She set out across the fields
Where stood the golden apple tree.
Two fell behind along the way
And one decided to sleep in
So as the morning sun grew warm
She was left with just a step stool.

“I can do this” she proclaimed
I can figure out a way
To reach the apples lower down
And put a few into the basket
That replaced the heavy bucket”.
But the storm is closing in -
The metal stool, a lightning rod.
No longer safe out in the open
And not a single apple picked.                  
“I was over confident” she said
I thought the cheers and smiles all meant
That I could climb that golden tree
And gather apples to sustain me
Through the coming winter’s snows.”
But it appears that smiles and handshakes
Do not morph into a ladder
Tall enough to reach the fruit
That hides amongst the tallest branches.

“I feel despair” she moaned out loud
And flung herself into the brambles
Praying she would find black-berries -
Something to replace the apples
She knew would never be her meal.
But the blooming time was over,
Only withered nubs remained and
All she managed was torn clothing
And bleeding scratches on her fingers.

“I have no hope” she cried
“I’ve wasted all my energy and strength
Chasing visions that can not be mine,
Seeking golden apples I can’t reach.
Trusting hands that tried, but could not help me,
Facing knowledge that the winter will be hungry
And the only safe place is away
Where hands and smiles must be discovered
In a different kind of garden.”
                   ljm

He speaks the language of flowers
Quietly toiling in his garden
Digging, raking and smoothing soil,
Gently coaxing nature to match his vision.
He knows the bees, spiders, beetles, worms and earwigs
Regarding them as friends.
He follows seasons, moon and stars
As others do people
Enthralled at the changes they bring.
He listens as the birds sing
Watching with joy as
Fledgling take wing.