CHAPTER ONE

My geographic movements during the past year could be called “A Tale of Two Couches.” So as June draws to a close, I assume the position here again on Couch California. I am back in Hemet, the place the smug among us call Hemetucky--as if there was nothing a couple of Mint Juleps and a **** of Blue Grass wouldn’t cure. It is the year of our Lord, 2014: so far an interesting year for women. There was a woman who wore socks to bed. There was always my long-time, here today-gone tomorrow, long time companion, currently teaching somewhere remote on the Big Rez, a southwestern Navajo concentration camp near the 4 Corners.  Next, there’s my current object of affection, that fine and frisky lady from The Bronx by way of Bernalillo--currently at home in Laguna Beach, Orange County. Trixie: my main squeeze at the moment.

And now, completely out of the ******* blue this afternoon, my cell phone rings and it’s ******* Juanita--my all-time favorite woman, Juanita Mi Favorita de La Quinta--a Coachella Valley town and desert wadi, extending its lucrative winter tourist season to become a significant, year-round retirement venue and a robust service economy feeding off it.  Juanita arrived there in the late 80s, in middle of her early forties.  She was unemployed, homeless, just a suitcase to her name and a two-year old toddler in tow. Her parents were there, as was her Aunt Peggy.  Juanita was always Peggy’s favorite niece, her favorite child, actually, Peggy herself being childless, never married.  Aunt Peggy put her maternal instincts to work on Juanita Rodriguez, her Sister Rosalia’s second favorite twin daughter.

Maria, Rosalia’s first favorite daughter, Juanita’s twin sister—MARIA: lives in Newport Beach and acts as an extra in many commercial ads shot in southern California and elsewhere, an irony never without sting for Juanita. “Que lastima!” Poor Juanita: as her would-be Hollywood Movie star aspirations disintegrated over the years, along with her unrealized lower expectations to be TV star, and even those semi-glamorous modeling gigs at trade shows and fairs—the elephant’s graveyard of the acting profession—failed to materialize, and now her celebrity habitat shrunken even further, to that sporadic but consistent mockery of stardom, I refer to any would-be thespian’s ignominious one-celled visual protozoan: The Extra Call List.  And—*******-- what happens next? Juanita’s sister Maria starts getting these parts, starts getting hired by filling out a ******* postcard, starts getting paid to look good in the background. *******: no professional education or instruction, no agent, and no need to **** off both the producer, the producer’s cousin Morey, the director and the director’s wife’s huge Golden retriever, Genghis--actually a mighty handsome animal--or needing to spill $4K on that Derma-brasion, Juanita inflicted on herself last year.

Juanita, as you already know, was the second favorite daughter and the second favorite twin of the family. She became the third favorite child in her three-child family upon the arrival of her slick baby brother Nico-- the Golden Child, who grew up to be a glib Merrill-Lynch stockbroker, office and residence, Beverly Hills 90112.  (Enter forcefully into the narrative, His Nibs himself, Sir Nicodemus of Hollywood, Juanita and Maria’s baby brother Nico. He speaks: “Excuse me, stockbroker my ***, as it says in a 11 point Rockwell Boldfont, right here on my gold-leaf embossed business card: Senior Large Capital Investment Counselor.”)

No, Juanita had a hard time just treading water in that Cleveland shark tank. And though she lacked nothing in the cuteness department, she had this one fatal flaw, namely, the gift of ***** and sass and a reflex to speak truth to power. Juanita: rejected by Rosalia as a threat to her hegemony as Boss of the Girl’s Club, was cast adrift on a tempestuous childhood cruel Montserrat sea, out there on the briny deep . . .  
                

                                      



High Seas: where many a tuna has a Sorry Charlie moment: “Star-Kist don’t want no tuna with good taste; Star-Kist wants a tuna that tastes good.”

Finally, Juanita is rescued, taken aboard the Good/Soul Aunt Peggy—that wayward bark Elisabeta Rodriguez, home-ported in Southside, Chicago, Illinois—the rescue at sea performed in classy, rather low-key manner; no Andrea Doria drama, but understated:

{Camera One, Helicopter above, zooms over turbulent ocean surface. Peggy, an oasis of calm, aboard the raft Kon Tiki with Thor Heyerdahl and his crew, floats by, whispering, “Going my way, Honey? Climb aboard. Have a homemade oatmeal cookie and a small glass tumbler of Jack Daniels.” Okay, no, that’s not fair. Sure Aunt Peggy drank, but never got round to offering you a drink until you were well into your 30s. Let’s just say she offered you a warm glass of milk, the mother’s milk deprived you by your mother, her sister Rosalia. Dear Aunt Peggy: a seasoned survivor herself, flawed by early childhood deafness and grotesque speech.  Yet, she had refused to settle for life in an asylum. She made a go at life.  She learned; she prospered; she flourished. And when the time came, she was there for you in the Coachella Desert, there for her feisty niece Juanita Ann.  Aunt Peggy: a loving spirit personified, became Juanita’s special confidant and counselor, her personal cheer squad of one. Juanita, of course, a former cheerleader herself--an early hint of greatness to be sure, a highlight, perhaps the highlight of her life, shown off every Halloween, still celebrated at American high schools each Fall. She is the Principal’s secretary at a huge suburban high school in Indio. Each Halloween, if the date falls on a school day, Juanita arrives for work wearing that scrupulously preserved, vintage 1966 cheerleader uniform, looking real foxy still, snug now in all the right places. Eternal Truth: Juanita has always and will always be good looking. Life with Juanita is perpetual “ooh la-la.”

So, I am on the couch that afternoon, reading more of Gramsci’s prison notebooks, specifically the philosophy he calls “Praxis.”  Completely out of the ******* blue, Juanita calls me on a RESTRICTED phone, as I said, Juanita, a torch I’ve kept burning for years, flaring up like a refinery flame--oil still very much in the present energy mix--hope springing eternal as they say, and instantly my mission in life is rekindling our lost love. Juanita’s conceived her mission prior to her phone call:  using me to keep her son from being whacked by the local Eme--the Mexican Mafia—that ethnic-pride social club that the RICO-squad-- using family tree socio-grams and other expensively-printed graphics, the one RICO keeps trying to convince us is some sort of organized crime conspiracy. The Mexican Mafia: like everything else practical and utilitarian in this world: THAT’S ITALIAN! And, if you are starting to sense a bit of ethnic chauvinism on, between & below the lines, you are barking up the right tree.
                                                           ­     
      
                                                            
(AUTHOR’S POST-SCRIPT EDIT: And, an ad for dog food right here? Not the best choice of sponsors, perhaps, at the moment. Juanita was far off from the ****** ***** that start looking not half-bad at 2:30 in the glazy morning, not anywhere near those beasts you find lingering in the airport bars you usually frequent near closing time on Saturday nights. No, I remind you that Juanita was all “ooh la-la.” In my next printing—and my Lord, there have been so many, haven’t there, Paulie “Eat-a-Bag-of-****” Muldoon? I will change out the Alpo ad, plugging in a spot for Aunt Jemima pancake syrup or Betty Crocker whipped cream, you know, something more apropos.)

Juanita, I really must hand it to you. You showed the greatest staying power, year after year as I moved further and further away from La Quinta, California. Juanita: you embraced what was good in me, ignored my flaws and strengthened me with your love for so many years. As far as you and Peggy, I guess it was a case of the “apple not falling far from the tree” one of many endearing Midwestern metaphors you taught me.  Peggy taught you, taught you to be kind and then you taught me. No matter what bizarre venue I pulled out of my ***, you showed above-average staying power, continued to visit me wherever I went, Casa Grande & Buckeye, Arizona, Appalachia, West Virginia, and even Italy, when I thought I’d try Europe again after so many years.  With each move, each time, Juanita renewed her commitment to the relationship. Meanwhile, I continued to test her, quantifying her dedication, undermining her sense of mission to disprove my worldview on the expendability of women. Surely, you know that one: the unreliability of women, women who disappear without saying goodbye. That old deeply etched conviction to never get attached to a woman, any woman, based on the empirical fact that women have been known to suddenly die, a fact seared into my still tender metal by the surprise death of my mother on 11 January 1962.

1962. It was already an insecure world, to wit:  The Cuban Missile Crisis. Nikita Khrushchev, in his time both Dr. No and Dr. Evil, namely the Premier whom we Baby Boomers saw as Boogey Man of All Time (Although Putin is showing potential, lately)—the Kennedy ****** (what else could you call it?). All these events scary, whether or not I got the chronology right . . . I remained on high alert for any threat to my delicate adolescent psyche.  My mother-Rosa Teresa Sekaquaptewa-died at 2 o’clock in the morning, screaming in agony while apologizing to my father for not having his dinner on the table when he walked in from work that prior afternoon. She’d already been in bed since noon, attended by two of my aunts--both my father’s sisters--who loved their Hopi sister-in-law, Rosa.  Also present was Lafcadio Smirnoff, M.D.--last of the house call medicine men--a dapper, mustachioed, swarthy gentleman, misdiagnosing her abdominal pain as a 24-hour virus, while she bled out internally for at least eight more hours, her whimpers alternated with screams, well into the wee hours of the morning.

I was upstairs in that dormer bedroom listening to her die. An hour later, Father Numb-nuts of Our Lady of Lourdes Parish teleported in, beaming directly into my bedroom from the parish rectory.  Father Seamus Numb-nuts, an illuminated Burning Bush . . . not quite the bush I ‘d conjured at other times, so many times alone with Gwen Wong, ******* Playmate of the Year, 1961, one of Hefner’s hot centerfolds. No, give me a ******* break, you momo! Whacking off is the last thing on a libidinous, adolescent guinea’s brain when his mama is being tortured and killed by God. Even Alexander Portnoy, Philip Roth’s early avatar would have drawn the wanking line at that unforgettable moment.

No, perhaps what I’d had in mind was The Burning Bush Golf Course where so much of Fletcher Kneble’s political mischief and government shenanigans got cooked up. You remember his books, some of the Cold War’s finest: Seven Days in May, Vanished, etc.

Or better yet, perhaps the greatest political slogan of the 20th century: “STAY OUT THE BUSHES!” Thank you, Jesse. “Thank you, Reverend Jackson,” I slip into my Excellence in Broadcasting mode, my very own private Limbaugh. Announcing my on- air arrival is El Rushbo’s unmistakable, totally recognizable bass line bumper, courtesy of Chrissie Hynde’s Pretenders band mate, guitarist Tony Butler: Dum, dum, dum-dum, Da-dum, dum-dum-dum-dum-da-dum-dum. Single, “My City Was Gone” by The Pretenders
Rush Limbaugh Song– YouTube www.youtube.com/watch?v=SScW9r0y3c4

I become Reverend Jackson. I emerge from the vapors, an obscure abyss of deep family pangs and disappointments, ever-diminishing public relevance and fade to black (no pun intended) and media oblivion. The only thing left is that line:  “STAY OUT THE BUSHES!” You will always own that line, Jesse--true political genius (to wit: Rainbow Coalition) Jackson that you are, despite El Rush-Bo’s virulent anti-Black animus, his predilection to mock you, Al Sharpton, Corey Booker, Barack “Hussein” Obama, and any other professional ***** in America. Isn’t it time someone came right out and tagged Mr. Limbaugh as the Father Coughlin of our time.

Meanwhile back in The Bronx, enter another man of the cloth:  It’s Seamus Numb-nuts, making one of his many well-documented spectral visitations, his splendiferous miracles and wonders. How much longer will the Vatican ignore this humble Bronx priest, this epitome of Sainthood; this reverent man, lacking only the stigmata for a unanimous consent vote? Quote the Numb-nuts: “God Works in Mysterious Ways.” An old standard to be sure, but a lovely, all-purpose bromide for explaining why evil exists in our world. Needless to say, I was underwhelmed; I lost God at that moment, consequently shooting myself in the foot--metaphorically-speaking-condemning myself to an unshielded life, life OUT THE BUSHES!  I went forth into the world without God, without that handy divine crutch, that Andy Devine metaphor for when one’s legs grow weary: a puff of smoke, a reverb twang and a nasty frog croaking “Hi-ya, Kids. Hi-ya, Hi-ya. Hi-ya.”

   Andy's Gang - Pasta Fazooli vs. Froggy the Gremlin - YouTube
► 3:55► 3:55
www.youtube.com/watch?v=H35odPm7b3w Aug 8, 2012 - Uploaded by jmgilsinger
Froggy the Gremlin -Tuba ... Andy Devine (Aug 24, 1952)

Life for me became lonely and purposeless. And probably explains my susceptibility to military discipline and a subsequent career in clandestine government service. In 1968--the very day I turned nineteen, September 25th of that year—that fateful day when I should have shot myself in the foot—literally not metaphorically--earning that coveted 4-F physical rejection, a draft deferment to be desired, that 4-F classification of unfitness for duty, a necessary loophole in U.S. conscript service law.  The Draft: last used during that great commonwealth Cold War purge, that culling out of the unwashed, uneducated children of immigrants, that cut-rate, discount, lower socio-economic ***** bank—the only bank where after you make a deposit, you lose interest, to wit: most Black, Hispanic and Poor White Trash parents.  We were cannon fodder, many of us got to be planted at Arlington and other holy American shrines, still wrapped in black or olive drab leak-proof body bags, doing our generational bit to strengthen the gene pool left behind. A debt, some would say, we owed the country and, given the sorry state of the global wicket, increasingly an obligation to the species. And if I had to predict an outcome, Fascism in America will arrive riding the white horse of the environmental, anti-nuclear Bolsheviks. One could argue that Communism has moved so far left on the political spectrum that it’s now the far right.  Concoct a legislative policy goal, accomplish it legally as the bill becomes Law, signed by the President, endorsed and blessed by The U.S. Supreme Court, the highest court in the land.

To wit: “Three generations of imbeciles is enough?” declared Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., an Associate Supreme Court Justice at the time, buttressing a majority argument harnessing the power of U.S. law as a legal means of purifying the race.  When euthanasia failed to win over American hearts and mind, the Federal Government played the war card again and again. Vietnam: undeclared and therefore unconstitutional--except for that Gulf of Tonkin ******* resolution. Vietnam: a cost-plus eugenics project, if ever there was one, although responsive, of course, to the needs of the Military-Industrial Complex.  ******* Ike: he warned us against Fascism in America. As usual, we ignored the man in charge.

Eugenics? Why didn’t the government just put all the retards on the stand, as John Frankenheimer did in Judgment at Nuremberg, a crafty Maximilian Schell humiliating a feeble-minded Montgomery Clift?  Why not, make everyone face a public tribunal, forcing all of us to testify in court, exposing our many substandard and borderline substandard cerebral deficits?  Why not force everyone to demonstrate just how ******* dumb we are, using some clever intelligence test, something l

Every evening
she beams into my living room
bringing me the news of the world
Juanita ***
looking at me with her large eyes, gently tossing her coiffured blond hair
demurely enunciating ugly words through her beautifully shaped mouth

another insane event has occurred in some far off country
and Juanita *** has nice red lip gloss on tonight
a boat load of desperate people has reached our shores
only Juanita *** can make the word "asylum" sound ******
more bikie gang trouble in the city
if I had tats and a Harley Juanita, would you ride off with me?
a ******* released on bail
you shouldn't have to read such filth Juanita
the Government’s economic policies are working
who did you share your stimulus package with Juanita?
another loutish sportsman has disgraced himself in public
Juanita, let the sports reporter read that stuff in future
Parliamentarians hurl foul language at each other in Canberra
I love it when you talk ***** Juanita
debate continues about the best way to tackle climate change
if there was an ETS Juanita, would you trade emissions with me?

she is telling me that tomorrow it will be warm and moist
and Jesus Christ, Juanita *** has two buttons undone on her blouse
There will be another news update in an hour
but not from Juanita ***
and without Juanita ***
no news is good news

Por quietas calles andaba
Juanita Fernández, que era
muchacha como de pájaros
y naranjas y colmenas.
Nadie veía su guardia
callada de serafines,
nadie veía en sus sienes,
invisible, el arco iris.

Nadie, ni padre, ni madre,
ni parientes, ni padrinos,
sabía que a aquella niña
la había marcado el Destino.
«¡Qué inteligente, Juanita!
¡Qué fina piel de durazno!
¡Qué dos ojos de lucero
en un cielo de verano!»

Y andaba Juanita, andaba,
con sus muñecas, su perro
Tilo y sus libros de estudio
por las callejas del pueblo.
Andaba Juanita, andaba,
con su ángel de custodia,
y su pobreza tan rica
y sus ensueños de novia.

Primero, novia del aire,
y después, de un capitán.
Andaba Juanita, andaba,
y era rica más y más.
¿Qué importan la casa pobre,
los vestidos de algodones,
los zapatitos de cuero,
la blusa sin prendedores?

Veinte años casi sin crónica
con sólo el hijo y la paz
de sus versos y sus flores
de alambres y de cambray.
Alegre, tierna y callada,
amante y sin ambición,
gorjeaba en cantos y canto
de vida y callado amor.

Ya sobre el pecho una estrella,
ya otra más sobre la sien,
ya mil clarines al viento
y el toque de somatén.
Ya el llanto por sus mejillas,
ya grises fuegos su luna.
Mañanas de helada niebla,
noches a desvelo y bruma.

Ya zapatos de gamuza
y vestidos de París.
Ya la sonrisa perdida,
ya el deseo de morir.
El amor, como una rosa;
la vida, cáliz y cruz.
Tilo, borrado en la sombra,
brumosa la Cruz del Sur.

Y en su Río de la Plata
sólo el barco de su fe,
aunque sigan los clarines
y el toque de somatén.
¡Qué sola y sola Juanita
en su casona vacía!
América por sus salas
pasa, y Juanita perdida.

Ya no sabe de laureles
ni de nardos en el alba.
Traen orquídeas a sus manos
y mendiga un vaso de agua.
Secreto, ¡ay secreto, oh Dios,
oculto el romance puro!
Vela el ángel con su túnica
el préstamo sin futuro.

Y cuando muera Juanita
a gritos todos dirán
que fue bendito aquel día
ocho de Marzo, San Juan
de Dios, en tierras de Melo
que la historia alabará.
Y ha de dormirse llevando
sobre la mortaja un sol:
el de un amor silencioso
que nadie le adivinó.

I'm in love with Juanita

From El Paso country song ...

Kiss me stronger, senorita,

Make my memories be gone.


To forget the northern beauty,

Who's cold heart is made of stone,

Kiss me stronger, Spanish cutie,

Give me love I missed so long.


Brown eyes so warm and tender,

Margaritaville from blender

Makes it easy to surrender,

Borrowing love from lovely lender.


Do not check my credit rating,

- I am all anticipating ...

Give me love that I am awaiting,

Make my loneliness abating!


Rambling rose from Spanish garden,

Do not let my heart to harden.

Harden only what can please,

- I am down on my knees.


I'm in love with Juanita

From El Paso country song ...

Kiss me stronger, senorita,

Make my memories be gone.

Christian0 and Juanita

A Single Act: Three scene script by Chris Chance- April/May 2010

Prologue:

There love took place over a decades  time on the island east of Manhattan and in the valleys between the northern tip of the Blue Ridge Mountains and the Tuscarora Ridge of the Southern Pennsylvania Appalachians.

He- no saint at all, felt in his heart a hero but ultimately hid behind svelte armor that protected him from a fickle and judgmental world.

She- a creature worthy of the lead lady in a classy novel- pure and once so very innocent. Statuesque and of absolute sense- commanding her world but building high walls around her red heart as she went.

The fields spoken of in this tale were accurately planted and lovingly nourished long ago and they still grow, multiplying their essence year to year. What great hope the author holds in his blue heart for their harvest. What great hopes he has for us all.

It is understood that the sins of the original garden have heft upon us, as a civilization a life of confusion, doubt and pain. It is with faith that one carries on believing in the goodness of a divine creator and master of all that you know.

Said in this story, it’s believed that he or she, the divine that is lives in two places simultaneously.

First; among the stars painted in the style of Rembrandt meeting Picasso, laughing the way Chaplin must daily at the absurd nonsesilogicalness of it all, crying like the poor ******* who’s let his whole future slip through his foolish little fingers.

And the Divine, the great source of energy in the universe also lives in a certain part- or nook - or cranny- of all things that breathe and/or return with the spring.

It is the voice you hear right now in your boney skull. It's the feeling you get when you forgive. It is the obligation you have to reach up and hold steady your fellow man.

As the author of this tale drops to his knees seeking guidance from that hidden, divine and breathy spiritualness he silently cries out in his pain.

A pain he never knew existed. He’ll silently ask to be prayed for now
and at the hour of his death.


Act I Scene I:

She could snare me in a trap by my ***** and hang me to the cherry tree. Yet my love for her wild flower remains – growing stronger- gathering and harboring the strength of welded tycoon steel.

This love you see- is no ordinary love.

It’s a love of passion and flame but one that culminates with no possible conclusion.

This love does not merely flow - but in actuality rages deep and wide- flowing so deep and so wide that the queen herself could traverse it in comfort.

And now alas, her love.

The love of ours- alone, no longer vast enough in its capacity: to carry on.

And it shall be furthermore, that I now- and I alone: will carry the weight of our time spent as one.

Our time spent as one such as the sand and the sea- Spent as one just as the mountain and valley.

Spent as one the way the very soul itself: on its own palate- feels and tastes true, sweet-sweet love.

This love I feel built around me like a velvet dream, a love now burning footsteps in my ears and setting fire to the nether regions of my soul has been banished and broken. But against better judgment still beats in my senseless and tortured eyes.

And in my anguish, I berate myself with guilt and deeply scour avenues of the past- for better directions we might have chosen.

Alas and in the end- amidst tears of fallen dreams: all roads lead to you and where your heart began and where- your heart ended.

So I ask you, all of you that bear witness before me. Whose heart is it- that still beats true and free? And whose heart is it that beats dark as the stormy cloud.

Whose heart I ask?

Or better yet- a different conundrum of a similar variety.

Can any heart be free?

Free to consume its desire- whether the sun shines or not? Free to love and never to be forgotten. Free to breathe without the threat of mortality?

I challenge you my friends to define this- and to thoroughly answer my questions.

To see into my future: regardless of what must be seen and help me- please make me believe again. Make me in all my shattered and tired bones and aging skin truly, truly believe again.

To teach my sons that it is safe to love in this hard and ruthless world.
To see my love as better,  more pure- unscathed by the devilish nature of the standard human ego.  

To once and for all see love and all life- as hopeful and not bereft of commonality and truth. To see her again- my fair love.  Smiling the notion of a better tomorrow.

Act I: Scene II

Our sins derail us its true. Over time and a plethora of vanishing precepts we wash along the rocks liked laundry.

Shall we neatly and quietly burro underground in the neighbor’s green space, with fleeting air- void of light and color?

Should we swing by our necks from the orange groves it would be in vain as life is so precious and out there lays undeniable hope that there is more of life’s holiness to drink in with each passing storm?

Impossible. That is not who I am. This is not who I was. That is not who I will be.

So vanquished cries muffle in the night against vicious and angry winds and the low weeping moan is constant as I look ahead while looking backwards.

Wondering how from my grasp it ever slipped so far?

It all, each and every golden ounce slipped from my tongue in sorrow in truth I must say.  Unfiltered neurosis and faltering fear are guides that  will fail to bring you home safely.

Nefarious tides of anxiety and reflection blinded me- blinded me from the sun.

But yet still she knows or understands that the bird song of redemption is an actual place where hearts once emptied , now gather to refill that same heart with love again and again.

It is the wound of her life open, crying out and bleeding through her lonely eyes and ears. It is with shame that I admit my long standing ignorance and tardiness to the cause of her heart.

Now with the backing of angels I see the landscape and all its divine nature but yet I am unable to enter. Unable to rejoin the garden and fight a snake who speaks my unholy name off split tongue and evil notions.

Where, where my love is it that I should go from here after having come from there? Where shall I drink my clean water, where shall I rest my weary head?

And oh, the head of a sleepless and love sick man. Heavy with burden brought on by his own lack of mastery regarding the most important issue and god given task of them all, but as once ailed Mercutio in his quest for and of allegiance to Romeo. Time is of the essence.

When I lay my head it is in sorrow and the pain of real passion. Passion for remaining one as a quarter  that makes up a whole- such as the corners of the cross and the earth, air, water and fire itself in a single beating heart.

For  one hundred and eighty ****** and arrogant days and their resident risings of the sun I've been reborn- sworn to never let evil destroy good in my heart.

As you must do- you will do.  

But the tides that flow in my veins do not flow from you they flow from the divine, a divine that will protect me and forgive my trespasses as he’s surely forgiven me of mine on others.

It’s only the growing fields of our past love that concern me now. How will we harvest the wheat which together we’ve sewn? How will we slaughter and eat the meat of the heard. When will any of us drink the wine from the grapes we have grown?

The entities I’ve stated are my future and will remain  my future until arc angels guide me from this earthly tomb. The blood of our fields will reign supreme.

The harvest of our youth will produce.  Standing together or behind our backs- as we run from it. The bloom of our responsibilities as care taker of these lands will be upon us in time.

So as your heart sails to foreign shores I awake from my rage and see the sun, feel the air, breathe and seek guidance for my purpose. To continue to plow the field and fish the harbor while I settle for meager tastes.

May the work I’ve done. May the work we’ve done be a strong enough foundation for both fields to nurture, endure and produce.

And as you for my fleeting love: may the beans of your coffee be rich and plentiful, may your heart find its way back to where it once was- where ever that may be.

Between here and now, let the days shine upon you like spring light. Bathing you until your soul feels safe and fresh. Keeping you where you need to be to feel free.

But alas leave knowing that the flame I still hold- as I have from day one. For the mystic and mysterious love brought upon us by the three so many, many years ago.

How long that can burn, I know not: but as the skies bolster the heaven- my heart once black, has returned to life. To love you is all that there is. I will share my heart and tormented soul and every last breath I breathe until graying and dying days. For you and only you exist.

Act I Scene III:

The sun came out after a snowy and emotional winter but the air never seemed to warm through the long days of April.

And so in the absence of all that is left , we set off.  You, in the direction that I lived in for years and me in the direction that you lived for years.

Two lovers, one point, two stories. Proverbial ships in the night is what we are- and the passing simply destiny.

Oh but for how I will remember thee. The raven hair and olive skin, deep eyes batting only in such a way as to swell my heart, that equisite eyebrow raised in point, the witty acronyms of our secret family language.

The warmth of your parent’s hearth and the surrounding family. A safe and wonderful place to even a man such as I, who took it sorely for granted along with the other neighboring fields planted and stamped with our communication, our love, our example.

Time is a tempting and vicious confidant, one that will surely lead you astray and bring mischief and havoc to your very door step.

Tread lightly if you dare to tread at all in love. Hear the heart you rest against, listen to the subtle tick tock of its rhythm. Hold a stone as it were a diamond, train the mutt as a pure bred champion, shape your mud as if it were the finest of all clays from the earth.

The whistling train only passes through the station once. Get on get off, make up your mind – change your mind – ignore your mind. Look into your heart and soul then move forth.

To where it is you should be.

Where it is you’ll be forgiven and nurtured even more revered than ever before. A place so familiar you might even call it home.  A bed so all knowing that it could only be ours. A life so new it could never be as it was.

Know this before you part my love, know that I am true: as I say- is as I pray. But your choice is your choice and yours alone: to rise or recede.

My heart pines like the losing persona in an old film. For I see the sun rising. Shining and setting in your eyes.

I see the fields as they grow under watchful eyes, I hear the wind begging us to move but I stand grounded upon all that is pure and sanctimoniously holy. Definitively tattered- but braced firmly at the center of the storm.

Waiting for the love we loved, Once. The love that we may squander if we have yet to do so already.  A love that can be repaired and grow larger and more consuming then ever imagined.

A love never to slip from my grasp again.

Narrative Ending:

So the fella in this case is condemned to be a shepherd without his flock. Sending signals by smoke along the telephone wire to complete the rendering of the fields. With mercy on his side- may he succeed in the light of the world relentlessly embittered in the dark?

Or will all in life just as after a close death, quietly move on?

Completing revolutions of the sun: that fiery ball of light, wider than the distance from here to Mars and back, with us random like ebbing and flowing on the tides lengthy pull of the moon?

Or is the strength to muster what one wants, really possible?

Can he climb the highest mountain? Could his faith be tested in lava like pits of hell? Can his heart be branded clean after so much life?

And what of her beating heart?

What of her search to dissolve the fears of her own making? How has her beauty helped or failed her. How will she look herself in the eye?
How long must I day dream of meandering through a sweet and enjoyable song with her one last time.

Unknown answers-

More unknown then I, as the player in this drama, would care or dare to admit, but hopeful ever more like the humming bird buzzing summer honeysuckle in rainy times- I shall remain.

I shall see the sparkle of her soul rent the eyes- if only for a time.
Taking both yonder to another space and time, where she’d admit she lied in vain fear and exasperation when she said:  surely she could find no love true and could simply offer no more.

When my flesh gives way to bone cover me in roses. Walk me out in the morning of your mind as a man who loved without knowing how to love.

A male clearly guilty to the highest degree, in any court, of any land: of being careless with a precious gift.

And sadly for the ones who have loved and lost- in the end  life offers only so many windows into the soul of a lover.

We live in a world, that's loaded down with greed.  Man will do anything for money, falling to do a good deed.
Man will take a chance, to traffic people across the boarder.  They pack them in like sardines, and like a selfish hoarder.
We will never stop allowing drugs, from entering our land.  Men thinks that they are cleaver, by planting drugs, within the body of man.
With the technology we have, something  need to be done.  The slavery of woman who 's brought to our country, to them, it's not fun.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Take care of your body, because you only have one.  Do all that you can, until everything is done.
Take care of your body, morning, noon, and night.  Be encouraged to follow through, and always do what's right.
Take care of your body, each and everyday.  Don't let anything, get in your way.
Take care of your body, let it be your very best.  When you face your Doctor, this will be your ultimate test.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Your dignity should reflect, everything you are.  If you use it wisely, you will go very far.
Your dignity should reflect what you stand for; no matter what is said.  It will cause you to soar high; far above others head.
Your dignity will help you, and allow you to excel.  It will prevent you from troubles; encouraging you not to fail.
Your dignity will precede you, giving directions ahead.  It will give you knowledge, so follow while being led.
Always keep your dignity; regardless what others do.  Having a sense of dignity, will  always carry you through.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Now it's a New Year, change the look on your face.  Cheer up anyone, no matter the race.
Cheer up that special one, who walks with a hung down head.  Especially, the ones in the corner, looking like they're dead.
Cheer up your family, bring joy into your home.  No one should feel they can't fit in, therefore, leaving them alone.
Cheer up your children, stop constantly fussing them out.  Show  them that you can be kind, and you know how to speak right.
Cheer your Mother and Father, after they have been fighting all day.  Perhaps, you can bring them together, so they can began to pray.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

The seed of prejudice exist; will it ever leave!  I wish we can get to the the root of it; right down to the seed.
If God has no respect of person, then why should we?  If you think you are better than God, continue to be what you want to be.
The seed of prejudice exist; will it ever cease!  It need to be destroyed, it need to be released.
Deep down in your heart; you don't realize the seed is there.  Let someone rub you the wrong way, instantly this seed will flare.
Pass by a group of people who have begun to talk.  They will ignore your "Hello", you may as well continue to walk.  
Until this seed is extracted, from the heart of man; be prepared to encounter prejudice, throughout every land.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

There are disrespectful children, who shows you no respect.  They walk around in pride, thinking they are "all that."
There is no respect for those who's  in authority.  They gamble on the side, looking for a fee.
There are disrespectful children, always ready to fight.  They just don't have a conscience, to do the things that's right.
There are disrespectful children, who love to talk back.  All you receive from them, is a whole lot of flack.
There are disrespectful children, all into what they wear.  To ask them to do a good deed, they just do not care.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Be that spark to brighten the way, to show someone the light.  Be that spark to brighten the way, to teach to do what's right.
Be that spark to brighten the way, to share your lovely smile.  Be that spark to brighten the way, so you can go the extra mile.
Be that spark to brighten the way, to dispel the atmosphere of gloom.  Be that spark to brighten the way to let people know they are not doomed.
Be that spark to brighten the way, to give the lonely hope.  Be that spark to brighten the way, to encourage from using dope.
Be that spark to brighten the way, to bring joy to the depressed.  Be that spark to brighten the way, to show the world how to rest.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

What if people had a year of unity and not violence, each and everyday?  Better yet, why not have it eliminated, removing it, far out the way?
What if people came together in unity, and not violence aiming to fight?  Why can't they all make up their minds, only to do what's right?
What if people made a decision, to help clean up our land?  This can began to come about, by joining hand in hand.
What if people helped, to get rid of every gun?  Allowing the world to know this is nothing fun.
We need to put thumbs down for violence, and let unity prevail.  God can bring this about, so we don't end up in jail
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Learn to speak with dignity, and not with any shame.  Use a good dictionary,to find the right words, to spell any given name.
Learn to speak with dignity, to show forth a good impression.  Say, "I will do my best in life," let this be your confession.
Learn to speak with dignity, so you can be a good example for others.  There are people watching you, especially, your Sisters and Brothers.
Learn to speak with dignity, to an audience that need your help.  When you speak in confidence, believe me it will be felt.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

It's time to bring people together, so unity can abound.  It's time to stop fighting, and stop pulling one another down.
It's time to bring people together, so we can walk into the light.  So far, some choose to walk in darkness, not doing what they know is right.
It's time to bring people together, whether they are young or old.  In order to do this, don't be afraid, but bold.
It's time  to bring people together, so we can bring about peace.  We are able to get this done, so never let it cease.
It's time to bring people together, and once again wear a smile.  We are able to get this accomplished, by going the extra mile.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

They were so poor,
their children played on dusty roads;
Mother Mary
cleaned her face with her own tears,
the hand
that once touched her became a clinched fist

Ana didn’t want to bring another child into this world,
but a family
was the only way they knew how to live;
they didn't own anything
except the flowers in the window

They need
to learn more about their people;
The only way
she could feed her baby was her body;
She felt safe
until her son needed real food

She prayed
for her body to keep fighting;
fighting for her children
her ******* remained full;
He knew she was kind
but she didn’t feel that way

The dust covered her heart
and the shoes she wore;
so he bought her a dress
even to wear in the hot desert sun
It was red
and fit her like sin
between two people in love

When she wore it
the other women watched quietly
She wore it for a week;
every day without washing
He watched her quietly
knowing she was strong
Then she took the dress off
and kissed Mary’s hand

She gave the dress to her best friend,
Juanita Hernandez;
Juanita washed the dress
while Ana fed her child;
the dress would be shared
because they shared the dust in the air

Their husbands couldn't wait
for their wife’s turn with the dress;
a red dress was for love
and not sin in the desert sun

They were so poor
the dust covered their memories;
but the dress was bright
and they wore it with dignity

A poor woman
is as beautiful as a rich woman
even if her stomach is empty
and her heart has become hard

She saw the other men
look at her when it was her turn;
she knew they wanted her
even though she was so sad,
the dress made them see;
They knew how she could love them,
but instead
she gave it back to Juanita Hernandez

Then she gave thanks to Mary again;
For her children still loved her
and her husband remembered why
he gave her the dress

Life is too short, to stand by and hate your brother.  Life is too short, we need to learn to love one another.  
Life is too short, to live without a plan.  Life is too short, you should know where you stand.
Life is too short, to bully others around.  Life is too short, to speak words with a negative sound.
Life is too short, to constantly live in fear.  Life ts too short, barely making it through the year.
Life is too short, not to do something new.  Life is too short, not to say, " I love you".
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

On the News today, it has been reported, about tornadoes in several States.  Why would you get out the car, to take a picture of the storm that's right on you, what a "Dumb Mistake"?
Now concerning Donald Sterling, I hate to say it, but he is a Billionaire fool.  Does he realize he could endanger his life, with the comments he has used?
When the captain jumped off the ship, leaving the children behind, do you feel your life is better, not paying the children any mind?
The Prime Minister of Malaysia, did not care about the families who were left behind.  He was so eager to get everything over with, by texting them, causing them, to almost lose their mind.
A life is a precious thing, before the eyes of the Lord.  It is important  that a life is saved, so get on one accord.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing






















By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

The rain still fallin
So let's stay in for another weekend
I know you want to hit the dance floor
But this move up north
Has me shivering in my all black vans
Yeah the authentic ones
Back to the topic
I love putting these words together
Because when you read them when I'm done
With each poems
You give me a
Aww, art you're so sweet
Plus, you cook me some good tastin'
Korean food
Juanita isn't your name
But I know a lot of people
Who will go through my followers
To see who you are
So they can tell you rumors
They heard from people
I went ghost on and still ******
That I don't text back
Girl I'm away for now but
I'll be in town soon enough
And I know I don't put my business out there
But I may want you to meet my momma
Don't bring girls around my family
But with you I may change that
So when you read this
I hope you smiling as much as I do
When you say come through
I'll give you a discount with a free drink
Girl, you keep treating me like this
You may have me shopping for a ring
So if you reading this
Just know I may disappear on you for a second
But promise I'm thinking of you

AWAY WITH INJUSTICE, AND BRING SOMETHING NEW ON OUR SIDE.  YOU CAN BEHOLD IT ALL AROUND, IT CAN BE SEEN FAR AND WIDE.
LET US CONTINUE TO FIGHT FOR JUSTICE, AND REFUSE TO LET IT STOP.  DON'T THINK ABOUT GIVING UP; WE HAVE TO REACH THE TOP.
AWAY WITH INJUSTICE, DON'T ALLOW YOURSELF TO LOOK BACK.  WE MUST STRIVE TO MOVE AHEAD, INSPITE OF SUFFERING LACK.
LET US BE THE GOOD EXAMPLE, DOING WHATEVER IS RIGHT.  LET JUSTICE DISPELL ALL DARKNESS, MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT.
BY, AUTHOR & POET, SANDRA JUANITA NAILING

BE AWARE OF THE MANIPULATOR; HE IS ALWAYS AROUND.  IT CAN COME FROM BEING SPOILED, DOING WHATEVER HE WANTS, ESPECIALLY, WHEN YOU ARE DOWN.
BE AWARE OF THE MANIPULATOR; HE KNOWS HOW TO GET HIS WAY.  HE KNOWS HOW TO TALK HIS WAY OUT, OF WHATEVER YOU HAVE TO SAY.
BE AWARE OF THE MANIPULATOR, WHEN HE SPEAKS, IT WILL BE NOTHING NEW.  JUST NOTICE HIS BODY MOVEMENTS, WHEN HE TALKS TO YOU.
BE AWARE OF THE MANIPULATOR, HE WORKS HARD TO CHANGE YOUR MIND.  IT CAN BE MORNING, NOON OR NIGHT, OR IT CAN BE ANYTIME.
BY, AUTHOR & POET, SANDRA JUANITA NAILING

You may be One, or One Hundred and One, if there is prejudice in your heart, it's important that something is done.
Whatever is in the heart, it's screaming to come out.  There is no way that you can hide it, and that's without a doubt.
It starts out as a tiny mustard seed.  As it grows larger, and you try to hide it, there will be no need.
Prejudice must be dealt with, from the very first start.  It only take a very strong Power like God, to get rid of it, and cause it to eternally depart.
Don't you ever believe that other people can not tell.  You don't even have to say a word, your face will began to swell.
A person may get the feeling, that you do not want them around.  This person is not dumb, his mind is very sound.
When a person walks in a room, they know if you want them there.  They can feel deep inside, you don't give a care.
Don't stop talking, when certain people pass by.  Believe me they know, when they looked you in the eye.
Get rid of prejudice, don't take it to your grave.  One way to get rid of it, you have to get saved.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Sitting in back of the car, in a big brown box was a rooster; who just wouldn't stop crowing.  He was given to their father as a Christmas gift; they rather listen to their father snoring.
Their father three girls were on their way back home, from a very long trip.  The rooster kept crowing behind their backs; they were about to flip.
The door on the side where they were sitting was broken; they held each other and the door tight.
I know their  mother at home was praying, for them to make it home safely, on that Christmas Eve night.
Meanwhile, the rooster was crowing not softly, but he was very loud.  Once they crossed the James River Bridge; they were happy and proud.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

There is nothing worst, than someone who likes to control.  When they are controlling, notice they are very bold.
A controlling person doesn't care, about what you think.  They can push you over the edge, sending you over the brink.
A controlling person does not have you on their mind.  They want to be in control not once, but all of the time.
No one should control you; you have a mind of your own.  You should receive  respect in the streets, especially, at home.
You should remember, your life were created, to be totally free.  No one should be in control, of what you were meant to be.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

WE LIVE IN AN EVIL WORLD WHERE PEOPLE JUST DON'T CARE.  YOU CAN WATCH THEM PULL ONE ANOTHER DOWN, JUST ABOUT EVERYWHERE.
PEOPLE NEED TO BE TREATED WITH RESPECT, EVERYWHERE YOU GO.  MAKE THEM FEEL UPLIFTED, NOT LIKE SOMETHING LOW.
PEOPLE NEED TO BE TREATED WITH RESPECT, WHILE THEY ARE IN THIS LIFE.  THEY DO NOT NEED TO BE AROUND HATRED, AND A LIFE FILLED WITH STRIFE.
PEOPLE NEED TO BE TREATED WITH RESPECT, AND FEEL GENUINE LOVE.  DONT FORGET TO SHARE IT, START BY GIVING THEM A HUG.
BY, AUTHOR & POET,  SANDRA JUANITA NAILING

We are called to a royal priesthood, to shine throughout every land.  May we be the world's example, by lending a helping hand.
Lord, help us in this position, to pray for one another.  When the world sees us, let love flow out to our brother.
Lord, let us shine forth your Spirit, in a holy way.  Let the world see Jesus Christ, let them see us pray.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

We have come from such a long way, with so many ups and downs.  Never again do I want to see those days, where trouble was always around.
We have come from such a long way, being oppressed for the color of  our skin.  There should be no need, to start this evil cycle, all over again.
We now live in 2014, and not in the time of slaves.  Yet, we are still experiencing slave trafficking, here in these present days.
What gives men the right, to constantly want to oppress?  I believe it's because of the devil, and also of being possessed.  
God will not stand idly by, and watch us suffer from this sin.  He delivered us once before, and he will do it again.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Be thankful at Christmas, and have a good attitude.  Refrain from fussing and fighting, as well as being rude.
Be thankful at Christmas, help spread a lot of cheer.  Allow the family to be drawn close, allow them to come near.
Be thankful at Christmas, no matter what gift you get.  Be grateful with gratitude, and don't easily get upset.
Be thankful at Christmas, help spread some joy and peace.  Let it flow out to everyone, refuse to let it cease.
Be thankful at Christmas, maybe you can share the hungry your food.  I'm sure they want waste it, but all of it will be used.
Be thankful at Christmas, don't get caught up into self.  Learn to give out to others, so they can share your wealth.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

We have to clean up our neighborhood, too much trouble prevail.  You can hear foul language; you can hear people yell.
We have to clean up our neighborhood, violence is all around.  So many are fighting, being knocked to the ground.
We have to clean up our neighborhood, strange people come back and forth.  You can hear them talk so loud, they are due in Court.
We have to clean up our neighborhood, to protect our youth in time.  Whenever they leave the house, we can't get them off our minds.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Are you that lit candle, to show someone the way?  Are you shining in the night, as well as in the day?
Are you that lit candle, keeping someone from stumbling?  If someone happen to trip, this will be very humbling.
Are you that lit candle, that's shinning bright?  Are you delivering people out of darkness, down the path that is right?
Are you that lit candle, with a clear reflection?  It's up to you to continue to shine, regardless of any rejection.
Are you that lit candle, that sit high on a hill?  Are you placed in the right spot, so your light can be revealed?
Are you that lit candle with a perfect glow?  Make sure it is shinning, so people know where to go.
Are you that lit candle, brightening everyone's smile.  It will help them to receive strength, to go the extra mile.
Are you that lit candle, only to hide?  Obscuring the light to enter, all types of  people eyes?
In this world today, everyone need the light.  Keep your candle before them, in plain view of their sight.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

We need to show respect, when entering the House of God.  Don't come in talking loud, chewing gum, show respect for the Lord!
When you enter the House of God, don't let your children bring in food.  Feed them on the outside, because the church should not be abused.
When you enter the House of God, show respect before God, in the clothes you wear.  Please take pride in the way you look, making sure you comb your hair.
When you come to the House of God, if your skirt is short, and your breast is in plan view.  Don't sit on the very first roll tempting the preacher, making him so uncomfortable, not knowing what to do.
When you come to the House of God, let your mind be on the Word.  Don't  let the Minister message be in vain, because the Word should always be heard.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Why use drugs, knowing it destroys the cells of your brain?  The things you did yesterday, but today, you can't remember a thing.
Why use drugs, knowing they can get you high?  You may start hallucinating, jumping off a building, die.
Why use drugs, putting you into a bad mood?  You may become depressed, feeling down with the blues.
Why use drugs, choosing to act strange?  Choosing also to hurt yourself, and your family's name.
Why use drugs, bringing embarrassment to your child?  Also, putting up with comments, about you looking wild.
You don't have to use drugs, if you planning on keeping your mind.  If you're planning on being part of our society, get rid of drugs, and don't run out of time.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

If you want respect from others, you have to respect yourself.  This respect will go far, more than any wealth.
When people have respect for you; you will excel.  They will protect you, knowing you will not fail.
Having respect for yourself, will be seen by people around.  They will join in to help, so your talents will be found.
If you fail to respect yourself, no need to look for assistance.  Because of not caring, you'll receive all forms of resistance.
If you respect yourself, you'll be careful about the way you wear your clothes.
People are constantly checking you out, from your head to your toes.  
Do you think you'll get respect, if your hair is wild and out of line?  People are going to think that you have lost your mind.
Do you think you'll get respect with your pants hanging off you hips?  Since it looks so disrespectful, people think you have flipped.
Do you think you'll get respect, if your mouth is not clean?  Then you will began to wonder, why aren't people seen?
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

THERE ARE PEOPLE LEAVING THIS WORLD, FROM USING CRACK-*******.  THEY NO LONGER HAVE ANY MORE CELLS, TO USE FOR THEIR WORN OUT BRAIN.
MANY THINK IT'S REALLY FUN TO USE, WHILE HANGING OUT WITH THEIR FRIENDS.  WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN, WHEN MEMORY IS LOST, IN THE VERY END?
KEEP ON USING CRACK-*******, TO GET THAT TEMPORARILY HIGH.  THERE MIGHT BE A FEW FRIENDS  STILL HANGING AROUND, WATCHING YOU DIE!
SOME PEOPLE USE CRACK-*******, JUST TO START THEIR DAY.  WHY NOT EXCHANGE IT FOR ETERNAL PEACE, WHEN YOU SINCERELY BOW AND PRAY?
BY, AUTHOR & POET,  SANDRA JUANITA NAILING

Remember, you are not married to your In-Laws, only their daughter or son.  It's important you attend to your affairs, and only your business run.
If you find that there will be trouble, it's best to stay your distance.  You must shun at all cost, any form of resistance.
Your In-Laws may not understand, but aim to keep the peace.  When you see any confusion arise, quickly let it cease.
Never let your In-Laws control your peaceful home.  If you allow this to happen, you will end up all alone.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Just think for days there is excitement in the air.  Your bags are all packed, and joy is everywhere.
Finally, the day come, for you to board the ship. You are making sure that you are careful, so you do not trip.
While everything is running smooth, the Noro Virus is in the air.  If only the people knew, this ship would be bare.
People are beginning to feel strange, as if something is going wrong.  The Noro Virus is about to hit, bringing the people harm.
Once the ship arrived back home, the people are very glad.  Remember not to mention the word "Cruise," this will make the people mad!
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

There are those who are rebellious, just because they want to be.  They will defy every word you said, and resist the things you see.
There are those who are rebellious, going about doing their own thing.  They are the ones who prepares for a confrontation, gathering in a large ring.
There are those who are rebellious, they love to run their mouth and talk back.  They have one objective in mind, and it's to cause you to crack.
There are those who are rebellious, staying out late at night.  Once they return back home again, all they want to do is fight.
There are those who are rebellious, who neglect to apologize.  They enjoy hurting you, bringing tears to your eyes.
With a rebellious person, just put him into the hands of God.  He is such a mighty man of muscles, he'll make the rebellious person sob.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Your body is a beautiful Masterpiece, "Fearfully and Wonderfully" made.  If properly taken care of, it will slowly fade.
Your body is a beautiful Masterpiece, from your head to your last toe.  It will be observed by everyone, everywhere you go.
Your body is a beautiful Masterpiece, it should have the best of care.  Don't forget about good hygiene, to your body and your hair.  
Your body is a beautiful Masterpiece, to present to the entire World.  You will be admired by everyone, every man, woman, boy, and every precious girl.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

There is no longer any privacy, in this world where we live.  To constantly be watched by the government, and other elite Marketers is something against our will.
There is no longer any privacy, in whatever we say and do.  There is so many things against us, trying to defeat me and you.
There is no longer any privacy, as if we are being controlled.  Marketers have all types of information on us, they have information new, and information that's old.
There is no longer privacy, our lives don't have a chance.  Marketers have so much information on us, they did this far in advance.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing

Just as the Seasons change, so do our lives.  In order to function in these Seasons, one will have to be wise.
Just as the Seasons change, we grow one year older.  As our teenagers matures, they will become bolder.
Just as the Seasons change, you'll experience different types of  weather.  In the Winter months, inside is where people gather.
Just as the Seasons change, so many can't wait for Spring.  People attitude may become better, they may not act so mean.
Just as the Seasons change, Summer finally rolls around.  People constantly peel away their clothes, throwing them onto the ground.
By, Author & Poet, Sandra Juanita Nailing

There are sick teachers, disrespecting our youth.  When they are caught, they lie not telling us the truth.
There are sick teachers, who suppose to be teaching in our Schools.  Yet, they are behind the scene, breaking all the rules.
There are sick teachers, leaving their families behind.  They have chosen to mess around, rather than use their mind.
There are sick teachers, being put into jail.  If they plan to continue this life style, no one need to pay their bail.
By, Sandra Juanita Nailing