THE AMERICAN DREAM

We say the American dream is over,

this statement is not entirely true.

Look around, the dream still exists,

but only for an elite select few.

Those willing to plunder our resources

destroying quality life, mind and hand,

profiting by the misfortune of others

polluting rivers, lakes and our land.

They deem this destruction progress,

I say it's almighty dollar in command.

Our jobs shipped to factories in China,

while homeless set forlorn in the sand.

Many have lost homes, been evicted,

work at low paid jobs when they can.

Mortgage defaults by the thousands,

each day more join the jobless band.

Speculators predicting future recovery

are buying up these foreclosure homes,

profiting from the misfortune of others

the victim looking for shelter he roams.

We no longer call hard times depression,

recession holding a much softer tone.

Description makes but little difference,

jobless, homeless, stripped to the bone.

THE AUCTION

A gray haired lady sits in a rocker

on her face a near blank stare.

Her glazed eyes fix on a window

as a crowd now gathers there.

Her husband passed on last year,

her children no one can find,

a stroke now leaves her silent

near helpless and weak of mind.

The auctioneer begins his chant

holding items high in his hand,

her life’s belongings he will sell

to the highest bidder from his stand.

Who’ll start the bid on these old jars?

Some with glass lids, most are blue.

Did I here someone say one dollar?

Oh! Come on now do I hear two?

The old ladies hands begin to tremble

her fingers warped by work and time,

her tired hands had filled those old jars

to sell them would seem short of crime.

Here we have a row of box lots

in each treasures untold you’ll find.

Highest bidder will take first pick

the rest each same price, if of a mind.

Now we move on to the fire arms.

Quickly! No time to dally long.

The owner kept them oiled and clean,

each gun he cherished, now he’s gone.

Soon the outside grounds were empty,

selling what’s left inside won’t take long.

Left only antiques and family keepsakes,

and her life’s possessions shall be gone.

By now my mind begins to question

how can life be so cruel, unfair?

A rag doll lay upon an antique table

with rosy cheeks and red yarn hair.

The old lady's head turned slowly

tears filling her saddened eyes,

her aging fingers clutched the doll

a spark of memory seemed to rise.

“Raggedy Ann” from an old rag bag

stuffed with love by someone dear,

was a gift from her sweet mother

held to her heart year after year.

A man's voice echoed from the crowd,

come on“auction off that doll and chair.”

“I don’t want old grandma in the deal,”

such unkind remark, faces turned to stare.

Auctioneers deal with such cutting words

become quite callous and often hard,

only one bid on the doll and chair

then no hands, no bids, no card.

The auctioneer's heart softened

with quivering voice and in tears,

he placed the final bid himself,

"The doll and chair are yours my dear."

WILDLIFE AND HABITAT

With a heart full of love for nature

it is not hard for me to see,

with wildlife habitat dwindling

it will soon come but memory.

Immigrant population now crowding

still our government brings in more,

searching for homes, resource and food

we can bid wild land goodbye for sure.

Thought I could make a difference

purchased a hundred acres in one spot.

With the advice of several agencies

made a pond, planted trees, food lot.

Noticing within a few short years

my efforts had gained me naught,

what game the poachers didn’t steal

my surrounding neighbors shot.

They killed hawks, owls, ducks, heron,

coyote, coot, marsh hens, bobcat,

shot squirrel, crow’ spike horn, doe,

and squint my old pet blind muskrat.

Trapped skunk coon my project doomed,

captured turtle’s for soup while laying eggs,

shot blue jays, doves cooing their love,

stole mushrooms in sacks and bags.

Broke the beaver dam opened the lodge

this flooded turkey nesting flats,

washed out trees eroded stream banks,

floated old garbage down in mats.

Liberal game laws killed the red fox.

Extended season killed the last pat.

Everything that leaves my acreage

is shot, stomped or car crushed flat.

Never time to fish my private pond

but someone found time for theft.

Bullheads, three frogs, one old snake

I find is about all that I have left.

Spray programs for moths and weeds

killed off butterflies, bees and bat,

left me one old crippled grasshopper

and Im gonna try and fish with that.

The law refuses to get involved

D.N.R., D.E.Q., Police all under staffed,

seems I’m never on the winning team,

but the one who gets the shining shaft.

I’d put my land in conservancy,

save the flowers and trees so grand,

but with my luck new laws would pass

granting developers theft of such land.

Long as big money runs our government

little chance in saving, public and private land

for wild life, recreation or natural resources.

HEREAFTER/GOLDEN YEARS

As I near the end of my golden years

when my soul from body vacates,

I ponder over the Hereafter life

many questions to me this creates.

Some say we meet departed friends

inside of a beautiful golden gate,

will this include their old friends?,

many of them I could not take.

I wonder if married more than once

you meet your departed wives up there,

which one of them will wear your ring,

or up in Hereafter don't they care?

Will our souls be dressed or bare?,

I hope at least we wear a shroud.

Of course we could conceal our selves

in the silver lining of a cloud.

Will I know how to play a harp

so I can join Hereafter's band.

Shall I be fitted with silver wings

that obey my flap command?

Eight million years souls have winged

their way to join Hereafter's throng,

I hope Hereafter has a lot of room

to crowd, push, and shove is wrong.

Now this barely tips the iceberg

of the many questions I behold.

What will Hereafter's climate be

chilly, warm, wet, hot or cold?