Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

 You tell your sons, “Be good, be kind, And if they threaten you, don’t mind Or else they’ll find a cause to hurt or kill you.”   Tell your daughters, “Please take care, Don’t let them catch you unaware, Or bear forever that with which they fill you.”   Tell your fathers, “Don’t complain At life, the world will give no gain, Just strife to stain the path you tread unwilling.”   Tell the mothers, “Only weep For only time will tell where we Like sheep will now be herded for their ‘shilling.’”   Tell the proud and powerful, “Pay The price. Pretend no more to pray, But stay and see the broken lives fulfilling All your lies” – destroying love, Denying hope in God above, Defining law, a gunshot, done… …Unstill me.

  I believe black lives matter. No, that doesn't make me a baby-killer or anti-family (really?) as somebody claimed on Facebook. I believe LGBTQ lives matter. And I'm not an atheist as someone else insisted. I believe the Bible matters . That means I read it and pray it; I don't use it to beat up my neighbors or prop up my photograph. I believe immigrants matter . That doesn’t make me un-American. The judge who welcomed me to citizenship told me immigrants matter. I believe refugees matter. And I'm not a lawbreaker. I believe the homeless matter, and the hungry, and those evicted because they’re sick or they’ve lost their jobs and can’t pay the rent. I believe the physical health of the community and all its members matters, regardless of wealth and good fortune. I believe wearing masks can save lives.  I'm not drinking the kool-aid; I'm respecting the scientists who've spent their lives learning about epidemics. I believe the earth matter...

“Mom, why do we burn the Guy?” “Because he didn’t burn parliament.” “Does that mean we wish he’d succeeded then?” While fireworks burn the sky. Written with thanks for history and politics

In a world of rigid classes the rich Lorded over the rest of us; Our problems weren’t theirs. In a world of new beginnings the wise Poured tea into the harbor and declared, Demanded, their share. In a world of high finances the rich Say ’tain’t none of my business.

They’ll change the world with their words, with their recital of others’ words, with their endless urge like tides to make more words. They’ll change if they can ever agree, or nothing changes, like waves washed under the sea. Change it; change everything; keep it the same. Time’s changing too.

“Pink!” said the teacher. He pointed to the map. “Pink! All those parts that are pink belong to us.” He waved his hands. He smiled at the sun that streamed through the window’s dull glass. “And that, Class, is why they say ‘The sun never sets on her Empire.’ Yes, children. It’s pink!” “Pinko Communist twit,” the little boy insulted his friend. And the world was a different shade these days, the maps redrawn, the old globes gathering dust. The sun rises and sets rust-red and old books lie unread. The leaders think, “Let’s spread democracy,” but is it pink?

The rich man had vacation plans. The poor man lost his job. The rich man’s friends suggested help but he said not today. Then, while he enjoyed his island paradise, the poor man went to The Paradise instead. The rich man died and went to Hell. But the poor man lived so well, the rich man asked if someone could warn his friends. God replied, “If they’ve not got it yet, they won’t understand even if the dead rise to tell them.” So Hell grew hot and crowded. The needle’s eye shrank. And a mill-wheel sank in eternity’s dank depths.

I have a dream that the sun will shine but all around it’s raining. I have a dream, water into wine, but the muddy ground’s blood-staining. There's a wiser dream; five-thousand feed from loaves and fishes three; Five-thousand plead and the fortunate few supply them with all they need. I have a dream but the wine’s untrue and the hour grows late until The great divide, growing deep and wide, devours the dreamer. Will We watch while the falling world descends or will we dream as well? I have a dream of a nightmare’s end and time alone will tell.

“I had a dream,” said the child. “What sort?” “A bad one.” “How?” "I dreamed that people were red white and blue, but the green ones were always in charge. I dreamed that hair was black white and gray, and eyes were sky-blue pink — even knew what it looked like — with polka-dot borders. But if you didn’t have polka-dots no-one ever listened to you, and you never got green.” “It was only a dream; go to sleep,” said the mother. So the child went to sleep and Mom read the news where the green ones told her what to do.