she held my heart within cupped hands,
caressing its leathered, crimson skin.
with fingers soft & swift
she peeled it layer by layer
littering the ground with rose petals.  

she loved me,
no
she loved me not.

We live in a velvet world
Soft. With comfort. Free.
We've seen only kindness here
Love and liberty
Each person here lives without fear
In health and dignity
There are those less fortunate
Who lived in war's debris
They weep and cry... they may die
Why can't we all see?

(chorus)
They are children bound in prison
Captives from their birth
Bound in chains, there lives restrained
By poverty's black curse
They are poor, and they need more!
They also have worth!
Can't you see? They must be FREE

THE CHILDREN OF THE EARTH

There are those out begging
Those who have no food
Those who have not medicine
Long ago approved
Those who drink of water
From muddy lakes & streams
Also used as toilets
Can you not hear their screams?

(chorus)

I don't want to hurt you
Or put you in shame
You're not the ones who did this
Not personally to blame
Just remember that you have the power
To END this wretched game
All children should play in peace

ALL CHILDREN ARE THE SAME!

Imagine there's a world
Where kids can laugh & play
In the warm, soft meadows
With flowers bright & gay
I will fight for their rights

I LIVE TO SEE THAT DAY

We ALL have RIGHTS AND DIGNITY
Fundamental WORTH!
We'll find a way
To help TODAY

THE CHILDREN OF THE EARTH.


SoulSurvivor
3/25/2017

Cobwebs collected in
four corners , tins reflecting
sunshine along the wooden borders ,
a cash register from the fifties
was ironically up for sale , a mirror
from the sixties , gold leaf shot glasses
glimmered , mason jars and fondue sets ,
a tea service , Corningware plates , thimbles ,
candelabras and goose quill pens shimmered
A mannequin with costume jewelry ,
old Army outfits , icepicks , bread pans and shaving kits
The air was stale , like grandmothers house ,
Several traps within eyeshot in hopes of a mouse ,
The days lunch stood open with late morning coffee
perusing a giant ceiling fan overhead , old time
rockers and brass bed sets
A clerk with bifocals and white apron nursing a wood
pipe with black cherry tobacco ,
A shelf with horehound , licorice and rock candy ,
guitar strings , sewing needles and 'medicinal' blackberry brandy* ..

The right winter
for dope and ice
for walks along the river route
home

The right winter
for arctic pin-***** wind
holes in boots
turquoise dress coat
far too thin
for walks along the river

But The Merrimack couldn’t find her way
when fabric moguls migrated south
Fascinated by nylon nasties
they traded their silks and cottons
for those petro-polyesterdays

While she—
could no more manufacture life
than mint their money
So, they blamed her
Pronounced her—“Dead”
Decried her “*****”

Now—
She wanders sadly under bridges
stopping to eddy in an overhang of birches
In dank canals, I found her sleeping
angered only at the falls

Poor outcast!
with current edge she splinters light
from cities sadder still
retching her oily stench 
        past Plum Island
into the sea— into me

What’re a few warm tears
falling from someplace on a bridge
to the icy waters of the Merrimack?
Rivers get lost in the ocean don’t they?

Let them find each other there

Angel kisses fall downward,
formed from tears welled up,
in sparkling starlit eyes
their sadness rains light,
then they are born again,
into wishes,
and draped heavy,
onto a dark blue midnight canvas,
a crushed velvet curtain,
of twinkling white orbs,
blanketing my nighttime reality.

Ma Cherie © 2017