the farce of fear

what if the power to prevail

prevailed first in thought

what if our arms race

raced to lend a hand

of help

and an ear yearning

to heal

what if we were

to imagine and live

only one race

the human race

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G-Men Pride – We Wear It Still

We came from Across the Tracks and Between the Bridges.  Places with names like Springville, Falls Mills, Sedgewood, West Graham and Pine Hill Park.  We came from in town and out in the country and we gathered at the Double Gates.  Why?  To become men.  To become G-Men. The day the dream began.  Some of …

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Ali

Like him or not, agree or disagree, his words and his actions made us think, and for that we are better. Greater perhaps.

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Sergeant Riley’s Absence

Windswept leaves dance across the Wild Meadow Cemetery in a random swirl and suddenly all is calm.   Perhaps the end was that sudden nearly seventy-two years ago when Sergeant Mark Herman Riley breathed his last breath on a battlefield in New Guinea.    It was July 1944. Little is known of that fateful day.  A letter …

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To Choreograph Perfection

Perfection is perhaps Impossible To choreograph First It must season For many Many years Until The precise blend Of circumstance Aligns Amidst the glorious Backdrop of autumn The scene A special place We called home There are smiles And hugs Laughter and maybe Tears And memories born So many autumns Prior With friends to last …

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In Fields We Play

In Fields We Play by Joe Cundiff In the stillness of night And on the early morning Mountain ridges And dark river banks I shall miss you still You became and would Become So much of my soul My being Together we shared More than one life Could bear Together we trod Amidst darkness And …

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The Wind My Soul

The Wind My Soul By Joe Cundiff   The wind is howling howling The wind is growling Ripping through my skin The wind is Howling Trees bending bending Bending More But will not break But will I Branches sway in the howling Growling wind Angry waves dancing Angrily randomly And somehow Majestic Yet I stand …

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The Trophy

In all the hours of practice, I had not attempted a shot that remotely resembled the one I was getting ready to take. My knees dug into the earth and innately my upper body leaned forward to compensate for the steep angle of the sloping hillside. Oblivious to the obstacles, instinct prevailed. Peering through the peephole sight, I found the bull. He walked past the tree and stopped. The trophy stood thirty-two yards away, broadside and unobstructed.

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