No, no we're not going to go!
NO to
military force with Syria!! Can this country stay out of another foreign war,
for at least several presidencies??! Can we please go to war with our own
country? Revive our economy, fight poverty, bomb bigotry, raise the middle
class, ameliorate health care, strike out the crap here the plagues us first?
Might does
not have to be might with guns. Nor do we need or have the responsibility to
carry the Big Stick anymore. Seems America enjoys enemy status far too
much...with or without "clear and present danger." And, the U.S.
Military Industrial Complex seems to still be running things. Perhaps and
just perhaps this all about a little big thing called "ego."
Further, how many civil wars are
there in this world? We could barely win our own. Wth, I am so over these wars.
Here's a novel idea...create a new path. The future is not about bombs. And
man, we've got so many problems here. Call me an Isolationist or
Anti-Patriotic, whatever labels doesn't excuse the obvious- we're not taking
care of our own...hey, may I come over and do your laundry? I know I have mine
to do but...
Second article, published today in La Prensa- my trip to Honduras to find my biological family
Second
article, published today in La Prensa- my trip to Honduras to find my
biological family. http://t.co/LImjsNYS
TWO DAYS
AGO, an intrepid reporter from a Honduran newspaper- La Prensa- put my
story on the front page. YESTERDAY, she found my biological father, his
brother...and my sister's mother. TODAY, she is MEETING MY FATHER to ensure
credibility!...AND, she will receive location details about my biological
MOTHER (the woman I have wanted to meet all my life!). Needless to say, I had
an emotional outburst of tears and screaming joy, appalling, I am sure, to the
many at the Beverly Hills cafe. Yesille has also advised me that La Prensa is
accompanying me throughout my entire trip- both in Tegucigalpa and San Pedro
Sula- to do a full story about me and to keep us safe from imposters. I am
floored by this woman. Her fearlessness and dedication is inspiring. She is all
heart and brains.
Unheard Sentences
UNHEARD SENTENCESA poem by Johanna Vanderspool
April 11, 2012Positioned across from you
Like a player ready for the game.
The unheard sentences,
Which ranged of deep affection and stale anger,
Never reached me as they never reached you;
Those unheard sentences, as if unsaid.
My eyes held you steady
Trying to send you codes
Of lingering love, undefeated.
My mouth in protest.
Drinking rum to cope,
To forget the losses; battles lost and won in history.
Dining under candle light in a cosmopolitan charcuterie,
we revisit and revise time;
As two very different strategists.
Truth is but a stranger to counterfeit friends.
Though we toy with it like two cats and a string;
Eager to pounce, or to purr.
Decadent meat lends me your lips; biting.
In truce, I give you my hips; biding.
Any unheard sentences are a New Deal;
Packaged into an enduring lust.
Your sturdy hands lead me to familiar bodies rolling on sheets.
Your words say, I want you.
My reply is, you want me.
Yet, we are in too different rooms
Having opposing ambitions;
Romancing a routinely addiction.
Time allots us only surface in destined distant fate.
We feel, taste, look like mates
That once had souls for each other.
Contrary, we are a man and woman disguised
Saying unheard sentences of now hidden sentiments.
The Cycle of Flowers: a new poem
THE CYCLE OF FLOWERSa new poem by Johanna Vanderspool
February 28, 2012In the beginning...
Every flower blossoms, opening itself to the sun.
Such a sweet flirtation, behaving as if it's there for the long run.
The bloom is so pure and free,
so very attractive indeed.
A gentle hand plucks it up so merrily,
not yet knowing it's often momentarily.
That flower so fragrant and delicious,
Passersby must have it now in their ambition.
The adoree gushes in confidence,
coating the bud with a protectant of benevolence.
Loved, the petals shine so brightly,
glistening with dew mightily.
Yet, quite soon as it is in possession,
All it's beauty is put to unnecessary questions.
In the demand of the human heat,
The flower senses the mistreat.
The lack of appreciation for the design;
the banal understanding of the flower's former shine.
What can a pretty lil petal do but resign.
Unearthed and unwatered, the bud begins to wilt,
with a slim chance to be rebuilt.
Each petal is plucked and discarded,
a mystery seemed figured out, no longer regarded.
The fallen seedlings travel in the wind,
with a hope for a new way to begin.
For in the cycle of flowering,
only time and a genuine harvest is empowering.
There is a never end...
