A Leader for the Millennium

     Jim Clifford

The nation was shot and gone to hell
We needed someone to lead us well
A him or her, it didn't matter
As long as there's all that chatter
On the right shows

They must be in love, but not so old
fashioned they'd be married.
Someone with a partner would be good.
Loving animals and the outdoors
would also be a good pitch
No need to be rich.

Don't give a thought to wealth,
but they'd have to be big on health
Would all this be too much to ask?
Would it confuse your task?
To come up with a non-smoker,
Not a joker, a serious type,
No vulgarian, maybe even
a vegetarian?

The information was fed into a
computer that seemed to take forever as it
went through history's hall of fame and shame
But at last it came up with the name

"Adolf Hitler is your ticket to fame"
Oh, no, the wizards yelled,
Hitler will never do
Oh, yes, came the reply
He's the man for you

Isn't there
Someone else?
Some great power in reserve?
You're forgetting, the computer said,
That people get the leaders they deserve

Poets of August

The Poets of August                             By                      James O. Clifford, Sr.     "The Guns of August," the history teacher said.   That's the place to begin.   The book captures the heart of at least the start   of a war no one could win.    The prof lied.    Too many died for prose to do.    To really hear the beating heart    "The Poets of August" is the best place to start.    Don't bother to look.    There's no book of  that name      on the poets killed in the war.    Many, oh so many, whose pens will rhyme no more.    For now, a poem will do.    A poem written by a fool like me.    Only God could make Joyce Kilmer,    no matter what the scholars think of "Trees."    Kilmer died late. Killed by hate      so vicious no one thought we'd see its likes again.    He joined a long line of men: Brooke, Seeger, McCrae,    Sorley, Thomas, Rosenberg and Owen,    who said it best in "Dulce et Decorum Est."    Today, even Ph.D.s don't know what to say    when asked what WWI was called before WWII.    The World War, the Great War is the best they can do.    The poets knew.    It was the War to End All War.    Too bad it wasn't true.         ##

Apr 3

Jul 7

Me

To

Sep 1

 Show message history

Reply, Reply All or Forward | More

Click to reply all

Send

In Remembrance Of Our Dear Friend,  Dr Roger Wiley, M.D.

 

The Sounds

               The Sounds

Once my life was filled with noise
A neighbor clanking dishes
While I tried to sleep
The shouts of children
Engrossed in play
When I tried to study or write.
Arguments between spouses
Loud or soft
Many languages stirred in
I heard it all
No insulation within our walls.
Now, I've moved
Quiet is what I sought
Now I have it
Day and night.
Yes, the birds do sing
Flowers and plants do grow
A car passes slowly by
Occasionally a phone will ring
I hear a plane pass by high in the sky
Or the traffic on the highway near by.
I never thought I'd miss
The clatters or the shouts
Of life going on around me
Until they are no longer come.
Now that I've moved on
To a quiet place where noise is lost
Where the closing of closet
Breaks the silence just a little.

Clara Clackum - 8/2013

Say What?

                                                            SAY WHAT?

You begin life with only the ability to cry, gurgle, and perhaps make some other indistinct sounds. As an infant you quickly learn that body language can substitute for the absence of language skills. Next you learn the power of the simple word NO. So many ways to use NO to voice your concerns. At pre-school level, the spoken word becomes the number one form to communicate; utilizing body language for emphasis. Bi-lingual children have a distinct advantage with twice the opportunity for making themselves understood. As education progresses, the written word gains importance. Our world expands from the community into a global situation.

I grew up in a small town, with limited travel, and without any global awareness. The levels of communication were quite simple.There was talking, whispering, silence, yelling, bullhorns, sirens, written words via letters, notes, magazines, books, sign language, photographs, sky writing, and the telephone. Not to be forgotten, the two tin cans and a string. Let's also not forget the unspoken communication called “The Look”. That stare bestowed on a child for some misdeed was a clear, clear communication. No words were ever needed to know you were in some sort of trouble. My father was a master of that look. Well into my twenties he still had the capacity to stop me cold with that look. It was never explained. You were suppose to know what it was all about. At times I got it totally wrong and confessed to something far worse than he had originally intended for that look to expose. I admit I learned that trait well from my father and used it rearing my own children. It did not lose any power over the years.

Nowadays, there are so many other ways to communicate including Email, twitter, SMART phones, texting, video conferencing, Skype, Blogs and YouTube. Emails, Facebook, and cell phones are a wonderful way to keep in touch with friends however, there is nothing sweeter than getting a letter or note in the mail. I love seeing handwriting on the envelope, knowing the message inside will be just for me. Call me old-fashioned but I hope the art of handwritten messages never dies out. It is so personal because it shows someone took the time to gather the notepaper or card, write out words of caring, locate a stamp, and get it into the postal system. This type communication will always be my favorite.

“What a lot we lost when we stopped writing letters. You can't reread a phone call.”

Liz Carpenter – (1920- ) American Writer and Feminist

The Subject Line Becomes The Title Of Your Post

Any formatting you make in your email will show in your blog posting.

Come on you guys, show me what ya got !

Yours truly,

that annoying little leprechaun

Ginsberg was Here

Nowl
By Jim Clifford

I saw the best minds of my generation
sit in coffee shops
laptops propped up like rows of tombstones.
They stare down, as if visiting a cemetery.
I hear Eleanor Rigby’s "look at all
the lonely people."

Imagine a world free of Holy Mother Media
and its Ministry of Truth
It’s easy if you try.

What a Brave New World
where the first cell was a phone.

They walk the streets like zombies,
eyes dead, talking to themselves.

Readers from "Fahrenheit 451" ?
No. They are not memorizing books
which will be burned 
for taking up space and trees.