They were Meriwether Lewis and William Clark,
Her name was Sacagawea.
On an expedition they did embark
Finding the passage to the sea.
Down the Missouri they traveled,
Then slithered 'round the Snake River bend.
Rocky Mountain weather and sickness battled;
At the Columbia River they'd end.
©2013 Honestly JT
She's highly sophisticated and full of undefiled wisdom
Yet a crowned Duchess in a paradise kingdom
Quite a beautiful angel flying with black wings
Covered in gold jewelry and precious things
She dresses like the women of ancient Egyptian class
Her wealth is generous and her money grows like grass
She loves orange scented candles with dark room flame
She rules thirty legions of soldiers and Bune is her name
Her comely warrior voice can wake and relocate the dead
Her armies of soldiers gather around the cemetery
She is brave and deserves a princessly crown on her head
Her facility of speech and flair for words is legendary
A beautiful queen to be treated with respect and honor
Instead of blasphemy,wanton abuse and fictional horror
Alas there is no more confusion,
finally found my last conclusion.
Expect me as if Jesus will return,
from a ghost to a realm of concern.
Your dreams are portals like doors,
welcoming spirits into hasten wars.
Leaving the thoughts without trust,
keeping your fears in much disgust.
And though you sought no consequence,
deeds that confirm a wicked malevolence.
Awaiting in your nightmare of screams,
enjoy what is left amongst your dreams.
I see a meadow,
Simple and plain,
But it speaks to me,
And it speaks of the fallen men,
And all its seen slain.
Flowers bloom at its edge,
Seems of a comforting place,
But it spoke to me,
It spoke of the war,
Man to man, race to race,
From its edges to beyond the ever far.
Only green, green grass,
But I can see it now,
Red blood upon the field,
And the courage the men must wield.
I can hear the shouts,
From the broken meadow,
From all it has seen,
It shall never forget,
What it must clean.
Blood soaked meadow,
Bodies beneath the earth,
Where war was once fought,
Is now a place of mirth.
No one knows,
Only the meadow and I,
Of the many horrid things,
That took place that day.
I look below me,
For the fallen and dead,
As the tears beckon my sleeve.
As lonely as it may seem,
And the beauty it now holds,
We know the truth,
So I sit, and never move,
As the rest of its story unfolds.
I can see it all,
I shall never forget.
Another shall pass,
To see a meadow,
Simple and plain,
And I will rise,
To tell them of those who had been slain.
Might this be a wonder,
Might this be a sunder,
Might this be the blocker,
Might this be the warder,
Might there be a plunder,
Might it pass the border,
Might there be a dweller,
Might they be lodgers,
Should they be squatters,
Should they be trespassers...
Might they squander,
Might it scatter,
Might this be a sputter,
Might there be a clutter,
Moght there be to many clusters,
Might this be the controller
Mightit get power...?
Might these be handlers,
Might these be forcers,
Might these be the squashers,
Might these be the breakers,
Breaking some of the order...
Might this be a night,
Going to a wretched midnight,
Coming from a raging twilight,
Until these be ended, throughout nighttime,
Later waking from our bedtime,
Maybe dying to see the morning light,
Might this be happening tonight...?
Might there be a knight,
Might there be a fight,
Waiting for a shining might,
Coming from some rainbow's light,
coming slight from the nighttime,
With some waiting for their fly...
Might these fight the ghouls,
Might they get to their goal,
Might this vanish some ghosts,
Whom want all of our souls...
Might this be other things,
Might these be the lives of life,
With some asking, might these be I...?
I do not know?
Its the way the breeze whispers
across my skin
and the sun caresses
in his warmth
its the way you love me
even when you’re not here
Drained to my very heart by our slow-paced arrival,
I wander through tasteless decor to the metal arches
Beyond which a future is unfurled.
My bag’s innards are spilled like blood in the Bible
Before the cold gaze of the armed man who marches;
He holds the key to this new world.
The mechanistic arch stands and takes quasi-sentience
Beside passport control, piercing my finely popped
Eardrums with sonic solemnity.
I am refused by technology but stagger forward hence
Into baggage claim where a suitcase pile is propped
Up like a holiday Tetris calamity.
My suitcase is soul black and with difficulty is found,
In its lucid eagerness to fasten itself a faux family;
Airports are filled with pretences.
Now we are away again, small trolley safe and sound,
On the road from snow, heat is where I plan to be.
Our intrepid journey commences...
Venus politely introduced herself to the passing soldier ant,
The ant did gaze for long, at the pretty crimson plant-
The ant was impressed by Venus's beauty, and listened to her talk,
And even thought them pretty, the seven leaves upon her stalk-
Not to go unnoticed, were the fine spindles that lined her door,
The ant felt no more splendor, could a beautiful plant ask for-
After admiring her looks, the ant started a friendly chat,
And very soon thereafter, landed a shiny green little gnat-
Venus's eyes diverted away from her newly made ant friend,
"Let's get together next week, then more time together we'll spend-
I have many things to do, before the sun lays down to rest,"
The ant walked away, turned around, and blew a kiss before it left-
Venus stared at the ant until it disappeared from her sight,
The shiny green little gnat was still there, never thinking to take flight-
"Come a little closer," she said, "My eyesight is kind of poor,"
The little green gnat did what she asked, then entered the pretty front door-
Venus had a wonderful sleep, her stomach was full and content,
Garden guests danced all around - they knew her energy was spent-
Venus slept in for almost a week, she had really enjoyed her guest,
Now the sun peeked over from the east, waking the flowers from their rest-
The crimson lady yawned, then smiled to greet the new day,
The birds alerted the garden bugs, it was time to get away-
It was late in the afternoon, when the soldier ant again came by,
Venus noticed it right away, from the corner of her eye-
"I was worried you wouldn't return," she said with a charming grin,
"You're so good looking, I missed you, why don't you please come in?"
The ant hesitated, standing not too close to her side,
"Good morning pretty lady," he said, "but I'm afraid I told you a lie-
I never break a promise, but the queen has called for me,
Tomorrow would be a better day, for us together to be-"
The soldier ant stared at Venus, never once blinking either eye,
Something seemed not quite right, and it couldn't figure out why-
As the ant was about to leave, there landed a butterfly moth,
It noticed that from Venus's door, came a bit of bubbly froth-
Venus quickly flattered the ant and then politely rushed it away,
Turning to the moth she said, "Won't you come in and play?"
The next day the ant came back, with Venus it wanted to talk,
But her door was tightly closed, so around the garden it walked-
There was chattering all around, about the "lady" going to sleep,
One of the garden bugs said aloud, "We'll be safe for about a week!"
The ant noticed other plants had company on them or very near,
Other than some faint outlines, Venus's area was exceptionally clear-
After marching around, the ant thought "What am I missing here?"
"There's something very suspect about the crimson lady, I fear,"
Then lightning fast, a memory flash, about a poem the queen once read,
About a fly, tricked with flattering words, ended up in a spider's den dead-
There was something strange, about those outlines on the ground,
Upon closer inspection, the soldier ant was startled by what it found!
There could be no denying now, about what Venus liked to eat,
And invitations to "please come in" had been spoken with deceit-
The ant was sure that those who obliged, were taken by surprise,
And felt a terrible sadness about, how they came to meet their demise-
The soldier ant had learned what's important, when making a brand new friend,
It's not the beauty on the outside that counts, but only the beauty within!
I'd buy Stars And Stripes on Thursdays
To plan Saturday's volksmarch trip.
Vineyards along the Mozel,
On bluffs above castles,
Thru medieval towns;
This Sergeant loved
I do not know?
We are toys who are owned and played!
He was trapped so we paid.
We paid that price over and over.
Our childhood is over!
We have to fight.
We have little right.
We are soldiers in a home of war.
We exist no more.
We just survive in his world.
Our emotions are twirled.
We don’t know what to feel.
We don’t know what’s real.
We are smaller in size and age.
But we can’t escape our lively cage.
Our lives just got a lot colder.
We are the toy soldiers.