She still tries to Fly
Ideals for which so many have died
We are much better than things seem today
Let’s come together
And create a new way
Soulful Image Posts
She still tries to Fly
Ideals for which so many have died
We are much better than things seem today
Let’s come together
And create a new way
I came on a ship One of the last To have lived the American dream Saddened now Headlines of demise Sullen swollen eyes As children scream No longer an American dream
He carried a toolbox
Leaving the ship
Carpenter
Tradesman
Irish brogue
Hardened hands
Big Heart
My Father
Opportunity in America
Welcoming Union
One job then the next
Day after Day
Building a life, a foundation
Soon another ship
My Mother and I arrive
A new land
He toiled
Building homes
Providing shelter
Paving the way to University
A better life for a son
I’ve been blessed
67 years later
I am the American dream
But today as I survey the scene
DACA denied
Immigrants denied
History denied
Leaving the ship
Carpenter
Tradesman
Irish brogue
Hardened hands
Big Heart
My Father
Opportunity in America
Welcoming Union
One job then the next
Day after Day
Building a life, a foundation
Soon another ship
My Mother and I arrive
A new land
He toiled
Building homes
Providing shelter
Paving the way to University
A better life for a son
I’ve been blessed
67 years later
I am the American dream
But today as I survey the scene
DACA denied
Immigrants denied
History denied
Lies not Facts
White House Racist
Vile underbelly
America unable
America Afraid
America the Beautiful
The Golden Rule
Rise up we must
Brothers all
To win the fight
I am an immigran
White House Racist
Vile underbelly
America unable
America Afraid
America the Beautiful
The Golden Rule
Rise up we must
Brothers all
To win the fight
I am an immigran
So must do right
Astonishing. Getting older and older, I still stand here at this window, watching as if never having watched anything like it before—the wrens, juncos, and purple finches picking the seeds strewn on the pile of frozen snow. Through my breath condensing into fog on the cold window pane, I still see bare branches chasing their shadows in the icy wind, black threads of water crinkling through fissures in the frozen river. I am aware that what I am seeing is no more, no less than the great Mystery, that of being here at all, that of seeing it—as from the other side of a mirror—snow, birds, my breath still condensing, that breath that started so long ago as my first cry.
FREDERICK FRANCK
I have lived in the world of men Conspicuously constructed No trace of god Flowers in the field unnoticed Vultures circle Nature lost Yet a light A lifted soul Not rooted in concrete Nourished by jungle Energized by wind As sand slips through the hourglass Man's construct soon undone Mother Nature Our Nature We are one
Train a blazing down the tracks Passengers busy inside their heads Blinded to the world outside Burning, Burning
On the Fringe Sound of River Shadow of Mountains Scent of Pine On the Fringe Alone