Image by Steve on Broadway

Our Red White and Blue,
Constitution, Bill of Rights,
Freedom, left to You.

Seize Your legacy!
Hold all Rights in fisted hand,
Fight to retain them!

TPTB
work hard to seize them from You.
Respond:  MAKE MY DAY!

Make July 4th count
for future generations.
IT IS YOUR DUTY!

Copyright © Janet Leigh, 5.25.09.  All Rights Reserved.

Image by loquerion on Photobucket

“Angel” of the Earth
Rises into Father’s arms
free from earthly woes.

Exuberant one
passes from Life’s trials and tests
to heavenly rest.

Copyright © Janet Leigh, 5.25.09.  All Rights Reserved.

Shrouded, our Great
troubled tragic Magic Man-
child enters his rest,

unexpectedly,
sudden, unbelievable.
Your demise shocks all.

Eccentric or mad
like crazy bat in belfry-
who cares?  Now, beat it!

Man-child was music
personified, a thriller
killer dance on toes.

Michael,

now hear this! Your Star,
Your Life, shines forevermore-
like a thousand suns.

Rest in peace, Michael.
I look past your dark boy flaws-
Embrace your genius.

.

Copyright © Janet Leigh, 5.25.09.  All Rights Reserved.

“If only the world knew,
We would have done something.”
from Mia Farrow‘s Darfur blog, 4.13.09

Ohh, we know the plight of the Darfuri, all right.
As we sleep tight in our feather beds at night,
little Darfuri feet are on the beat
scavenging imaginary streets between rows
of tents bent inward fighting for structure,
sculpting organization out of raw air dreams
paved in dust.

Like many others, for me Darfur is more like a story
read once or twice, images suffice, and horror
is taken in small bites,
no different than eating grubs hurriedly
on an empty stomach perhaps
a dust ball between sheets of newspaper
sandwich a meal to read over first;
later the dying emerge as a dream scene,
clawing nailless into the ground looking for water
who thirst for death come quickly.

The sickly ones rival dust-covered flat field color of pale tents
their flapping side ribs sticking out,
extended belly called home but the line was busy
tending to the dead and dying.

Lying, if we said we didn’t know.
Doing something is always agonizingly slow
for those without means or a way
to make a difference,
moreover, the elite may,
and choose oratory instead.
The mighty and powerful claim
powerless over sovereign country Heads
of State,
but make war preemptively post haste.

Sound of clarion calls peal the air,
a brother’s keeper stands out, where
even the brave fear to tread among the million
dead.

Momma Mia, momma of the brave indeed.
Heard the cry of a People hoarse desperate doomed
in need
of a multitude of Momma Mias who plea
for Darfur’s living remnant
marooned off the shores of sand sea;
I beg of you
to do.
Reading, pleading, seeding thoughts anew
are not enough.

Demand our President stand by his word.*

.

Copyright © Janet Leigh, 5.26.09. All Rights Reserved.

*Mia Farrow’s 5.19.09 blog entry

“A stain on our souls”

2007, then-candidate Barack Obama [my emphasis] said: “When you see a genocide, whether it’s in Rwanda or Bosnia or in Darfur, that’s a stain on all of us,” he said. “That’s a stain on our souls.”

And one from him as a junior Senator at the big DC rally in 2006:

“Today we know what is right, and today we know what is wrong. The slaughter of innocents is wrong. Two million people driven from their homes is wrong. Women gang raped while gathering firewood is wrong. And silence, acquiescence and paralysis in the face of genocide is wrong.”

Ordinary men
act extraordinary,
fierce purpose prevails.

A band of brothers
fight to the death for each other
and the world-at-large.

War, like it or not,
determines one’s survival.
“Life” does not take sides.

Peace is an ideal;
easier said than done, right?
Honor our fallen.

Life is war with peace;
there is no Peace-permanent
’til heaven’s on Earth.

All Armed Services
remind me their loyalty:
one Band of Brothers.

Stark reality
sinks in – strangers died for me!
It’s Life’s greatest gift.

Nation under God,
One Purpose, One way of Life:
All Brother’s Keepers.

I bow to fallen
soldiers past, present, future:
Reverence unfolds.

.

Copyright © Janet Leigh, 5.25.09. All Rights Reserved.

Tears picture by hazelh3 on Photobucket
.

I believe I drank from Cup of Despair
hidden hung on Life’s abundant tree -
or it found me – hiding in low bough shadows
cringing – naked alone on the Human knee.

There’s a life out there in the mirey clay;
broken, left wandering listless long of late, riding
a big black storm on a cloudless day.

Universal music weaves in and out the air;
my instrument of Life pants breathless,
a struggling note blown out of tune.

My Sky Room is vast and mysterious;
on Celestial shelf near the stars and moon
float space junk: my unsung accomplishments.

I mourn the work left in Life undone;
my portion measures the least of them,
good intentions never count for much.

Now the tongue likes to claim my best – tho
my works – a life lived in superficiality and jest.
I’m told.
I’ve – colored my life Rusted Tin – in watery lies
little white sins some thoughtless whim – I’ve
smothered my candle from within.

God’s precious gift grows worn – O lowly worm
now – lost in lost loves lost dreams I squirm I scream;
nothing will cover my unworthy past or sins.

Some place away somewhere now at bay
lay lost souls like me alone afraid
fearful of base waste soiled Bed We Made.

Thinking, take this cup from me!
Born torn cloth never made whole;
Thy lowly limb severed from Life’s tree,
my impoverished love my mother sin,
my heart adrift unforgiven upon your sea.

Let this be what defines your hidden me;
a dam holding back a river tear
falling from an ocean eye.
.

Copyright © 2009 by Janet Leigh.  All Rights Reserved.

Revised: 5.7.09

Photo by ArtByLinda’s Lensography

To mothers who mourn
loss of estranged grown children:
We will get through this!

Mother’s love attracts;
homing hearts will find their own
in God’s own good time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

NOTE: My dear readers, I’ll be taking some time away from blogging as I’m having a little bit of a difficult time lately. I didn’t want anyone to be concerned about my short absence in view of the Cup of Despair piece, which surely reflects my present state of mind.  And, I really need to spend some time going around to all your wonderful blogs which have been sorely missed by moi.  I can’t seem to  multitask these days, i.e. compose, write, respond and visit your blogs like I used to; I’m worn out (which I’m sure is temporary and due to having too much on my plate, of late) and I need to go at a slower pace.  Also, I’ll be leaving for CT on Friday to spend some days with my mother and won’t have access to a computer, sigh..:(   So, I’ll be hitting your blogs when I get back..:)  Love to you All!  Happy Mother’s Day to all my mother-cyberfriends/readers!  You’re very special whether or not it is expressed by those closest to you.  Being a parent is the hardest job there is.  We do the best we can with what we have at the time, emotionally, financially and spiritually.   However, even the most astute, adept, and/or “perfect” mother may have an ungrateful child/children.  Eureka! It’s not solely/souly your doing! Each individual is born with their own genetic pattern and may not resemble you mentally, intellectually, or spiritually.  Take heart!  Pray for reconciliation, then Let Go and Let God.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On Children

And a woman who held a babe against her bosom said,
Speak to us of Children.
And he said:
Your children are not our children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit,
not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might that His arrows
may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

–Kahlil Gibran, author of The Prophet

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

If you love someone, set them free. If they come back they’re yours; if they don’t they never were. –Richard Bach