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We think they cannot feel,We think their made of steel.
But what we think and what we feel, Cannot make a meal.
If we stop and think a minute, We are actually the ones' who did it.
Hunger is a horrible thing, It does not make me wanna sing.
If we stop and take a look, Maybe we'd begin to cook.
For we are the fortunate ones', We are the ones' who weigh tons.
If we cared a little, We could share a little.
And soon they'd be the lucky ones', And I'd hope they would weigh tons.
By Melissa Warren


When sad or down or at your wit's end,
go chuck a bees nest on a friend.
Be sure to let him know that you're only funnin',
when you kick him in the straddle and take off runnin'.
When your friend comes to visit treat him like a guest,
present him with the gift of an angry hornet's nest.
Put a treat in his car his apolstry now reekin',
some nasty Jack Mackerel in a can that is leakin'.
Go catch an ol' witchdoctor and put it in his canteen,
smack it around first to make it MEAN.
Bake him some brownies when he runs out of fuel,
made from the compost of a nasty old mule.
Shove him down stairs and throw him off roofs,
crack him in the skull with a sack full of hooves.
Make fun of his misery,laugh and teehee,
who needs enemies with friends like me.
By David Jackson


You beat all I've ever seen!
You smack me around, which makes me HIDEOUSLY mean!
You, though give me something to look forward to each day.
You care and love and support, and dedicate yourself in every way.
YOU, I love without doubt or question.
With YOU, I receive love without hesitation,
and from YOU, I see my existence on earth before me,
I will give YOU, all I have to offer please see,
hand in hand with YOU, we'll experience all and remember,
my cool water and warmth YOU, in August and December,
a good punch in the arm YOU, play rough but tender,
from spark to flame to roaring blaze YOU, my heart now a cinder.
By David Jackson For Melissa Warren :o)



John M. Stencel

I knew a songbird
once -
an acquaintance kept her
in a cage.
He’d found her
wounded and weak
and brought her home
to heal, so he claimed,
but more to own, I thought,
for she was a pretty bird and
his life was in desperate need
of some beauty.
She was happy
for a time
and her song was sweet-
for her wounds were tended and
she lacked neither shelter nor food.
I grew to love the little songbird
as much as her “owner” claimed to.
I took pleasure in her joy and,
when away,
I ached for her song.
But as the days grew longer
my new friend sang less
and less.
She took to pecking at her cage and
her few remaining songs
spoke increasingly of loneliness
and loss.
And with her pain my heart knew
no joy.
My acquaintance bought her,
to show his love,
toys, exotic foods and treats and,
seeing no improvement,
even allowed her out of her cage-
for short periods of time and
only after locking shut the windows and doors.
It was these brief periods of
relative freedom
which allowed her to be again
the songbird I had grown to love.
I remember thinking,
“Maybe now he’ll see-
her song is the freedom of life.”
But alas,
he saw only the pleasure he got from her
and so he kept her for himself
until the day she forgot the freedom and
so gave up her song.

The Dream


John M. Stencel

In a dream I saw
a mountain top,
God smiled and bade me,
Meet the armies of the world
for no more blood shall flow."
The path unrolled before me,
through rhapsodies of hate. I felt
tomorrow coming and bowed
beneath its weight.
At times I longed to quit for home
(what use for God had I?),
but something seemed to pull me on
to seek,
if not
to die.
'Til the day I stood
in wonder, the mountain lay ahead.
I stumbled to the summit
and led.
My eyes beheld
a magic sight -
the armies vast
I spoke to them
of God's decree,
I smiled and bade them,
To the corners of the world
returned they to their lives.
Time had stolen what once had been
Strange faces wore familiar
names, less known than those they'd fought.
God looked at me and
sadly smiled,
is it not?"

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