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We have a rare and perhaps small window of opportunity to set partisan differences aside, and attempt to achieve what many in recent years have felt was unreachable - greater retirement security for ourselves and our children.

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The Love We Have For Our Children


The Love we have for our children
Goes beyond Reason Logic pride.
Is wild in its depth
And insane in its caring.
It makes each of us understand
What it is to love someone else
More than we love ourselves.
It teaches us
The Need for God
As perhaps
No other love can.
For don’t we pray to God
In our most intense way
When we pray
For God’s protection
Of our children?

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We Love Our Children / With A Love Like No Other Love


We love our children,
With a love like no other love-
Beyond our knowing and our understanding-
Beyond our principles and reason and judgment.

We love our children
More than we love ourselves.
They alone mean more to us
Than we to ourselves do.

How strange then that they must make their lives for themselves
And all our love
Cannot give them
What they most need to be and do and have.

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And the children died

And the children died.
Our children kept dying.
Then our childrens child
picked up the struggle,
and they died.

Whether in Belfast, palestine, chile,
or Iraq. They, our children died.
When moneyed powered barons
enjoin to force their farce of alien
thoughts upon a righteous people
our children die.

They, our children continued to fight
and to die.Their bodies piled up.
Sorrow became our life, the blood from
their wounds glistens always in our eyes,
and they our children fight.

Whilst we listen to politicans imploring
us to accept their just peace.
And the children died...

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Our Children

A baby sitter who can’t stand kids
A drunken father slaps his children around
A drug addict mother who sleeps and does nothing but get high
A sister who never comes home in time to protect the small ones

Our children are here on this earth to be loved
Not to be abused and used as slaves
Our children are not punching bags or our slaves
Stop the abuse against the innocent children

These children will grow up to be just like you
Our children need us to love them
The older siblings stand between the you and the younger ones
So stop all the abuse

The children need to be taken care of
All you parents out there listen to me
Heed my warning because your children will grow up to hate you
Stop all the abuse against the future of this world

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Our Faces And Our Voices

Dare, care, fare, mare, bare, pare, hare, rare, rare, ware;
Parents have feelings too! !
But just doing it once can also hurt you,
So, try to learn from the positive things in life always.

Once is all that it takes;
And like the life of poverty and dependency,
But i am trying to cope with you.

Mope, dope, lope, nope, rope, Pope, hope, cope;
it took me that far! !
But your addiction led to theft;
And of a copy in black and white,
But she lifted up her voice and wept.

Rose, hose, dose, pose, nose, lose;
You are only a teenager! !
But our character is an integral part of us in life.

Our faces and our voices define who we are physically,
But your character reflects who you are on the inside;
And keeping the law is all that we need,
But, being straight always is the key of life than the negative chains!

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Our Mistress and Our Queen

We set no right above hers,
No earthly light nor star,
She hath had many lovers,
But not as lovers are:
They all were gallant fellows
And died all deaths for her,
And never one was jealous
But comrades true they were.

Oh! each one is a brother,
Though all the lands they claim—
For her or for each other
They’ve died all deaths the same
Young, handsome, old and ugly,
Free, married or divorced,
Where springtime bard or Thug lie
Her lover’s feet have crossed.

’Mid buttercups and daisies
With fair girls by their side,
Young poets sang her praises
While day in starlight died.
In smoke and fire and dust, and
With red eyes maniac like,
Those same young poets thrust and
Wrenched out the reeking pike!

She is as old as ages,
But she is ever young.
Upon her birthday pages
They’ve writ in every tongue;
Her charms have never vanished
Nor beauty been defiled,
Her lovers ne’er were banished—
Can never be exiled.

Ah! thousands died who kissed her,
But millions died who scorned
Our Sweetheart, Queen and Sister,
Whom slaves and Cæsars spurned!
And thousands lost her for her
Own sweet sake, and the world,
Her first most dread adorer,
From Heaven’s high state was hurled.

No sign of power she beareth,
In silence doth she tread,
But evermore she weareth
A cap of red rose red.
Her hair is like the raven,
Her soul is like the sea,
Her blue eyes are a haven
That watch Eternity.

She claimed her right from Heaven,
She claims her right from earth,
She claimed it hell-ward driven,
Before her second birth.
No real man lives without her,
No real man-child thrives,
Sweet sin may cling about her,
But purity survives.

She claims the careless girl, and
She claims the master mind;
She whispers to the Earl, and
She whispers to the hind!
No ruler knoweth which man
His sword for her might draw;
Her whisper wakes the rich man—
The peasant on his straw.

She calls us from the prison,
She calls us from the plain,
To towns where men have risen
Again, again, again!
She calls us from our pleasures,
She calls us from our cares,
She calls us from our treasures,
She calls us from our prayers.

From seas and oceans over
Our long-lost sons she draws,
She calls the careless rover,
She calls us from our wars.
The hermit she discovers
To lead her bravest brave——
The spirit of dead lovers,
She calls them from the grave!

We leave the squalid alley,
Our women and our vice,
We leave the pleasant valley,
Life-lust or sacrifice.
The gold hunt in the mountains,
The power-lust on the sea,
The land-lust by earth’s fountains,
Defeat or victory.

No means of peace discover
Her strength on “Nights Before”,
She has her secret lover
That guards the Grand Duke’s door.
No power can resist hers,
No massacre deter—
Small brothers and wee sisters
Of lovers, watch for her!

Old dotards undetected,
School boys that never tire,
And lone hags unsuspected
That drone beside the fire.
The youth in love’s first passion,
The girl in day-dream mood,
And, in the height of fashion,
The “butterfly” and “dude”.

The millionaire heart-broken,
The beggar with his whine,
And each one hath a token,
And each one hath a sign.
And when the time is ripe and
The hells of earth in power,
The dotard drops his pipe, and
The maiden drops a flower!

Oh, bloody our revivals!
And swift our vengeance hurled,
We’ve laid our dear-loved rivals
In trenches round the world!
We’ve flung off fair arms clinging,
Health, wealth, and life’s grand whole,
And marched out to her singing,
A passion of our soul.

Her lovers fought on ice fields
With stone clubs long ago,
Her lovers slave in rice fields
And in the “’lectric’s” glow.
Her lovers pine wherever
The lust for Nothing is,
They starve where light is never,
And starve in palaces.

They’ve gathered, crowded and scattered,
With heads and scythe-blades low,
Through fir and pine clump spattered,
Like ink blots on the snow.
With broken limbs and shattered
They’ve crushed like hunted brute,
And died in hellish torture
In holes beneath the roof.

They’ve coursed through streets of cities
The fleeing Parliaments,
And songs that were not ditties
They’ve sung by smouldering tents.
And trained in caps and sashes
They’ve heard the head drums roll,
They’ve danced on kings-blood splashes
The dreadful carmagnole.

By mountains, and by stations,
Out where wide levels are,
They’ve baulked the march of nations
And ridden lone and far.
The whip stroke of the bullet,
The short grunt of distress—
The saddled pony grazing
Alone and riderless.

The plain in sunlight blazing—
No signal of distress,
Unseen by far scouts gazing,
And still, with wide eyes glazing:
Dead lover of our mistress,
Dead comrade of his rivals,
Dead champion of his country,
Dead soldier of his widow
And of his fatherless.

She pauses by her writers,
And whispers, through the years,
The poems that delight us
And bring the glorious tears.
The song goes on unbroken
Through worlds of senseless drones,
Until the words are spoken
By Emperors on their thrones.

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The Truce And The Peace

(NOVEMBER, 1918)
Peace now for every fury has had her day,
Their natural make is moribund, they cease,
They carry the inward seeds of quick decay,
Build breakwaters for storm but build on peace.
The mountains' peace answers the peace of the stars,
Our petulances are cracked against their term.
God built our peace and plastered it with wars,
Those frescoes fade, flake off, peace remains firm.
In the beginning before light began
We lay or fluttered blind in burdened wombs,
And like that first so is the last of man,
When under death for husband the amorous tombs
Are covered and conceived; nine months go by
No midwife called, nine years no baby's cry.

Peace now, though purgatory fires were hot
They always had a heart something like ice
That coldly peered and wondered, suffering not
Nor pleased in any park, nor paradise
Of slightly swelling breasts and beautiful arms
And throat engorged with very carnal blood.
It coldly peered and wondered, 'Strong God your charms
Are glorious, I remember solitude.
Before youth towered we knew a time of truth
To have eyes was nearly rapture.' Peace now, for war
Will find the cave that childhood found and youth.
Ten million lives are stolen and not one star
Dulled; wars die out, life will die out, death cease,
Beauty lives always and the beauty of peace.

Peace to the world in time or in a year,
In the inner world I have touched the instant peace.
Man's soul's a flawless crystal coldly clear,
A cold white mansion that he yields in lease
To tenant dreams and tyrants from the brain
And riotous burnings of the lovelier flesh.
We pour strange wines and purples all in vain.
The crystal remains pure, the mansion fresh.
All the Asian bacchanals and those from Thrace
Lived there and left no wine-mark on the walls.
What were they doing in that more sacred place
All the Asian and the Thracian bacchanals?
Peace to the world to-morrow or in a year,
Peace in that mansion white, that crystal clear.

Peace now poor earth. They fought for freedom's sake,
She was starving in a corner while they fought.
They knew not whom they stabbed by Onega Lake,
Whom lashed from Archangel, whom loved, whom sought.
How can she die, she is the blood unborn,
The energy in earth's arteries beating red,
The world will flame with her in some great morn,
The whole great world flame with her, and we be dead.
Here in the west it grows by dim degrees,
In the east flashed and will flame terror and light.
Peace now poor earth, peace to that holier peace
Deep in the soul held secret from all sight.
That crystal, the pure home, the holier peace,
Fires flaw not, scars the crudest cannot crease.

South of the Big Sur River up the hill
Three graves are marked thick weeds and grasses heap,
Under the forest there I have stood still
Hours, thinking it the sweetest place to sleep , . .
Strewing all-sufficient death with compliments
Sincere and unrequired, coveting peace . . .
Boards at the head not stones, the text's rude paints
Mossed, rain-rubbed . . . wasting hours of scanty lease
To admire their peace made perfect. From that height
But for the trees the whole valley might be seen,
But for the heavy dirt, the eye-pits no light
Enters, the heavy dirt, the grass growing green
Over the dirt, the molelike secretness,
The immense withdrawal, the dirt, the quiet, the peace.

Women cried that morning, bells rocked with mirth,
We all were glad a long while afterward,
But still in dreary places of the earth
A hundred hardly fed shall labor hard
To clothe one belly and stuff it with soft meat,
Blood paid for peace but still those poor shall buy it,
This sweat of slaves is no good wine but yet
Sometimes it climbs to the brain. Be happy and quiet,
Be happy and live, be quiet or God might wake.
He sleeps in the mountain that is heart of man's heart,
He also in promontory fists, and make
Of stubborn-muscled limbs, he will not start
For a little thing ... his great hands grope, unclose,
Feel out for the main pillars . . . pull down the house . . .

After all, after all we endured, who has grown wise?
We take our mortal momentary hour
With too much gesture, the derisive skies
Twinkle against our wrongs, our rights, our power.
Look up the night, starlight's a steadying draught
For nerves at angry tension. They have all meant well,
Our enemies and the knaves at whom we've laughed,
The liars, the clowns in office, the kings in hell,
fhey have all meant well in the main . . . some of them tried
The mountain road of tolerance . . . They have made war,
Conspired, oppressed, robbed, murdered, lied and lied,
Meant well, played the loud fool . . . and star by star
Winter Orion pursues the Pleiades
In pale and huge parade, silence and peace.

That ice within the soul, the admonisher
Of madness when we're wildest, the unwinking eye
That measures all things with indifferent stare,
Choosing far stars to check near objects by,
That quiet lake inside and underneath,
Strong, undisturbed by any angel of strife,
Being so tranquil seems the presence of death,
Being so central seems the essence of life.
Is it perhaps that death and life make truce
In neutral zone while their old feud beyond
Fires the towered cities? Surely for a strange use
He sphered that eye of flawless diamond.
It does not serve him but with line and rod
Measures him, how indeed should God serve God?

It does not worship him, it will not serve.
And death and life within that Eye combine,
Within that only untorturable nerve
Of those that make a man, within that shrine
Which there is nothing ever can profane,
Where life and death are sister and brother and lovers,
The golden voice of Christ were heard in vain,
The holy spirit of God visibly hovers.
Small-breasted girls, lithe women heavy-haired,
Loves that once grew into our nerves and veins,
Yours Freedom was desire that deeper dared
To the citadel where mastery remains,
Yours to the spirit . . . discount the penny that is
Ungivable, this Eye, this God, this Peace.
All in a simple innocence I strove
To give myself away to any power,
Wasting on women's bodies wealth of love,
Worshipping every sunrise mountain tower;
Some failure mocked me still denying perfection,
Parts of me might be spended not the whole,
I sought of wine surrender and self-correction,
I failed, I could not give away my soul.
Again seeking to give myself I sought
Outward in vain through all things, out through God,
And tried all heights, all gulfs, all dreams, all thought.
I found this wisdom on the wonderful road,
The essential Me cannot be given away,
The single Eye, God cased in blood-shot clay.

Peace to the world in time or in a year,
But always all our lives this peace was ours.
Peace is not hard to have, it lies more near
Than breathing to the breast. When brigand powers
Of anger or pain or the sick dream of sin
Break our soul's house outside the ruins we weep.
We look through the breached wall, why there within
All the red while our peace was lying asleep.
Smiling in dreams while the broad knives drank blood,
The robbers triumphed, the roof burned overhead,
The eternal living and untroubled God
Lying asleep upon a lily bed.
Men screamed, the bugles screamed, walls broke in the air,
We never knew till then that He was there.

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Us And Our Dreams

we have enough
to feed a fire
for our
long night

now we must
sleep and dream
about firewood

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Rare and Genuine It Is

None are shown to be the brightest of lights.
Especially when compared to one that glows.
And attempts will be made...
To dim with shade an onslaught,
Of underserving shadows.
But the brightest of all will still reflect the most,
Since there is something about it...
That does not hurt the eyes.
Or quenches one's thirst,
For more of it to see shine!
People have discovered it does not blind.
Reminding those who witness,
Just how rare and genuine it is!

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Our Children!

those brown skinned babies...
starving in Haiti, Africa,
and around the world.
laying dead victims
of bombing and gunfire...
are our children.
those white skinned,
black skinned babies,
born into the housing developments
and trailer parks,
into crackhead pill popping
poverty... those,
are our children too!
those blood stained babies,
found in desperate dumpsters,
our children, again.
those unborn babies,
born into hopeless situations,
or never to be born
into a world cold and hard...
our children too!

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To Address What Is Best For Our Children

With a beginning to address what is best for our children,
Would a complete isolation of them become protested?
Would a total masquerading to keep them unknown,
Spare them from a mediocrity condoned.
To leave them competent with a rare ability to think.

And will those preferring to raise their children alone,
On their own...
Feel the heat of rejection from those who believe,
Being idealistic is too unreal.
Although a conformity to a normalcy,
Is apparently nonexistent...
The emphasis has been on the marketing of hype.
And not truths to spoil presentations.

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Robert Louis Stevenson

Good and Bad Children

Children, you are very little,
And your bones are very brittle;
If you would grow great and stately,
You must try to walk sedately.

You must still be bright and quiet,
And content with simple diet;
And remain, through all bewild'ring,
Innocent and honest children.

Happy hearts and happy faces,
Happy play in grassy places--
That was how in ancient ages,
Children grew to kings and sages.

But the unkind and the unruly,
And the sort who eat unduly,
They must never hope for glory--
Theirs is quite a different story!

Cruel children, crying babies,
All grow up as geese and gabies,
Hated, as their age increases,
By their nephews and their nieces.

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If Our Children

If our children aren’t smiling
Laughing, playing, driving us insane
Than something must be wrong in our doing
These days, they’re scared and
Have multiple nightmares that are unspeakable
As they go to sleep, they yearn so much
For freedom that they sing it in their dreams
They’ve taken full vacation from
Their childhood just so they can fight
For their freedom, their country
If our children aren’t happy
Than, there must be something wrong
They can’t even go outside to play
Everyday has become a struggle
They must even fight to stay alive
Our children are not well, my family
My brother, my sister, my friends
Our children are not well
Therefore our nation is sick
Because our children are not well.



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A Sand Castle And Our Magic Bond

Was the sunset and almost coming night,
Me and you sitting at the sea side and the seagulls are flying around,
Horizon in red highlights is hiding sun behind,
Sea seems so romantic in the moonlight dance.

We built from sand a castle,
We made a solid ground and built the walls around,
Our hands were merging together,
We belived in our dream, in our ideal.

Waves came and washed away our castle,
Nothing was left behind,
Only our love remains forever,
You and me and our magic bond.

Our sand castle was swept to shore,
We can't see it no more,
But what we built together,
It will be kept as a tresure in the heart.

Nothing in this life lasts forever,
From our material living world,
Only love and spirit values,
Are the eternal, never-ending truth.

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If our children fear we run to magician, magician, magician

If our children fear we run to magician, magician, magician
The magician reads the mantra and gives us magical thread to tie,
We have no true faith in GOD but in the magician only,
Cheated by the magician we lose our faith and money and die,
Name of GOD is stronger than crores of ghosts and magicians,
If we always remember GOD any fear of us will be run away,
In any situation let us deeply think of GOD only,
No doubt GOD will surely help us in any way,
One who has faith in magician will lose his all devotions,
So we should not change our mind about GOD in any condition,
And let us have strong faith in GOD and HIS creations,
Otherwise we will suffer life long in suspicious intention,
In any pressure we must not believe in magical traditions,
If we trust in our beloved GOD we definitely get our real salvation.

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We And Our Old World

how good it lucky
coming to the world..coming to the earth all of us
who could have erected the skyscrapers to drill the sky
on the geREEn plains, on the meadows and on greenery
who could have burnt the the woods, the forests for fun
who could have made the sewage flow into the clean seas and clean oceans?
if we were not on this world, on this earth
who could have deteriorate the gas ozone balance
who and who?
who could have make the devil
put his shoes on wrong
and the orphanages
they would be empty
if we were lackings
without us
what would do the prostı tutes and the bitches
and the jail guards in jails

what would they do if we were not in them
and the hired guns
and the hitmen
what would they do without us
did not we invent the various kinds of strange jobs
oh...the poor planet of the universe
from ADAM up to this time
we have changed you a lot
for that do not thank us
no need to thanking to us and me
to accomplish these
is our humanity
and is a must duty

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For You And Your Children

My heart beats.
Even as I feel so stuck.
In a goop I walked right through.
I don't know why
Maybe it was to get to the other side.
Maybe it was to still try.
Maybe it was to see if I can touch the sky.
It feel so close.
Yet I'm still not there.
The heavenly ghost.
It is hope.
It is desire.
It is to aspire to a higher calling before the falling.
Empires so murky and grey.
I feel I have become just another prey.
The predator is closing in.
So I must reach.
When necessity comes you can't just deny it.
The gut feeling that everything that was earned with hard work gone.
Another dawn will come.
But not as I have known it.
Something great lost forever.
A million people speaking of their lost lover.
But what if the ability to love dies?
What if the soul wilts away to nothing?
A void
A emptiness
A lust that replaces, and compensates for it.
Ash to Ash
Blow on the rust and watch it turn to dust.
With something new is shown.
Scary is the unknown.
Especially when it could be so horrible.
With a repentance, forgiveness and respect I pray.
Not just for me, but for you and your children.

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The Happiest Day

It was early May, I think
a moment of lilac or dogwood
when so many promises are made
it hardly matters if a few are broken.
My mother and father still hovered
in the background, part of the scenery
like the houses I had grown up in,
and if they would be torn down later
that was something I knew
but didn't believe. Our children were asleep
or playing, the youngest as new
as the new smell of the lilacs,
and how could I have guessed
their roots were shallow
and would be easily transplanted.
I didn't even guess that I was happy.
The small irritations that are like salt
on melon were what I dwelt on,
though in truth they simply
made the fruit taste sweeter.
So we sat on the porch
in the cool morning, sipping
hot coffee. Behind the news of the day--
strikes and small wars, a fire somewhere--
I could see the top of your dark head
and thought not of public conflagrations
but of how it would feel on my bare shoulder.
If someone could stop the camera then...
if someone could only stop the camera
and ask me: are you happy?
perhaps I would have noticed
how the morning shone in the reflected
color of lilac. Yes, I might have said
and offered a steaming cup of coffee.

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Protect The Future, Protect Our Children

(This poem is dedicated to the abused children)

It is more than a cliché to say
That our children are our future
They are in reality our future
Not our past or passé
We must protect our babies at any cost
From the West Coast to the East Coast
Day and night
They are our rainbow, our night light
Our angels, our bright light
We must protect our kids against all sorts of abuses
From Penn State to Rahway State
From New York State to Washington State
We must not tolerate stupid or noxious excuses
We must protect all of our children
Against all types of abuses
All the time, all the time
Dial 911, inform the authorities, so the scum can be booked
Or canned; so the Judge can throw
The books at the perpetrators of all despicable crimes
We must shield our infants with our rainbow
Against all sex maniacs who are sick in their mind
Our beautiful children are our future
Help them, feed them, and care for them
Don’t drag them in the gutter, in any mess
Do not abuse them physically
Emotionally or psychologically
Protect our baby sons and daughters
Protect our little brothers and sisters
Love them the right way
Pray for our children
Protect our little innocents
Use extraordinary common sense
Good morals and good judgments
When interacting with our little saints
Do not hurt our children
Protect the Future, protect our Children.

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Protect Our Children

We want Peace
For our children in the Middle East
From Israel to Lebanon
From Congo to Gabon
From the West to the East
We want Peace
Not stupid wars
Not obnoxious outlaws
Big guns can only kill
Big tanks can only distill
Pain, misery and death
We want Peace on Earth
We want Peace everywhere
We abhor injustice and terror
We want Peace in the North
We want Peace in the South
Our innocent children are being killed
Our fellow human beings are being killed
It is a big deal, it a sick and sad thing
We don’t want to hear bang, bang
We want to hear people laugh
Not cry, not suffer and swimming in a blood bath
We want friends to be happy and elated
Not being tortured and executed
We want Peace
For our children in the Middle East
We want Peace in the North
We want Peace in the South
There is one God, there is one Love
Let’s protect our children and each other
There is one God, there is one Love
Let’s pray for Peace and let's love each other
We want Peace and Love for every one
From Israel to Lebanon
We want absolute Protection for children
We want Hope for our fellow men and women.

Copyright © January 11,2009 Hebert Logerie, All Rights Reserved
Author of 'Sparkles of Love' and 'Etincelles de l'Amour'

Hébert Logerie is the author of “Mounts And Valleys of Love”
https: // bookid=58359

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