Terre's Blog – Women of All Seasons
Busy Women on Life's Journey
Let's Not Pretend
To know you,
or really anybody for that matter,
I need to see you,
spend time with you,
face to face.
To see what you are saying,
with your body,
your eyes,
the timbre of your voice;
at times more important than your words.
To know you,
or really anybody for that matter,
I need to see you,
face to face.
We need this,
to really know the essence of you
and you, me.
c.2019 tch
Requiem for the American Worker
I hear America crying
across the flatlands, hill and dale.
Embittered tears of weary souls
the beaten down, the proud.
American workers holding on
with a cry in their voice.
Fighting hard to not be counted
among the growing poor.
The waitress at night with a babe upon her breast,
The coal miner tired of his long rest.
The automobile worker doing her best,
The bakery is closing, the baker is next.
The bus driver without a human load,
The young black man never given a chance.
The hospital worker called off, worries how to pay the rent.
Telephone workers marching, out in the cold.
Voices, hands, and hearts
traded for those across the seas.
The small, American farmer
still fighting hard to believe.
I hear America crying,
as those “who have”,
with no remorse, no guilt,
build empires upon the workers backs.
Americans trying, trying, and trying.
I hear America crying.
(Printed with one time American rights, Labor News, Indianapolis, In. Feb 2006.
This Author: tch maintains rights).
Reprinted @ Terre’s Blog – Women of All Seasons c. 2018.
Seasons
Many seasons have passed
since we met.
Tiny wrinkles and creases
have sneaked in
to mark tiny paths.
Yet, when I look at you
I see you as you are now,
but I also see within you
the young lover when we met,
that time tries to hide.
But I still see and smile,
Many seasons have passed.
tch c. 2018: Terre’s Blog – Women of All Seasons
Freedom’s Price
In the beginning of our nation’s birth,
Freedom to live in harmony
according to one’s beliefs
and in happiness’ pursuit
guaranteed at birth.
So, so many paid the ultimate price.
Sleep in peace, our comrades, Sleep.
Let us not take for granted
our freedoms hard won at home
and for others on foreign shores;
their sacrifices made,
lives unselfishly given.
Oh sleep our hero’s,
Sleep in peace.
American Revolution (1775 – 1783) 25,000
War of 1812 (1812 – 1815) 20,000
Civil War (1861 – 1865) ~ 625,000
WW1 (1917 – 1918) 116,516
WW11 (1941 – 1945) 405,399
Korean (1950 – 1953) 36,516
Vietnam (1955 – 1975) 58,209
Persian Gulf War (1990 – 1991) 258
Operation Enduring Freedom (Afghanistan) 2,356
(2001 – 2014)
Operation Iraqi Freedom (2003 – 2012) 4,489
terre c. 2018
*Statistics Source – MilitaryFactory.com
Rose
Today my friend you’ll be laid to your final rest.
Yes, you will be sorely missed.
But when I think of you,
I will smile
and remember your laughter,
you dancing,
you tending to your garden
and smelling your flowers.
Your love and friendship
that you so readily gave.
I will remember you in your joy
and acceptance.
I will remember you with happiness.
I have this disease called “Books”
they’re hidden in
every cranny and nook.
I’ve run out of room,
—it’s true,
but still I go
aborrowin and alookin
to find just one more book.
The basement is full
the attic too
shelves line the garage
they’re on the ceiling too.
I guess I’ll have
to dig a well
one without water
but “very” deep
and there more
new books
I will keep.
Many more books, I can seek,
have no doubt
I will find them very well.
And when that well is full,
you will see,
I’ll dig a new well
for my disease.
tcholland c. 2018
Respect, you and me ~ mutually caring, wanting ~ no room to pretend.
Requiem for the American Worker
I hear America crying
across the flatlands, hill and dale.
Embittered tears of weary souls
the beaten down, the proud.
American workers holding on
with a cry in their voice.
Fighting hard to not be counted
among the growing poor.
The waitress at night with a babe upon her breast,
The coalminer tired of his long rest.
The automobile worker doing her best,
The bakery is closing, the baker is next.
The bus driver without a human load,
The young black man never given a chance.
The hospital worker called off, worries how to pay the rent.
Telephone workers marching, out in the cold.
Voices, hands, and hearts
traded for those across the seas.
The small, American farmer
still fighting hard to believe.
I hear America crying,
as those “who have”,
with no remorse, no guilt,
build empires upon the workers backs.
Americans trying, trying, and trying.
I hear America crying.
Written by: T.C. Holland c. 2006. Published with Permission.
*Originally published in the Labor News, Indianapolis, In., Feb. 2006
