Listen Up!

copyright Jeanne E. Webster

 

Two thousand ten, the news was devastating.  A catastrophic earthquake had occurred in Haiti, severely affecting several million of its people–thousands of them children. They were suddenly homeless, parentless, friendless, hungry, naked, and poor. News reports soon surfaced that many of them had been kidnapped for use in the sex slave trade–an easy commodity for entrepreneurs. These fiends committed these atrocities under the guise of Christian humanitarian assistance.  Those events bring to mind an insidious disorder infecting the security of our children right here in the good ole U.S.A.  Listen up, folks.

Vicious animals are prowling our neighborhoods in each state, county, city and town; they are ever increasing in numbers and baseness.  Labeled as pedophilic sex offenders, these revolting, cold-hearted, sex-fevered beings roam our streets seeking kids to devour and suck the life from them.  They snatch kids at play in their backyards or playgrounds or walking home from school bus drops. They seize little ones while their parents momentarily focus on shopping or rip them out of their beds at night while the parents sleep. Days or weeks later, if ever, the sullied bodies are found cruelly butchered, stuffed into trash bags and tossed into garbage cans or city dumps.
The predatory population has become so abundant, we’ve run out of areas to segregate them from the overall population once they’re released from prison! This has all happened on our watch, folks.
We turn a blind eye to the growing number of sexually explicit television shows and the vicious, blood curdling movies noisily banging the airwaves. Have they anything to do with the rapid increase of violence against children? Do they invite mad and demented thoughts and actions on the part of the weak minded or cruel?
Does raising our little girls from a young age to wear sexy clothes, compete in beauty contests, use makeup, walk and talk provocatively have anything to do with this sick, giddy pedophilic culture?
When will we realize that we are part of the problem? We have sacrificed our children to the gods of perverseness and licentiousness. When will we wake up and seek out this rottenness and tolerate it no more?
Where have all the children gone?
They’re hiding in their homes, behind locked school house doors, under constant surveillance by cameras in gated playgrounds, or wherever we can provide secure areas for them. But some of them continue to come up missing, plucked from among us and forever lost. My heart is broken, my spirit weeps.  Will you do all you can to protect our little ones? We owe them that, don’t you think?
Update:
Folks, the sex trade is rampant in our country and is growing in leaps and bounds.  These are not sickies stealing and molesting and killing our children; these are professional business people scarfing them up as a commodity and selling them for sex objects, sex slaves.
They haunt the hotel areas of big events and proffer their wares—our children!  The political conventions we have just hosted in big cities…on their itinerary.  Big-time ball games…on their itinerary.  Any highly visible congregating of the masses…on their agenda.  You see, there are ever present people wanting what they sell, the young, innocent bodies of our children!
Our kids continue to be kidnapped, stolen, grabbed, snatched, or ripped from their homes and surroundings.   They are targets for the disgusting, degraded people out there who seek to defile and destroy these precious lives for their lowlife ugly habits.
Some children make it back home, alive but broken in spirit and with a life of heartache ahead.  Many are not so blessed.  Many never return, anywhere.  Many are transferred overseas to the sex trade markets existing in foreign countries, never to be seen again.
May we be ever vigilant over the lives of our young children.  Watch over them with steadfast love and care, because the vultures are circling overhead, seeking to steal and destroy.
Listen up!

Memorial Day

I hung the flag out today

The grand red, white and blue

In memory of all those who died

For our land, so precious and true.

+

Their blood, sweat and nerve

Permeate every grain of sand

And surge within leaves and grass:

“Walk softly on this sacred land.”

+

The wind echoes with their cries

Do you hear them calling out?

From sea to shining seas they sound

Over hill and dale they shout.

+

Oh, say can you see

By the dawn’s early light,

The glorious red, white and blue?

It’s there! It’s within sight!

+

We’ll remember all they gave

For those who followed too;

They are owed such a great debt.

“Patriots, we’ll never forget you!”

.

Memorial Day 2017

.

© Jeanne E Webster. All Rights Reserved.

 

LIVING

 

To touch the cup with eager lips and taste,

not drain it;

To woo and tempt and court a bliss—

and not attain it;

To fondle and caress a joy,

yet hold it lightly,

Lest it become necessity

and cling too tightly;

To watch the sun set in the west

without regretting;

To hail its advent in the east

—the night forgetting;

To smother care in happiness

and grief in laughter;

To hold the present close

—not questioning hereafter;

To have enough to share

—to know the joy of giving;

To thrill with all the sweets of life

—is living.

                                                         unknown

A BAG OF TOOLS

 

 

Isn’t it strange

That princes and kings

And clowns that caper

In sawdust rings,

And common people

Like you and me

Are builders for eternity?

 

Each is given a bag of tools,

A shapeless mass,

A book of rules;

And each must make–

Ere life is flown—

A stumbling block

Or a steppingstone.

—R. L. Sharpe

I’m Flyin’

© Jeanne E Webster – All rights reserved

 

 

I am a perpetual dreamer.  As a little girl, I believed in the little stories I read, the songs I sang, and the few movies I saw.  I could vanish for a whole day in the words of Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah—

“Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay My, oh my, what a wonderful day Plenty of sunshine headin’ my way Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay

“Mister Bluebird’s on my shoulder It’s the truth, it’s actual Ev’rything is satisfactual Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay Wonderful feeling, wonderful day, yes sir!”

~ by Ray Gilbert

and rematerialize with that bluebird on my shoulder.  Every word etched its meaning into my spirit, and the sunshine did head my way.  It’s the truth…it’s actual.

Being little was the grandest time of life.  As little people we accepted things with simplicity and an anything goes attitude.  If we could imagine it, then IT was real.  Do you remember playing cops and robbers?  Cowboys and Indians?  (I must interject here that I was a tomboy!) You could be Tonto or the Lone Ranger; you became Dick Tracy til you went to bed and woke up to a new identity.  Or you became Silver and could run faster than any other horse.  You even knew where to find the best sour grass in the whole world, that secret place out behind Grandpa’s barn.

I think my favorite hero to play was Superman.  There was this special field near my house that had a long narrow lay of the land, with a slight dip in the middle of it, perfect for lift-off.  I’d start at one end of it and run for all it was worth til I reached the middle.  There I would jump into the air, arms outstretched and nose to the clouds, believing with all my stubby legs that I was IN THE AIR…only to set down a few seconds later on the dusty dry ground.  But I kept trying and trying…and trying.  Oh, what fun, acting as these imaginary people.

One song especially affected my young life:

Somewhere over the Rainbow

*composed by Harold Arlen and the lyrics by E.Y. Harburg.

When all the world is a hopeless jumble And the raindrops tumble all around, Heaven opens a magic lane When all the clouds darken up the skyway, There’s a rainbow highway to be found Leading from your window pane To a place behind the sun, Just a step beyond the rain

Somewhere over the rainbow Bluebirds fly. Birds fly over the rainbow. Why then, oh why can’t I?

 

I sang that song with my heart, thinking that if I truly believed, I could fly over that rainbow with those bluebirds.  With childlike faith I DID fly over the rainbow.  It launched me into an imagined escape from the very troubled world in which I actually lived, an escape I desperately needed.

I still dream…every time I read a book, a poem, watch a movie, attend a play, hear Handel’s Messiah at Christmas time, and more.  Heaven does open, like the song trilled, to a place beyond the sun, just a step beyond the rain…to a whole new world that God calls heaven.  The Bible states that a heavenly home waits for everyone that has drawn their life on the account of Jesus Christ.  And it’s not a dream.  It is reality.  It’s signed, sealed and delivered…waiting for the nod of your head, the creaking open of the door to your heart, the throwing down of the ultimate freewill of one’s soul.  “Yes, Lord, I am yours.”

L’Chaim!

 

I Remember, I Remember

 

I Remember, I Remember

.

I remember, I remember,

The house where I was born,

The little window where the sun

Came peeping in at morn:

He never came a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day;

But now, I often wish the night

Had borne my breath away.

I remember, I remember,

The roses, red and white;

The violets and the lily-cups,

Those flowers made of light!

The lilacs where the robin built,

And where my brother set

The laburnum on his birthday,-

The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,

Where I was used to swing;

And thought the air must rush as fresh

To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool

The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,

The fir trees dark and high;

I used to think their slender tops

Were close against the sky:

It was a childish ignorance,

But now ‘tis little joy

To know I’m farther off from heaven

Than when I was a boy.

                   ~Thomas Hood

A Spark to a Flame

 

From a Spark to a Flame

© Jeanne E Webster   All rights reserved

.

Thank you for the memories,

The joys and wonders of life,

The blessing of divine glories…

What peace abundantly rife!

~

You birthed me as a baby girl,

Swaddled up in my mother’s arms;

Tenderly kissed my golden curls

As I snuggled in her charms.

 ~

Thanks for all my family and friends,

Thanks for pretty flowers and weeds.

Sunshine and rain brought amends

As You sought to establish Your seeds.

~

Oh God, my sins no longer sting

They’re hung on the cross of Jesus.

He entered into my life to bring

A life so much more prestigious.

 ~

Your truth appeased my doubting heart

I was healed by Your living waters.

Eternal life You did truly impart

To my lost spirit and others.

~

I peered inside my very soul;

Faithfully, You are present there.

See that loving spirit glow…

A sweet heavenly flare!  Amen