Lies, lives lost and more blood… America’s legacy will be?

Children in cages never have a nice day.

“The government is literally taking kids away from their parents and leaving them in inappropriate conditions. If a parent left a child in a cage with no supervision with other 5-year-olds, they’d be held accountable.” – Michelle Brane, director of migrant rights at the Women’s Refugee Commission

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Photo by Bess Hamiti from Pexels

“We will take America without firing a shot…….We will BURY YOU! We can’t expect the American People to jump from Capitalism to Communism, but we can assist their elected leaders in giving them small doses of Socialism until they awaken one day to find that they have Communism. We do not have to invade the United States, we will destroy you from within.” – Nikita Khrushchev

“Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually, they will            believe it.” – Adolf Hitler

“The man is the only animal that can remain on good terms with the victims he intends to eat until he eats them.”  – Samuel Butler

History keeps repeating itself.

 

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Photo by it’s me neosiam from Pexels

 

How many more innocents must die at the hands of this fascist regime? The survivors will be forever scarred. America can no longer call itself the home of the brave. Brave people do not behave like this. They look to help and to heal. What do you see as the future for such a country? Kidnapping, bigotry and child abuse on a grand scale, is this to be the nation’s legacy?

Bisous,

Léa

 

 

Back to School

“ The strongest and most effective force in guaranteeing the long-term maintenance of power is not violence in all the forms deployed by the dominant to control the dominated, but consent in all the forms in which the dominated acquiesce in their own domination.” – Robert Frost

 

”A gentle reminder that all we are aiming for here is stricter gun laws that make it harder for people to get guns (because it shouldn’t be easier than getting a driver’s license) and the removal of Military Grade Weapons from Civilian Society.”                 – Emma Gonzalez

Back to School

 

The lazy days of building castles in the sand

Are melting into memories, those castles

Tossed by waves, without a trace

A trip to the store, or commercial bombardment

Reminds everyone, a new school year is not far away

 

In years, and decades past, visions of new shoes,

Dresses, pants, shoes, and backpack were deemed essential

Somethings never change, alas, they have

With the standard supplies added to the shopping cart

Thoughts turn to the avant-guard in school couture.

A nation turns to uniforms of BODY ARMOR

In hopes, their children make it home from school

 

Trump, Moscow Mitch, G.O.P., N.R.A., Corporations, Mainstream Media,

Dems, who have sold out to big money, they don’t care, your heart a gaping hole.

They won’t be there as you fondle your child’s clothing, planning a funeral

Nights filled with those final moments, and the cold remains

Captured on instant replay, they won’t hear you screaming

For one more moment, waking you from the nightmare that doesn’t end

The freezing numbness that shreds your aching soul

They wouldn’t know, one must have a soul to crush it

 

No need to plan graduations, college applications, future weddings, grandchildren…

There won’t be those faces around the table, calls with those we love

Replaced by capitalism’s greed with waking in the night

Screaming in the dark, in the middle of the day, arms empty and aching

Knowing our children are never coming home

 

 

In memory of those who have died in the hate shootings that terrorize a nation. Lives lost, families left with gaping holes where loved ones used to be. All in the name of dividing the country for profit and domination.  

 

Bisous,

 

Léa

Crying Child Monument

As one who has buried a child, I know the pain all too well.

Un_maestro

This monument was constructed to commemorate the children in Jamaica who’s lives have been cut short due to vile, callous individuals who in truth deserve to be eliminated from the face of this Earth,
It began on September 2008 when eleven year old Ananda Dean was abducted and subsequently slaughtered leaving the nation in a shock as the search for this missing girl remained televised up to the point where her body was finally discovered,
Surely while heartbroken many of us wouldn’t fully be able to comprehend the emptiness and grief experienced by her parents, siblings and immediate loved ones.
While nationally renowned it is also a fact that she is merely one of many children who have lost their lives on account of forces lacking empathy, compassion and values; as of 2016 the monument has officially ran out of space covered with the names of children who met their…

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The Owl, The Pussycat… Fabulous Felines in History #2

Our human, Léa, has this and one other blog on her own. Since she is merely the typist on our blog and rarely mentioned by name, we decided to let her reblog today’s post. Colette et Simone

Les deux divas: ma vie en rose

The Owl, the Pussycat and the feline behind the scenes…

Oh yes, there was also the fabulous man who wrote of my adventures. His name was Edward Lear. He was devoted to me and to other felines who came to know him. In addition to my long luxurious fur, I am world class at the art of cuddling and along with the other felines entrusted to his care, we are equally devoted to him.

Lear was born the twentieth child of a London stock broker and his wife. In his late teens he left the family home with his eldest sister and began providing for himself with his skills as an illustrator. He continued to draw and paint throughout his life.

This prolific writer and artist (animals and landscapes) was compared to the work of the great Jean-Jacques Audubon. In addition to his writing and drawing, he gave drawing lessons. It…

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Theo’s Golden Ticket

“You’re never too old, too wacky, too wild, to pick up a book and read to a child.”                     – Dr. Seuss

“A book is like a garden, carried in the pocket.”  – Chinese Proverb

“Any book that helps a child to form a habit of reading,  to make reading one of his deep and continuing needs, is good for him.”  – Maya Angelo

                                                                         *

Theo’s golden ticket

       –

I hear plastic wheels clacking

Crossing the kitchen floor

From ear to ear he’s grinning

A surprise he has in store

          –

Struggling his passage

Now carpeted terrain

Seizing grandma unaware his goal

His eyes have taken aim

       –

Theo aims his vessel

Stories to behold

Hungry for some cuddles

Possibilities he’s trolled

             –

The treasure at last

Their prize is now in sight

Observant from the mast

Grandma’s arms ready

To seize this impish mite

     –

The treasure’s in sight

Stories the prize he’s won

Love of reading – will he take the bite

Learning has begun

*

Bisous,

Léa

A poem for my mother

“(Child abuse) is something that’s not talked about. It’s the dirty little secret. There is the immediate damage, but there is also the damage that it does down the road. It’s the baggage that you carry. It’s not here and today, it’s tomorrow.”
~ Melody Strong

***

A poem for my mother

You say I don’t

Remember you

On mother’s day

You tell your friends

I don’t know you exist

But I know

And

I remember

How you took

My childhood

Like those

Newborn kittens

Stuffed into

A burlap sack

Sides pulled up

Tied tightly

With a fat length

Of cord

Darkness –

Fastened to

That large rock

Tossed from the

End of the pier

Into the

Pacific Ocean

Over

Without a whimper

And you say

I don’t remember

You on

Mother’s Day

***

Bisous,

Léa

Paix et d’espoir (Of peace and hope)

Today we’re dumping 70 million tons of global-warming pollution into the environment, and tomorrow we will dump more, and there is no effective worldwide response. Until we start sharply reducing global-warming pollution, I feel that I have failed.” – Al Gore

We won’t have a society if we destroy the environment.” – Margaret Mead

Paix et d’espoir (Of peace and hope)

weapons of cowardice

rang out 13 November, 2015

ricocheting across Paris

echoing over France

heard across the world

lives lost – lives forever changed

in each small French village.

city and town

les enfants on planté

un olivier – de pais et d’espoir

we do not forget

symbols of hope – olives

of peace – its branch

l’arbre – biodiversité

un abre pour le climat

children across France armed,

resolute with shovels, spades,

trees, soil, hope and smudged faces

in Paris gathering commences

COP21 (Conférence sur le climat à Paris)

if only they would listen –

hear the children who plant trees,

run in the leaves, delight in the

harvest – the animals that enrich our lives

insects , plants, biologic diversity

the living tissue of this planet

fragile under human assault

what will you do?

what will you say to the children?

bisous,

léa

cuddling oblivion

Inspiration comes from all around us. On several ocassions, I have been inspired by one or more of the blogs that I follow. The following poem was inspired by a title on a post by Lotta Wanner. If you are not already following her, stop by and see what she is up to!  http://lottawanner.com

*

There are perhaps no days of our childhood we lived so fully as those we spent with a favorite book.” – Marcel Proust

*

cuddling oblivion

the image stolen –

poem of a friend

but i’ve cuddled

oblivion more times

than I could count

squirming children

plucked from their bath

dampness of freshly

shampooed hair

leaves its mark

upon chest and soul

in jammys we snuggle

sofa rather crowded

to one end

the scent of them

lingers in perpetuity

like the softness of

freshly bathed arms and legs

stories and poems

before slumber

voices I didn’t know

I possessed

telling tales of the ages

so many years passed

voices deeper

no longer interested

in childish stories

oblivion safely tucked

in the corners of my mind

oblivion –

who knew you

could return?

Bisous,

Léa

L’esprit se éveille – the spirit wakens

“Spring is nature’s way of saying ‘Let’s party!”       –  Robin Williams 

“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep spring from coming.”   –  Pablo Neruda

“Spring has returned. The earth is like a child that knows poems.”  

–  Rainer Maria Rilke

*

L’esprit se éveille – the spirit wakens

The distance between

Today – l’printemps

Now can be measured

In heartbeats

Almond blossoms

Like puffs of pink and white

Snow filling out branches

Greying clouds play tag

In azure skies

Hiding the sunlight

Like children who have stolen

Cookies from the cooling rack

Hyacinthus; rose, bleu, blanche

Mon esprit se réveille

My hunger immense

The waters of the cascade

Tumble into turquoise waters

I climb out of grey woolen

Despair and reach for the sun

*

Bisous,

Léa

The other side of the story – National Adoption Month

After reading an article on National Adoption Month, I wrote the following poem. The author of the article blames adoption for her issues. I remember as a young child praying each night that either my ‘real’ mother appear as ‘the mother’ hated me so and couldn’t actually be my mother or that my father would find someone kind who would have us both. After my unanswered prayers, I would cry myself to sleep.

My steps took me to university where I majored in Psychology obtaining my Master’s Degree and as a single parent then began working at a private therapy clinic and with Child Protection.

I do acknowledge the woman’s pain. However, she appears to have other issues and is so focused on ‘being adopted’ she cannot put a foot forward. I’ve been the kid that should have been surrendered for adoption. I’ve also worked with both sides both as a private therapist and in Child Protection. I know how bad the system is and often the kids end up with relatives who are not far from the parent/s they were removed from and/or do not protect them from said parent/s. 
When I was about four, I began going to the next door neighbors home to help with her clients. Mrs. Jones was a speech therapist for the Crippled Children’s Society. There were often children sitting in her living room waiting to be seen or siblings that needed to be distracted while they waited. Helping with these children and being an early reader helped me to focus outside a situation that was out of my control.

The poem below is offered to all those parents who put the child first and to all those children adopted or not who are survivors of some of life’s harshest realities. This piece is also for those brave individuals who step forward and make a difference in the life of these children.  In the end, it is all about love. Some never have been on the receiving end and don’t have love to give. Some have love in abundance. My sincere wish that all would find peace. I know from personal experience that my peace came from learning, understanding and perhaps most of all, reaching out to others who were or are still in pain.

 

“Biology is the least of what makes someone a mother.” – Oprah Winfrey

*

The other side of the story

 

Yes! I’ve no doubt

How painful it must be

Finding out your mother

Didn’t want, didn’t keep

You

Always knowing that she

Didn’t want you

Couldn’t keep you

Left you to the care

Of others

Whoever they may be

Searching crowds

For genetic similarities

Are they a part of me?

Where do I belong?

That eternal search

For home, acceptance,

Unconditional love

 

From my earliest memories

I would pray that my “real”

Mother would find me

I must have been put

Here by mistake

Yet her proof – horrific

Caesarean scar – my crime

Fragmentizing for a girl of three

Prayers for my father to

Find someone else who

Would be kind to us both

Hatred by – the mother

The word ‘mother’ still

Makes me queasy

 

Target for her rage

Making sure bruises didn’t show

Sold off to the grandma’s

Boyfriend – deacon of the church

For him to scatter his holy seeds

And cleanse my wickedness

Father unable to defend him self

Becoming his defender

Deflecting her rage onto myself

Believing he wouldn’t survive

And I would be alone, yet

I was always on my own

Never a kind word, nor

Gentle touch

 

I tell my story not for pity

Now at last I’m free

If you were adopted

Perhaps that mother

You search for

Spared you from my fate

And others who suffered more

Knowing she was not able

Perhaps the choice was not hers?

If you were treated kindly

You’ve much to be grateful for

Try forgiving – we never forget

It is on the road to healing

Then reach out to

Those who still suffer

Taking the focus off ourselves

Catharsis for healing

*

Bisous,

Léa