Tuesday, August 1, 2023

Editor's Corner


By Mary E. Adair

August 2023

“August is the slow, gentle month that stretches out
the longest across the span of a year.
It yawns and lingers on with the light in its palms.”
— Victoria Erickson

This issue has many compositions that are about the author's memories, heartwarming, or intense, they live on in the author's mind and now can be revered in our own thoughts. That said, please indulge your editor while she shares a special memory.

My youngest daughter Dottie Olgin at about age 4, packed the little plastic overnight bag my mother had given all her grandkids one Christmas, and left the house. She walked up the sidewalk to the next street and then sat down on her suitcase. The neighbor whose house she was in front of called me (we lived on the opposite end of that block,) and told me she was sitting there. I called her daddy AG at the Monahans News Office and he walked over to the police station across the street and discussed it with Officer Escamilla who got in his patrol car and drove down to park next to Dottie.

He got out and asked if she was ok. She replied she was running away but she was not allowed to cross the street. He offered to take her where she wanted to go, and when she was in the front seat, followed her "turn here" directions for a while, let her hear the siren, and finally she said she wanted to see her mother (after about 30 minutes) so he brought her home. She came in, took her little bag to her room, came to the kitchen, hugged me, and went to watch cartoons on TV. Years later, she said that was probably when she decided she wanted to be in law enforcement. She served as a dispatcher in the local police department, during which time her husband Ruben was with the Sheriff's Department.


Mattie Lennon's "Irish Eyes" Focuses on a new book by Lauren MacKenzie, a former screenwriter for TV, set in the 1990s, titled The Couples.. He also has some news on Tattoos that require innovative ink ingredients. "Introspective" by Thomas F. O'Neill includes a TV interview he did since being back in the USA.


Rod Cohenour, whose column "Cooking with Rod" is popular with interesting recipes, features one for August he thought had been lost. "Armchair Genealogy" by Melinda Cohenour reveals info about the use of DNA in the pursuit of Crime detection.


Danielle Cote Serar, whose column is "A Mother's Lesson," tells about the incident involving her determination to teach her children to respect people in law enforcement and the military forces of our country. Judith Kroll's "On Trek" gives us her view on death, and how it transpires. Marilyn Carnell, author of "Sifoddling Along," sketches a literary portrait of a revered relative's life.. Pauline Evanosky in her column "Woo Woo," shares her process of what she defines as Lucid Reading, so you can try to attain it for yourself.


John McGrath of Ireland returns this issue with two more poems that bring the reader into them as though being on site. "From Mayo to Montrose--Closing The Circle" and "Dark Earth" both evoke powerful images.


Walt Perryman's four poems are "Choices," "Almost Bad Sins," "Our Heroes," and "What Is Rich?" Your editor's family shares her gift of poetic expression, and one of her grandsons, Joshua Adair Wadford composed the poem "War, and her late sister Jacquelyn Earline (Carroll) MacGibbon's poem "Our Parents" is shown.


Bud Lemire's four poems, with illustrations, are "Being Deaf," "Do You Remember Me?," "Every Sound Has Meaning," and "Detour." We are missing John I. Blair with his unique insight into what we might miss seeing entirely until he brings it to our attention in his poetry. We are also missing Bruce Clifford who has extended his leave of absence.


We were blessed today to have a message chat with our co-founder and webmaster, Mike Craner, whose knowledge and expertise keep Pencil Stubs Online actually online. We place our confidence in him as we have in the past and shall continue doing so.


See you in September.


Click on author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Woo Woo

 


By Pauline Evanosky

Lucid Reading and Reality Shifts

I had an odd thing happen to me last month. As soon as it happened, I knew what it was, though, before that, I had no clue it was even a thing that was possible.


I am talking about lucid reading. It only happened one time and lasted all of two or three seconds, but it was enough of a shock to my system to register up there with a 5.7 earthquake. I took notice.


I was reading a good book. It was a time travel horse doctor pioneer story. The time travel bit might have been more important than I thought at the time.


I can’t say everybody reading this piece has ever had a lucid dream or done a past life regression, but this was sort of like that. This was a past life regression viewed through the eyes of another person, the writer of the story. In fact, I was so thrilled with the book as I read it that I looked up information about the author, Elizabeth Woolsey, on the internet. I also felt a kinship with her that was inexplicable. It did not bother me. There have been a few times in my life when that has happened with other people, and I just chalk it up to something along the lines of, “I must have known her in another time and place.” That is just another fun part of being a psychic. It happens.


Elizabeth Woolsey is a horse veterinarian in real life, and this figures into most of her stories, at least the three that I’ve read so far. Yes, I have been enjoying the stories that much. If you have Kindle Unlimited at Amazon, you can pretty much borrow all of the books Elizabeth has written. And, yes, writers who write and have their books listed on Kindle Unlimited also get paid for however many pages their readers end up reading. It’s something like .0043¢ per page. There is probably more to that particular story than I have reported just now, but it’s also something to consider when you are a writer like myself and are looking to self-publish. They said on Google that people could earn more from their KENPC, which stands for Kindle edition normalized page count, than they do from all other forms of their books sold on the Amazon platform.


What happened is that as I was reading, I morphed into the story. I was there. I was a part of it. It became my own reality. No, I had not been drinking, nor was I doing drugs. It all just became very real.


Why I compared it to Lucid dreaming is that it also felt like that. Lucid dreaming is a dream that suddenly becomes real, and as you are dreaming, you know you are dreaming. In this state of mind, you can actually direct the course of your dream so that if there is something threatening going on, you can have a tsunami sweep all the bad guys away. Or you can fly. Or you can speak a foreign language.


With a past life regression, you are in a similar state of mind, and your focus is infinite. You actually feel the wind on your face and see the pyramids, people talk to you, and you can feel heat and temperature changes, you can see torchlight dancing and reflecting on the walls, and you can see a son you had over 100 years ago. It’s a reality shift that does not normally occur to folks in their everyday lives. At least, it never did to me before I turned the corner and opened to my psychic nature some 35 years ago.


This time the shift to my reality happened while I was reading, and I was very, very surprised by the experience.


I don’t know how it happened, and I have not been able to replicate the experience since then. However, I find myself paying attention now to things I normally don’t pay much attention to. Perhaps that was the idea. As I breathe, I become aware of how fresh the air smells. I listen to people talking from my study window, the everyday noises they make, hammering, talking, gardeners at work, and children playing. I find myself closing my eyes and reaching out for that otherworldly reality, that expanded psychic reality I sometimes take for granted.


When you create a new habit, it can sometimes take about three weeks for the whole process to become second nature. My intention is to, once again, take my psychic spidey senses to a higher level. It’s only going to help with the writing that I do. Maybe doing something like that for yourself could help with the things you do in your life.


Here is a quick way to do a past life or a childhood regression. You’re going to go into a self-hypnotic state. Know that you are safe. Know that you can easily come out of it if an emergency presents itself. Know that you will always be able to return to the here and now at the end of it or even before it is over if you wish.


Before I start, I state my intention. I always do it silently in my head, but you can voice it aloud or write it out too. I say something along the lines of, “I am going to do a past life regression. I know I will be safe. Please take me to whatever it is that I need to see.” The words are the same if you are doing a childhood regression.


Get into a peaceful state of mind. Promise yourself that you and your inner self will be safe. In fact, keep a pad of paper and a pencil or pen handy to jot the stuff down that wants to pull you away from the meditative state of mind. That will happen. In the beginning, it happens to everybody. Buy milk. Reconcile the checkbook. Check the tire pressure.


Anything and everything will crop up. Write down one word, milk, tires, or checkbook. Just one word, and you’ll remember the whole thought after you are done with the regression. This is actually a good idea to do when you are meditating because the same sort of thing happens. It’s also when the thought of not having a chocolate cookie begins to cloud my thinking. It's just distractions. Don’t get angry at yourself. Just try it again. It’s like learning how to walk. It never happened the first time you tried. You had to fall down a bit first, but you never gave up.


Close your eyes and gently sink again. I like to visualize myself going down a ladder slowly. Rung by rung. I also imagine myself sinking into a delightful body of water or just melting like the Wicked Witch of the West did when Dorothy threw mop water on her.


The next thing I do is remember what I was doing ten minutes before I sat down to meditate or do a regression. I might have been sitting here at my computer writing. Reading. Washing the dishes. Eating breakfast. Whatever. Just remember what it was briefly; you don’t need a photographic memory. You don’t have to remember every single detail. Just whatever it was you were doing a few minutes ago.


Next, remember what you were doing when you woke up this morning.


Next, remember what you did last night when you went to bed. Picture yourself taking your eyeglasses off and pulling the sheet over you. Remember what you had for dinner last night. Wasn’t it hot dogs?


Remember what you were doing two weeks ago. If it’s hard to remember something like that, then remember the last time you were at the dentist or the last time you did laundry. Picture yourself folding socks or driving to work.


The idea is to keep moving back in time and picturing the circumstances where you were. This is the same as for a childhood and a past life regression. Gradually, go back in time. For me, pinning the memories to events and to the places I’ve lived at are easier to do. Because I went to so many schools in childhood, I just pick a grade at random and remember something about it. Like, in the 8th grade, I lived in Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas. I remember the hills. I remember the trees. I remember walking to school. These things you are remembering do not have to be actual memories, they are snapshots in time that surface for you to place yourself in a backward continuum.


So, you just keep going back in time until you can’t remember anymore. Calmly, you say, “Take me back to what I need to look at.” In the case of a childhood regression it will be something that happened in your lifetime. In the case of a past life regression, it’s going to be in another lifetime.


And when you say, “Take me back to where I need to be” that’s when you wait patiently. The first time you do this, it might not work; then again, it might work just fine.


The process of entering a meditative calm mind takes a bit of getting used to. Is this good for just meditating, my inner self was keeping me safe and getting me the hell out of Dodge quickly. He also said I should continue to try doing the regressions. He also said to remember that everybody has happy moments in their lives. He said the death scenes were full of drama and emotion and attracted attention. On my journeys, I was drawn to them. He said to keep in mind and remember the happier moments because everybody has them.


So, I took his advice, and my regressions became very interesting. It’s sort of like when you first learn to drive. The person behind the wheel, for the first time in their life, can’t spend their time looking out of the windows as the scenery rolls by. That’s when you inadvertently steer towards what you are looking at, and before you know it, you’ve crashed the car into somebody’s mailbox. With experience, the driving becomes safer.


So, lucid reading, lucid dreaming, and deliberate regressions, whether childhood or past life, are all somehow tied together.


Who knows? Maybe I will finally be able to read something in a lucid dream or in a meditative state. I’ll certainly tell you about it if I am ever able to learn how to do that. mediating or for doing past life or childhood regressions? No, this discipling of your attention creates a stronger focus for you that will enable you to apply yourself to all sorts of things like learning languages, cooking, or creating spreadsheets in Excel.


I can remember the first time I started doing past life regressions, I had not perfected the idea of a calm mind. I was also afraid of death at the time. I mean, who isn’t afraid to die? But the scenes I saw were those of me dying. I did not like it. Because I was channeling at the time, I asked my guide what was going on. He explained to me that because I was new to the idea of past life regressions and of me.


Thank you for reading.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Cooking with Rod

 

By Rod Cohenour

My readers are really lucky with this issue. My sweet wife found one of her recipes we thought had been lost. This was like finding lost treasure because it is one of my personal favorites.


Be sure to make the dumplings because they are a real treat - light, flavorful, yet filling. The same recipe she created for the dumplings makes a delicious biscuit as well.


Bon appetit ~!



Melinda’s Easy Chicken and Dumplings


2005 Recipe by Melinda

Ingredients:

  • 1 box Wyler’s Chicken Noodle Soup Mix (or one without noodles if desired)
  • 5 stalks to a whole bunch celery, sliced thin (save leafy tops)
  • 5 large carrots, dime slices
  • 3 chicken breasts, boneless and skinless
  • Water to cover chicken – about 6-8 cups
  • 1 large onion (cut in half – dice half and quarter the other half)
  • 1 cup milk


For Dumplings:

  • 3 cups Bisquick
  • 1 tsp. Poultry Seasoning
  • 1 ½ Tbsp. Sage
  • 1 tsp. Garlic Powder
  • 1 tsp. Black Pepper (or to taste)
  • 1 cup buttermilk


Instructions:

    Place chicken breasts in stock pot. Add leafy tops from celery and one-half onion that you quartered to pot. Cover breasts and vegetables with water to cover and about 2” over. Bring to gentle boil then lower heat to simmer about 30 minutes or until chicken breasts are cooked through but not tough. When cooked through, remove breasts to cool and reserve the broth.
    Using large stew pot, add soup mix, celery, carrots, onion and diced chicken and chicken broth prepared above plus additional water to satisfy soup directions.
    While stew pot is heating, prepare dumplings:
    Season Bisquick with sage, garlic powder, poultry seasoning and pepper. Add buttermilk and mix dough lightly, making sure it is not too wet.
    After chicken and soup pot has begun to simmer, drop Bisquick dumplings on top by spoonfuls, leaving plenty of room as these dumplings will plump up as they cook. Let the dumpling rise and then turn each over in the pot. Cover bubbling pot to permit dumplings to “bake” for a lighter dumpling. I usually remove the first dumplings and put on a platter covered to keep warm and repeat until all my dough is used up – not crowding the pot. These dumplings are really light and delicious.
    Just before serving, I add the cup of milk to my stewpot to make my soup creamy.
    I also duplicate the dumpling mixture to make drop biscuits to serve alongside, but this is just because my family loves the extra biscuits.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.

Sifoddling Along

 


By Marilyn Carnell

Profile of a Remarkable Man


         Gene Arthur Bunch was born on October 12, 1925. He was one of a kind. A complex mixture of country and sophistication, feigned ignorance and fierce intelligence. Very few are given the gifts of personality and charm that were essential parts of him. When he was in a room, all eyes went to him. Charisma could be defined by Gene. He loved to talk. Lord, how he loved to talk. He was a consummate storyteller. The one of my generation to keep alive the oral histories of our family and the area.


         He was a man of strength and determination who cared deeply about others and their welfare. A gentle man with a tough exterior who always had a soft spot for an underdog. Thousands of his good deeds are known only to the ones he helped. He was not boastful of his achievement nor was he falsely modest. He worked hard and was intelligent and shrewd. A good businessman, he was driven to succeed not only for his own profit but to be sure he had the resources to help his family and others in need.


         A talented athlete he was a horseman, a strong swimmer, and a world-class boxer. These attributes were significant in his life. Following are some events:

    While a boy, he rescued a friend from drowning in Big Sugar Creek.
    He thrived as a Marine. During his service, he won the All-Service Division Championship in boxing which gave him a position on the Olympic team where he lost his final match in a split decision.
    When he was stationed at El Toro base in California, a group of men was sent on a training mission of landing crafts. Despite imminent extreme weather, they were ordered to go. When the storm hit, they were seven miles from shore in heavy seas. The LSTs began to sink. Most of the men were trapped and drowned. Gene managed to escape through the small hatch and due to his superb physical condition was one of three survivors who were able to swim through the turbulent sea to safety. On that journey, he became sick from swallowing sea water and was alone, exhausted, and scared. When asked what motivated him to keep going, he said, “I didn’t have enough life insurance to provide for my mom and little sister.”


         He was far from perfect, but easy to forgive. He loved to court pretty women but failed several times as a husband. I called him “My oft-married cousin.” During the last divorce hearing, he told the judge that he should not be issued another marriage license until he was seventy years old. Sadly, he passed away on February 25, 1995, the victim of asbestos exposure in one of his business enterprises.


         I often think of him and wish I could ask for information or advice. I miss him.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Introspective


By Thomas F. O'Neill

I was recently
on the Sam Lesante Show
discussing the pros and cons of
China's education system
with host Sam Lesante.


 

 

 

The link below will open the YouTube presentation of that discussion.


Thomas F O'Neill on the Sam Lesante Show -- discussing China's education system with Sam Lesante. .

Always with love,
Thomas F O'Neill

    Email: introspective7@hotmail.com
    WeChat - Thomas_F_ONeill
    Phone: (410) 925-9334
    Skype: thomas_f_oneill
    Twitter: https://twitter.com/Thomas_F_ONeill
    Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/thomas-f-o-neill-6226b018/
    Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/thomas_f_oneill/
    Facebook: http://facebook.com/thomasf.oneill.3/


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.



On Trek


By Judith Kroll

It is one of my beliefs, that it would help mankind to know that there is no death. It is a transformation from flesh to spirit in an instant. So no pain..just moving forward. (Something a loving father, I believe would create.)


Here is a post from a re-incarnation site, I want to share. I know my dad left his body hours before his body stopped. So here is someone else's experience...

~~~~~~~~~~~


I have chosen to post this one anonymously since it is so personal, emotional, and sad, yet comforting that the soul separates before death.


One of my lives is difficult to understand why, why would I choose it, what lesson did I seek? It is the late 1800s, San Francisco. I am standing in a long dark hall way of an old house, very frightened. I am a young Chinese girl, about 16. Very long dark hair, small in stature, and thin. No matter what, I want to get away, or if I can't I don't wish to live. I have been sold and placed in a brothel as a sex slave.


The sadness of this life overwhelms me, I am so desperate. I am caught attempting to leave, and at that point, I am stabbed, I die.


There is no pain, my soul separated before death, and as I watched I had no attachment to what had been my earthly body. I was amazed this vision was so clear and detailed. I really had no knowledge this had happened during that period of young girls be sold by their own families, or abducted and placed in these circumstances. It is though my most vivid view of a death and confirmation that the soul separates before the final act.

~~~~~~~~~~~


Judith.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Irish Eyes


By Mattie Lennon

The Couples, Tattoos, and "The King of Ireland"

The cover of The Couples shows the remains of what looks like a fairly hectic dinner party. Lauren Mackenzie’s debut novel, set in the 1990s, as the title implies, deals with a number of couples; three to be exact. It’s so true to life that the reader could be forgiven for thinking that it’s not fiction.

Eva and Shay met, in their twenties, on an Eco-farm in Leitrim. Shay is now a Landscape gardener and Eva is a school teacher. Conor was a well-respected GP while his wife Bea doesn’t need to work. Frank and Lizzie were both actors, though Lizzie is now “ between jobs,” They used to be risk-takers and by the time Frank was 48 his finances weren’t good and he was broke and despondent. One or more of the other five decided to organise a birthday bash for Frank’s 48th birthday. The six of them booked into Hardwood House, a not very salubrious establishment, in County Laois, for the weekend. All saw it as an excuse to relive their younger days.


In the middle of the night Frank makes a suggestion which the other five go along with. The result led to a situation that some of them couldn’t remember and others wanted to forget.


It’s at this point in the story that as a reader I asked myself how did the author, who grew up in Sydney and spent her formative years there, get successfully into the heads of a half dozen residents of Dublin 8.


She says, “The first book I remember reading, by myself, was a pretty, white leather bible given to me by a neighbour, Mrs. Bevan, a church-going Methodist, who thought my very modern, secular parents were letting me down. I was six. My parents who were born on the eve of the Second World War, tried to give us the carefree childhood they wished they had and were also, in many ways, trying to recreate it for themselves. Freedom was everything. I was living in Dublin with my Irish husband and our two young sons when my mother told me what was really going on among her friends at their parties. Mrs. Bevan might have had a point though; my very modern parents provided me with the premise for my first novel, The Couples.


Lauren MacKenzie


The Couples is a good read with plenty of mystery with not all that much deceit. It takes you through the lives of six people until they got back to normal living. Or did they?


I hope that the influence of her parents and that of Mrs. Bevan continue to work on this author. We could do with more novels like The Couples.

* * * * *

TATTOOS.


There is a growing trend around the world for people to have the ashes of their cremated loved ones mixed with tattoo ink and used and it will probably soon reach this green and misty island. A spokesperson for Mr. Inkwells in California told me, “We have done many cremation ashes tattoos. It’s a great way to commemorate a loved one, and it’s a fairly simple process. Tattoos are one of the rare 'rituals' that we still have, plus they require not only money, but pain. This makes them more meaningful, and combining this with the ashes of loved ones is a powerful way to say ‘I love you’."


I contacted a number of Tattooists here in Ireland, but so far it would appear that it hasn’t caught on in this country. If you are thinking about incorporating ashes into your tattoo, the first step is to contact a tattoo shop and let the artist know that you want to incorporate ashes into your tattoo. Once your appointment is set, you bring the ashes in, and then a small amount of them are mixed with the tattoo ink. Once thoroughly mixed, you are ready to be tattooed.


You may be wondering if being tattooed with ashes is safe, but don’t worry. Because the cremation process happens at such high temperatures the ashes should be sterile and safe as long as they are not contaminated in transit. The best part of any tattoo, including a tattoo mixed with ashes, is deciding what tattoo you are going to get. Initials and names are very popular, as well as portraits. But, you can get whatever reminds you of your loved one the most.


According to Alice Nicholls, specialist tattoo artist and owner of The Fine Art of Tattoo studio in Colchester, “Memorial tattoos have been around for quite a long time, but – thanks to social media and tattoos in general becoming more mainstream – more people know about them and want to get one."


Memorial tattoos were traditionally a standard design celebrating a loved one, but today they include tattoos where a tiny amount of ashes is mixed into the ink. You may also have heard them called cremation tattoos or cremation ink.

* * * * *


A County Meath man who describes himself as the Sovereign King of Ireland has asked a judge for orders against Bus Eireann after a driver refused to let him get on a bus with his dog and also against a Garda who was responsible for him being issued speeding ticket.


James Carey, who called himself “his Majesty” the king, told Judge Martin Nolan in the Circuit Civil Court in Dublin that the driver of a bus had no jurisdiction to refuse him. Mr. Carey, from, Stamullen, Co Meath, also asked Judge Nolan to direct that the Garda, who had issued him with the speeding ticket for breaking the limit by 5km on “one of his privately owned highways,” had no lawful right to do so.


Mr Carey told the court that after his car had broken down he had attempted to board a bus with his dog and had been told by the driver he could not do so.


He said he was the rightful head of state and his country’s department of security took a very dim view of “the man in the Phoenix Park.”


Judge Nolan, who gave the case a full hearing and told Mr. Carey there was no king of Ireland, that his proceedings disclosed no proper cause of action, only to be told by Mr. Carey that such an order would amount to an act of treason.


“I own Ireland, I rule Ireland and I am your legal employer,” he told the judge.

See you in September.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


 



A Mother's Lesson


By Danielle Cote Serar

This last month I had the pleasure and pain of taking my 5-year-old daughter and 2-year-old son on vacation to both Sea World and the San Diego Zoo. For those with littles you understand easily the amount of joy there is in seeing your kids' faces light up at sights they have never seen, or how infectious their shrills of laughter and excitement are. You equally know how challenging theme park tantrums, team no naps, and the exhaustion that comes with taking littles on vacations. It's not our first theme park vacation and it won’t be our last for sure. But this trip may end up being the most memorable - not just for me but for my daughter. And it had nothing to do with the theme parks.


I am the daughter of an honorably discharged US Army Captain. Growing up, my father never talked about his service and if I’m being honest, if it were not for my mother, I’m not sure I would have known he was a soldier. He was not ashamed of his service. In fact quite the opposite. He was proud of the work he had done in the military, the men and lives he had helped save, and how even after the service, it allowed him to still serve his country. But he was a Vietnam Veteran with many mental and physical scars that he never fully recovered from. He had a mortar round (bomb for those not familiar with ammunition) go off in front of him. By the sheer grace of God, he was in what they call the ring of life. This person size ring in the arch of an explosion where you will be safe, saved his life but cost him a good chunk of his hearing. He survived The Battle of Anloc, a place where very few walked out alive and the enemy used civilian women and children as shields, and a place he wasn’t even supposed to be. He’d switched his R&R (rest and relaxation) leave with a man whose wife was going to give birth shortly, and thus he ended up trapped in what I can only describe as one of the dimensions of hell on earth. And too, so many other near misses that could only leave one scarred. For a long time, there was such an awful stigma attached to being a Vietnam Vet. I, thankfully, never saw that part of our world, being born after much of the drama of the 60s and 70s became history. But I know it helped shape the keeping from sharing by my father.


When the series "Tour of Duty" came out, despite my young age, we would watch it religiously as a family. I think for my dad, it was therapy to remember that what he did, what he was asked to do, while a loss in the history books, was a win for serving his brothers in arms. Back in the days of having to watch TV when it came on and good old fashion VHS videos to record your favorite shows, my dad did in fact record every episode of the series. In hindsight, I think he may have regretted doing so because every summer vacation, I would watch the series. To this day I can quote lines from it. I did it so I could understand my father more. But I also got to see something else. The core of the show focused on the bond of the unit. I saw how soldiers were no different from anyone else that had a job. They went to work and did what their boss asked of them. They didn’t have a say in their tasks. But what was and is asked of our soldiers, of all those that put themselves in the line of fire to protect, is to be willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, their life, for others.


It was with this epiphany that I made the decision to thank every soldier (and now law enforcement officer) that I saw. I would go out of my way to make sure I told them that I appreciated them and what they did for us. This became even more important after my father passed away. And it was with this in mind that I have made sure that I teach my daughter and son to do the same. So when we pulled up to a Carl’s Jr. in the middle of our drive back home and I saw a group of soldiers enjoying breakfast, it was my norm and habit to do the same. With my daughter being older and understanding more, I took the opportunity to pull her aside to talk to her first. Asking her if she saw the soldiers, asking her if she knew what we were going to be doing, seeing her nod yes. Again sharing with her about her grandpa and his service. Asking her if she knew why we did it, and her answer made my heart swell with pride. “Because they are heroes, Mommy.”


Excusing our interruption of their breakfast, we both took the time to thank them for all they did. I beamed as my daughter said her own words. And in their responses, I knew they didn’t get thanked often. So later when one came behind me as I was ordering wanting a simple cup of water, but being asked to pay for a larger cup, it was a no-brainer for me to treat her. There was true appreciation in her words and body language for my simple act of respect and kindness for her service. I never expected anything in return but will be forever grateful for what happened next.


I sat with my daughter, again talking about the soldiers, her grandfather, what it meant to serve, hearing her thoughts, when the soldiers started to leave. They thanked us. But the one I had bought the drink for came back, knelt by my daughter and handed her the unit patch from her uniform. She said, “I want you to have this.” Thanked me and then left. My daughter beamed. She has not stopped talking about it and how very kind of her that was. She’s excited to share with her friends about the heroes she met and the badge. We talk about how special that is and how that doesn’t just happen. I feel confident this memory will live forever for myself and my daughter. But more importantly, I taught her the importance of the grace we give our men and women that serve and are willing to put the ultimate sacrifice on the table every day as they suit up for work. Does she fully understand, no. But will she continue to thank our service personnel, understanding more each time, giving space for us to talk, yes. 

 

Gifted Patch


See what I learned watching my father and watching all those episodes of "Tour of Duty" is really quite simple. Army green is not Democratic blue or Republican red. It transcends divide simply because of what they do. They serve to protect our freedoms, our way of life - be it conservative or liberal values, to protect their brothers and sisters in arms, to defend our country. And they do so with little pay that amounts to minimum wage here in California and are expected, if called upon, to sacrifice their lives. That deserves our thanks. That deserves our respect. So I humbly ask, if you see a soldier, take the one minute or less it will take to genuinely say thank you to them.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Armchair Genealogy


By Melinda Cohenour

DNA Helps Solve Another Series of Murders

It was 2010 and I had just heard that a young woman was reported missing after contacting 911 with a frantic plea for help. She, reportedly, had said, "They are trying to kill me."


For days I watched as the news indicated she had not been found. Searchers failed to turn up any sign of her or her belongings as they canvassed the marshy area bordering the exclusive gated community of Oak Beach where she was last seen.


Her name was Shannan Gilbert, a pretty young woman who aspired to become an actress, but supporting herself as a call girl plying her trade on Craig's List. She had contacted her driver/security partner to deliver her to her client's home on May 1, 2010.


Shannan's 911 call was placed at 5:41 a.m. on May 2, 2010. That call would trigger a search that extended for months. After being pushed by Shannan's mother, Mari Gilbert, the search efforts were refocused to an area outside the exclusive community where she had last been seen.


In June of 2010 after Shannan Gilbert went missing, the Suffolk County Police Department missing persons bureau asked Officer John Mallia to search the Oak Beach area using his trained cadaver dog Blue. Over the remaining summer months, Mallia and Blue searched unsuccessfully for Gilbert or her belongings through the marshy tracts of Oak Beach.


Officer Mallia began to research FBI materials related to body disposals and determined the brushy area outside but proximate to Oak Beach might be worthy of investigation.


On December 11 of that year, Officer Mallia and K9 Blue began their search along the Gilgo Beach parkway. In spite of the cold and a sprinkling of snow, K9 Blue picked up on the scent of decomposition. Soon after, K9 Blue found a set of human remains later determined to belong not to Shannan Gilbert but to Melissa Barthelemy. Her skeletal remains had been bound in a burlap material secured around her head, chest, and legs. Melissa had gone missing July 10, 2009.


Two days later, December 13, three more sets of human remains were found, all secured within burlap material and bound similarly to those of Melissa Barthelemy. Examination of these sets of remains would ultimately identify the unfortunate young women as Maureen Brainard-Barnes, missing since July 9, 2007; Megan Waterman, missing since June 6, 2010; and Amber Costello, missing since September 2, 2010.


Police continued to search along the Gilgo Beach marsh area, all the way back toward Oak Beach. During that search six more sets of human remains were discovered. Most were petite young female sex workers, but also located were an African American female toddler about 16 to 24 months of age, and an Asian American male of slight build dressed in feminine clothing whose cause of death was determined to have been blunt force trauma.


Inexplicably, some of the victims recovered were partial sets of skeletal remains that would later be connected to dismembered bodies whose torsos had been found years before.


On March 29, 2011 the partial remains of a victim later identified as Jessica Taylor were discovered. Her torso had previously been found in Manorville in 2003. Her head, hands and a forearm had been placed in a plastic bag discovered on Gilgo Beach.


On April 4, 2011, four more sets of remains were located that included the toddler whose body had been wrapped in a blanket, no visible damage to the skeleton, and pieces of gold jewelry still contained in the blanket. Nearby were partial remains of a victim whose torso had been found June 28, 1997, at Hampstead Lake State Park in the town of Lakeview, New York. Above the left breast was a distinctive tattoo of a peach with a bite taken from it. Her torso had been found soon enough after death to permit a clear photo of the tattoo above her breast. She was called "Peaches". DNA testing later showed Peaches to be the toddler's mother. Attempts to put a name to Peaches and locate any living relatives have so far been frustrating.


Also found were the partial remains of a victim later identified through genetic DNA investigation to be Valerie Mack. Her DNA matched to a maternal aunt, sibling to six sisters one of whom had been Valerie's mother. Valerie had been adopted, had an infant son when she went missing and had a history of drug use and a record of convictions for prostitution. Her torso, less head, hands and a foot removed high above the ankle were found in Manorville on November 19, 2000, but not identified until 2020. (Photos of this young woman tugged at my heartstrings as they reveal, first, a vibrant and beautiful young teen and then her descent into heavy addiction and a lack of care for her appearance.)


The similarities in the murder and disposal of their dismembered body parts in the cases of Jessica Taylor and Valerie Mack require consideration of a shared killer. Whether that killer is responsible for all the victims must be determined.


The fourth set of remains discovered on this date was the Asian male dressed in woman's clothing.


One week later, on April 11, 2011, the remains of Jane Doe 7 were discovered. Her remains consisted of a skull and several teeth recovered from Tobay Beach. DNA testing revealed a match to severed legs found April 20, 1996 on Fire Island. The left leg bore a surgical scar. Jane Doe 7 has not yet been identified.


The investigation into the murder victims whose remains have been disposed of on the stretch of land lying off Long Island continues. Your author continues to follow developments and will compile an update in our September issue.


Fascinating what one can explore from the comfort of their Armchair ... Genealogy and mysteries... Oh, yes.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


War

 

By Joshua Adair Wadford

(Reprint from group of previous issues lost in the crash during Fall 1999)

What is War?
War's grinding nuts
War is binding guts
War is smoking guns
War is crying loved ones.

Does it make sense?
No.
Humans are just dense.
Will you die?
Will you survive?
Try harder than hard
or
Die harder than hard.

Why must we go through this?
Me, I prefer ... Bliss.

© April 1998 Joshua Adair Wadford

(When this was written, Joshua was serving in the U.S. Army in Ft. Bliss, Texas. He is the grandson of our editor Mary, and has served in Germany, Since this was originally published, he has become the proud father of a son, Trenton Adair Wadford. More bliss.)


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Almost Bad Sins

 

By Walt Perryman

I have stolen a few things but nothing of great value.
I’ve used God’s name in vain, but I didn’t mean to.

I have lied, but I they were little white lies, you see.
So, these must not be as bad as a bad sin would be?

I have cheated before, but I did not plan it that way.
What will I say to Old St. Peter on my judgment day?

If I say, “I sinned but they were not like a real bad sin.”
St. Peter will reply, “Well, Walt, I almost let you in?”

©Oct 4, 2022 Walt Perryman


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Every Sound Has Meaning

 

By Bud Lemire

Every sound has meaning, every sound you hear
It could be a ringing of a bell, that comes to your ear
Water against the shore, the cry of the seagull in the sky
Birds singing in the trees, that are hidden from your eye

The music, how I loved the music I use to listen to
I played them day and night, they always helped me through
They play in my mind now, but it's not the same
I forget some I use to listen to, even forgot their name

Little sounds that so many take for granted, mean a lot
I was sure I'd be listening to them forever, or so I thought
Your voice, Oh God, I wish I could hear it once more
Or even my own footsteps, walking across the floor

If the smoke alarm goes off, I won't hear it go
Unless it lights up, It will be the only way I will know
For us who are totally deaf, we need light to replace sound
So in case of an emergency, we can make it to safer ground

For us with better vision, we can always see
Not all of us can see clearly, that's how it is with me
In memories, I hold the sounds so very dear
Because every sound has meaning, every sound you hear

©Jul 27, 2023 Bud Lemire

                     Author Note:

Don't take for granted the sounds you hear daily. For one
day they may be taken away. I hope not for your sake. But
for me, I have to deal with a very quiet world. I never took
the sounds for granted. I listened to music every day and night.
I heard the birds singing and looked forward every day to hear
them sing. Take in every sound, enjoy even the ones you don't.
Because once it's gone, you may never hear them again.


 
Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Dark Earth

 

By John McGrath

I can hear the squish and squelch of my father’s slane
as he sinks the sharp blade into the black peat.
He dips and lifts, loops the slippery sod
in my direction. I move with its weight to steer it
to a spot next to its kin, where sun and wind
will work their yearly miracle. My father
hums softly as he bends and lifts again.

At Cinder Hill I swing my pick. No humming here,
only men’s profanity and the ring of steel on coal.
Dust clogs the air and stifles breathing. Sweat blinds.
I share my snap with Jim. Cold water slakes our thirst.
He talks of Calgary his home, oilfields, easy pickings,
six months’ hard work and six months living free.
I’m nearly twenty-five and life is calling me.

Phyllis finally says yes. We haul our trailer north,
roll from rig to rig, following the work. Three good years,
then back to Canmore, down the pit once more.
Like my father before me, I probe the dark earth
until the mine shuts down in Seventy-nine. Phyllis,
by my side, gives me hope and home. We take
things easy now; watch the boys play hockey.

I ride my mountain bike beside Bow Valley Trail.
High above, the towering Rockies, Three Sisters
smiling down. I smile right back; Canada’s been good to me.
No easy pickings here, just steady work and steadfast company.
Sixty years this land has been my home. But now and then
I can still hear the squish and squelch of my father’s slane
as he sinks the sharp blade into the black peat.

©March 2015 John McGrath

Note: Slane – Irish Turf-spade
Cinder Hill – Nottinghamshire Coalmine

                                  Author Note:

Here is one of two poems about my uncles, wanderers both.

My twin uncles Paddy and Austin were both raised in our tiny
cottage in Cullatinny a generation before me. They had little in
the way of formal education and farmed a few meager acres with
my grandfather before emigrating (around 1950), first to England and
then across the Atlantic, Austin to Alberta and Paddy to New York.

Paddy was drafted almost as soon as he arrived in the U.S. and did
one tour of duty in Korea and three in Vietnam. He completed his
education before leaving the army and went on to spend over 20 years
as a Highways Supervisor in the Colorado Rockies, not
far from Pike’s Peak. He is buried in Montrose, Colorado.

Austin worked in the coal mines in Nottinghamshire before heading
for Alberta intending to work in the Canadian oilfields. He
found digs in Canmore and fell in love with his landlady’s daughter,
Phyllis. Soon they were married and together they headed for where
the money and work took them. Oil was the new gold and they were
right there in the thick of it! Family tragedy brought them back to
Canmore however, and there they stayed. Austin went back
to coal mining and rose to the position of Mine Manager
before retiring.

I would have been about 2 years old when they left Ireland and only
knew of them as I grew up through the stories my neighbours
told of my legendary 6-feet-tall uncles! They would have
remained legends had I not had the good fortune however
to meet with each of them again in their later years. This poem and
"From Mayo to Montrose – Closing the Circle" are my gift
to them and part of our shared legacy.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Choices

 

By Walt Perryman

I’ve made some good choices and I’ve made many bad,
But when I have chosen the bad is what makes me sad.

The most important opinion I will have on this earth,
Is the opinion, I have of myself, and my own self-worth.

Probably the most important conversation I ever had,
Was with my own conscience about the good and bad.

Our life is made up of the choices we make.
So today, good or bad which one will you take?

©Mar 11, 2023 Walt Perryman


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Detour

 

By Bud Lemire

In every life, there's a detour
It takes you away, so you can learn more
Off the beaten path, to a new place
A new experience, for you to embrace

Detours are fun, you just never know
Where you'll end up, where you will go
The unknown, can bring on some fear
“What the heck am I going to do here?”

Rest assured, you'll know what to do
Listen to your heart, and it'll ring true
A new adventure, a story to tell
One that you know, only too well

You're not lost, from where you should be
Experiencing something new, is the master key
Unlocking future doors, as you go along
When your soul takes the lead, you can't go wrong

Take a detour, enjoy everything
Dance with the flow, you can sing
Sometimes life takes you, somewhere new
Where you enjoy it, as you take in the view

©Jul 12, 2023 Bud Lemire

                     Author Note:

For some, detours can be scary. But if you use
common sense, and the skills all humans have,
it can turn out to be the best place you can be.
It will be a place you never thought you'd be. But
because the detour took you there, you found a new
place, new friends, and a new life. You can always
go back to that road you were on, but you can also
stay where the detour took you. Because all roads
lead to home.


 

Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Our Parents

 

By Jacquie MacGibbon

A young lad from Missouri came to Texas a few years back . . .
His name was John Edward;
Some called him "Slim", and some, "Jack."
He thought he'd earn some money
And worked for a while
But thinking about his honey made him wishful to smile.
So off to Missouri he went right away
To bring back a wife, name of Lena May.
She had bouncy curls, and eyes--big and round.
They settled down in a small, booming oil town,
Loving each other dearly,
'neath the sky so blue.
They had three small girls--
and called them their "pearls."
Their love grew and grew,
as they knew it would do.
A war came along and
Jack would join the battle.
But he was a young father of girls numbering three...
So he and Lena May went up to cold Seattle
To work in the shipyards to help America stay free.
Their shift-work parted them sometimes;
But their love continued strong.
They took advantage of the free times. . .
Knowing their lives together would be long.
Back to Texas and sun and sand . . .
Another small girl joined the band.
Jack was so proud and Lena felt grand.
A family together -- hand in hand.
Oh, the trials and tribulations --
The fun of winter vacations!
The joys and jubilations --
Of raising four female relations!
The marriages and separation from their parents so dear . . .
A phone call away,
Their sweet voices to hear
Help each daughter keep their memories quite clear
Of those two lovely people--so far, yet so near.
The grandchildren came in droves.
And today, the family still grows.
With great grandkids, and more to be --
All claiming their place on the family tree.
The good times and the bad . . .
The laughter and the tears . . .
The victorious times and the sad . . .
That come and go with the years.
And all the time these precious two,
Through the happy times and times so blue,
Share their lives in all they do --
Supporting each other with love so true.
As they go through life with love and cheer,
It's so obviously and plainly clear --
That by giving of themselves so much
They're truly blessed by God's special touch!
So here are some words from deep in my heart
I feel I just simply have to impart.
My Mom & Dad -- so marvelous to know --
Two special persons with an inner glow.
The pet names you've given to us girls
Make us feel special -- cherished as pearls.
Pride for each of us you two always show.
All of our lives you've helped us to grow.
It's with love on this point we agree --
The youngest, and the elder three --
To take this opportunity to say very loud
That you are our parents makes us quite proud.
We know, in your eyes,
Each of us is number one.
Not because of any accomplishment we might have done
But because of the love you give each daughter you had,
Gladly we claim you two with love --
Our MOM and DAD!!!

©Jun 1, 1996 Jacquelyn Earline MacGibbon

Reprint from a 1996 AMEA Publications issue of Hobbie$,Etc.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


What is Rich?

 

By Walt Perryman

I don’t know what I would want millions of dollars for,
But, if I had that much, I know that I would want more.

If I owned oil wells, ranches, and a great big Yacht,
If I were not happy, it wouldn’t matter a whole lot.

Now, if I have God, family, good friends, and health.
A place to sleep, food, I would have abundant wealth!

Happiness has nothing to do with a big bank account.
But a true heart is worth more than any dollar amount.

So, money and things won’t matter once you realize,
What matters this morning is you opened your eyes.

Remember folks, you can’t buy a true heart anyway!
So, thank God and be grateful for this beautiful day!

©Mar 13, 2023 Walt Perryman


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Do You Remember Me?

 

By Bud Lemire

Do you remember me?
Of all I use to be
You remember the me of long ago
Of the person you use to know

All the years, brought on a change
I'm not the same, it may seem strange
I've been through, oh so much
For over forty years, we've been out of touch

My health is okay, but it's been better
My wife passed away, not long after I met her
I found love again, which is so great
She couldn't be, a better mate

We have three kids, all are grown
I have an ache, down to the bone
I keep busy, with all that I do
Golfing, poker night, how about you?

Have you heard from George at all?
Do you see him, does he give you a call?
Time goes fast, of all it can be
I wonder, do you remember me?

©Jul 26, 2023 Bud Lemire

                     Author Note:

Two people meeting and catching up
after years of not seeing one another.
As time goes on, we forget so much.
Yet we hold onto those special memories
that meant so much to us. Life tends to
bring us all in different directions and to
different places.


 

Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


From Mayo to Montrose – Closing the Circle

 

By John McGrath

It’s peaceful here.
The deer come down at dawn
to graze on funeral flowers.

Sometimes when the wind sings
I hear the voices of the old ones
Calling to each other
across fields and ditches.
Bridget and Tom,
Delia, Pa and the others,
Busy with hay in Mayo,
racing to beat the rain.
They speak to me
when the sun is warm
on the strong green grass above me.
Great weather for hay in Colorado,
warm blue skies and never a cloud,
no rain to wash the gravestones,
only the soft sounds of summer
and the singing of the breeze
in the cottonwood trees.

My first wife sleeps beside me.
My last love visits in the cool of evening.
She likes to sit and help me reminisce
on people and on places that I knew
before we met. She stays ‘til sunset,
kisses the granite when she goes.
Last week she brought a visitor,
my brother’s boy from Ireland.
We talked a while
of neighbours and of places we both shared,
of cool spring wells and whitewashed cottages
where he and I were reared but never met.
He found a smooth glass pebble by the gate
when they were leaving. Just one of many,
like the teardrops in this place.
Picked it up, weighed it in his palm,
dropped it in his pocket.
I saw him nod as he looked back
and knew that he would do
what must be done
to close the circle.

It’s peaceful here; no deer, no funeral flowers.
Only a pebble by a ruined door
And everywhere the ripple of the rain.

© July to October 2012 John McGrath

                                        Author Note:

Here is one of two poems about my uncles, wanderers both.

My twin uncles Paddy and Austin were both raised in our tiny
cottage in Cullatinny a generation before me. They had little in
the way of formal education and farmed a few meager acres with
my grandfather before emigrating (around 1950), first to England and
then across the Atlantic, Austin to Alberta and Paddy to New York.

Paddy was drafted almost as soon as he arrived in the U.S. and did
one tour of duty in Korea and three in Vietnam. He completed his
education before leaving the army and went on to spend over 20 years
as a Highways Supervisor in the Colorado Rockies, not
far from Pike’s Peak. He is buried in Montrose, Colorado.

Austin worked in the coal mines in Nottinghamshire before heading
for Alberta intending to work in the Canadian oilfields. He
found digs in Canmore and fell in love with his landlady’s daughter,
Phyllis. Soon they were married and together they headed for where
the money and work took them. Oil was the new gold and they were
right there in the thick of it! Family tragedy brought them back to
Canmore however, and there they stayed. Austin went back
to coal mining and rose to the position of Mine Manager
before retiring.

I would have been about 2 years old when they left Ireland and only
knew of them as I grew up through the stories my neighbours
told of my legendary 6-feet-tall uncles! They would have
remained legends had I not had the good fortune however
to meet with each of them again in their later years. This poem and
"Dark Earth" are my gift
to them and part of our shared legacy.


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Our Heroes

 By Walt Perryman

Where are all our heroes at today?
Have they deserted us and gone away?

John Wayne, Roy Rogers, are only two
Of many heroes that we once knew.

Why can’t we all be a hero today?
We all put our boots on the same way.

We may not save humanity this may be true,
But we might make a difference in one or two.

©Dec 2022 Walt Perryman


Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.


Being Deaf

 By Bud Lemire

Being deaf in this world, is no easy thing
Loneliness and frustration, are what it will bring
So many people don't understand, what it's like not to hear
They don't even try, so that all will become clear

I can read lips, when they form their words just right
When they are facing me, and they are in full sight
Yet many are rude, and will turn away and talk
When they do this, I just turn away and walk

I ask, if they'll repeat what they just said
The look on their face, then they shake their head
Is that so hard to do, when you're talking to me?
I can't hear the words, and I won't let it be

They think I am faking it, what will it take
So they'll understand, and they'll be awake
As I often said, they'll be stupid until they want to learn
You'll find these people, everywhere that you turn

They laugh at me, oh sure it's a joke
Because I don't know, the words that you spoke
We aren't going to take crap, from people like you
We'd have better luck talking, with animals in a zoo
Compassion and understanding are what is needed to know
Stupidity and rudeness, won't help you to grow

©Jul 15, 2023 Bud Lemire

                     Author Note:

When you mock someone who is deaf, you are being so
very rude and that is not right for any human to do to
another. To get upset because you have to repeat words
for them, is not right at all. Think of what they have to go
through. No sound at all, no music, no birds singing, no
cars honking, etc. And you think it is such an issue to
repeat a few words to a deaf person. You need compassion
and understanding, and know what their world is like without
sound in it. Maybe we need to put you in a soundproof room
for a week and see how you like it.


 

Click on the author's byline for bio and list of other works published by Pencil Stubs Online.
This issue appears in the ezine at www.pencilstubs.com and also in the blog www.pencilstubs.net with the capability of adding comments at the latter.