Saturday, March 1, 2025

Editor's Corner



By Mary E. Adair

March 2025

"Keep your face
always toward the sunshine,
and shadows will fall behind you."
— Walt Whitman


Although we ended our February in our area with an afternoon 4.8 Earthquake about 75 miles or so from our western desert town, the worst the month dealt to us was the below freezing weather for four consecutive days. Older homes, and I might add older citizens, are not built here for such weather and our water pipes and brittle bones take offense. But we also followed that with some mid 80s temperatures to soothe our tempers.


We are looking forward to more normal weather for March which slams us into Daylight Saving Time when our clocks spurt forward an hour. Interestingly, this is always done during the wee morning hours as if we are being spared such a shock.


Walt Perryman's poems are "All Alone with A Windmill," "Almost Daylight," and "What I Take for Granted." John I. Blair has two new poems for March: "Millipede" and "Ten O'Clock Train To Texas."


Bud Lemire's poems are "Rectify Any Wrong Doings," "Time Doesn't Stand Still," and "That Darn Keyboard!" Bruce Clifford's three poems are "Without You," "Purple Waters," and "Day To Shine."


New to our pages but not to our family, being the youngest grandchild of the late Leo C. Helmer, we welcome Christina Heisler with her poem "Flaming Cloud." We are again showing the informative article by Helmer to assist you in plans you may be making for Easter.


Marilyn Carnell's "Sifoddling Along" column discusses her new abode and some of the reasons for her decision. Thomas F. O'Neill included a moving picture of an American soldier taken in WWII as the basis of his column "Introspective." However, we are still publishing written material and a few pictures previously shown in our pages and no new photos. Our Webmaster Mike Craner who keeps us online has not chased down our photo uploading problem so far. Being snowed in for awhile didn't help his search.


Mattie Lennon's column "Irish Eyes" relays an interesting talk and demonstration he recently attended and extends an invitation for another such in the near future in his area. He also shares some info presented by a colleague about Saint Patrick. Pauline Evanosky's column "Woo Woo" explains her "new habit" and discusses why she's pleased.


Judith Kroll's column "On Trek" expounds on some personal beliefs and their impact. Melinda Cohenour updates further findings and upcoming decisions in the Gilgo case that has made investigative strides in new uses of DNA. "Cooking with Rod's Family" presents Melinda Cohenour's daughter Melissa as featured cook this issue.


Thank you, Mike, for keeping us shipshape and sailing along into another year. I shall continue to place our confidence in you as we have in the past.


See you in April!


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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

Latest News On Trial Pending for Serial Killer Rex Andrew Heuermann

Rex Heuermann and his Defense counsel, Michael Brown, were back in court this week, February 25 2025, to support passage by Judge Mazzei of their latest Motions.


The hearing was relatively short and revolved around these key issues:
1. Motion to sever trial: The defense has moved the court to sever the cases for the murders of seven women to not one, but five separate trials: one for three of the women referred to as the Gilgo Four, and individual trials for the four other victims currently projected to be tried in one serial murder trial


Prosecutor, Ray Tierney, argued the State's case that the evidence pointing to Heuermann being the killer charged with all seven victims has undeniable proof of Heuermann being a serial killer. That in order to prove the allegation of serial murders, the State will present applicable evidentiary materials showing how Heuermann targeted specific victims, set about luring them into his trap, planned in advance how each would be tortured and killed, and carried out these murders using a planning document of his own creation.


Direct quote from ABC 7 in New York concerning the inadmissibility of severing the seven cases as follows:
The Suffolk County district attorney's office said severing the cases is "inappropriate as the victims are inextricably interwoven by geographic proximity, victimology, digital and physical evidence, forensic analysis, and defendant's own planning document" that allegedly contained detailed instructions for killing women, dismembering bodies and burying them. https://abc7ny.com/post/gilgo-beach-serial-killer-suspect-rex-heuermann-appears-court-judge-weighing-dna-evidence/15954067/


That to support applicability of each piece of evidence, the State will rely upon expert witnesses each of which will be possessed of knowledge specific to their scientific speciality. That to have these same expert witnesses schedule five separate trials would not only present those witnesses with a scheduling issue but would also be extremely costly to the State. That to be required to present the evidence in separate trials, references to similar killings and modus operandi would be excluded by law in trials focused on a single victim, placing an unfair disadvantage to prosecution. Further, that the whole of the evidentiary materials provides proof of similar methods used by the defendant in carrying out his serial murders.


Suffolk County District Attorney Ray Tierney, who is prosecuting the case, when asked about the prosecution's opposition to severing the cases, responded: "The theory of our case is, this defendant is a serial killer who meticulously and methodically hunted down and murdered seven women. That is our case. He did use the same methodology. He utilized a planning document in which he laid bare his intention to do this. And so, as such under the law, a lot of the evidence of one charge would be admissible in court as evidence of the separate charge. Specifically the DNA evidence, the phone evidence, some of the financial evidence, the searches he made, some of the mementoes he was alleged to have kept — all of these pertain" to all seven victims, he said.

SOURCE: https://patch.com/new-york/riverhead/accused-gilgo-killer-meticulously-methodically-hunted-women-da


Additionally, Assistant District Attorney Andrew Lee with the Suffolk County District Attorney's Office argued in two documents filed Tuesday that the cases should be tried at the same time rather than split into five trials requested by Heuermann's defense attorney.

SOURCE: https://www.ctpost.com/news/article/rex-heuermann-gilgo-beach-murders-norwich-20187202.php


2. Motion by defense to exclude nuclear DNA test results calling it "magic" and arguing the methodology has not been proven accurate.


According to the prosecutor Tierney, who argued for continued inclusion of the nuclear DNA test results:

“It’s prevented people from dying from disease, it’s detected diseases, it’s used in amniocentesis, it’s identified war dead, it’s identified remains of 9/11 people,” said Suffolk County District Attorney Ray Tierney. “This science has been around for many, many years and, if the defense wants to call it magic, that’s fine, the defense can call it whatever it likes. But we will determine that at the hearing, and we look forward to that hearing and, I can tell you, this is sound science.”

SOURCE: https://keyt.com/cnn-regional/2025/02/25/gilgo-beach-murder-suspect-rex-heuermann-back-in-court-for-hearing-on-dna-evidence-request-to-separate-trials/


However, it is your author's belief this type testing of DNA derived from hair samples with no root follicle will require a Frye Hearing since it has not to date been accepted in any case in New York state.


3. Change of venue motion previously filed by Defense counsel Michael Brown:
In a surprise complete reversal of his prior filing requesting a change of venue declaring Suffolk County to have a jury pool that has been inundated with negative news publications there could not exist a panel lacking preconceived beliefs as to his client's guilt.


At court, Defense counsel Michael Brown voluntarily removed his Change of Venue motion from the Court docket. Brown was quoted as saying:
“One of the reasons we did not file a change of venue motion is because we are looking forward to 12 people in Suffolk County, the residents in Suffolk County who are familiar with what goes on in Suffolk County,” Brown said.

“We are looking forward to having them sit in that courtroom and listen to the evidence,” he added. “Listen to the lack of evidence. Listen to the whole picture as opposed to just snippets that you may have heard.”

SOURCE: https://nypost.com/2025/02/25/us-news/accused-gilgo-beach-killer-rex-heuermanns-lawyer-drops-bombshell-that-theres-no-dna-in-alleged-basement-kill-room/

* * * * *


Justice Mazzei has ordered the parties back to court March 12 when, presumably, there will be a date set for a Frye hearing on the admissibility of the nuclear DNA testing methodology.


Mazzei has indicated frustration and a growing impatience with the slow progress of this case. He could establish a tighter time limit for completing exchange of evidentiary materials. It is highly unlikely in your author's opinion the Judge will actually set a date for the trial to begin.


The proceedings of the March 12 hearing will be reviewed and reported here. ~

* * * * *


In the meantime, I hope to have results back from Ancestry for our grandson Shaun. He was three years old when my son introduced Shaun. Rod and I found Shaun to be a bright and engaging child who stole our hearts. We ultimately moved for custody after learning disturbing information about his mother, which was obtained when he was eight years old. His biological father has been said to have fathered additional children and Shaun is hopeful he will find those siblings through DNA matches.


Hope you enjoy your own Armchair Genealogy research in the coming month.


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 Forager and Saint Patrick

On Thursday 20th March I attended a meeting of Lucan Toastmasters which is reputed to be the best club in Ireland. The first speaker was a fairly new member Aisling Moore, with a speech titled The Forager.


When I saw the title of the speech I asked myself, “Am I a forager?” My question was prompted by the fact that I take items out of skips. But the opening words of Ms Moore’s speech convinced me that retrieving broken pedal-bins or lengths of two-by-one planed timber from refuse wouldn’t qualify me. What did she tell us?


"I am passionate about truly living life. I am a forager and I make products from what I gather. I have been doing that for several years. I started doing workshops last year and I am dedicated to helping people reconnect with nature and remember the healing power of the land. The earth provides medicine to nurture us, but we have forgotten its origins. We have lost the ability to identify herbs and understand how they support our bodies."


"In losing this knowledge, we have also lost our belief in nature’s medicine. The spirit of the herbs struggles to reach us because our minds are clouded with constant thought. True connection with nature happens when we become fully present. It is time to remember, to listen, and to heal with the wisdom of the land."


Each member of the audience was given a small cup of “Haw-Tea” and we were instructed how to “Listen to the Hawthorn”


The forager told me how as she was walking through fields, " . . . with a heavy heart. Each step carrying the weight of a memory. Sorrow pressing against my chest. Suddenly I felt something, a sound, faint as a whisper, it felt like a dream. My whole body shuddered. As I came closer to the bright red hawthorn berries, the messages became clearer. A voice spoke 'I can heal your heart.' The words moved through me, flowing into every part of my body. I stood beside the hawthorn tree. Staring at the twisted branches, its sharp thorns. I knew deep in my soul that this tree held wisdom. I felt it merge with me. It’s spirit connecting with my spirit. More and more messages followed, visions flooded my mind.


Showing me exactly what to do. The power held within the berries, leaves and flowers. I quickly gathered them offering my gratitude to the spirit of the hawthorn. As I did lightness spread through me my sorrow lifted. The hawthorn had spoken and I the forager had listened. It is time to remember, to listen, and to heal with the wisdom of the land, and to heal with the wisdom of the land."


If you happen to be visiting this green and misty island for the feast of our National Apostle and you are in the vicinity of Kildare this committed forager will be having a workshop on March 22nd in Celbridge and it would certainly be worth visiting. . If you are staying at home Aisling’s Instagram is Moore.aisling and her email address is, aislingdaybyday@gmail.com


Please go to your nearest Saint Patrick’s Day parade and for a few lesser known facts about the saint’s influence I’ll hand you over to Maggie Zackowitz.



How St. Patrick became the patron saint of Nigeria
By Maggie Zackowitz


As Americans prepare to observe St. Patrick's Day with pub crawls, parades, corned beef, and green clothing, beer and bagels, let's not forget about that country for which Patrick is a patron saint.


Irish bishops in Nigeria named St. Patrick, who is said to have died on March 17 in the year 461, as the country's patron in 1961, the same year Ireland opened its embassy in Lagos. The Irish actually have a long history in the country: Irish nationalist Roger Casement — executed in Dublin in 1916 for his role in the Irish rebels' Easter Rising — served as a British consular officer in Calabar, in southeastern Nigeria, during the 1890s. Casement's interest in and sympathy for Africans under colonial rule was unusual for a European in the Victorian era, and likely helped shape his views on social justice.


In the early 1920s, Irish priests of the Order of the Holy Ghost established their mission in southern Nigeria. Later St. Patrick's Society for Foreign Missions, dedicated on March 17, 1932, became one of many Catholic groups in Nigeria providing education both religious and secular.


These days Catholics in the country number some 20 million, and Nigerian seminaries send their ordinates all over the world to serve as priests. In fact, since numbers of clergy in Ireland have long been in decline, Nigerian priests have recently been assigned to churches there.


Though St. Patrick's Day is not an official public holiday in Nigeria, plenty of Guinness stout will be consumed anyway. It's the second most popular beer in the country, brewed with sorghum or maize instead of the European recipe's barley, and packs 7.5 percent alcohol content.


And "Irish diplomats of course celebrate St. Patrick's Day," says Eoghan McSwiney, deputy head of mission at the Embassy of Ireland in Abuja. "The Embassy organizes high-profile St. Patrick's Day celebrations in the capital Abuja, and in Lagos, as well in Accra, Ghana. We are joined by friends and colleagues from the diplomatic corps and from the highest levels of the Nigerian public and private sector."


There is one big difference from American St. Patrick's Day celebrations, though, and it's not green bagels. In Nigeria, says McSwiney, "We don't organize a parade."


See you in April.


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Cooking with Rod's Family

 

By Melinda Cohenour



My daughter Melissa makes THE most delicious pasta dish using her specially seasoned chicken. I have yet to find anyone who has tasted this dish who did not hanker for MORE.


Note: Delicious alone but Garlic bread or bread sticks are a nice accompaniment. A basic salad with your favorite dressing will please. We like to eat with iced tea or even a fruited lemonade.


Bon appetit~!

Melissa's Chicken Spaghetti


Ingredients:


Meat mixture:

    * 4 to 5 lbs. Boneless skinless chicken breasts
          * Mrs. Dash salt free original seasoning sprinkled evenly on all surfaces of chicken pieces
      * 2 tsp. Garlic powder
      * 2 tsp. Onion powder
      * 2 tsp. Cumin
      * 2 tsp. Dried ground Cilantro


    Sauce mixture:

      * 2 (10 oz.) Cans Spicy Rotel
      * 2 (14.5 oz.) cans Cream of Chicken soup
      * 2 (14.5 oz.) cans Cream of Celery soup
      * 2 cans Campbell Cheddar soup


    Pasta:

      * 1 lb. Pasta shells
      OR
      * 1 lb Spaghetti pasta
      OR
      * 1 lb. Angel Hair pasta
      OR
      * 1 lb. Penne pasta
      OR
      * 1 lb. Pasta of your choice. ( We prefer the pasta shells or Angel Hair)


    Instructions:

      1. Prepare the meat mixture and sauce according to below: Baked/sauteed/boiled chicken
      However you want to cook your chicken & season with pink Himalayan salt just a tad or your salt free seasoning garlic powder onion powder cumin and cilantro.
      2. You'll need two cans of Rotel spicy, cream of chicken cream of celery and cheddar soup.
      3. Mix all together with the chicken and this is your meat mixture and sauce.
      4. Use your pasta of choice you can use angel hair you can use spaghetti you could even use penne pasta if you want. Prepare using directions on pasta.
      5. You might mix together or you can lay your bed of pasta first and then on top put your creamy cilantro & cheese chicken mixture.



    Here is your chicken spaghetti enjoy!!


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    Woo Woo

     


    By Pauline Evanosky

    Jump Up and Down and Make Some Noise

    It’s been an upheaval of sorts. When you begin a new habit, however small and seemingly insignificant it is, it will make a larger change in your life. It is a snowball effect. As a snowball rolls down a hill, it picks up more and more snow with each revolution. So, what started out as a tiny little snowball ended up as the base for a snowman.


    What is my new habit?


    I’ll tell you. It is after every hour that I am working, which for me is writing; I will get up out of my chair and hoot. I make some noise, I move around. I punch my fists in the air. I shake myself out. I breathe deeply. It’s like a mini-session at the gym. It’s like taking a run around the block.


    It shakes out the cobwebs.


    I’m just now trying it out. The idea of interrupting my forward momentum is unusual for me. Hence, getting used to this new, perhaps unorthodox, habit is the disruption. I am focusing more of my attention on the movement, I stop myself perhaps half an hour into my work to see, “Is it time yet?”


    There are also lots of places on YouTube where you can find timed sessions with instrumental music. Some are an hour, others are longer. It is easy for me to slip into the headspace I like to go to when I am writing. In fact, right now, I am writing this article to an hour-long writers Zoom meeting I go to once a week. Nobody talks. We just write. For an hour.


    To that end, today, I will hang my kitchen timer around my neck and set it to that golden hour. I need not worry if the bus is coming, is it time yet? I can move into the headspace where all my characters live.


    Right now, they are waiting, allowing me to speak what is on my mind. I’m not psychotic. I’m a psychic, and I see things.


    Right now, one of the gentlemen in spirit has touched his finger alongside his nose, just standing looking at me. Like Santa Claus is supposed to have done, now, he is smiling and has opened his arms to me. It is a comfort over and over again to have my Folk in Spirit. Many times, I don’t know who they are. They are friendly. They are welcoming. And they will help me time and again to center, to focus, and to tell my tales, or sometimes their tales.


    So, this new habit? How did I learn of it? I watched a presentation by Tony Robbins. If you don’t know who he is, he is a self-help person who, in the 48 years he’s been working at helping others to achieve their goals and dreams, has become quite a famous person. Look him up on the internet. If you have access to YouTube, he recorded our four-day, three-hour-a-day virtual Time to Rise Summit. If you even just listen to the first day, you will learn at least one thing to help you move closer to your goals.


    Sometimes, we just need to be in the presence of that one person who can help us with one or two words to move past that moment where we seem to be stuck. Of course, there were many other tips and tricks he told us about, but that one thing, to help me as a writer, to loosen up my writing muscles, was worth it.


    The event was free. Evidently, Tony has been doing these virtual Time to Rise free events for the last four years, since Covid disrupted our lives, our businesses, and our dreams. Every January, at the end of the month remember and look for the places to sign up. As I said before, there is no cost to you. There were 195 countries represented at our event and 1.4 million people. San Antonio, Texas has a population of that much. That’s a lot of people.


    Tony’s personal story is also something to consider. At the age of 17 he fled from his mother who was trying to attack him with a kitchen knife. He was homeless and that first night slept on a hill. After that he slept in his car. With beginnings like that he was able to emulate the successful people he met, to build his confidence, to eventually help famous people along with us not so famous people to achieve our own dreams.


    The idea is, if he can do it, from hideous beginnings, so can we.


    My job, as I see it, is to help people too. The dream I had and have of being a writer has come a long way from when I was eight years old. The dream I had of having a personal relationship with Spirit has come far. The dream I had of the courage it would take to buck all of the mis-guided advice I got from people growing up is something I wake up with every day and ask myself, “What can I do today?”


    Thank you for reading. You can find me on the internet at TalkingToSpirit.com, at Substack.com and at Medium.com.
    Pauline Evanosky


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    Introspective

     



    By Thomas F. O'Neill

     

    This is a historical photo of an American soldier during WWII.


    He had just killed a Japanese soldier on the island of Iwo Jima in 1945. The American soldier went through the dead soldier's pockets and found photos of the dead man's family.


    The American soldier then realized that the man he killed was a human being, not just an enemy combatant; at that realization, he began to cry.


    Most war propaganda lies, and hatred comes from those who have never stepped foot on a battlefield. That day, the American soldier had wounded a part of his humanity, which that photo reveals to us.


    Always with love
    Thomas F O'Neill

      Email: introspective7@hotmail.com
      WeChat - Thomas_F_ONeill
      Phone: (410) 925-9334
      Skype: thomas_f_oneill
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      Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/thomas-f-o-neill-6226b018/
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    Sifoddling Along

     


    By Marilyn Carnell

    On February 12, 2025, I began a new chapter in my life. I moved into a senior living apartment in Minnetonka, Minnesota. After almost two years on waiting lists, an ideal apartment became available. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity that suddenly presented itself, so I made a quick decision to move within 30 days. Then I developed an epic case of flu that knocked me back for about ten of those days. Nevertheless, the move was accomplished with the help of a team of people.


    Like the flu bug, the weather did not cooperate, we had a cold “snap” the first week I was here. “Snap” is a good example of Minnesota minimalism. It means a lengthy period of life-threatening subzero weather. Anyone with the slightest excuse stays indoors and sips coffee. My movers did not have that option, so they bravely hauled my possessions to my new home.


    Today, I am sitting at my desk looking out on a new and different snowy landscape in suburban Minnesota. At my house, I looked out on a hiking/biking trail and the near constant motion of runners, bikers and dog walkers. This view is from the treetops (I am on the 4th floor).


    Movement is supplied by squirrels, birds, rabbits and occasional deer. The sun shines brightly through the windows of my office. I find myself floating in a transition period of postponed appointments, clinging to memories of my past and the warm greetings of my new neighbors. This leads me to reminisce about past homes.


    The first eighteen years of my life were firmly anchored in my parent’s small bungalow in Pineville, a village in the center of McDonald County, the southwestern most county of Missouri. Our home was part of a two-block addition to the town created in the 1920’s. Pineville was platted in 1847 and both sides of my family have lived there since shortly after the Civil War. Despite a long history, time had largely stood still in that part of the Missouri Ozarks. We got indoor plumbing in 1940 – the year I was born. I suspect it was not a coincidence. There were no street addresses, everyone knew where the Carnells lived, because we were related to most of them. We had a party line phone. I remember our signal was “two longs and a short”. When I lived there again in the late 1970’s I still had a party line, but progress had produced a big black dial phone instead of one hanging on the wall.


    Despite a stable beginning, my life changed considerably after that. I pursued an education and charted a career path. Thus, moving became the norm. I have counted more than thirty different addresses I called home in the intervening sixty-six years, but with time the moves became less frequent.


    Once when I have gone through a rough patch, my brother called me with some advice: “Come on home honey” he said. “they can’t whip us all.” We both knew that our family was the rock that we could count on and that concept continues today. I still have family members who will offer help, support and encouragement when needed. I learned that again last week when I moved once again.


    My husband, Al and I lived on Big Sugar Creek for eighteen years. Once again, I was living near Pineville and was convinced that I would be there until I left feet first.


    Fate had other plans. A “five-hundred-year flood” turned the normally benign stream into a raging beast that burst into our home uninvited. My husband and I were rescued by a neighbor who pushed a canoe through the muddy roiling water to reach us. We clung to it while slogging though a chest deep current to safety. I had time only to grab a purse that held our meds and credit cards. The story of the flood and its aftermath is too long to tell here, but I will write about it in more detail another time.


    Even though I now live in a new place, McDonald County will always be “home” to me – the place I returned to time after time. The place where my ashes will go in my final journey.


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    On Trek

     


    By Judith Kroll

    Everyone’s Life is A Story

    The second we are born we start our journey into the world. We are labeled Male or Female. Fingerprinted, foot-printed, washed, and finally wrapped in a soft blanket with a hat to match.


    Being claustrophobic, stretching would seem delicious!


    Our life in this world is ours for the taking.


    When we choose to come to earth, with our life in the flesh, we all make our own life map. That is why many decide to be good or bad here. We don’t all come to have the same experiences. Each trip I am sure is different.


    I had a realistic dream one night. You know Universal Studios, there is a TV show in each building, and each show is made in that same building. What I was shown, is people can come to earth and experience the time of the civil war, or the time of the dinosaurs, etc. It depends on which “building” they choose to experience. There is no time in space.


    If we played the piano in one life, but decided to become a fireman in the next life, (if we choose to come back), then we might not even look at a piano., Or there may not be a piano if we chose the stone age.


    When we come to earth, we are like players in a video game. We experience different things, always learning, always growing.


    There is no death. Our bodies die and we transform back to spirit. Then we remember everything. Again. If we remembered everything, while we were here on earth, what would be the point?


    Enjoy the love of the planet, it has so much to offer: people, animals, amazing scenery, and us.


    What an honor.


    Love Judith, 1/27/24


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    All Alone with A Windmill

     

    By Walt Perryman

    Have you ever been alone with a working windmill,
    Then the wind stops, and everything is quiet and still.

    Sometimes the wind will blow just enough to tease,
    And the blades will turn slowly with the slightest breeze.

    The noises of a working windmill can comfort your mind,
    That’s when, if you’re looking for God, he is easy to find.

    The windmill pumps a little water with each crank,
    And You can talk to God as he gives you a cool drank.

    Some people have heard this and some never will,
    The tranquilizing sound of God at a lonely windmill.

    ©2/23/2025 Walt Perryman


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    Ten O'clock Train To Texas

     

    By John I. Blair

    It’s ten o’clock in Wichita in Kansas.
    My brother and myself
    Are tucked snugly in our beds;
    On radio our “Dutch Uncle”
    Shares good advice with us
    About finances.

    Which puzzles me a bit because
    I don’t know what “finances” are.

    And then across the darkened space
    Between us and the railroad tracks
    A block or two away a train
    Calls out a ghostly whistle
    As the nightly run makes danger
    For the traffic up on Harry Street.

    We think it’s ten o’clock
    Because the evening “Texan”
    Always ran on schedule.
    Although we’ve never seen
    This place named “Texas”
    I wonder what adventures
    Might befall me should I ever go.

    Little did I know in 1945
    That one day I’d take my chances
    Down in Dallas,
    Be husband to a wife,
    Father to a son,
    Neighbor to a host of friends,
    Forever change my life.

    The Ten O’Clock to Texas
    Had more meaning than I dreamed
    Those cozy nights
    Beneath my blankets
    There in Wichita.

    ® 2025 John I. Blair, 1/31/20


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    That Darn Keyboard!

     

    By Bud Lemire

    The T isn't moving, it's being such a jerk
    And I can't even, get the F to work
    I tried the N, but now the A is stuck
    With this keyboard, I'm not having any luck

    Now the O, has flipped its lid
    I'm not exactly sure, what I just did
    I press the F1, F2, and F3
    I know, I should just let it be

    The RETURN key, just flipped off
    I'm so frustrated, I start to scoff
    It's not easy, to type anything on here
    My keyboard is falling apart, I fear

    Now the SPACE bar, just spaced out
    I just want to scream, okay, I will shout
    Now, that made me feel a little better
    Now let me try again, checking every letter

    Now, I'm having problems with the L
    I'm also having issues, with the H as well
    Let me check out a few more keys, I'll press the U
    Nope! That darn keyboard, I just don't know what to do

    ©Feb 22, 2025 Bud Lemire

                            Author Note:

    Sometimes you feel this way when the keys on your
    keyboard start to fall apart. It's frustrating when
    you want to type something and you can't get the
    right keys to type the letter you want.


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    Without You

    By Bruce Clifford

    What’s the point of turning inside out?
    What’s the point of turning upside down?
    Cos in the end I only want to shout.
    What’s the point when I must do without?

    Without you the distance seems to grow.
    Without you is not being able to let go.
    Let me know how I could do without.
    Without you is what life’s been all about.

    I would be remiss if I turned and walked away.
    I could never resist all the words I’ve had to say.

    Without you the void becomes so clear.
    Without you the pain could never disappear.
    Cos in the end I only want to shout.
    Without you I live with so many doubts.

    What’s the point of drifting upside down?
    What’s the point of living under ground?
    As time goes by, I only want to scream.
    What’s the point of living in this dream?

    I would be remiss if I turned and walked away.
    I could never resist all the words I’ve had to say.

    Without you the distance seems to grow.
    Without you is not being able to let go.
    Let me know how I could do without.
    Without you is what life’s been all about.

    © 2/3/2025 Bruce Clifford


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    What I Take for Granted

     

    By Walt Perryman

    I have taken many things for granted it appears,
    But I feel scared and helpless when one disappears.

    I once watched Sunrises and Sunsets just for fun,
    But now days, I thank God for each and everyone.

    If I never knew what love was, how can I love,
    Until I learned that true love comes from above.

    As I get older there is less and less that I can do,
    And the things that I still can, I need Gods help too.

    God is helping me to replace the bad with the good,
    And only God and I know when I do the things, I should!

    I’ll have all kinds of problems until my last day,
    But I believe the pain will be less if I live God’s way.

    ©2/24/2025 Walt Perryman


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    Flaming Cloud

     

    By Christina Heisler

    She sat waiting by the glowing fire
    While I, the resident child,
    Swirling and swishing in my new skirt
    Sashayed around, admiring its floof and flare.

    The mantle’s cool, white marble contrasted
    With the smoking orange pyre it contained
    And as I skirted around Grandmamma’s seat
    I felt its scorching hand clap my face.
    Fear and flames danced in me
    My mind’s eye saw my skirt as an inferno
    My hair blazing with flames—then

    A different hand pulled me away.
    Her hand matched in warmth and delicacy
    A flickering candle flame
    That guided me from my fears
    and led me through the furnace of thoughts
    to her more welcoming warmth

    Her lap was my pillow as I sat
    On the cold, faux wood floor.
    There we sat,
    and sat,
    and sat.
    Her clothes were feathery wisps of cirrus
    Her hair, the silver cumulus of morning,
    Draped with golds and reds.
    But her face is the fickle cloud;
    First this, then that, then nothing
    Changing every time I look back
    To when we shared that simple peace
    And the only things I could sense were
    The chill where my legs touched the floor
    and Shalimar mingling with upholstery.

    © Circa 2024 Christina Heisler


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    Time Doesn't Stand Still

     

    By Bud Lemire

    Time doesn't stand still, because we age
    As it moves ahead, each life's chapter we engage
    Sometimes I'm taken back, into a memory in a song
    Thinking I'm back there, yet I knew I wasn't all along

    I see a singer back then, that I use to listen to
    Today he's old and gray, and I think “what happened to you?”
    I look in the mirror, and think “who is that old man?”
    Reality bites, but it's the way of each life span

    Sometimes I think, I've lived a lifetime of many years
    Each chapter that I lived, brought happiness and tears
    From it all, I'm happy for who I became
    I'm still me, and yet I'm not the same

    Others do it too, they think I'm the boy I use to be
    Never realizing, they're thinking of the younger me
    I'm not the only one, who gets lost in a memory
    Sometimes we stay there, and it's hard to break free

    Even though time doesn't stand still, this I do know
    Through the journey from the past to the future, I grow
    You age and change, as time moves ahead
    Doing your best to go, wherever you are led

    ©Feb 15, 2025 Bud Lemire

                           Author Note:

    As humans, the years and time makes us older.
    Through these changes, we learn and grow
    and changes happen within ourselves.
    Nothing ever stays the same.


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    Purple Waters

    By Bruce Clifford

    I yearn to swim in purple waters.
    The time we spent trapped in unforgiving times.
    I learned to laugh in purple waters.
    Making sense of the magic within your eyes.

    I’ve learned to dive towards the inner soul.
    My thoughts collide with memories I’ve never known.
    Days turn into moments of a fleeting thought.
    Making sense of all the visions we once sought.

    I yearn to fly in a mysterious sunrise.
    The days we spent were the moments of fate.
    I learned to cry in a massive divide.
    Making sense of this kaleidoscope .
    Making sense of our dreams of hope.

    I yearn to swim in purple waters.
    The time we spent trapped in unforgiving times.
    I learned to laugh in purple waters.
    Making sense of the magic within your eyes.

    Purple waters within us.
    Purple waters.

    I dream of a time in purple waters.
    I laugh and I cry of purple waters.
    We tried our best only to discover the curve.
    Purple waters and all we thought we deserved.

    ©2/7/2025 Bruce Clifford


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    Almost Daylight

     

    By Walt Perryman

    Good morning, everyone, it is almost daylight,
    Maybe my poem will help you to start it right.

    Sometimes I feel happy and sometimes not,
    However, I do feel happier when I pray a lot.

    Sure, I have good and bad days, that may be,
    But bad days are better when God’s with me.

    I pray that all of you will have a God loving day,
    Good or bad, be sure to thank Him, either way.

    ©2/25/2025 Walt Perryman


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    Millipede

     

    By John I. Blair

    While meditating half asleep
    In a throne room tiled and bare
    I peeped toward my feet below,

    Saw a tiny multi-legged beast
    Not more than an inch in length
    Creeping past my toe

    And decided I would watch it
    On its pathway to wherever
    It might go.

    Moving slow on multi-legs
    Looking like ten dozen pegs
    It wandered from one crevice to another

    Examining the filthy floor
    Between it and the distant door
    For food to fill its microscopic craw.

    But then the hush that dominated
    Was shattered when I flushed –
    And the bug was there no more.

    Copyright 2025 John I. Blair


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    Rectify Any Wrong Doings

     

    By Bud Lemire

    In your life, have you hurt someone?
    Said something nasty, or something else was done
    When it happened, how did it make you feel?
    I bet it wasn't good, it probably felt unreal

    There's consequences, to everything you do and say
    On the journey of your soul, you find out along the way
    You've heard of a ripple in time, well it's true
    You need to think before you act, in everything you do

    We've all done it, sometimes not realizing the full impact
    Sometimes it was us who was hurt, as a matter of fact
    Whatever the case, the damage was done
    It can't be taken back, and it wasn't any fun

    In your life, you're often taken back to that time and place
    It hurts inside, whenever you think of their face
    It hurts all the way down to your soul
    It's like that incident, left a burning hole

    It's because, the soul is always affected by what we say and do
    If it's not rectified in this lifetime, it crosses over with you
    Believe me, it's a lot harder to rectify when you're over there
    When a spirit comes around you, and you are not aware

    Clear it up here on earth, while you still can, mend the fence
    Take responsibility for your actions, use common sense
    Take the blame for being wrong, and apologize
    Heal the pain, is what the spirits advise

    ©Feb 15, 2025 Bud Lemire

                           Author Note:

    Life is too short to be going through so much
    pain over some misunderstanding and words
    that were said out of anger or emotional
    haywire. Apologize and free your soul
    from that burning, and it will set you free.


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    Day to Shine

    By Bruce Clifford

    Today is my day to shine.
    Lost in the thoughts of the rhythms.
    A nine-legged spider on a banana tree.
    One of life’s many mysteries.

    Today is my day to shine.
    Panic within my point of view.
    Freedom fights from within our dreams.
    Sparks in the shadow of fantasy.

    Today is my day to shine.
    Immersed in the sounds and the rhythms.
    A polar bear at the tropical sea.
    On of life’s many mysteries.

    Today is my day to shine.
    Day to shine.

    Today is my day to shine.
    Lost in the deep thoughts of wonder.
    Visons capture this relevancy.
    The way things are supposed to be.

    Today is my day to shine.
    Lost in the thoughts of the rhythms.
    A nine-legged spider on a banana tree.
    One of life’s many mysteries.

    Today is my day to shine.
    Quiet in the shadows and colors.
    A purple coconut by the fallen trees.
    One of our planets many mysteries.

    Drunk as a skunk outside the door.
    I don’t remember hitting the floor.
    The panic in my point of view.
    Broken on a silent platitude.

    Today is my day to shine.
    Today is my day to shine.

    ©2/10/2025 Bruce Clifford


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