IN GOD WE TRUST?

BELIEVERS SAY GOD IS JUST
BELIEVERS SAY GOD IS MERCIFUL
BELIEVERS SAY GOD IS FORGIVING
BELIEVERS SAY GOD IS OMNIPOTENT
BELIEVERS SAY GOD CAN DO NO WRONG

SO THIS JUST, MERCIFUL, FORGIVING, OMNIPOTENT,
GOD THAT CAN DO NO WRONG.
IS WATCHING OVER US AND LISTENING TO OUR
PRAYERS AS WE DIE AGONIZINGLY,
IN IRAQ, IN AFGHANISTAN, IN THE SUDAN, IN RWANDA,
IN ALL THE CONTINENTS OF THE WORLD
IN WARS IMMEMORIAL, IN EARTHQUAKES,
IN TSUNAMIS, IN HURRICANES,
.
WE, THE DEAD AND THE DYING WOULD LIKE SOME ANSWERS
WE, THE DEAD AND THE DYING WOULD LIKE THE TRUTH
WE, THE DEAD AND THE DYING WOULD LIKE GOD TO SPEAK TO US
DIRECTLY, NO IFS, BUTS OR ANDS. SHOW YOURSELF, PROVE YOURSELF, GODAMMIT!

I SING OF THEE a celebration

I LOVE THE LOOKS OF YOU
THE LURE OF YOU
THE SWEET OF YOU
THE SWEAT OF YOU
THE EYES, THE ARMS
THE MOUTH Of YOU

That song is but a small expression of my love for you my darling.
I sing of thee to honor your 82nd birthday, our 61 years of marriage,
to celebrate our meeting 65 years ago, to touch the past and savor it.
I sing to thee, to thee I sing.

We were so very young, I was 18 and you had just turned 16 when we
first met on Esplanade St. opposite good friend, Sam's house in Monteal,
good old Montreal, our home town.

You were
leaning against a telephone pole and I stood there dumbly as we were
introduced. The chemistry was almost immediate for both of us. I still
remember your voice, so musical, so clarion clear, so full of life. I liked
the look of you, the way you stood, your sparkling smile, the brightness
of your eyes. I knew we would be seeing a lot of each other.

And all the while I was drawn ever closer to you. How can I forget your
smiling eyes, your laughing eyes, your magnetic eyes. I can still clearly
see your swan-like neck, your pert ears, your luscious lips, your saucy
breasts pointing at me, your lustrous black hair, your more so torso that
fitted mine so well.

Memories, memories my darling. We were two peas in a pod and the pod
was comfortable, I could live there, I could be safe, away from my tumultuous
past.

When we were apart, we connected by phone. Words poured out, words of
love, of nonsense, of bonding -- crazy glue for a couple of kids crazy in love.

IT'S A DEAD ISSUE

The dead are pilng up in Iraq
Not enough coffins to go around
The dead are piling up in Darfur
Where are the coffins?
The dead are piling up in Lebanon
Coffin makers, wanted.
The living dead are piling up,
looking everywhere for,
arms, legs, screaming for mothers.
Bush is alive and well and passing
jokes and smiles around.
Cheney is saying that all is well,
Couldn't be better
And Rove has escaped the wrath.

The world is at peace.