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                            First Rose Series 
                                                65 -
65. Meltdown Barriers of Mind

We live in boxes built by Mind, 
Limits, structures, which jail our kind. 
We pause before we shatter frames
Which don't exist, and often maim.

To live beyond the bonds accrued 
You need to question what you knew.
Ignore the build up of the past
See through those webs - and then recast.

The truth comes out in proven form 
If you ignore accepted norms. 
Understanding frees the soul
Unshackles us to further goals. 

Melting down what failed to please 
Tomorrow's mulch which sets you free. 

66. The Sound of Freedom-For Steve Dore 
  Holding on to Home

Born at Jekyll Island
Consuming all we built
The FED began its feeding
Without a shred of guilt. 

I heard it in the music and 
felt it through my skin
It echoed, blazed, extinguished, 
all doubt was at an end.

America was stolen
Its honor sucked and dry
Lives ground into fodder
As men and women died.  

Generations suffered
Believed and hoped and died
While Bankers kept on feeding
Consuming with their lies. 

And then came Credit River
Jerome Daly stood alone
He said the FED was phony
Their fraud revoked his loan.

He said there was no contract
The bank assumed no risk
Consideration on both sides
The principle they missed

The jury all had doubted
Daly's theory on the FED
Then “Money out of thin air”
The banker's voice had said.  

The words had filled the courtroom
Jaws dropping in surprise
"It sounds like fraud to me."  
 Judge Mahoney then replied.


Judge Mahoney died that year
No one quite knew why
And somehow no one could repeat
Daly's challenge to their lies

But Credit River happened
I've read the words and see
The FED's a fraud still breeding
We're chained - but can be free. 

Tell it to your neighbors 
Credit River still is true
The words can incite rebellion, 
And show us what to do.  

Two centuries of shackles melt 
and now our eyes can see
The close constructed prison
Which enforced our misery.

Credit River's Lesson 
shines through the web of lies
The deepest of deceptions 
Now exposed to all our eyes

And now the bankers tremble 
As the curtains ripped aside 
The longest con is ended
Because we know they lied.  

67. Banker's War - Divided No More 

Left and Right divided us, inciting, hate and rage
Their screeds inflamed our anger, they locked us in their cage 
We trusted, they deceived us, it was banker's war they waged.

We lived on bannered promises, we hoped, we worked, we paid
While bureaucrats reviled us, our trust and hope betrayed. 

Enticing us with credit, enciting us to dream
The mortgages they offered could never be redeemed.
All the time their planning designed to steal the soul.
To suck the wealth we earned by sweat, their focus and their goal.

Both GOP and Democrats, the same beneath the skin
Left and Right, dividing us, they fed, again, again. 

No difference in the parties, no way to enact change
Campaigns of lies and lechery, run for corporate gain. 

The corporations feeding, are indifferent to your pain 
Your just a useless eater, no good if they'd no gain. 

They'd stole away our innocence with elections run in stealth
Took aim on our children, our homes and all our wealth.

Bankers sent our sons and daughters to die in sand and shame
Abandoning them when wounded, they'd no use for the maimed.

Homeless families living in tents and on the street
Lies were all they fed us, we were hollowed by defeat.

Bankers shredded every promise, sneered that we would trust
Sucked out the soul of freedom, leaving only dust. 

When the Bankers game was busted, their fraud exposed at last
Our money was expended in a final, mighty blast

Congress paid to bail them out - they'd not a cent of loss 
Foreclosing on America they laughed. We paid the cost. 

But slowly, all hope gutted, we stood up from sea to sea
Anguish turned to anger, demanding we be freed.

The FED, a sham to own us, a fraud to feed their greed
We saw past lies, their ugly guise, no longer could deceive. 

We cried our NO to Bailouts, we did what must be done
Weapons come in many kinds, not all of them are guns. 

No more left and righting - We learned who we could Trust 
No more left and righting - What we did was just. 

Today we meet as equals, we've bled but we have won
A people come together, to claim what has begun. 

Communities rekindled, in meetings of the mind
The truth, our benediction, now we are more kind. 

The Bankers War is ended, we did what must be done
The cost of freedom marks us, but we're stronger, every one.

And we tell our children, starting when they're young
The left and right united, made us free to live as One.

No. 68 – Truth that Heals 

As coiled time unravels and the mind forgets to hope
The child within, embattled, can find enlarging scope.

Travails and anguish hone us, as comforts fails to do
Fined down to new awareness, we live out what is true.  

Iconic forms and patterns, forged from time - encapsulated meme 
Is also the long story which humanity must dream 

The moments so remembered, bringing insight and delight
Carrying in their fabric a baptism of the Light. 

In forms and fact embellished, as legend and as truth 
This, the lineage written, on both our age and youth. 

Meeting in the matrix, where nothing's as it seems 
Lessons, half remembered, hold the power to redeem.  
69. Oh, Craig Franklin - Written for @CraigCountry, the Psychopath

He was born in ol' Virginia but he's lived life on the road.
High Tech is his pistol, and he knew how to load. 

Weapons used for killing, the innocent and kind 
Are standard operation for those of psychopathic mind.  

From NASA on to MIT, the places all were real.
He wrote the code, but he is cold, for love, he cannot feel. 

His left brain used to simulate, emotions, love and sharing.
Psychopaths are of a kind, they feed on us, uncaring.  

Craig Franklin, Oh, Craig Franklin, there was nothing you'd not do.
Your fantasies are violence, not a thing about you – true.  

He got wealthy on the drones you see, circling over head
When you curse the fascist state, this is the man you dread.

His wealth from stealth and lying, supplying weapons used to kill.
As long as he has what he wants, no one's pain is real.

No conscience, and no feelings, just appetite and lust.
He circles in, consuming, eating through your trust. 

Craig Franklin, Oh, Craig Franklin, there's nothing you've not done.
You lust for your son's daughter, destroying life begun.  

The songs Craig writes, you're hearing, intended to deceive
Suck in the youngest girls, who trust, he pays them to believe. 

He feeds on need and yearnings, for love which lives and lasts
The money given poisoned, his intentions wound and blast. 

First he charms their hearts out, controls their lives and work
Then he rapes and throws them out, leaving with a smirk.

Craig Franklin, Oh, Craig Franklin, there was nothing you'd not do.
And the psychopath within him, is hungering for you.

He's out there in the public, waiting like a fiend.
Lurking on the Internet, he wants to 'meet your need.'  

He promises to love you, to have and always hold
He eats your faith, then kills you off, the truth is never told.

But now we understand them, awakening we see.
The devil was incarnate, inside their minds of greed.

Craig Franklin one of many, who feed on human trust.
And what we do to save ourselves will not be wrong, but just.  

Craig Franklin, Oh, Craig Franklin, the world is closing in.
Your undoing is now coming, we'll be watching as it ends.  

70. Dan O'Dowd Sells Death through Software

The sky above our homes, filling up with wings of death
The sound of drones, and constant fear, abides our every breath.

And children die, not seeing, this striking from the air
Families are left grieving, afraid, and frozen in despair.

They go after First Responders, strike those who show compassion.
Photographs of body parts, document their actions.

Afghanistan, and Pakistan, and who they target next
Each strike now fills the pockets of corporations selling tech.

This, the business model, which enriches Dan O'Dowd
The millions pile up for him, this son of Ireland, proud.

Green Hills, he called his company in 1982.
Remembering his naming, but forgetting what is true.

Dan O'Dowd sells software, upon which drones depend.
He enjoys the profits and hopes they never end.

A people, still surviving, despite the lies and pain.
Know Peace and Honor's valued, more than any other gain.

A thousand years of conflict left Ireland steeped in  pain
Ireland learned to cherish peace, and care for all her  maimed.

The Hunger emptied cottages, ended family's lives
Their struggle still continues, cutting past all corporate lies.

Centuries of bleeding took a toll, still raw and real
The People, who remember, demand a time to heal

The gold made Danny wealthy, flowing in from crimes most vile
Every death, and every strike, added to his pile.

Demand a time for justice from the damage done by greed
To change the flow of profits, so the people can be freed.

Murder must be punished, the charges made and proved.
The facts, their truth, established, end violence and renew

Peace between all people, so the Earth can find relief.
As human eyes, now sharpener, seek an end to loss and grief.


No. 71 - The Gift of Grace when Confronting a Psychopath 

Inside the living moments, compilation of my life,
Come gifts for contemplation born in trauma, pain and strife. 

Anguish, and its origins, temper mind and soul.
Focusing my journey as I question every goal.  

Along with burnished memories, of people I have cherished.
Sit ugly recollections of psychopaths, uncaring.

Born without a conscience, they despoil with their lies.
Suck out life and trusting, which they use as a disguise.

Their journey through relationships, a maze of savage greed.
Lies covertly whispered, told that they might feed.  

Lies used to isolate me, manipulations steal my power.
My life drained out enriches, their soulessness, devours.  

To be slandered and diminished in the eyes of those I know.
Brings grief and injured anger, which challenged me to grow. 

Rejecting bitterness and anger as I live through these stark times 
Draws me ever closer to the Presence, all Divine.

So, eyes of mean intention, lips repeating savage lies 
Steal reflections of my honor, seen in other's eyes.  

But this cannot destroy me, I inhale the Light within.
I focus on the Source of All, and give my life to Him.  

The truth I hold internal, laid out on Judgement Day.
Knows and judges rightly, what my living had to say.  


No. 72 – Finding Saint Nicholas 

I found him unexpectedly, he touched and let me see 
The passion of the Christ he knew, his knowing lent to me.

Behind the jolly countenance of elfish Santa rhymes
The fullness of a sainthood rose, revealing different times. 

A Rome who ravished nations, was greedy for excess.
Exalted all debaucheries, consuming, its success. 

In the world of ancient Turkey, despite the cruelty of Rome,
The Bishop known as Nicholas lived for faith alone.  

In those ancient centuries the Word was growing strong.
Nicholas was one of them, rejecting what was wrong.  

The depths of a compassion which anchored Christ in minds.
A boy who knew and followed the Word, a man divine.

Immediacy of knowing, the Word direct revealed.
Intimate, all knowing, the flow of Christ could heal.  

And Nicholas as child, as boy and man and priest 
Gathered in the broken, giving them Christ's peace.  

So Santa can continue to jolly and delight.
I have found the Nicholas who carried on Christ's Light. 

No. 73 – Finding Self in the Folds of Fairy Tales 
(Written for Richard Daniels

My Mother's voice, which spoke them, as I struggled to survive
Invoked the strength to know them, and devise my ways of life.

Her voice, which flowed with loving, her face which lit my dreams 
Poured into every part of me, comforting my screams. 

Through poverty and hunger, enduring cold and cruel fate.
Making do with nothing, she made sure we ate.

She poured her life into us, as her own life slipped away
Enduring every blow life brought, her own has had its say.

Because I know Momma loved us, every touch and look was right.
I know she gave, unstinting, to ease our path through night.

The fairy tales of happiness, a life of joy and peace 
She sang me songs of happiness, to ease my rage and grief.

The White Horse, my companion, on journeys to defend
The best within the soul of Man, to heal and ever mend.

Within the folds of Fairy Tales I found the source of me.
Momma was my teacher, the path which made me free.  





        No. 74 - Cheese, Maiden Aunts, Builders & Bums
                  - With a Nod to Gerard Manley Hopkins


        Transporting milk in bladders from ruminants they slaughtered, 
        Caused coagulation, originally, a bother.  
        But the slightly thickened curdled mass, when heated changed its form. 
        This very different substance did not spoil. Cheese was born.  

        A maiden aunt, if savvy, could evade the bridal bed. 
        Producing tasty cheeses, her salvation found, instead.  
        From firm and smooth to tangy, maiden aunts had time to test
        Studying cheese they crafted, taught them what was best. 

       When building up economies innovations make their places
       Cloth and habitations, string, each brings its use and graces. 

       From each small beginning, from what was seen as waste
       Came extrapolated thingings, which changed our human space.

       Providing wealth and leisure beyond all human measure 
       We were poised for bringing peace, finding inner treasures

       But always bums were with us, only out to sate their greeds
      Using war and government, ignoring those in need.  

      Those bums, who feed upon us, the ancients called them demons
      Today we know they're psychopaths, no conscience to their reasons.

      How many generations will it take for us to understand 
      These bums, by their own natures, are alien to Man.  



No. 75 Empty Eyes and Haunted Dreams 

A sinecure of drama, her never ending play 
She hungered for a different life, to fill her empty days.
And her inner urgings pointed out the way. 
Every kind of pretense, used to make it pay.

For she was just a victim. She was innocent and sweet
She was just a heroine, who refused acceptance of defeat.
And she was little wifie, and always wrote the play
Because it was recycled from the drama yesterday.  

She fancied herself a princess, a duchess and a queen
She paid for every fancy with lies both large and mean.
Drama is the constant as she rakes in bits of gold.
She knows the Readers buy it, to hear her perils told

And always it was Rayelan at the center of the play 
She learned the art of drama and was always on display. 
She, the me who mattered, she the me in lights
She the only one with power fed on its delights. 

So, barking, it continues, and units, they are filled. 
And nothing every changes, and yet she loves the thrill.  
To con the all to trusting, too rake in others cash
Are the stuff of fantasy to Rayelan's aging ass.  

No 76.  What Matters 

The stillness of a moment, awareness and its shock.
The lilt of silent laughter, sudden insights joined to mock.
A gentle nudge of yesterday, resting on a dream.
Vested in Arrested Paradigm, never what it seemed.  

The string of revelations which, joined, bring sudden light.
To what was once a comfort, but now a stinging blight.  

And yet within the learning curve, remains the reach to know.
That monumental changes require time to take, and grow. 

On the shores of intuition, beneath our failing hopes
The solid underpinnings of life bring growing scope.