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Jim DunlapBiographyAn End, Or A Fork In The Road?As New England slept in the morning,a mist drifted down from the hills, bonded with dew in the verdant grass, and kissed the creeks and rills. The first clear rays of the rising sun topped the trees on an upthrust ridge, and lit with a golden glitter on the planks of Concord Bridge. The moon was a silver crescent that faded in dawning light. Files of redcoats came marching: heralding the coming fight. The sharp, booming crack of a musket rang out on the brisk, clear air -- a mighty, worldwide Empire would soon be checkmated there. The hopes of a newborn nation greeted freedom's statue from France; but liberty buoyed with elation rode the tides of storm and chance. The promise that sprang from that morning was sullied by the dead weight of years. The masters of mediocrity built a future of tears ... and fears. Their rapacious avarice and greed have twisted and warped those dreams, and shredded the Constitution, implementing their evil schemes. If left to their scurrilous seekings, the world, so filled with mischance, will drag a once mighty nation to join a most macabre dance. When the Captains of finance and industry call the tune with unholy glee, Empires shake on foundations and dikes can't hold back the sea. Goodbye to the blooming promise that America cried to the world. Those hopes and dreams will be shattered, and a new flag will soon be unfurled. In place of the Stars and Stripes, the Jolly Roger will float, and the enemies of free peoples will prance and dance and gloat. When empires crumble and nations fall, many evil things come to pass. When money is King and greed is Queen, men's morals grow twisted and crass. We can only hope that the future sees generations as yet unborn who've learned from failures of ours and react with wisdom ... not scorn. Perhaps it's not yet too late, to save the Earth's biosphere, but we need to vanquish the spectres of famine, warfare, and fear. But whether or not that happens, we still are compelled to a choice. Fabricate barricades ... or graves, but do it with only one voice. Still, no matter which principle ... or option to which we hew, it's time to bid a final adieu to the past ... and the world we knew. © Jim Dunlap 2009 After "Mom's Home Cooking"Imagination and insight ...perspective and poise ... he deals in wry, real delight. Words are truly his fondest toys. He shakes them up in a cup, and tosses them out on the page. You savor his best when you sup, and taste the aroma of "sage". Wise, indeed, is this parvenu, whose wisdom is drawn from the ages. He can fashion a sonnet ... or "ku"; but he's never bound by form's cages. Many elderly people are fools; sometimes the young may prove wise. His sentences shimmer like jewels, and sagacity conveys bold surprise. My advice to you, dear reader, is to remember "Mom's home cooking". Whether, counselor, peon, or leader, he's the poet for whom you are looking. © Jim Dunlap 2009 A Pastoral Quasi-PantoumOn high a golden harvest moonwinking slyly at me as I eye the sky: glittering stars, a timely boon. I often wish that I could fly. Winking slyly at me as I eye the sky, The stars outshine the primal dark. I often wish that I could fly; I hear a night bird's cheerful cry. The stars outshine the primal dark; like fires from some celestial camp. I hear a night bird's cheerful cry, oblivious to cold and damp. Like fires from some celestial camp, each star's a twinkling spark. Oblivious to cold and damp, I love cold midnight in the park. Each star's a twinkling spark, and the breezes hum a cheery tune. I love cold midnight in the park: on high a golden harvest moon. Copyright © Jim Dunlap 2009
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