The Shooter(s)
The Shooter(s) Right about now You are asking Again Who is this shooter? Who is this boy? Who the hell is he? Who is he, really? I have heard it said He is a monster, a crazy monster Well, let me tell you who he is: He is angry He is sad He is lonely He is lost He is afraid He is ashamed He is wounded He is trapped He is hurt He is disconnected He is alone He is dead–inside He is desperate He is no monster He is no crazy man You...
My Experience Is Not My Son’s
by Greg Tapler My tolerance is not my son’s tolerance, he will build his own boundaries. My patience is not my son’s patience, he will find his own peace. My anger is not my son’s anger, he will experience his own betrayal. My fear is not my son’s fear, he will find his own demons. My wants are not my son’s wants, he will discover his own satisfaction. My stories are not my son’s stories, he will walk his own journey. My grief is not...
Taut: a poem
by Julien Devereux Taut as a bowstring Pulled and aimed As the finish line tape On the winner’s breast Peering towards tomorrow Planted in today I am Always prepared to launch Into the wildness of being Who I am Ready to simply be In this or another place Willing, open, able. Julien Devereux is the 2016 MKP USA Chairman and Leads the Curriculum Development, Risk Managment and Equitable Community Initiative for the Mankind Project USA....
New Warrior: a poem
by Julien Devereux From a long line of warriors I came to reclaim my own, my father’s, grandfather’s and ancestors Souls from hell. Men whose dying wish, to gently love those who loved them, was never fulfilled. It takes a lifetime for a man to become wise. We need a new kind of warrior who is wise at birth, Raised by a woman who nurtures and loves. Taught by men who have been taught how to live for a cause instead of only die for...
Riverbed – a song by Patrick Mureithi
by Patrick Mureithi It followed me from evening to morning chased me through the seasons of the day chipped away my weapons and defenses till unto my brother I did say “Pray for my soul it has grown weary heavy is the armor over me it’s not the hand of man to reach and save me but the hand that loves eternally” Find me in the morning awaiting for you to say “I am but an empty earthen vessel keen me to your...
The Dimming Embers – a poem
The Dimming Embers Into the dimming embers Men blow. Fire lights exploding, in the glow! Timbers falling on dusted earth. Crying. Dying. Then from the sky, tears of Life falling. Soaking. Drinking… Quenching the thirst of landed seeds. Sprouting. Branching. Leafing into new days of timbers rising! And so it shall be. After dimming embers glow. From fire dusted bark, we grow. ~philippe berthiaume 3/2/2014 Philippe Berthiaume is a...
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