Michael Madness: The Hurricane Rolled Through

“The fury of Hurricane Michael hit the Wiregrass late Wednesday afternoon, less than an hour before the eye of the storm passed near Gordon in Houston County as a Category 3 hurricane.

The storm felled hundreds of trees, caused thousands to go without power and led to flash flooding in several areas. Wind gusts were reported near 90 miles per hour on the east side of the eye and more than 60 miles per hour on the west side.

It could take days before the full extent of the damage is known, but it appears Hurricane Michael is the most powerful storm to hit Houston County in recorded history,” as reported by the Dothan Eagle on October 11th.

dothaneaglepicWhere I live, near the small town of Ashford, just southeast of Dothan, Alabama, at least one tornado swept through within 1/2 mile (.8 km) of my house. The power went out early on during the storm and is still out. The work load for Alabama Power is overwhelming, to say the least, and the rural areas are, unfortunately, low on the totem poll. In fact, my best friend ~ also my next door neighbor ~ told me just this morning that power lines were still down all over the immediate area.

Very thankfully, we were both sparred any substantial damage and, of course, came through Hurricane Michael without loss of life or limb, as did everyone in my family who lives in the Wiregrass Area of the state. However, one of my sisters had a rather large tree fall on one end of her house. Thankfully, they were all in the other end of the residence … which is an interesting story in itself.

It seems they were watching the local weather the night before the raging storm, and the meteorologist cautioned his audience that the winds would actually be rotating around and down from the north, making it very advisable to seek secure shelter in another part of whatever home or building. My sister and her family took him at his word. Everyone abandoned their bedrooms on the north end, opting to camp out in the living room, which is slightly lower anyway (in their slightly split-level house.)

MichaelTreeSure enough, the large tree came crashing through, but they were safe! As soon as reasonably possible, they called the local news channel to thank the weather man for his life-saving advice and, of course, we were (are) all very thankful! Trees and power lines down is one thing. We can live with the inconvenience. (Hell, most of the world lives with this “inconvenience” 24/7!) But loss of life, or serious injury, is another matter altogether. A roof can be replaced. So can power lines. But the life of a loved one? No.

To my readers and fellow bloggers: Sorry I haven’t been on here posting and reading, but as you can imagine, I haven’t had Internet access till now. At the writing of this blog, in fact, I’m at my other sister’s house. More later… Blessings to one and all!

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Priests and the Cry of Innocence

With all their might they pushed crimes out of sight
And chose to fight the light back into the darkness,
Leaving the carcass of truth in the starkest of graves,
But who will save them from the waves of justice,
Which finally come from cries of innocence violated
And annihilated for the satisfaction of perversity
That so harmfully cast itself upon those weakest
And meekest within the very Household of God?
Surely damnation will come to such beastly priests,
And angels will rock the foundation of all creation

The Project

Millions pray, millions cry, many even die
All for wars to cease and for peace to reign,
And the truth is most people do get along
Just as fine as well-aged wine and would
Gladly dine with one another in harmony;
So who is it that incites violence and war?
Who first tore the delicate fabric of peace?
We need a new lease on life in this world,
And this is the daunting project haunting
And taunting those of us who love to love
And live in serenity with all of humanity;
Ah! But this is quite a feat even as we hear
The drumbeat of the battles to be fought
By those who have been sold and bought
And brought into the service of those who
Will never see the field soaked with blood;
Most of those who have seen the horror
Of war want war no more for they know
How high the price to pay
And will not roll the dice!
Oh, but somebody does . . . who are they?
And how do they hold at bay peace
In our day; how do they block the way?
Ah! How do we go about this, our Project?

Your Cozy Little Eggshell

Not that I’m angry but you never seem to see
What is as obvious to me as a great big tree!
Temperatures are rising causing tidal waves
As oceans misbehave while you calmly claim
That it’s all the same without a bit of shame;
And you don’t seem to hear the cries of fear
From around the earth in all your jolly mirth,
And I ask you why ‘n try to talk but you balk;
Meanwhile masses starve and ruffians carve
Their weapons of terror ‘n it’s a bloody error
To be so blind and to bind your whole mind
Against all the world around you,
But you’re bound and determined
To be whatever it is you will to be
And see only what you want to see!
No, I’m not angry, only bound to be astounded
How you can live in such a cozy, little eggshell!
And I know hell will crack that shell one day . . .
Hell will crack your shell

No Romero, Not Here! Not Here!

Dearest Romero, you cannot come here out of fear;
You see, we don’t know you and only a few want to;
You have made your pilgrimage at such a young age,
But all for not for we have bought this wall
As a clarion call that we’re surely not for all,
Even the weak and small like you, O Romero!
Say, can you see the torch held high up into the sky?
Fire once burned there to light the night sky
As a bright beacon of hope for those who cry;
But now we must say ‘good bye’ and just let you die,
For we have no place for your face ‘n no more grace;
O Romero, what are you thinking as you’re blinking?
Skies here are not blue for you,
And your skin is the wrong hue!
From sea to sea shall we be ever so discriminatory?
Dearest Romero, you cannot come here out of fear!
Not here, lad, not here . . . for we are filled with fear!


Note: Romero is both a Spanish and an Italian surname meaning: A person on a religious journey or pilgrimage . . . (also) an herb of rosemary symbolizing remembrance and fidelity.

Happy Holiday Thinking

Do you think of the person who looks for a place to lay his head,
Wondering where he’ll get his next piece of bread?
Who finds a place to curl up against the cold winter’s night
Only to be told to move when he has nowhere to go,
Except maybe six feet below?
Or the little girl who whirls around from alleyway to alleyway
Trying to find someone who cares but only ends up
With some pervert that binds her behind locked door?
Do you consider the old woman with shopping cart
Who makes dumpsters her grocery mart?
Or the wandering band from a foreign land
They used to call home?
Or the shell-shocked children of Gaza
Who search for toys among rock and rubble plazas?
Do you think oils spills that poison drinking water
Or the mountain of bills the poor cannot afford to pay?
Or the bullets that kill amidst the shrill screams of war?
Or the ill who have no medical care
Because they cannot bear the cost?
Or the man lost in his own world without hope of escape?
Or blackened drapes, sour grapes, formless shapes,
And untold rapes?
Say, what do you think when you blink your eyes at the world?
Before you say ‘happy holidays,’ think and sink into reality . . .
* * * * * * * *
Do you consider the person who looks for a place to lay his head,
Wondering where he’ll get his next piece of bread?