And when will they stop
I mean the senseless attacks…

The old sports joke; I went to a fight
And a hockey game broke out.
Is it so strange to look at places
In the middle-east and pray that
Peace will break out.

Turf, baby, it's all about turf.
Whether Israel and Palestine
Sunni-Shia-Kurd
Syria not accepting its borders
Will Iran try to spread its theocracy…

Like a tired parent
Dealing with kids
Wanting to play with the same toys
-Learn to share or go play quietly with
Your own toys…-

I have done my fancy-shmancy academic exercises
And poured a poop-load of facts, details, theories, and trivia
Into a mind you-all might say is cluttered
And cluttered it may surely be…

I have retired some of the mess to back corners of the mental attic
Sorting and stockpiling some stuff worthy of staying
And putting away in musty trunks above
The stuff that gets in the way.

A mother knows; who works
And does the laundry and cooks
And cleans and makes sure as many bills
As possible get paid, nurses the bumps
And the coughs, real or imagined
Who looks over a busy shoulder
And says, “don’t make me come in there.”

The world is still so big
Though a bunch of the important stuff seems small
And the children, whether loud or angelic,
Laughing or crying, and are so pure in slumber
Cannot tell the silly adults to shut up and play nice
“If you can’t share, go to your own room and play…”
-poetpj 101805 1119-