s - A collection

                 POETRY By Barry Freeman - no longer "of the month."

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AUGUST, 2014

  Guppy Dream

I bought myself a guppy,

I got him yesterday.

I’ll put him in a fishbowl

so he can’t swim away.

But, help, I left my guppy

outside the water tank,

And when I put him in there,

The guppy only sank.

But hold the phone, my children,

That’s not quite true. It seems

the story of my guppy

was only in my dreams.

I really have no guppy,

But if I really did

I’d throw him in the toilet

and close the toilet lid.

Hold on, I’m really kidding,

I’d treat my guppy good,

If I could only have one—

I really think I should.

 (clip art)

Puppy Dream

I bought myself a puppy,

I got him yesterday.

I put a leash around him

so he can’t run away.

But, help, I leashed my puppy

on to a high-up shelf,

So when he jumped for freedom,

He darn near hung himself.

But hold the phone, my children,

That’s not quite true. It seems

the close call with my puppy

was only in my dreams.

I really have no puppy,

But if I really did,

I’d put him in the garbage,

and fasten down the lid.

Hold on, I’m really kidding,

I’d treat my puppy good,

If I could only have one—

I really think I should

Tano at 5.25mo.jpg Tano


                                  Barry J Freeman




I took a trip to southern Spain,

And drove due west along the sea,

Until I came upon The Rock:

And so Gibraltar beckoned me.



It stood against the sunny sky

On guard beside the bright blue sea .

Above appeared a British flag;

Quite out of place, it seemed to me.


I’d heard about a tailless ape,

That lives above, upon The Rock,

And has for thirteen hundred years,

And so must hail from hardy stock.



They somehow came from Africa,

A species called “the wild macaque”.

The Brits believe, should they depart,

Bad luck would bring the Spanish back.


I parked and walked along the sea,

And finally reached Gibraltar’s gate.

From Spain a passport must be shown,

Because it is a foreign State.



I wanted first to climb the rock,

And learn its vibrant history,

And so I hired a local guide,

Whose language proved a mystery.


With English nouns, he tried quite hard,

But Spanish verbs kept mixing in,

And so I could not understand,

When his narration did begin.


We drove the small ascending roads,

And stopped half way to see the view,

Alas the guide confused his facts,

And couldn’t say the things he knew.



When suddenly upon a wall,

Appeared a gentle old macaque.

He said to me, “I’ll be your guide. 

We settled here a long time back.



“We’ve lived upon The Rock above,

Since landing with the Muslim Moors,

Who came to Spain from Africa,

And conquered all upon these shores.


“Six hundred years we lived in peace,

Until Castilians took it back.

Too many Moors then lost their lives.

And we died too, we brave macaque.


“For twenty-four years the Spanish ruled,

Until the Moors regained control,

But soon they lost to Spain again.

The wars cost both a bloody toll.


“For two hundred-forty tranquil years

We maintained peace ‘neath Spain until --

Seventeen hundred and thirteen came,

When Spain again gave up this hill.

“’Twas then the British took our Rock,  

And guards its claim until today.

Its guns have fought aggressors off,

And England’s flag seems here to stay.




“In seventeen hundred and seventy nine,

Spain laid siege by tight blockade.

Three years, seven months and twelve long days,

The stubborn Spanish blockade stayed.


“Fourteen other times they tried

a siege to take our Rock again,

But British guns did beat them all.

Again they both lost lots of men.


“We monkeys watched young soldiers die.

They blew themselves to kingdom come.

A navy comes, an army goes --

We think that wars are really dumb.


 “Gibraltar’s apes have suffered wars

As English, Moor and neighbor Spain.

We're loyal only to The Rock,

And here macaques must e're remain.”



With that our teacher said goodbye,

And went to sit upon a tree



A tear appeared within his eye,

Which tought a frightful lot to me.


I crossed the border back to Spain,

With thoughts of  wars and martyred men,

And as I left The Rock behind,

I tried quite hard to smile again.


It stands guard over the western Mediterranean Sea, overlooking the narrow Straits of Gibraltar separating Spain from Africa.

They are Barbary Apes, originate from Morocco and Algeria, where they still reside in the wild.

711 A.D . 


             A WHALE OF A SNAIL TALE           March 17, 2013


                 IMG_0116.JPG      Hear Ye  of Shuffles, a New England snail,

                                     Shuffles the Snail was a slow-moving male,

                                            Who tried out for track and was destined to fail,

                                      But achieved a degree from (you guessed it) Yale.



Shuffles was  shoveled and dumped in a pail,

Unfairly detained in a circular jail,

From which to be freed he could never post bail,

One day from the pail he was slurped by a whale,

Which began for the snail this whale of a tale.


He sailed out to sea in the whale’s floppy tail,

But the whale was engulfed by a wave in a gale,

And he coughed up the snail to a boat with a sail, 

Where Sally the Snail lie impaled on a nail.


Quite comely and sexy, though daintily frail,

being stuck there and nailed to the boat’s safety rail.

 He jiggled the nail so the maid could inhale.

 As he thought what removing the nail might entail,

The nail came dislodged by a mate drinking ale.

So Shuffles was joined by his thankful female.

And together they toasted as the schooner set sail.

They landed in Greenland in rain mixed with hail,

And were scooped on a shovel and weighed on a scale,

Then were shipped to a market and wound up for sale

As an escargot entrée for shipment by mail.



The snails were then snail-mailed by truck and by rail,

Back home to New England, again to that pail,

Which spilled on a table impelling each snail

To slow-move together down happiness trail,


In love ever after, thus ending this tale.


                                                                                                                                         by Barry J Freeman

(As are the primitive illustrations

Drawn on my iPad

Very primitively)






As we three lions hunted,

for ample food and drink,

We spotted an impala,

And towards him we did slink.




The young impala saw us,

And stood right in our way,

Without a hint of panic,

He took out his display.


It was an invitation,

That said “Thanksgiving’s here!

 So come and bring the family,

And all enjoy good cheer.”


We stopped our hunt and asked him,

“Where can we dine with you?”

“Beyond the trees.” he answered,

“We’re serving quite a few.”


We walked clear of the forest,

Beyond the tall, dry grass,

And came upon a road sign,

Encased in colored glass.

It read, “Come all ye beasties,

Desist from hunting prey,

Enjoy our lovely dinner,

It is Thanksgiving day.”

There stood a thatch-roofed building,

With walls of fine-cut logs,

And waiting for admittance

Were intermixed warthogs

With leopards, chimps and aardvarks,

Just waiting there to dine,

Behaving very nicely.

We joined them all in line.


We stood behind impalas,

Hippos, rhinos too

cheetahs, dogs and dikdiks,

hyenas (quite a few).


Giraffes killed time by necking,

The zebras counted stripes,

There were a bunch of jackals,

And others of all types.

Giraffes necking


A baboon then approached us,

And to us he did bow:

“We thank you for your patience,

and have your table now.”


The furnishings were modern,

With fixtures highly styled.

How pleased we felt to be there,

Forgetting we were wild.


The menu was quite festive,

The specials were just right.

We ordered each with pleasure,

To suit our appetite.


For starters: shell fish salad,

Or jungle rot soufflé ,

Hot hornbill soup with noodles,

Or vultures of the day.


Then there came wild turkey,

A true Thanksgiving feast:

Roasted brown with gravy,

A treat for man or beast.


For those who wanted veggies,

There was a carrot ring,

And if one needed biscuits,

Mkate they would bring.


Of course there was the jello,

And yes, cranberries too,

String beans, squash and spinach --

All things the Masai grew.


Dessert was pie and ice cream,

The pumpkin pie was great

We washed it down with coffee --

But it was getting late.


We ate a lot of wonders,

And drank a lot to boot,

With bellies full and happy,

Thanksgiving was a hoot.


“You needn’t pay a penny,”

Our waiter said with glee,

“I ask of you one favor,

Don’t think of eating me.”


We bid him thanks, and told him

No way could we eat more.

We could not think of hunting --

And stumbled out the door.


*              *              *              *


The lions thus departed,

Impressed with such good will,

Their stomachs quite distended,

With no need now to kill.


The herd was spared that evening,

So thankful to be living.

The lions roared with gusto,




Impala herd


Barry J Freeman

photos by me    



Please don’t diddle, Chicken Little,

You finally got it truly right:

The sky is really frigging falling,

The brutal end is right in sight!

                                                                     (Clip art)

Momma Earth is really angry,

Sweaty-hot from global warming,

Tried to warn those politicians:

Stop polluting, start reforming!


BP spilled its oil inside her,

fouling fragile fin-filled oceans,

Energizing Momma’s temper,

Frazzling further her emotions.


Momma Earth had been real patient,

Kept her weapons fully loaded,

Now she’s friggin’ finally had it,

Momma Earth has, BANG, exploded!

                   eruptions,landscapes,mountains,natural disasters,nature,volcanoes,weather(clip art)

Volcanoes blew from ancient craters,

Clouded Iceland, jolted Java,

Halting Europe’s crowded airways,

Spewing ash and molten lava.

Snowstorms crippled, buried highways,

Drought laid waste to Russian farming,

Wildfires burned out virgin forests,

Twister damage grew alarming,

                clouds,fields,funnel clouds,landscapes,nature,photographs,storms,tornados,twisters,weather(clip art)


India suffered freaky flooding,

Pakistan remains in ruins,

From their overflowing rivers,

Deluged by extreme monsoons.

             (clip art)

Momma Earth unleashed her fury,

Heading towards a deadly goal,

Earthquakes struck and caused tsunamis,

Devastation took its toll.

Java, Haiti, then in Chile,

South New Zealand, then Japan,

Merciless killing, mass destruction,

Rubble piling up on man.


                                                                                          (News photo)


Mankind messed with atom power,

Building failsafe power plants.

Momma caused a mighty earthquake,

Shook their butts and made them dance,

Releasing clouds of radiation,

Contaminating precious air,

Unleashing rads of lethal poison,

Destroying all beyond repair.

            (clip art)

Another chapter now was written,

When Sandy hit the Jersey shore,

And devastated New York City

With winds and floods and muck and more.


The moral to this ugly story,

For what it finally may be worth:

Awake ye dumbbell politicians,

Best don’t mess with Momma Earth!



                          (clip art modified))

Barry J Freeman



June, 2010 Poem of the Month




The baboons called a conference,

And all the groups attended.

"It's time," they said, "well overdue,

That human rule be ended." 

The chairman climbed up on a tree,

To open up the voting.

He summarized his arguments

that went like this, I'm quoting:

 "I must declare what we believe

to be the world's solution:

That we, the monkeys of this world,

Reverse our evolution. 

"Mankind's ascent from monkey roots

is leading to disaster,

The earth is plunging straight to hell,

Imploding  even faster. 

"They've overrun our habitats,

And self-indulged in killing,

They caused a deadly oil leak,

And plan to keep on drilling. 

"They forced the earth to overheat,

Because of their pollution.

Their 'Progress' led to rampant ruin,

For which there's no solution. 

"Compassion bowed to selfishness,

Good deeds gave way to greed,

Good manners fled from politics

(a nasty mess, indeed). 

"They dote on guns and fancy cars,

And profit is their god,

Religion shrieks from right-wing nuts,

They worship their iPod. 

"We'll likely do a better job,

We'll resurrect the ruins,

Our time has come to run the world,

Vote 'Yes' for us baboons!"


                                                                                                                         Barry Jay freeman

Photos by Barry







And As I Lay Me Down To Sleep

images by clipart



Thanksgiving day has come and gone,

The silver’s put away,

The Pilgrim dolls are back at rest

‘till next Thanksgiving day.


We celebrate with food and song,

With family and with friends,

A happy time is had by all,

Until it finally ends --

And as I lay me down to sleep,

A question bothers me:

Can we give thanks as fits the day

For life in this Country?

I once could say without reserve,

How fortunate we are.

Because of our democracy

I thanked my lucky star.


The rule of law I counted on,

And justice was a given.

We cared and shared and made it fair

For all of us to live in.


But money tipped the Justice scales,

And those in power got greedy,

Distorting our democracy

By dumping on the needy.           




When Wall Street caused the world to fail

By trading worthless paper,

Many thousands lost their jobs,

And nest eggs turned to vapor.


The trodden poor and middle class

Thus saw an end to power,

The wealthy bought the ballot box,

And everything turned sour.





Demand grew small, with revenue,

Thus shrunk the source of taxes.

Government bodies sunk in debt,

and trimmed payrolls with axes.


So firemen, cops and teachers went,

With corporate profits swelling,

The lines of unemployment grew,

While welfare bells were knelling.




They said, to fund Entitlements

for those in need the most,

Are things that we can ill afford,

So Medicaid is toast.


While those who caused the world to fail

Were paid their ill-gained bonus,

The lower classes got the shaft,

And bore the debt load onus.


But wait, ye trampled wealth-depressed,

There comes a growing movement:

A rising tide of citizens

Demanding just improvement.


For those who have excessive wealth

There comes a revolution

Prepare to pay your justly share

As part of the solution


Pray cut no more essential needs

Don’t subsidize the wealthy

desist unbalanced government

let healthcare keep us healthy.


Spending ’s part of government

(Efficiency’s the trouble),

Elect the wise to make it work,

 While cleaning out the rubble.


Let politicians humanize,

Stop campaign contribution,

Take profit out of politics,

Cease Party prostitution.


I know that I idealize,

But things aren’t going right,

Our Country can be beautiful --

With that, to all: goodnight.



March 20, 2012


(clip art)


I'm incredibly excited about Citizen’s United.

It’s provided entertainment without end.

It has earned immense affection during every bought election,

And has proven that commercials are my friend. 

I guess the main attraction is a primary in action,

As the candidates all seek the right wing vote:

“How conservative is he? He is not, vote for me.

I have never said the sentence that you quote!” 

Piles of cash to purchase power during every waking hour,

Spewing countless days and hours of poppycock,

Superfunds bombard the airways in twisted and unfair ways,

Just distorting information ‘round the clock.


I guess it’s one solution just to sell the Constitution

to the special interest, predatory leach,

Since accepting what they’re saying without knowing who is paying

Is quite crucial to the safeguard of free speech 

I hope that my enjoyment will result in more employment,

As the networks let the profits trickle down,

Yes I find it quite amusing and the candidates confusing,

And I wish them all an easy way to drown.

(clip art)

Barry J. Freeman





DECEMBER 25, 2011

                     I SHOULD NOT PULL A LION'S TAIL



I should not pull a lion’s tail

Because I fear it would entail

A sudden exit, much too fast

A move perhaps to be my last. 

It’s quite like walking on a ledge

Or living life just on the edge

To dare to face the source of fear

And tempting death to draw so near. 

But without venture comes no gain

And naught but dust and deeds remain

Who knows just how the die is cast

As fragile life goes fleeting past?

 It is a gamble, but how good?

Will it kill me as it should?

A placid sea is way too vast --

I think I'll pull that tail at last.



Hands on tail 2

drawing by Barry


Barry J. Freeman





drawing by Barry


I finally pulled a lion’s tail

As he sat in a tree.

I gave it just a little yank…

And he got mad at me.

I could not help to pull his tail,

I simply had to try,

But now that I have done the deed,

I am condemned to die.


Temptation got the best of me,

I shall now pay the price,

I should have stopped to cogitate,

And mulled it over twice.


The lion said, “You stupid fool,

You irked a kingly beast,

So you shall pay me with your life,

Now you will be my feast.”


I wish that I could turn and run,

Or simply disappear,

Me thinks I made a big mistake - -

His teeth are big -- Oh dear!


A sly hyena wandered by,

And saw my sorry plight.

He said, “Look lion, he’s just a fool,

His mind is not quite right.”


Hyena said, “Please leave him be,

I’ll teach him some respect.

I’ll teach him to control himself--

And then I’ll break his neck.”


Just then a leopard wandered by,

And offered his advice.

He said that breaking necks sometimes

just isn’t very nice.


He further said, “I’ll take the fool,

and drag him up a tree.

For days on end he’ll linger there,

and be a slave to me.”



I watched them all quite carefully,

as they conversed away.

I knew all three just longed for me

as dinner of the day.


Engaged in heated argument

about my sorry plight,

The three debated through the day,

while I slipped out of sight.


As I made haste to save myself,

And ran beyond my breath,

I thought of what a fool I was,

So very close to death.


Temptation almost did me in,

And I don’t want to die.

How could one pull a lion’s tail?.

-- Perhaps, just one more try.



                                                     Barry Jay Freeman









October Court Day, Mt Sterling, Kentucky,

Some thousands of people, like you’ve never seen,

The American flag, as well as the Rebel,

Are flying and blowing with guns in between.

Hill people and tourists all mingle together,

Real country music wafts over the crowd,

Purchase some ammo or bullet-proof jackets,

Show-off your weapons so you can be proud.

From hardware to hat-wear to sorghum molasses,

Whatever you’re wantin’ that carves or that shoots.

There’s miles upon miles of items to buy there,

From puppies and rabbits to army-like boots.


From bottles of cider to buckets of baseballs,

From frog legs and hot dogs to blueberry jam,

All kinds of carvings and tee shirts and candy,

Fine bourbon to rotgut, and good country ham.


Decked out in blue jeans the natives all cluster

to purchase or trade for their weapons of fear,

AK47s and uzis and pistols,

Hill people needs ‘em for killin' the deer.


You can just buy ‘em, without any license,

Enough ammunition to outlast a war,

Buy belts for machine guns (they’re best for protection),

And shoot the first G-man that comes through your door.




Ma and Pa carry, while strolling with young-un’s,

Come buy a doll, but just peek at the gun.

We’re sellin’ pieces and power to kill with,

So join the militia, partake in the fun.



Some guys they just sits there, don’t know what they’re sellin’,

One lookin’ downward, don’t care to be seen,

I wonder, just lookin’ what sins he be hidin’?

Guys wearin’ red necks can look mighty mean.


October Court Day, Mt Sterling, Kentucky,

Acres of wonders, like you’ll never know.

It’s somewhat disturbin’ to see what they’re sellin’,

But hate it or love it, you still got to go.

                                    Barry J Freeman                                 

October Court Day at Mt. Sterling, Kentucky, is a mad melee of people and livestock gathered together for purposes of doing business. That business may range from the purchase of a coon dog to horses to just milling elbow to elbow with the thousands of curious sightseers who come to Mt. Sterling to see what Court Day is all about.(Reprinted from Southern Bell's "Phonews" winter 1965-66)



Horse Heaven

A little country while ago

we were so very lucky,

to touch a place where beauty lives --

The Bluegrass State, Kentucky.

The Autumn leaves adorned the hills,

The pastureland was green,

The black-fenced farms near Lexington

were all pristinely clean.

Should I come back (as Hindus do),

I’d like to be a horse,

The kind that lives in Lexington --

A champion, of course.

I’d be a large, fast thoroughbred,

Born to run in races,

Enjoying fame at break-neck speed

in all the great race places.

They’d load me in the starting gate,

I’m off with all my strength,

My jockey pushes through the pack,

And wins beyond a length.



I’d qualify with awesome speed

to run the Triple Crown,

I’d win them all and would become

a horse of great renown.

I’d then enjoy the best of times,

They’d show me to the crowd,

And when they’d lead me to the ring,

I’d be so very proud.

And then they’d hire me out to stud,

And that I’d love to be,

I’d do my job quite well for years --

And spread my progeny.

And when my time to go does come,

My monument you’ll see:

I’ll be another Man O’ War

At rest in Ken-tuck-y.

Barry J. Freeman





lion head



Hello Lion candidates,

Will you debate today?

“ROAR,” and “ROAR,” and “ROAR” again,

Is all that they could say. 

All the current candidates

Are something of a dunce.

Why can’t they learn another phrase,

Like say, “O.K.” just once?


Some years ago in lion school,

A class in elocution,

A teacher tried to fix the ROAR,

And searched for a solution.

The teacher had a union card,

And worked there by the hour.

The lions refused to hear him out,

And ate away his power.

The class produced horrendous noise,

They’d bark and grunt and squeal,

Poor teacher worked to teach them speech,

But he became their meal.


So that was it, the final chance

To rise above the ROAR.

The Presidential candidates

Remained since then a bore.


But one must have respect for them,

They do inspire fear,

Because they may be President

With teeth from ear to ear. 

When e’er that fearsome ROAR blasts forth,

Their mouths come open wide,

Revealing why their sharper points

Can not be brushed aside.


Debaters come, debaters go

But they can only ROAR.

As long as they display good teeth

How can we ask for more?


                                           Lion yawnning


A Time

It was only a short while ago

When my middle decided to grow

That has to be why

I can’t see my fly

Why it grew, I really don’t  know.

Can it be from the stuff that I ate?

I’ve been eating a lot as of late

My tight collared shirt

Comes from chocolate dessert

My resistance just ain’t really great.

Perhaps it’s the scotch and the beer

I toast lots to health and good cheer

When all’s said and done

Alcohol’s fun

Drink to that, hip hooray and here here.

I’ve put holes in my new leather belt

But it still feels as tight as it’s felt

Might it maybe be wise

To buy the next size

Is there no way again to be svelte?


To Grow

Barry belly.jpg



All the pants I now buy from the store

Are with backsides tight fitting no more

With waists lower trending

And crotches descending

The cuffs are now cleaning the floor



I say bellies come easy with age

And I trust that we’re on the same page

I can eat what I choose

Or diet and lose

But That’s one war I don’t want to wage.

Barry J Freeman





Football is here,

Prelude to Fall.

Ready  for Fall?

I’m not at all.

It was just Spring,

Where did it go?

Summer’s most done,

So let it go slow.

Fall is for change,

Winter’s for worry.

Slow it all down,

I’m in no hurry.



Freeman Family F’n Photo Facts

Friday a Flock of Four or Five Famished, Fairly-Friendly,

Fine-Feathered, Frightened, well-Fed, Flying, Fat Finches

Feasted in a Feeding Frenzy on Food From

Our Filled-up, Fancy Feeder, Featured

In Front of our Family room Fenêtre .

F’n Finally Finished      

Window in French

Finches and Shrike






We traveled down a path one day

Just my dog and me

We spoke of ships and sealing wax

And how the world could be

I knew that he would understand

Because he was my friend

We walked and talked a lot that day

Not wanting it to end

But end it would, our lovely walk

For darkness falls, we knew

Along the path the night would come

And nothing we could do.

Barry Jay Freeman





Late in August, early morning,

Country air and cattle stalls.

Family dressed in festive clothing,

Decked in farmers' overalls.


Hook the trailer, load the live stock,

Squealing, bawling everywhere.

On the road through yellow hayfields,

to the Walworth County Fair.

Auctioneers and cotton candy,

Puppies, rabbits, ducks, and chicks,

Bulls and cows and lambs and piglets,

Dogs in hats and corn on sticks.


Say hello to farmer neighbors,

Speakers blaring too dang loud.

Roosters crowing, children romping,

Swelling, smiling, sweating crowd.

Ferris wheel and cotton candy,

Pony rides and tilt-a-whirls,

Tractor pulls and lumberjacking,

Gangly, red-cheeked boys and girls.

Fiddle players, fortune sayers,

Ice cream cones and camel rides,

Livestock judges, pickles, fudges,

Hawkers sell from doublewides.

Marching bands and Legion bingo,

Whittled wood and apple pies,

 Hot dogs, fries and Coca-Cola,

 Shoot the duck and win a prize.

Dusty, hazy, hot and humid,

Country music fills the air.

Dressed in aprons, boots and blue jeans,

At the Walworth County Fair.


Won the blue for Heidi heifer,

Everyone we knew was there.

Waived the flag and loved our Country

At the Walworth County Fair.

Pig Judging, Walworth County Fair


                                                                                                         Barry J Freeman


A Reverie That Lights My Moon


Remembrances of summer nights:

Awakened, as my mind recalls

fading photos, fleeting sights

of silver waves and blurring lights,

of swimming pools and carnivals.


The muted strings of summer nights:

Melodies of loon and lark,

crickets singing echoed sounds,

variations sung in rounds,

sending love songs to the dark.


Remembered fears of summer nights:

Screech owls warned of ghost banshees

prowling in the moon-made shade,

lurking unknown beasts betrayed --

phantoms moving through the trees.


Remembrances of summer nights:

A beach at dusk as color fades,

the blissful moans of mating doves,

from drive-in nymphs who practice love

in top-downed cars down wooded glades.


A tender touch of sunburned skin,

above the cloud on which we lie,

in love upon an August breeze.

I breathe the air of memories

that fade beneath a lightning sky,


Of youth, of love, of shadowed fears,

of sounds, of smells, of points of light,

a moon-lit nocturne’s fleeting tune,

a reverie that lights my moon,

inspired by this summer’s night.






I sat and I watched as a squirrel climbed a tree.

Why it went up there was way beyond me.

The tree stretched forever, near touching the sky,

Its branches entangled with others near-by.


squirell poem 1



The squirrel hurried upward with never a doubt,

 Then followed a cross branch, maintaining its route.

It jumped to the next tree and hung on a twig,

The twig was quite bendy, and not very big.

It leaped with assurance, as if on a dare.

with poise and adroitness so high in the air,

As a circus performer will catch a trapeze,

It caught tiny branches, and traveled with ease.


The leaves were just budding so it could be seen

crossing the forest that lined the ravine.

It jumped and it climbed with a practiced persistence,

then climbed up a tree way off in the distance.




squirell Poem 5



It finally stopped at the top of that tree,

And perched on a twig, where no squirrel should be.

As a breeze rocked the treetop, it sat there and swayed.

It was me, not the squirrel, who was really afraid.


It stayed there a while, then retraced its way,

With many more things to accomplish that day,

Then back to the tree that near touched the sky.

And down and away, without a goodbye.



Squirell Poem 6



Do they slip, do they fall? Well maybe -- almost,

Just one slight mistake, and their life would be toast.

There was nothing beneath it, no comforting net,

No ribbons awarded, no prizes to get.


So what was that perilous journey about?

Why would our squirrel risk taking that route?

There’s no other creature that has such a skill,

Who wouldn’t love it? It must be a thrill.

Why else would they do it, except to feel good,

Or maybe they did it because they just could.




squirrel portrait


Barry J. Freeman




Barry Jay Freeman











                                                                                                                                         (Photos by Freeman)


I am a pompous peacock.

I guard the castle walk,

And if you think I’m kidding,

You should hear my squawk.

I love to show my feathers,

And strut my stuff in style,

But do not get me angry,

‘Cause I get really vile.


The kings and queens of Europe

Have kept us on their grounds

As brilliant royal symbols,

With special sights and sounds.

We wandered through their gardens,

Posed upon their gates,

And thus we precious peacocks

Embellished their estates.





I know I am a beauty.

My voice is very loud.

I often flare my feathers,

Of which I’m very proud.

And when I flair my feathers,

The English ”ooh” and “ah”.

Voilà! I flash my backside,

The French say “ooh la la!”




I know I’m very pompous,

I love to pose and preen.

Like other birds of beauty,

It’s OK if I’m mean.

I am a bird of privilege,

And act just as I choose,

So if you do not like it --


Too bad, I win, you lose!

Barry J Freeman

*Kings and nobles used peafowl as living landscapes on their estates.

Peacocks were thought to be excellent guards.

In Islamic folklore, the peacock stood guard at the gates of Paradise,

but the peafowl carried Satan into the Garden of Eden, after consuming him.










The Prince of Wales was telling tales

Behind his palace doors,

He settled there on royal chair

And spoke in metaphors.

The time had come to tell it all

To William Wales and Kate,

Before the coming nuptials

They soon would celebrate.

With teary eyes and thoughtful sighs

This tale he did relate:


Some years ago, a fine Spring eve,

I strolled through Tsavo Park,

The sun was hanging in the sky,

It was approaching dark.


I came upon Camilla Crane,

There practicing her smile.

She showed a set of awesome teeth,

Much like a crocodile.


She practiced then her royal wave,

Quite subtle I believe,

And then she walked as Royals do,

A hanky up her sleeve.


She said to me, “I will be queen,

Despite my common blood,”

But then she tripped upon a stick,

And fell into the mud.


“I’ll get it right, I know I will.

My day to shine will come,

I’ll find myself a handsome prince.”

She bowed (to eat a crumb).


For years she never lost her zest,

For years her drive grew bolder,

But time grew short as it must do,

And she was growing older.


But luck did have its way that Spring,

While hunting bugs one day,

Foresooth a polo playing Prince,

Just happened by her way.


“How do you do, fair crane,” he said,

“I am the Prince of Wales.

Although I’m not the handsome prince

that graces fairy tales,

I love to hunt, I love to ride,

Yes, I’m the Prince of Wales.

So lucky you for meeting me,

And who needs fairy tales?”

 Camilla bowed (and ate a bug),

She could not pass this chance,

She strutted forth and shuffled back,

And did the mating dance.







He followed her and danced along,

delightfully attracted.

She smiled her smile and cocked her head,

The Prince of course reacted.


“Oh dear,” he said, “I ‘most forgot,

I’m married to a beauty.

I can’t complete this dance with you,

To her I owe my duty.

A Prince must be a moral man,

And live a perfect life.

I must remain discreet, you see,

And hide you from my wife.”


“So let us meet, my little crane,

Where none will find us out,

Who knows what fate will bring to us,

What life will bring about.”


As years passed by, they often met,

But lived their lives apart,

Until the Princess crashed and died,

Which broke the Kingdom's heart.


The paparazzi broke the news

(The Kingdom found it shocking),

When photos showed the naughty pair,

With beaks quite interlocking.


And so Camilla Crane did wed,

And to her Prince of Wales.

But when they kissed they morphed to frogs,

Unlike most fairy tales.




Barry Freeman






Three highly-styled Crowned Cranes,

Came running by one day.

I hid myself behind a bush,

And filmed them on their way.


With heads held haughty-high,

And attitude quite smug,

They spoke non-stop and ran with haste,

(But stopped to eat a bug).


“I can not bear this crown,”

I heard the youngest say,

“It weighs me down incredibly,

Please make it go away.”


“The burden’s yours to bear,

You’re born to wear a crown,

You can’t forsake your royal blood,

Though it may get you down.”


“I cannot stand this crown,

The public watches me,

Like him who hides behind that bush,

They just won’t let me be.”


I bowed to them with shame,

And did apologize.

The three crowned cranes admonished me

With honking crowned crane cries.


“Get out of here!” they said,

“Respect our private lives,

Your photos sell a scandal sheet;

On sex and lies it thrives.”


“Oh no,” I quickly said,

“You’re wrong in what I do,

I photograph for poetry,

That’s why I followed you.”


“Oh pardon us kind sir,

We love your photographs.

We’ll smile and strike a regal pose.

Take extras just for laughs.”


And so our three crowned cranes

Preened and posed for art,

Displaying all their regalness,

They finally let me part.


And as I walked away

They shouted out with glee,

“Such beauty comes with royalty,

Oh very special, me!”

Barry Freeman





Upon an April Morning


As I went out one morning

To catch the April air,

I saw a robin redbreast

Bemoaning her despair.


robin 5c


“Hello there, Mrs. Robin.

How are you today?”

She said, “I’m very busy,

And must be on my way.


“I just flew in from Georgia,

I have a nest to do,

And so I’m very sorry –

I have no time for you.”


With that she grabbed some dog fur,

And pumped her wings to fly,

Departing much too quickly,

Without a kind goodbye.


The trees were budding nicely ,

And shoots peeked through the ground,

I longed to share my insights,

But no one was around.


Just then there came a sparrow,

To hunt his morning fare,

But when I said, “Good morning”,

He flew into the air,



“I’m very, very sorry.

I’m much too busy too.

I must dig up some breakfast,

So I can’t talk to you.”



With that there came a bluebird

that landed on my lawn,

But when the bluebird saw me,

It suddenly was gone.




A blackbird headed for me,

But stopped upon a tree.

He said, “Good morning, Barry.”

He was addressing me.


I said, “Good morning, Blackbird,

How nice that you are here.

You must have time to linger,

I wish to you good cheer.”


The blackbird said “I thank you.

Although I’ve much to do,

I’ve always time for kindness.

I’m pleased to speak with you.”


The warm Spring air embraced us, 

And so we talked awhile,

Upon one April morning

That ended with a smile.

                                            MCj04382050000%5b1%5d       Barry J. Freeman

(clipart illustrations, photo by me)












Clip art


“The King of Beasts has ruled the world

For umpteen trillion years.

His rule is harsh, we cannot vote,

He plays upon our fears.

It’s time to rise, so hear our voice.

We want democracy!”

And so it was a Tweety- bird

that tweeted from a tree. 

The tweet was heard around the world,

The message quickly took.

Computer savvy elephants

conveyed it on Facebook.

They called for all the animals

to “loudly demonstrate!”

The World Wide Web informed them all

of time and place and date.


Migrations turned from north to south,

And headed for the square.

The hippos and the elephants

all quickly made it  there.

All the different animals,

No matter shape or size,

Gathered in the public square,

Before the Ruler’s eyes.

Awaiting  for the rebel crowd

Were loyal warrior-ants,

Who stood before the swelling mass,

And listened to their chants:

“Down with the King, the King must go!”

They shouted out and tweeted,

The warrior-ants had tanks and guns,

But they were warmly greeted.


Rebellion rang from earth to sky,

Would there be confrontation?

And then the Lion King appeared,

And spoke before the nation.

He said, ” I do not choose to leave,

”You need my ruling skill.”

With that a roaring from the crowd

Conveyed their angry will.

                             Clip art         


For eighteen days the rebels stayed,

Their numbers swelling skyward,

The warrior-ants now joined with them

to hear the King’s “Goodbye” word.


And then it came, he slunk away,

And took with him his pride.*

The cyber-powered protesters

would never be denied.


The warrior-ants assumed his role,

Until the next election,

What will happen down the line

Is food for circumspection.


The rebels’ joy was evident,

The world was quite elated,

But will the ants now serve to see

Democracy created?


The World Wide Web has ushered in

the age of information.

And social networks can effect

Rebellious transformation

of governments’ oppressive rule,

By Facebook, tweets and bites.

So wary be ye Lion Kings --

The Web for freedom fights.

*pardon the pun


      Clip art



And so it was that Tweety-bird

flew off  to Tripoli,

To instigate another storm,

While tweeting from a tree.

What happened to our little bird,

I really hate to say --

Those ants with guns and aeroplanes,

Done blew that bird away.

                     modified Clip art

Barry J Freeman






(clip art)

While walking through the bush one day

I saw a friendly chimp,

He spotted me, climbed down a tree –

And walked with quite a limp. 

I said to him, “What happened there?

I see you’ve hurt your knee?

Did you encounter hungry lions,

Or fall down from a tree?”


“Oh no, kind sir, I must admit

I tore my ACL,

I skied upon the mountain trail,

And, once up there, I fell.”


“But why did you attempt the snow?

It’s not for Chimpanzees?

Chimps like warm and humid climes,

And love to swing on trees.”


“I know, kind sir, it wasn’t smart,

But life is but a game.

What good is staying safe at home,

Where days are all the same?


“I rented skis and hiked aloft,

Then skied Mt. Kilimanjaro.

The snow was soft, the air was crisp,

Alas, then to my sorrow,

I caught an edge, my leg went south,

I landed in a tree.

And so it was I realized,

A chimp just should not ski.”


I said, “Good luck, I hope it heals.”

And then I heard him say:

“What good is staying safe at home?”

He smiled and limped away.


I saw him then, a year had passed,

Now he could hardly walk.

I said “My God, what happened now?”

He said, “It hurts to talk.”

His voice was low, with grimaced face:

“I tried a plush resort,

’Twas there,” he said, “I skied again,

And really learned the sport.


“I skied with ease, and skied with grace,

No run could best my skill.

Until one day while coming down

a simple bunny hill,

I caught an edge and found a tree,

and seven ribs got broken,

with injured ear and clavicle,

I came quite near to crokin’”


“I feel your pain, my friend the chimp,

In all sincerity,

You are supposed to swing on them,

Not ski into a tree.


“The best of skiers can catch an edge,

Which can be an ordeal,

And those who dwell upon the edge,

Are hardly made of steel.


“I think you should not ski again,

though daring you may feel,

Of course a chimp can always slip

on some banana peel.”


He caught an edge, his skis went south,

and crashed into a tree --

And so it was I realized,

Some chimps just have to ski.

(clip art – modified by me)

Barry J Freeman









One day in Costa Rica,

A monkey called to me.

I watched him and I listened,

As he swung upon a tree.

I heard a fearsome roaring,

Like nothing heard before.

He was a howler monkey,

And he could really ROAR.


I told him, “Mr. Howler,

You have to fix that thing,

To be a nicer monkey,

You’ll have to learn to sing.


“In order to achieve that,

You’ll have to study voice.

I’ll list for you some teachers,

But then it is your choice.”




He roared to me, “Look mister,

I’ve always done OK,

All us howler monkeys

Are born to howl this way.”



With that I named some teachers,

And said, “Just learn to sing.

It couldn’t hurt your life style.

What problems could it bring?”


He moved away with gusto,

And swung from limb to limb,

howling as he traveled --

Which never bothered him.




When sometime seasons later,

I came back to that spot.

I heard a monkey singing,

A song from “Camelot.


I looked above with wonder,

And up there in the tree,

Appeared that howler monkey

Singing down to me.


He sang the part of Lancelot,

And did it very well.

That he had been a howler.

Was very hard to tell.


He had the sound of stardom,

He could go all the way.

I think he sang it better

than Robert (Bob) Goulet.


If ever I would leave you.”

Came drifting from his limb.

This monkey had a future,

And I would manage him.


I took him to auditions,

And, though he sang quite well,

They wanted something different.

Good music didn’t sell.


I put him through a pop class,

He learned some funky song,

But Costa Rican Idol,

Said, “Dude, you got it wrong.”




So we plodded onward:

He learned to howl hip-hop,

And when he heard P. Diddy,

His howling wouldn’t stop.


He howled in rapper’s rhythm,

While swinging on a tree,

And imitated Snoop Dogg,

As cool as he could be.


Producers heard him rapping,

And fought to make him theirs.

They gave him baggy outfits,

And featured him at fairs.


He did his thing on Oprah,

And joined the Black Eyed Peas.

He sang the concert circuit,

And brought ‘em to their knees.


He hip-hop-howled on TV,

And did the Grammy show.

He sold three million records,

And watched his stardom grow.


If ever you would leave me

just left him -- up a tree,

And so he went to funky,

And it came easily.


He did a Vegas special,

Until his voice grew thin,

And then his last appearance

Did his larynx in.




So sometime seasons later,

I came back to that spot,

Where last I heard the howler

Singing “Camelot.”


I looked above with wonder,

And up there in that tree,

Appeared our howler monkey

Shouting down to me.



Alas, he was a howler,

That could no longer howl.

His  funky days were over,

But why throw in the towel?


His voice was loud and raspy.

It made the palm trees sway,

This dude was now much better

Than any Bob Goulet.


By belting monkey music,

His voice had paid its toll,

But who needs pretty vocals

To roar in Rock and Roll.


I’ll take him to auditions,

We’ll teach him the guitar.

We’ll dress him like a monkey --

I know that he’ll go far!




Barry J Freeman












One morn in Tanzania

I went to view some game.

A large giraffe approached me,

Big Jerald was his name.



He stood there quite humongous.

I saw that this giraffe:

Would have a neck sufficient

If shrunken by one half.


His ambling walk was graceful,

He held his head erect,

He had quite long eye lashes

(which no one would expect).


He said “Give me a moment,”

I asked him what was new.

He said, “I have a problem

And don’t know what to do.”


He spoke of his survival,

How lion’s want his hide,

How many have attacked him,

And how his friends have died.


To get away from lions

giraffes know how to kick,

So when a lion nears him,

Big Jerald kicks him quick.


Their kicks can be most lethal,

And do command respect.

To say he needs that weapon

Is more than just correct.


His legs are very lengthy,

(He eats the tops of trees),

To drink from pools of water,

He spreads his legs and knees.

(Barry's clipart variation)


Thus when he bends for drinking,

With legs all spread askew,

His kicking game goes missing,

And lions know what to do.


Thus when he thirsts for water,

He must let down his guard.

To drink without protection

Makes living really hard,


He's very often thirsty,

And therein lies the trick: --

To reach a drink of water,

And still retain his kick.


I told him, "That's a problem,

I’ll come up with a plan,”

And so I left him thirsty,

And back to camp I ran.


I saw him in the evening,

Bending down to drink.

A hungry lion waited

For Jerald’s head to sink.


Oxpecker saw the danger,

And landed on his head.

The bird yelled “get up Jerald,

Or you will wake up dead!”


Big Jerald kicked that lion.

The beast then staggered back.

Thus battered, bruised and beaten

He called off his attack.


I said to joyous Jerald,

“Your answer just appeared,

Employ that little birdie

To yell when danger neared.


“He’ll eat your ticks for dinner,

And save your life as well,

So make a firm agreement,

And life will be just swell.”


Big Jerald made a contract.

Oxpecker said, “Agreed.”

And thus they stayed together

As special friends indeed.



Friendship is a bargain,

There’s always give and take,

Our lives sometimes depend on

The special friends we make.




With any drinking problem

That brings you to your knees,

Designate a driver,

Who'll eat away your fleas.




If you're a waterholic

And drinking gets you down

Employ a danger spotter

Before you up and drown.




If drink becomes a habit,

That keeps your soul alive,

Enlist a sober chauffer,

And drink, but let him drive.




Barry J Freeman





Wildebeest at a stream in the Serengeti, Tanzania    [my photo]



As I sit at my desk,

the dark day is sporadically brightened by lightning flashes,

which threaten the leaf-laden trees beyond my office windows.

Rumbles of thunder vibrate my world,

as it shudders with the excitement of a sudden summer storm.

The thumping of rain beats upon the roof and at my windows,

working in counterpoint against the kettle drums

that resound rhythmically all around the blackened sky.

The hot summer day is transformed, and is noticeably pungent

with the smells of wet earth and perfumed air.

In reverence to the instant satisfaction of the summer’s thirst,

the trees and the flowers bow and sway

with the rush of the wind

and the weight of the rain.

              And so, as my mind often does when nature calls at its door, I daydream of Africa:

Wildebeest and zebra,

Amassed on the plain,

Move north towards the promise --

The promise of rain.

We join the migration,

Our lands have gone dry,

Unless we find wetlands,

Too many will die.




We travel together,

Aware of our thirst,

Hoping for storm clouds,

But fearing the worst.


The aged grow weakened,

The newest born too.

For basic survival,

The rain must come through.


Our numbers grow smaller,

The clouds don't appear,

We’re hungry and thirsty,

We gallop with fear.


For those who would falter,

Or rest in the shade,

Or otherwise linger,

We’re deathly afraid.


Hyenas are hunting,

As we make our way,

Like lions and cheetahs,

They’ll strike if we stray.





                                                                                                  [from Never Pull A Lion's tail]


So through Serengeti,

On millions of hooves,

Some five hundred miles,

Our migration moves.






                 We must brave the Mara,

              Where each of us crosses.

          The crocodiles ambush,

         And add to our losses.


   [from the internet]

On north into Kenya:

The grasses seem greener,

The dust is less blinding,

The air is much cleaner.


The Kenyan skies darken,

We pause at the wonder,

Then, crashing with fanfare,

Burst lightning and thunder.

The heavens are opened,

Our pain is relieved,

The rain gods have blessed us,

Relief is achieved.



                                                                                                                                              [From Never Pull A Lion's Tail]


The land gathers water.

We drink long and deep,

Our journey has ended,

We’ll stay here and sleep.


[my photo]


The rains will continue,

The young calves will grow,

But then, with the season,

The rain clouds will go.


The herds will replenish,

And thrive on this plain,

Until it turns yellow.

With no more to gain,

We move again southward

In search of the rain.





As I awake from my daydream the dark day grows lighter.

And the summer sun shines once again,

as it will so shine at dawn

on the Serengeti and Maasai Mara plains,

while the perpetual migration continues

in Africa,

far far away.


Barry J Freeman







Hippo kids

must start in school

at the bottom

of the pool.

Attending class

with all their buddies,

They pursue

all different studies.


Courses range from Hippo Lit,

Simple Math and Staying Fit,

Snorting One and Composition,

Floating in the Prone Position.

Then they learn Beginning Biting,

Poetry and Hooved Handwriting,

Cooking, Cleaning, Healthy Drinking,

Poly Sci. and Hippo Thinking,

Latin, Spanish, French or Greek,

Whichever tongue they choose to speak.

Teachers give them good advice,

Hippo school is very nice.


From the herd they do expel

Hippo kids who don’t do well.

I saw a mother oust her kid,

Flunked exams, the poor kid did.




They study hard and concentrate,

And then they can matriculate,

To the surface if they wish,

And the higher School of Fish.


The School of Fish has useful courses:

Such as Marriage, then Divorces,

BP teaches Oil-spill Cleaning,

Hippo males learn Macho Preening,  

Wall Street coaches Economics,

Congress tutors Stand Up Comics.


There's a course in Mortgage Lending,

Then there's one in Over-Spending.

Learn The Joys of Unemployment,

Join an Afghan Troop Deployment,

Take a lab in Binge-type Drinking,

A mini class in Palin's Thinking.


Try your hand at Ponzi Scheming,

Optimistic Hopeless Dreaming,

Join the class in Public Smoking,

Use of Skillful Social Stroking,

The Care of Hippo Genitalia,

Seminary Pedophilia.


Learn to Legislate For Lobbies,

Take a course in Weapons Hobbies,

Boost the Costs of Litigation,

Turn back Women's Liberation,

Bailout Banks To Slow Recession,

Start A War To Stop Aggression,

Fight against Desegregation,

Back Illegal Immigration,

Join the call for Air Pollution,

 Learn the Hippo Constitution.


After such an education,

Hippos move to graduation,

Where they get due recognition,

Leading to a nice position.


Don’t think school is ineffectual,

Hippos are quite intellectual.

Profound thoughts engage their heads,

While floating on their waterbeds.


And if you do not think it’s so,

Listen as they snort and blow:

Abstract sound, a vocal art,

Confirms that they are truly smart.


                                                                                                                          Barry Freeman




March, 2010, Poems Of The Month  






Snow Gestation,






New Creation, 



Life Sensation,







Sheer Elation,



Oh, what a wonderful day!


Barry J Freeman




Click to purchase Never Pull A Lion's Tail








One Serengeti moonlit night

The lion prayed with all his might:


“To the Lion Lord I pray,

              Make a tommy* come my way,

              Let me catch it, so it may

              Quench my hunger for the day.”






The tommy’s voice rang out in fright,

As hungry lions crept in sight:


“To the Tommy Lord I tell,

              Since I’m but a small gazelle,

              Keep me safe and keep me well,

              Hidden from the lions’ hell.”





Hyena saw the tommy’s plight,

And waited for the bloody fight.


He spoke his sneaky solemn prayer:

              “Show me meat, still warm and rare,

              I’ll steal it from the lion’s lair,

              And so I’ll get my modest share.” 



* A Thomson Gazelle, typical prey for the lion


I spotted in the bright moonlight

A vulture mumbling while in flight.


I heard the solemn vulture’s plea:  

              “Let all remains remain with me, 

              And, please, before the others see,

              I’ll have my fill, then let me be.”


So, should the tommy win in prayer,

and keep the vulture from its share,

Hyena’s stomach filled with air,

And hungry lions’ everywhere?


Who knows for sure who should prevail?

Who knows what Lord will save whose tail?

And who’s to blame if prayers fail,

And faith becomes of no avail?


The idol Calf, the Sacred Goat,

Or magic beads around the throat,

Whoever gets the biggest vote,

To Him all prayers we must devote.


But, sir, how can the strong be wrong?

So to their Lord our prayers belong,

And thus we’ll grow both wise and strong,

And praised be those who pray along.


Beware the totem and taboo,

Creationists and voodoo too:

The ones who tell us what to do,

Please keep them in the city zoo.


The Kings’ Crusades, the heathen Moors,

The Salem hunt, the Holy Wars,

The blood of lambs upon the doors --

The tommy runs, the lion roars.


Praised be He, and sing and shout!

What’s this riddle all about

That speaks to my impious doubt?

Will Mankind ever work it out?


                                                                                   Barry J Freeman





Tis a night in December

in Africa’s wild.

The stars are all shining,

the weather is mild.


The lions are chasing

impala in flight.

Hyenas and cheetahs

are hunting tonight.


As leopards lie watching

for zebra to kill,

a bright shining star

descends on the hill.


It shines like a beacon,

so bright and so clear,

enhancing the vision

of everyone near.







The lions grow silent,

and come to a stop.

The light becomes brighter,

while animals drop

to their knees to repent

for their sins of the day,

and the light on the mountain

has something to say:


“Be thou Christian or Buddhist

Islamic or Jew,

a Taoist, a Shinto,

a Sikh or Hindu,

Zoroastrian, Animist,

Confucian, Baha’i,

Jainistic, Agnostic,

or Laibon Maasai.


“I come as a teacher,

so follow my way:

I crave peace on earth,

for which you must pray.



“All pray to each other

that thou shalt not kill,

and promise to follow

this light on the hill.

For I am the truth--

believe as you may --

just love one another

‘til night turns to day.”


The light dimmed to darkness

as all rose in prayer.

Then each to each other

spread peace everywhere.


They lived without killing

the rest of the night,

partaking in friendships,

and all was just right.


Then night turned to morning,

and hunger came back.

The peace pause with neighbors

got all out of whack.




Again all the hunted

protected their  backs,

as predator-hunters

resumed their attacks.



Next morn in December

in Africa’s wild,

the stars are done shining,

the weather’s still mild,


The light came to teach us

the glory of peace,

but predators’ habits,

like wars, never cease.


The night was amazing,

but day came too soon.

T was all back to normal

by mid-afternoon..




Man is by nature

a beast in the wild,

his predator instincts

instilled as a child.


Would that the sunrise

could bring a new day,

and peaceful arrangements

could evermore stay.


However so righteous

the concept may seem,

it’s still, now as ever,

an idealized dream.



Barry J Freeman