I’m counting my blessings, being useful, not being a tornado, seeing who I can help, and about to go to the lake fishing, which I don’t love, but I love my fisherman.
Thank you for this site. It has folk like I’ve been, folk I’d like to be and many who I can identify with. I don’t have a ton of resources, web savvy or polished writing acumen, though I’d like to believe that I can appreciate truth, beauty and fellowship in here 💜 I’m 40 years free of junk having found a power greater than booze or dope lending another dimension to the words Independence Day. AA is now 90, the country is 250 and I’m allowed another glimpse of eternity in this - the only day there is, allowing for a profound life…come what may…
I’m sitting in a camp chair listening to the birds, smelling the cedar forest watching the sun etch diamonds into the lake. This poem straight up killed me. It’s so perfect today.
I am so freaking angry about that abomination of a bill 🤬
I wrote this during Trump 1.0
INDEPENDENCE DAY It’s noontime, Independence Day The sun is high but I feel low, unfree; Unsure of such Democracy that would Inspire such anxiety. I share it, sure, with most of you But, then, there’s mine alone— My special brand with its own tone Liberally left to my own devices, I choose to live between the slices Stars, and freedom rings; The bing bong bings of what fear brings Clanging in the echo-chamber Full of righteous rage I will not be the change, she says, I will not chop the wood. I thought I could be honest once. I thought I could be good. But then you came along and gave it all away And I’m left here bleeding badly on Independence Day.
Thank you, Moe, the poem will touch many deeply because it resonates within us. Trying to cope in these days is hard, hard, hard. We get our comfort where we can. Through the Small Bow I hear real voices of ppl who struggle just like me. Thank you for being one of those voices, for together we find strength..
I’m counting my blessings, being useful, not being a tornado, seeing who I can help, and about to go to the lake fishing, which I don’t love, but I love my fisherman.
The birds. We can always count on the birds singing!!!
Thank you for this site. It has folk like I’ve been, folk I’d like to be and many who I can identify with. I don’t have a ton of resources, web savvy or polished writing acumen, though I’d like to believe that I can appreciate truth, beauty and fellowship in here 💜 I’m 40 years free of junk having found a power greater than booze or dope lending another dimension to the words Independence Day. AA is now 90, the country is 250 and I’m allowed another glimpse of eternity in this - the only day there is, allowing for a profound life…come what may…
Keep coming back, no matter what,
Terry
I’m sitting in a camp chair listening to the birds, smelling the cedar forest watching the sun etch diamonds into the lake. This poem straight up killed me. It’s so perfect today.
I was looking for an image that summed up my feelings this 4th - NAILED IT. Thanks Edith and A.J.!
That poem is one of my favorites, and I’m especially grateful for it today, and in the rough months & years ahead. Much love to TSB community.
I am so freaking angry about that abomination of a bill 🤬
I wrote this during Trump 1.0
INDEPENDENCE DAY It’s noontime, Independence Day The sun is high but I feel low, unfree; Unsure of such Democracy that would Inspire such anxiety. I share it, sure, with most of you But, then, there’s mine alone— My special brand with its own tone Liberally left to my own devices, I choose to live between the slices Stars, and freedom rings; The bing bong bings of what fear brings Clanging in the echo-chamber Full of righteous rage I will not be the change, she says, I will not chop the wood. I thought I could be honest once. I thought I could be good. But then you came along and gave it all away And I’m left here bleeding badly on Independence Day.
Thank you, Moe, the poem will touch many deeply because it resonates within us. Trying to cope in these days is hard, hard, hard. We get our comfort where we can. Through the Small Bow I hear real voices of ppl who struggle just like me. Thank you for being one of those voices, for together we find strength..
Happy fourth? I love you? I love you. Thank you for this poem and existing.