There has to be someway out of here, Jimi Hendrix, words written a long time ago, imagine the frightened child, here, there or in Aleppo. The joker cries, the thief inspired, I’ve seen the light he says. The mother groans, the small child is bleeding, the operation has been a success, the strange priest decree’s, she is safe she is safe, from what Jimi asked. Imagine, cutting young women and children in the name of God. Solomon was saying it, few in those parts were afraid to mention it, they are stronger, the women in fear, 200 million across the world and more, cut for no other reason, other than being the voodoo child. Jesus came to tell them to stop, none of that stuff was necessary, his father had no time for it. Reading about it in the news, he hoped Mrs Clinton would cross the winning line, even to lift the women in those far off places as well, amen.
Small in stature, big in heart, lots of understanding, he’s a friend of the Holy Spirit, he doesn’t answer, the teacher glares, stupid little boy she sighs, she’s almost overheard. He’s not going to repeat the error, she made little of him, humiliated him when he rightly answered the day before, she was getting over a hangover, he was in the way. No, they said, say No
to strangers, and those that make you feel bad, the child was listening, he was no chump, but a brave little man. Solomon was reminding himself and others, there is a God Most High, and those that terrified children in anyway, trouble was coming for them, brave boy, he answered right, he said nothing at all, amen.
where have all the flowers gone, where has all the innocence gone, it is the era of the lost generation, but it was no cause for despair, the enlightened were working to fix the issue, there were angels appearing from all sorts of places, the message was being made clear, where have all the children gone. She’s ten acts thirty, she is addicted to adulthood but can’t control it, the lost generation, the search party found them at last, amen.
Anger, resentment, pissed off with the neighbor, a friend to remind you, getting paid to upset people, getting used to hurt, enjoying the pain of it, knowing the fix that will help you escape it, the tranquilizers first, the bottle, the other hidden addictions, getting one over on somebody, and you call it a victory. The lawyer schemes, fills the client with ideas, doesn’t tell him to do it, just explains a thing or two, victory, the man does his neat work, the honest man is bludgeoned, the evil one goes free, victory for the lawyer, client gives him the bonus, the off shore bank account gets a boost, the local hospital is left short again, the wheel chair is not replaced, the nurse is taken off the rota, the old man is left alone, victory. Great, the estate agent smiles, with the cash he can bribe the bank manager, and the heroin continues to flow, the addicts grow in number, the honest souls don’t know what do do, victory. The lawyer, the estate agent, accountant and pals sip champagne and eat snacks, rare caviar that came direct from the black sea, victory. Solomon sighed, didn’t they know they were walking on thin ice, he’d encountered the Holy Spirit, so he began to write about it, the Real Victory, amen.
It sounded like a fish dish, could be a song, even a plate of sole, veins
of soul or vain of soul, what the difference a letter makes, and how different meanings applied, Solomon was thinking aloud, and the way words and meanings played such a role in life, the same way the tone of a voice allayed fear in the listener. How you said it, how you did it, was not what mattered, you did it, that was the vein of soul, it laid tracks across your heart, added to the wavelength, the more you practiced, the better you got.
The vain of soul were interested in the immediate, those with veins of soul were interested in the outcome, not just now, but down the road, laying the vein as they say, the way Jesus did, his deeds speaking for them selves, all credit to the giver. Solomon sighed, it was the influence of those who went before that laid those golden nuggets, the way wisdom was laid in the strangest of places.
Eyes are big, first day at school, new friends, a new beginning too. It is the start of the big adventure, building friendship, learning, developing relationship skills, progress. Teacher is under funded, has a need for an assistant, the little learners need time, they don’t all learn that quickly, and the teacher needs to be stress free. It’s children here, this is not math.
he off shore thieves, how they let so many small children down, choices, amen.
It all begins today, as it always did. She turned in the bed, slowly, a little arthritic, she is an ageing woman, early seventies, but today is the day she lives for, it has always been that way, she is a mother, and will always be. The porridge is her first chore, and she is proud of her cooking abilities, as are all who eat at her table. Being a mother, being a guardian, being a carer, today is the start and end of everything. Far off places and pension plans have no part of her life, it’s being a mother, today.
Solomon was reminiscing, how those that give it all, are the forgotten hero’s of yesterday, the tireless mothers, who worked
and slaved for their children and a better world. He wondered what the “men” of the world had been doing these last twenty years, the social destruction obvious, the stress in children’s lives relentless, the pressure as near to the Pope as love was to hurt, everywhere. If only, come on Mrs Clinton, the women of the world need a voice.