This poem speaks to the loss of children throughout the world through violence and gives it a voice.
The Faithful Pray For Rain
We take so much for granted and far too often demonstrate a lack of understanding and sympathy for others. In time, the meek shall inherit the earth…
The cellar room
Siege of Budapest Christmas Eve 1944
Grandmother
Grandmother is a poem about heritage, the connection to poverty and the struggle to transform through learning. I write with her in mind at all times as the source of understanding and grace that is predominant in all cultures. The ever giving hand of calmness over a troubled existence.
The girl with only one date on her tombstone
Many a time, disheartened over futile things, we start cursing life and mourn over how all has gone wrong. But seldom do we stop and stare, to acknowledge all we fail to count…
Winter
Writer Marshall McCarthy’s reflections on winter …
Falling with grace
I adore this time of year. The cacophony of transcendent leaves, the ballast of wind shifting and shaping the waters of the ocean, the exhale of each day’s quotient of light and nighttime’s clamor for divine dominion.
Remembrance
Melinda Cochrane asks … are we remembering?
Overtime
He was just a boy, all of twenty-one. Then the morning came, his number turned, mail out by the ton. Said we need you boy, country’s on the run. Spoke his last goodbye’s, now the time had come …
Running in Bamfield
Soft autumn early morning. People sitting at outdoor tables. Writing letters quickly, before the onrushing winter rain.
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