They kicked in his door and
Dragged him from his wife and
Four children, blindfolded,
They smuggled him away
In silence, men in white
Hooded gowns. Their whispers
Darting back and forth as
They carried him into
The woods the odor of
Hate ugly and putrid
Soaked the air and drenched his
Nostrils. Body trembling,
Mind and spirit quaking
Crumbling before their eyes.

Like stolen love, freedom
never cherished till lost.
Still, Mr. Smith, you sit
And sigh and gobble food.
With uninhabited
Heart, alone without a
Cause, as shouts continue
To ring out Hangumhi,
Hangumhi, Hangumhi

Copyright 2014 Dennis John Ferado

“Surely the day will come when color means nothing more than skin tone,
when religion is seen uniquely as a way to speak one’s soul;
when birth places have the weight of a throw of the dice and all men
are born free, when understanding breeds love and brotherhood.”
--Josephine Baker


The songs have been forgotten
The grapes have all gone bad
The bread is old and stale
These thoughts march through my head

If we could get together
Work together
Hurt together
Play together
We could find love
Together is how
If we intend to survive
Swim or sink but try
Let’s walk side by side

There are songs to be sung
Wine to be drunk
Bread to be broke
Work to be done and
We can do it all
Together if we try

Copyright Dennis John Ferado

"...And You may see by this how a wrong act by any one mortal is a calamity to the whole world…"--Nathaniel Hawthorne

Can’t get Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Davis off my mind.


In the silent night you hear a song
Drifting between heartache and despair
The piercing voice of a crying horn
This broken melody can’t be repaired

You’re troubled in mind, troubled in soul
Something that can never be reclaimed
Your little boy will never grow old
During the night you call out his name

Loneliness plants seeds of desolation
As old dreams come back to haunt you
Cultivating buds of stagnation
Turning into many shades of blue

This planet, a world of sheer madness
Snatched pieces of time float through your mind
Torment, the companion of sadness
There’s such dignity in your pained eyes

You sit to eat, there’s an empty chair
Barbed bramble and hurtful prickly vines
You can’t comprehend why no one’s there
As icy fingers claw at your mind

For you dear mothers I have one craving
Untroubled sleep and merciful waking

Copyright Feb.16, 2014
Dennis John Ferado

The injustice of Trevon:
We haven't got rid of the white hoods yet and probably never will. Shameful, deplorable another travesty and a gash in this country's unjust system as we continue to bleed the blood of the black people of our nation all over our flag