DENNIS JOHN FERADO
HANGUMHI
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
TOGETHER
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.
TWO MOTHERS
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
hank you for this voice in the wilderness.
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Fantastic writing Dennis!
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