We the People Ask?

I have questions:

I have a question for all elected politicians. When you are campaigning for the candidate of your choice or, in the case of Cruz, Kasich, Wasserman-Schultz, et al., spending the majority of your time in elections, who is paying you? Do you waive your government paychecks? If not, please explain why all taxpayers should pay your salary while you campaign for someone, not every taxpayer agrees with.


I have a question for Barak Obama, pseudo-president of the United States of America, and all other presidents past and future. What gives you the right to use Air Force One for personal family vacations, transporting friends, campaigning for candidates in your party, and other non-presidential purposes? I submit to you that Air Force One, it’s highly trained, and skilled crew, flight, and service have better things to do than to provide free rides paid for by taxpayers.


I have a question for all elected members of our government. With all appropriate respect, would you please explain to me precisely who, whom or what elected you to office? Now, I’m assuming your constituents, those people from your home area who voted for you in answer to your promises, to serve them did. If I am correct in my assumption, would you please explain to me why it is that you appear to only vote along party lines? Did the Senator from Arizona vote for you in the Missouri election – did the representative from Illinois? Did you swear an oath to serve the people of your constituency or did you swear an oath to serve your political party even when it harms your constituents?


I have another question for the Congress of the United States of America, specifically the House of Representatives. Is it true that a function each of you was elected, and sworn in to do is to hold tight to the purses strings of our beloved nation? If I am correct in this assumption, may I ask why you refuse to do so? Why do you allow the pseudo-president in our White House take money earmarked for veterans and the elderly to use for illegal immigrants? Please explain.


I have yet another question for the House of Representatives. Is it true that another function for which you are responsible is the making of law(s)? If I am correct in my assumption, can you please explain to me why it is you appear not to have the power to override presidential vetoes that are obviously detrimental to all but the most elite in our America? Is it because the proposed law did not meet ethical and/or appropriate legal standards or is it because one political party or alliance is having a childish tantrum because they didn’t get their way in another bill?


Did we, the People who elected you to represent WE THE PEOPLE did we make a mistake?



Mother’s Day

This is a rewrite of an event I was involved in many years ago.

Sunday, three A.M. a full moon illuminates a forest alive with night creatures. Their eyes aglow as if in wonderment as our emergency beacons pierced their world. Only the sounds of our engine broke the silence as we raced through the night. No need for the siren. We were ten miles from the nearest major road, fifteen from any community and hadn’t seen another vehicle since leaving the hospital garage.

My partner, a trainee, scanned the road ahead for a sign of our contact while I wondered what we were rushing into.  Our only information was a call received by the dispatcher requesting an ambulance to an isolated rural area. The caller did not reveal the nature of the emergency and his location directions were vague. He said someone would meet us on the main highway. That made me nervous! I decided to radio the dispatcher for police assist. Unfortunately for us, that meant a town constable at home in bed twenty miles away. On the plus side, the dispatcher at the time was my wife.  As she still liked me back then, she decided to request assistance from the Sheriff’s office and two other police departments from adjacent jurisdictions.

Suddenly, headlights flashed in front of us. A large, dark car pulled out from the shoulder of the road, its driver waving frantically as he turned onto a narrow, gravel township road forming a dust cloud between us.

Maintaining a safe distance back, we followed the dust cloud at a slower speed allowing my partner time to note any landmarks he could radio to the dispatcher.

Abruptly, the dust dissipated revealing the dark car with its mysterious driver stopped next to an open grassy area.  A dirt drive wound its way up to what appeared to be an old basement dwelling set good eighty yards from the main road.  We stopped a few feet behind him.  As I exited our rig in an attempt to approach and question the driver he silently pointed toward the dwelling then sped off down the gravel road.

My attention turned to the house. It was built on a low knoll, had large front windows and, thankfully, was well lit both inside and out.

“Something is missing!” I whispered. “No vehicles, people, dogs or movement.”

Slowly we inched our way up the drive. When almost parallel to the dwelling, it made a sharp right to an exterior wood frame, enclosed stairway atop the knoll. There, in the glare of our floodlights lay the body of a woman. Dressed in a blood-stained, pale green nightgown, her head turned away from us; she appeared to be sleeping,  but it was an illusion. An obvious gunshot entry wound to the back of her head told a different story.

Immediately, my instincts and training took control.

“Shut off all our lights, give me the radio and get your ass out of this rig now!” I yelled to my partner. “Hide in the woods beyond the tree line!” Next thing I knew he was running fast and low towards a large pine tree.

I radioed the dispatcher, “We have a D.O.A with G.S.W.!  We need help fast!”  *

Now, what do I do?  Sitting in a darkened ambulance, on a small rise next to an illuminated earth home, I was a sitting duck. If the shooter was still there, one well-aimed bullet could have hit me or the large oxygen tank and I am history.

What if there are more victims inside? What if they are still alive? Call it brave or insane; I had to know. It was my job to save lives.

Flashlight in hand, I made my way through the shadows to the stairwell. Standing to one side, I held it high above my head to disguise my position and exact size as I peered through the door. Looking down inside, I saw a single, bare bulb ceiling light, a child’s bicycle in a corner and a second body at the foot of the stairs. As the woman’s, it was face down in a pool of dark, clotted blood. It was a man with a gunshot exit wound in the back of his head.

The bicycle – is there a child here?

Against all policy, I descended the stairs, stepped over the man’s body and entered the living room to a scene of rage and anger. Furniture overturned, appliances were broken, dishes shattered and personal items everywhere but no child.

Cautiously I searched the remaining rooms. I saw a lifestyle of modest income and means but no child or other bodies. I was relieved.

Retracing my path, I exited the house to call in what I’d seen. As I reached the radio to give the dispatcher update, the dark car returned. As if in slow motion, it appeared on the gravel road and turned onto the grassy area in front of the dwelling.

Cutting my report short, I waited and watched. The car stopped, and the headlights went dark. The only light was from the house and beautiful, setting full moon.

I could hear the radio in the ambulance as the dispatcher is telling me the closest police unit it still fifteen minutes from our location.

Estimating the distance from my position to the car at forty yards, I realized I did not have many options.

I saw one person, the driver sitting behind the wheel staring at the house seemingly ignoring me.

Was this a neighbor, friend, relative, curiosity seeker or…?

I had to know! I could not be out here in the middle of the wilderness trapped by my fears.

Heart in throat, I walked to the car while keeping my flashlight trained directly on his face.  I got within ten feet when he suddenly turned on the interior dome light and looked at me. He was young, late teens, early twenties, long black hair, average size and scruffy appearing. He had a strange, peaceful look on his face, a calm as though his burdens were gone.

As I attempted to talk to him, I visually searched the interior of the car with my flashlight. He had no less than eight guns and what appeared to be hundreds of rounds of ammunition scattered over the seats.

He asked me, “Are they dead?”

I believe so.” I replied.

“Good!” he yelled as he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal and sped through the grass to disappear down the gravel road.

There was a return to silence as a soft glow in the east announce\d the rising of the sun.

It was going to be a beautiful Mother’s Day – for most.

G.S.W. = Gunshot Wound

D.O.A. = Dead on arrival



Rolling Thunder, Sky gone wild,

Brings fears and tears to an innocent child.

Lightning spears illume the night,

Torch once tree now the light.

Forest creatures nestled deep in their beds,

As winds of decision duel over their heads.

Why cries the child, what have I done,

Will I ever see return of the sun?

Be still my child, you’re safe in our arms,

From nature’s battles, and human harms.

For spring is the time we must abide,

When nature’s creations be tested and tried.

From the strength of root to the nest atop,

Winds thought as chaos continue non-stop.

Their work to challenge the broken and shed,

Removing old nests, limbs and the dead.

Now come stones of ice, the task to defy,

Weak structures of man, whose plans did belie.

Rain, the great wonder is last to arrive,

To rinse all of nature that we might survive.

So fear not the storm, for its purpose be just,

Without its strength, all would be dust.



There emerged a man called Trump,

Who was born with a powerful thump

To play the game like a true Mugwump.


As he stood on oak stump

While he said, “Hi, I’m Trump.”

“It’s time to get out of your slump!”


“Now don’t think me a chump,

Or rhino’s big rump,

Simply because I grump!”


“For they’ve paid off the ump,

The referee fails to jump

And rules now lay in the dump.”


“Don’t sit like a lump,

On rotting old bump,

Play your card for I’m your Trump.”

We Are America

There came a man from Manhattan,

Who decided to toss his hat in.


Neither timid nor humble,

He chose to rumble,

against bastions built on lies.


No gold does he need,

Nor egos to feed,

He stands tall with common allies.


For the people do tire,

Of those who conspire,

Unwilling to accept their defeat.


Silent throng now arise,

Anger fierce in their eyes

Vengeance will be bittersweet.


For the man from Manhattan,

Who kept his hat in,

And promises to reunite.