America, We Love You
In 1975, the United States was still torn over the Vietnam War. The Civil Rights Movement was fiercely divisive. Former President Richard Nixon had blighted the highest office in the nation. History repeats itself. I would posit that these words ring more truly today than they did almost fifty years ago.
America, We Love You
Bind up your bleeding wounds,
It is not your fault, but ours
that blows have fallen to cause you shame.
There is no land better than you.
Your Idealism still holds hope for us.
Your wounds will heal.
We, your people, will learn.
Hold your head high, America,
You are the land of the brave.
Your scars will make your freedom
bells more mellow
And to ring louder and clearer for all.
America, we, your people, love you.
by Alice Lorraine Hill
There is a kinship needed in our social structure. It is human nature. A national identity reinforces the social contract to provide a framework for civility. Not that one nationality is inherently superior. We need a big tent, supported by respect and compassion, populated by a diverse citizenry. Even a global pandemic has not united us as a nation. I really would have thought a trauma bonding, if nothing else, would have eased some of the unrest in our land. Alas, the opposite to that is gripping us and draining our collective spirit.
by Rainey
COME LISTEN TO THE MUSIC
I hear the music of heavenly angels
Coming softly through the blue sky above
Blending with the music from the mountain tops
Bringing to all earth’s people messages of love
The songbirds are singing to the angels’ music
Telling us to hear the words of truth so dear,
“All of earth’s people are more alike than different
And helping each other will leave no room for fear”
Come listen to the music of quiet gentle breezes
And music from the wildflowers growing on the hill
Whispering softly to awaken our spirits
Saying, “Just listen and let your hearts be still.”
“So, hear the music from the living waters
That can bring abundance wherever there is need.
Music can heal all hearts burdened with sorrow
And can free those caught by fears and greed.”
Hear the music of the world’s throbbing heartbeat
Commanding its people to live in true harmony
By listening to the voices of heavenly angels
Singing love, joy and peace can be earth’s destiny.
Listen to the music in kind, smiling faces
And the music of a child laughing gleefully
Both creating music with notes of “Just Caring.”
Won’t you please come listen to this music with me?
LET THEIR IVORY TOWERS FALL
Mom’s comments in 1971:
An inherited illness cannot be “talked” out of a person. But it is being treated with great results with a MEGA-VITAMIN TREATMENT! SCHIZOPHRENIA is inherited and caused by a bio-chemical deficiency.
Order this book: Schizophrenia, Yours and Mine, prepared by the professional committee of The Schizophrenia Foundatio of the State of New Jersey. Pyramid Pubications 444 Madison Ave. N.Y., N.Y. 10022 Paperback book edition $0.95 plus postage
LET THEIR IVORY TOWERS FALL
Copyright Alice L. Hill 1971
SOME PEOPLE IN MENTAL HEALTH DEPARTMENTS LIVE
TOO HIGH IN THEIR IVORY TOWERS TO GIVE
HELP TO THE SICK, TO THE LOWLY AND THE LAME
THEY ARE FAR TOO BUSY UP THERE WITH THEIR GAME
THEIR IVORY TOWERS ARE BUILT VERY HIGH
THEY MUST SURELY FEEL LIKE THEY LIVE IN THE SKY
THEY ARE BRILLIANT AND STAND SO STRAIGHT AND SO TALL
THESE TOWERS COULD JUST NEVER TUMBLE AND FALL
THEY JUDGE OTHERS VERY HARSHLY AND CONDEMN
NEVER DREAMING SOMEDAY THEY’LL HAVE TO DESCEND
AND COME BACK DOWN TO EARTH HERE WITH US TO LIVE
MAY THEY SOMEDAY LEARN REAL HELP TO GIVE
from rainey
Mom had the spirit of a warrior. Her weapon was her pen and paper. Social injustice was not welcome in her world. In her way, she stood up for the defenseless, as best she knew how… Over and over again she promoted what we now recognize as orthomolecular medicine. She did this at a time that mental health institutions were often brutal environments, places of physical abuse and neglect. Perhaps a relic of the eugenics movement that swept the United States early in the 1900’s.
I would suggest a sweeping historical look at autism to understand the social climate mom was born into, and the passion she showed for those who struggled with mental wellness. The parallels to my advocacy of the father of the main subject in the book “In a Different Key” and how I sought to advocate for my mom were striking. See the link below.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25430558-in-a-different-key
Lt. Calley
Mom’s comments:
Written in 1971. In Alabama I was called the Poem Lady. I wish I had kept all the poems I’ve written. Written by request for use on a poster in Ozark, Alabama. This was read over several radio stations in Dothan, Alabama during the national uproar concerning Lt. Calley at Fort Rucker.
Lt. Calley,
Mothers of this nation understand
You were there for America
and what we call our land,
That you did not want to fight,
nor did you want to be there.
Lt. Calley, mothers
of this nation surely care.
God loves each man and woman,
particularly a child.
Mothers of this nation
know this, we are quite riled.
Yes, we know God
cares for the enemy the same as you.
God knows you were under orders for the
red, white and blue!
Lt. Calley,
you are our son;
of you we are proud
We will shout your injustice
and will scream it long and loud,
For the mothers of this nation know
you tried to do well.
We know you were in the
center of the horrors of hell!
Rainey’s comments:
Looking back, I would say mom’s credulity did not always serve her well. Had protestors against the war crimes Calley committed contacted her first, she would have given them the same attention and the poem would read differently. An indication of the neurodivergence that is our family legacy. But that Lt. Calley was the wrong person in the wrong place is not a stretch of the imagination.
"If you are asking why I did not stand up to them when I was given the orders, I will have to say that I was a second lieutenant getting orders from my commander and I followed them — foolishly, I guess," Calley said. (2009)
Words From the Heart
IT has been said that writers have a “watcher at the gate.” better known as writer’s block, that holds them back from writing. Perhaps, this is true of most writers, but this has not been true about me for many, many years.
Just Traveling
In 1975…
Please let the bad be used for something good.
Make me humble, help me do what you would.
May the hurts be used to ease another’s pain
And what I do be not for worldly gain.
Use me, God, for Your divine will to shine,
For what is right and Your love so sublime.
With Your strength and courage help me to stand
For things that will make this a better land.
Use me to help stop suffering and pain.
Help my hands to plant little seeds of grain
that will grow for others a brighter day
And give their path an easier way.
What I have or am comes from You above,
Let whatever I do show Your great love.
Lead me, guide me, and always hold my hand
For I'm just traveling through this land.
Please let the bad be used for something good.
Make me humble, help me do what You would.
I Must Walk On
It has been said…
Tell me,
what can you do
when there is nothing
you can do?
And just how can you
soothe a terrible grief
that is so new?
Please tell me
how do you cry
when it hurts too much to cry?
How do you keep on living
when part of you want to die?
How can you fill
the emptiness
of the years left ahead?
How can you laugh again
when one you loved so much is dead?
How can you thaw numbness,
so frozen,
start the tears to flow?
With hurt so deep
it cannot be felt
not even to let go.
The wind was howling,
and freezing rain
fell upon my brow.
My legs started walking,
walking,
I know not how.
The wind's bite was cold
but I walked, with no place to go.
How long did I walk?
How long was the night?
I do not know.
At daybreak I was back,
standing,
by the fresh grave.
Yes, l knew my loved one
would want me to be
strong and brave.
But friends were gone
and God was no longer at my side.
How do you face life anew
when part of you has died?
Just how do you cry?
Just how do you cry,
when you hurt too much
for tears to flow?
The hurt so deep it can't be felt,
not even to let go.
I screamed at the howling winds
and cried to the cold headstone,
There is no choice!
I have no choice!
I must walk on alone!
I Heard My Mother Cry
In 1975…
The front door had been pried open
The big black trunk had been emptied About the floor papers did lay
And I saw the look of horror Upon my Mother's face that day.
Mother, brothers, sisters and I We had just come from the funeral. Daddy had left to go above.
Someone had broken into our house! Oh! Where was God with all His love?
The tears she could not shed The hurt, the pain, the grief
I saw the trembling of her soul As Mother stared in disbelief,
And from her soul I heard mother cry.
Why was Mother shaking so? (Oh, Daddy Please, please come back!) My Dad's papers that did not lie,
gone! The titles to his land Were important, I knew not why.
I could not understand at all Being scared I began to cry Where was my Dad? Where did he go?
“Oh God! Please, please bring Daddy back. Please bring him back! We need him so! “
The tears she could not shed The hurt, the pain, the grief
I saw the trembling of her soul As Mother stared in disbelief,
And from her soul I heard mother cry.
Then Mother looked at my three brothers. They were sobbing and merely lads. She picked up my sister just four.
She stood there holding the baby For Mother could cry no more.
Then Mother's voice was saying, “We do not have any money, But our God will provide a way. We'll all have to be brave and strong." But I heard my Mother cry that day.
The tears she could not shed The hurt, the pain, the grief
I saw the trembling of her soul As Mother stared in disbelief,
And from her soul I heard mother cry.