One of Many

There is an illness we try to hide, 

locked in generations and hidden by pride. 

A family is devastated and does not understand, 

while older members prefer to pretend.

A torture and peril rips through the soul:

Leaving emptiness, void of a goal.

Still generations live on--

But eyes are opened by one that sees 

Inquisitive, troubled victim is she

To explore and understand

To somehow comprehend

what is this illness 

That destroys the brain

Leaving sorrow, anger and pain--

Surely there is an answer somewhere.

Surely there is a reason for despair,

But why does a family continue to retreat

Behind the walls of facades and defeat

To rise above and live beyond 

This meddlesome, troublesome thorn in the side

This is the goal 

A new generation holds--

To conquer, to prevail, to achieve

To be as normal as normal can be 

To live with the illness,

But not to succumb

To have open eyes 

To recognize the signs

This is the attitude

Of a new generation

To function, to be--contributors in society--

Mental illness exists; this is true 

But survivors are many

Productive souls need not hide

Beneath fallacies, masks and lies.

Society shuns the sick and oppressed,

 A world has its norms

New shoes must be worn

God forbid there be an aberrant--

Hell, I am what I am 

And what I am ain't bad

For I am me--a soul with purpose

An individual with a goal

I seek truth

I strive for happiness

And God willing I too will be successful

In a world that demands conformity--

I cannot alter who I am

But I can help people to understand 

This illness we too often try to hide

That is locked in by generations and hidden by pride

God willing I will succeed

For I am an envoy for those who still bleed!

Composed after my first bout with mental illness at the age of 18. 

Epitaph

What hue are you?
I am the color of the rainbow.
My colors reach far beyond the sky we see.

I am the parabola that has no end.
The life extended by the one before me.
The hourglass that encapsulates time--
To be turned over and begun again.

I am my shadow as my shadow is me
A reflection of what I was, who I am and of whom I have yet to be.
The water that speaks with each ripple each yields.
I am the sunflower in the field.

I walk now with gray hair, and with hips and knees that creek.
I am, however, still able to learn from those who've come before and after me.
I am molded by those I meet with similar stories of the street.
I'm glad God gave me this path at this time.
His eyesight is clearly better than mine.

Perhaps one day, our paths will cross.
I'll be holding the skipping stone.
Waiting yet again, to learn another thing.

I entered this world in the arms of someone.
But if I close my eyes, and you are not able to attend--
Do not be sorry, I'm just glad I had you as a love and a friend.
 

Old Man

Old Man

By Madeleine Graham

Old man sitting in the street, why you lookin' at me?

Do you know more than I: can you see what we all must some day realize?

What have you experienced?

What have you seen?

Tell me story, share it with me---

Can't you see I need to know, please hear me!!!

He pauses from his gaze, and he looks me straight in the eyes.

He tells me life is beautiful, live it day by day.

Understand life for it is the essence of mankind---

The branch that stems to the future,

And the road that leads to eternal peace.

For in living day by day, you'll understand all that once you did not. 

As the flowers of life unfold---

You'll see Heaven spelled in gold.

I turn to thank the Old Man for the wisdom that he has shared, 

but he is no longer there.

His words, however, become engraved in my mind.

Words to be shared with all mankind.

Cultural Crossings

Cultural Crossings

By Madeleine Graham

Introduction

Let the customs of the age be reflected on the stage

Let them understand the bow the nod

Why he walks ahead and she walks behind

And understand the curtsy now

The blend of color and of creed

Oh let them all please agree

As they pass upon the street

Of timeless wisdom they will observe

The elders teaching in song and dance

Of stories told through time

When lives are reconciled as grayness befalls each

The things that seemed important are no longer so

Let the children know

Why courtesy is a way of life

Preventing anger and strife

If only each of us could see

Our brothers own humanity

And present the torch unto our young

Generations must carry on

Remove the hatred born of war

Scarred lives tender souls

Hands that cross the great divide

Need a healer from the sky

If we look into our brother's eyes

And see our own image

Then never a weapon born by I

For the mirror is a timeless passage

Beat the drum the echo is from the past

Voices that share the heartache once known as theirs

Woman with child

Beaten while in exile

Auschwitz horrors still resound

But peace requires the quilted patch

Sewn through tears given in love

Orphans of new wars need not be

If we could all simply agree

The children must see they are our future

The waters that bridge this great divide

Need a healer with prophetic eyes

We are the molders of their beliefs

If we teach hate

Callous hearts will walk the streets

If we teach love in troubled times

Even when pain has come to our abode

Then a moral compass will guide the children home

If we see ourselves void of color and of creed

Then truly we our free

Blood that flows through our veins

The branch between past and present

Blood brothers and sisters are we

Faith requires forgiveness

If we left our money at the bankers door

Saw our fellow man in his struggle

Shared what we had to offer

Neighbors would no longer be strangers

Understanding requires listening

Skills come in so many forms

Hunger knows no color no creed

War ravages and leaves so many on desperate knees

If we move into a barbaric state then we've but sealed our own fate

Communicating is the greatest challenge faced by every being

Words can be as a quick draw of a gun

Or the balm that soothes the soul

If we expect another to lower his weapon

Should we not be expected to bow ours as well

The nod of accord signaled in unison

Requires fear be left aside

Respect becomes the norm

And is taught to our young

What about those with disabilities?

The vulnerable of the street

Does society just ignore?

Like shadows of a different war

Dear God, have we forgotten,

So much so that the self-society

Tramples on the poor

Oppression of a different form!

How do we reconcile our beliefs?

When General Pratt proclaimed...

"Kill the savage save the child."

Robbing the children of their native tongue

And yanking the traditions of the native ones

Have you heard of the Black Panthers?

And how they wanted equality.

The struggle is not a new endeavor.

Black Lives Matter is the sounding drum.

Of the voices lost by the gun

Peace, Peace, Peace cry I

Along with so many who are tired and old.

Listen and learn, history need not repeat itself?

Who will answer the clarion call?

Or will destruction claim us all?

Note: I am using the quote "Kill the savage, save the child," as I remember it from Dr. Marian Aitches, a Native American professor I had at EMU.

WHMI 93.5 radio news writing

I currently have the privilege of learning the skill of broadcast journalism under the direction of Jon King.  I am serving in an intern capacity and hope to gain enough knowledge to move further along with my career.

Realities of War

Liu Xiaobo Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, Graphite, 6" Display with New E Ink Pearl Technology

I remember being on the second floor of the VA hospital in Allen Park.  A young man had no arms or legs, I was no older than 12.  He had a sheet on him that barely covered his torso--no one was tending to him.  Let us never forget any veteran in any country.  The realities of war are horrific. 

My own father suffered for years beyond WWII and was a lifelong member of Disabled American Veterans.  He passed away in a Detroit VA hospital.  I grew up in orphanage because both my parents had disabilities.  Let us honor Liu Xiaobo who was granted the Nobel Peace Prize for his efforts in China. He is a voice for democracy.  He is a peaceful demonstrator.  He is currently imprisoned.

Trade agreements must be struck that will not oppress.  We must help the less fortunate. 

Reflections On Growing Old

I cannot utter what my mind desires to say

My lips are parched for words today

You offer a compassionate smile

I cannot respond

You continue, however, to work on

You look among my clothes, the outfits of my wardrobe

And select an attire you feel befits me

Still I thank you not

You bathe me and comb my hair

You make my bed and feed me

And yet, I say nothing

At times you are frustrated

I offer no sympathy

Your work goes on

If, however, you could but see

The youth I once used to be

A thousand words of gratitude would fall from my lips.


*written when I was working at a nursing home