Tag Archives: American History


“MY BO, WINNING THE STEEPLE CHASE!” a poem a.k.a.: “The Winning Dream – Team!” January 20, 2019 – Sunday

You’re my SUPER BOWL – and my Championship Match,
You’re THE BIG “10,” – and-The-Prize-Winning-Catch!
and – ALL the winning teams,
For-the-last-hundred – or-a-thousand – or-a-million-years;
Through-ETERNITY, you’ve-produced – all-The-Sports’-Fan’s-tears!
You’re THE WINNER! Of-the-U. – S. (so) OPEN,
To MY – loving advances! However, was I-a-copin’
Before-YOU-came-along; You’re-THE-GAME-WINNING-HIT?
Or – The Final Touch, from the catcher’s mitt,
Or – The Final Goal – that – just-went-SWISH!

fin ❤


“CUDDLY POO PRAYER!” a poem in the series: “Mr. and Mrs. Cuddly Poo!” Monday, January 21, 2019

“CUDDLY POO PRAYER!” a poem in the “Mr. and Mrs. Cuddly Poo!” Monday, January 21, 2019

“Seasons come, and seasons go, but-our-Love-is-still-THE-SAME:
OUR-LOVE-is-ever-“feral,” so IT we’ll never tame!”

“Our love is wild, and so are you,
To tame THE WILD, the wild-and-free,
Out-of-Our-Love – It’s YOU & ME,
Feral beings, like Jesus Christ;
We’re CRUCI-FI-ABLE* – and-quite-enticed,
By all we feel, we’re sparks of fire,
Smoldering in our fond desire,
To be together – FOREVER -and-MORE!
To-proceed BEYOND, hand-in-hand;
We’ve found EACH-OTHER, as-our-PROMISED-LAND!”

“Please bless HER-landscape, Oh, So Rich,
For, in the bedroom, SHE-is-no-WITCH;
She is a wh-r e – and so am I,
But in the kitchen I think I spy,
A twinkle, twinkle – in her eye,
And, when we gaze, we start to cry,
Because – WELL! ? Really, we-don’t-know!
We just fit! I-am-“SHAFT!”** – and- she’s-my-“BO!”***

“So, Lord: Please bless my Shaft to me
I need GOOD LOVING, con-stant-ly!
And-when-Shaft – and-aper-ture UNITE,
Please bless us, Lord! (But)-let-ME-win-THE FIGHT!
OK! OK! We’ll both concede;
He can “come,” with all I need!
So! Together -we’ll-be-cume-as-one;

fin ❤

* – or “certifiable!”
** – from the film of the same name, about a big, strong, black man named “Shaft!”
*** – from the film “10,” starring Bo Derek, who looks pretty good – on the beach, on horseback, on-e-moan-e-pee-a (a Hawaiian expression meaning “LOVE & JOY!”

Robert Weston Smith, the radio DJ known as Wolfman Jack – America

Robert Weston Smith, the radio DJ known as Wolfman Jack, was born on this day in 1938. His raspy voice, howls and irreverent asides as he would intro and outre songs on XERF, a 250,000 watt radio station in Ciudad Acuna, Mexico that blasted its signal across a large portion of the United States, made him a radio legend. He would later relocate to XERB, a 50,000 watt station in Southern California and then Minneapolis, but he continued recording shows for the Mexican station that operated at 5x the power output US stations were permitted to transmit at.
On January 21 in 1968, Jimi Hendrix cut what many consider the best cover song ever recorded, his version of Dylan’s All Along The Watchtower. The session included Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones and Traffic’s Dave Mason on guitar, and Jimi played bass as well as lead guitar on the track.
Soul man Jackie Wilson had a heart attack while performing in New Jersey on this day in 1984. He went into a coma and passed away eight years later.
Aerosmith’s Joe Perry received the Les Paul Award today in 2017.

Robert Weston Smith, the radio DJ known as Wolfman Jack.

Something for all of us to think about on Veteran’s Day, Memorial Day or any day for that matter especially if we are not in the best of “spirits”.🕊🕊

Something for all of us to think about on Veteran’s Day, Memorial Day or any day for that matter especially if we are not in the best of “spirits”.

A Doctor Speaks

When you take a little time to get to know someone in passing, you learn that everyone has a story to tell–

I am a doctor specializing in Emergency Medicine in the Emergency Departments of the only two military Level One trauma centers. They are both in San Antonio, TX, and they care for civilian emergencies as well as military personnel. San Antonio has the largest military retiree population in the world living here because of the location of these two large military medical centers. As a military doctor in training for my specialty, I work long hours and the pay is less than glamorous.

One tends to become jaded by the long hours, lack of sleep, food, family contact and the endless parade of human suffering passing before you. The arrival of another ambulance does not mean more pay, only more work.

Most often, it is a victim from a motor vehicle crash. Often it is a person of dubious character who has been shot or stabbed. With our large military retiree population, it is often a nursing home patient.

Even with my enlisted service and minimal combat experience in Panama, prior to medical school, I have caught myself groaning when the ambulance brought in yet another sick, elderly person from one of the local retirement centers that cater to military retirees. I had not stopped to think of what citizens of this age group represented.

I saw “Saving Private Ryan.” I was touched deeply. Not so much by the carnage in the first 30 minutes, but by the sacrifices of so many. I was touched most by the scene of the elderly survivor at the graveside, asking his wife if he’d been a good man. I realized that I had seen these same men and women coming through my Emergency Dept. and had not realized what magnificent sacrifices they had made. The things they did for me and everyone else that has lived on this planet since the end of that conflict are priceless.

Situation permitting, I now try to ask my patients about their experiences. They would never bring up the subject without the inquiry. I
have been privileged to an amazing array of experiences, recounted in the brief minutes allowed in an Emergency Dept. encounter. These experiences have revealed the incredible individuals I have had the honor of serving in a medical capacity, many on their last admission to the hospital.

There was a frail, elderly woman who reassured my young enlisted medic, trying to start an IV line in her arm. She remained calm and poised,
despite her illness and the multiple needle-sticks into her fragile veins.

She was what we call a “hard stick.” As the medic made another attempt, I noticed a number tattooed across her forearm. I touched it with one finger and looked into her eyes. She simply said “Auschwitz.” Many of later generations would have loudly and openly berated the young medic in his many attempts. How different was the response from this person who’d seen unspeakable suffering.

Also, there was this long retired Colonel, who as a young officer had parachuted from his burning plane over a Pacific Island held by the Japanese. Now an octogenarian, his head cut in a fall at home where he lived alone. His CT scan and suturing had been delayed until after midnight by the usual parade of high priority ambulance patients. Still spry for his age, he asked to use the phone to call a taxi to take him home, then he realized his ambulance had brought him without his wallet.

He asked if he could use the phone to make a long distance call to his daughter who lived 7 miles away. With great pride we told him that he could not as he’d done enough for his country and the least we could do was get him a taxi home, even if we had to pay for it ourselves. My only regret was that my shift wouldn’t end for several hours, and I couldn’t drive him myself.

I was there the night MSgt. Roy Benavidez came through the Emergency Dept. for the last time. He was very sick. I was not the doctor taking care of him, but I walked to his bedside and took his hand. I said nothing. He was so sick, he didn’t know I was there. I’d read his Congressional Medal of Honor citation and wanted to shake his hand. He died a few days later.

The gentleman who served with Merrill’s Marauders, the survivor of the Bataan Death March, the survivor of Omaha Beach, the 101 year old World War I veteran, the former POW held in frozen North Korea, the former Special Forces medic – now with non-operable liver cancer, the former Viet Nam Corps Commander. I remember these citizens.

I may still groan when yet another ambulance comes in, but now I am much more aware of what an honor it is to serve these particular men and women. I am angered at the cut backs, implemented and proposed, that will continue to decay their meager retirement benefits.

I see the President and Congress who would turn their back on these individuals who’ve sacrificed so much to protect our liberty. I see later generations that seem to be totally engrossed in abusing these same liberties, won with such sacrifice.

It has become my personal endeavor to make the nurses and young enlisted medics aware of these amazing individuals when I encounter them in our
Emergency Dept. Their response to these particular citizens has made me think that perhaps all is not lost in the next generation.

My experiences have solidified my belief that we are losing an incredible generation, and this nation knows not what it is losing. Our
uncaring government and ungrateful civilian populace should all take note. We should all remember that we must “Earn this.”

–By CPT. Stephen R. Ellison, M.D.

Wow 💜


Christians Celebrate Trump’s Government Shutdown As Sign Of Christ’s Return | Michael Stone 😂😅😂


Watch “Devil Comes Round” on YouTube

“EXCISION!”* a poem a.k.a.: “Supplemental Considerations Following The Poem {A STATE OF LESSNESS}!” January 10, 2019 (Thursday)

Mix – Men Without Hats – Devil Come Round:

When-you-start excising! words, pics and phrases,
Along-with – thoughts-and-ideas – you set-up some mazes,
Self-imposed boxes, with locks and no keys!
Like-when-you start to proclaim: – (that)-“The-Birds-&-The-Bees,”
Or-Like-when-you-switch-all-the-genders – in-religions, I-(might)-mention,
Or The Nazi book burnings – and the exclusion of Jews,
WHEN-YOU-START-ALL-THIS-“EXCISION,” censoring-poetry-and/or-news,
Because – you THINK – self-imposed restrictions are needed or fun,

You can paint yourself in a corner and “blot out THE SUN,”

And shut-out – some Father-God, in a room all alone,
And worship – The-Divine-Feminine – on a cellular phone!

Legislating morality, like NOT using certain words,
Or – NOT-engaging-in-certain-activities! I-think-(it)-can-be-“FOR-THE-BIRDS!”

Perhaps The Founding Fathers – of America – were right,
To leave Mother Britain – and “runs towards The Light,”
Of a new constitution – and way of existing,
But NOW-we’ve-headed-back! to-censors-who-are-persisting,
In telling us all – to do this – (and such-and-such), but NOT THAT,
And many seem-to-be-“following-suit,” and this is OLD HAT!

JUST WATCH IT, YE RIGHTEOUS, for IF-there-really-is-SIN,
IT probably-surfaces – when we start limiting – what we can LET IN!

fin ❤

* – removal by cutting out

** – like “religion considerations” or grandmother’s approval!!

“Why would you EVER want to STOP ANYTHING, unless YOU THOUGHT it was WRONG and/or if YOU THOUGHT something WAS WRONG! Yet, isn’t everything simply THE WAY IT IS, neither “right” or “wrong,” when considered in a non-judgmental context!! Even your so-called RIGHTEOUS JUDGMENT can become your coffin! If you don’t like something, that’s fine! Don’t impose your standards of morality on me when I am simply EXPRESSING a point of view, especially when you can walk away, muttering: I DON’T LIKE HIS POINT OF VIEW! I am NOT trying to IMPOSE my point of view on YOU! But when YOU ACT – to limit what I can say and/or do, when it is NOT affecting you directly, THAT IS CENSORSHIP! I’d just like you to know that EVENTUALLY you’ll regret your judging me! My Motto: LIVE AND LET LIVE! Amen!” The Mystic Poet


“JASON’S GIRL! A PERFECT 10!” a poem January 8, 2019 (Tuesday)

I hear that Jason’s girl – is REALLY attractive!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
She kind-of-“stalks”-him DAILY – and-is VERY active,
For she is said – to show up – (often) at his door,
With-her-“knickers”-on-her head!! AND-THERE’S-QUITE-A-BIT-MORE:

For-instance, she “rings” him every hour, whether he answers or not;
She even thinks about him, while she’s sitting! on “the pot!”
She day-dreams – muttering – his-name out loud!
And she wears a t-shirt that says, “HOW VERY-PROUD . . .
So, with-stars-and-hearts-in-her-eyes, she’s-after-Jason, who-better-be-clever,
And – there-is-really-no-one – who-can-even-remotely-sate-(c)HER!

When SHE sees Jason cume, she-just-floats-over to-him,
Grabs-him and holds-him – and she’s so-fit-and-trim,
‘Cause SHE-CAN-BARELY-EAT; when she gets to “the-table,”
She often passes-(right)-out – (up)on-her-meal – for she-isn’t much-able,
To-love-HIM – AND – eat-food – all-at-the-same-time,
So, SHE JUST SWOONS, and – her face is full of “grime,”
‘Cause she-can’t focus much – to even bathe – or shower,
And her hair – is-up-in-the-air (like-a-frazzled-cat) YET, HER POWER,
Is-said-to-have-been-multiplied – 100 FOLD!!
A FORCE OF NATURE, if The Truth be told!
When she stumbles by, all cars are alerted,
‘Cause-everyone-knows-she-might-step-out-(into-the-street)! Then, she’d-get-hurt-ed!?
Anyway! We’re all watching HER – and – “watching-out”-for-her-too!
She is SO – attractive-and-sexy – She’s-in-the-world-of-“LOVIE-WOO!”

She’s THE MOST AMAZING THING! “Jason’s Girl!”
LIKE: She-walked-right-into-The-Gym-yesterday! 300-pounds she-did-curl!!!!
And several of the burly, well-muscled men,Cowgirls 😁
Well! She-tossed-them-all-out-onto-The-Street! There must-have-been-TEN!
So, THAT’S-HER, Jason’s-Girl! With that perfect “10” score!
God only knows! How-much-LOVE’s-“in-her-core!”
Anyway, we-re-all-envious-of (and-scared-for) Jason! What-a-lucky-guy!?
For HER-most-of-us – would-just-fall-down, fall down – & DIE! 🙂 – What a woman!

fin ❤

~ A Message to America with respect for Past Presidents

You have the grit and the guts, I know;
You are ready to answer blow for blow
You are virile, combative, stubborn, hard,
But your honor ends with your own back-yard;
Each man intent on his private goal,
You have no feeling for the whole;
What singly none would tolerate
You let unpunished hit the state,
Unmindful that each man must share
The stain he lets his country wear,
And (what no traveller ignores)
That her good name is often yours.

You are proud in the pride that feels its might;
From your imaginary height
Men of another race or hue
Are men of a lesser breed to you:
The neighbor at your southern gate
You treat with the scorn that has bred his hate.
To lend a spice to your disrespect
You call him the “greaser”. But reflect!
The greaser has spat on you more than once;
He has handed you multiple affronts;
He has robbed you, banished you, burned and killed;
He has gone untrounced for the blood he spilled;
He has jeering used for his bootblack’s rag
The stars and stripes of the gringo’s flag;
And you, in the depths of your easy-chair —
What did you do, what did you care?
Did you find the season too cold and damp
To change the counter for the camp?
Were you frightened by fevers in Mexico?
I can’t imagine, but this I know —
You are impassioned vastly more
By the news of the daily baseball score
Than to hear that a dozen countrymen
Have perished somewhere in Darien,
That greasers have taken their innocent lives
And robbed their holdings and raped their wives.

Not by rough tongues and ready fists
Can you hope to jilt in the modern lists.
The armies of a littler folk
Shall pass you under the victor’s yoke,
Sobeit a nation that trains her sons
To ride their horses and point their guns —
Sobeit a people that comprehends
The limit where private pleasure ends
And where their public dues begin,
A people made strong by discipline
Who are willing to give — what you’ve no mind to —
And understand — what you are blind to —
The things that the individual
Must sacrifice for the good of all.

You have a leader who knows — the man
Most fit to be called American,
A prophet that once in generations
Is given to point to erring nations
Brighter ideals toward which to press
And lead them out of the wilderness.
Will you turn your back on him once again?
Will you give the tiller once more to men
Who have made your country the laughing-stock
For the older peoples to scorn and mock,
Who would make you servile, despised, and weak,
A country that turns the other cheek,
Who care not how bravely your flag may float,
Who answer an insult with a note,
Whose way is the easy way in all,
And, seeing that polished arms appal
Their marrow of milk-fed pacifist,
Would tell you menace does not exist?
Are these, in the world’s great parliament,
The men you would choose to represent
Your honor, your manhood, and your pride,
And the virtues your fathers dignified?
Oh, bury them deeper than the sea
In universal obloquy;
Forget the ground where they lie, or write
For epitaph: “Too proud to fight.”

I have been too long from my country’s shores
To reckon what state of mind is yours,
But as for myself I know right well
I would go through fire and shot and shell
And face new perils and make my bed
In new privations, if ROOSEVELT led;
But I have given my heart and hand
To serve, in serving another land,
Ideals kept bright that with you are dim;
Here men can thrill to their country’s hymn,
For the passion that wells in the Marseillaise
Is the same that fires the French these days,
And, when the flag that they love goes by,
With swelling bosom and moistened eye
They can look, for they know that it floats there still
By the might of their hands and the strength of their will,
And through perils countless and trials unknown
Its honor each man has made his own.
They wanted the war no more than you,
But they saw how the certain menace grew,
And they gave two years of their youth or three
The more to insure their liberty
When the wrath of rifles and pennoned spears
Should roll like a flood on their wrecked frontiers.
They wanted the war no more than you,
But when the dreadful summons blew
And the time to settle the quarrel came
They sprang to their guns, each man was game;
And mark if they fight not to the last
For their hearths, their altars, and their past:
Yea, fight till their veins have been bled dry
For love of the country that WILL not die.

O friends, in your fortunate present ease
(Yet faced by the self-same facts as these),
If you would see how a race can soar
That has no love, but no fear, of war,
How each can turn from his private role
That all may act as a perfect whole,
How men can live up to the place they claim
And a nation, jealous of its good name,
Be true to its proud inheritance,
Oh, look over here and learn from FRANCE!

~ A Message to America with respect for Past Presidents

American History

Know your history:

Do you know who this is a photo of? Chances are you don’t, but don’t feel bad because probably not one American in one million does, and that is a National tragedy. His name is Eugene Jacques Bullard, and he is the first African-American fighter pilot in history. But he is also much more then that: He’s also a national hero, and his story is so incredible that I bet if you wrote a movie script based on it Hollywood would reject it as being too far-fetched.

Bullard was an expat living in France, and when World War 1 broke out he joined the French Infantry. He was seriously wounded, and France awarded him the Croix de Guerre and Medaille Militaire. In 1916 he joined the French air service and he first trained as a gunner but later he trained as a pilot. When American pilots volunteered to help France and formed the famous Lafayette Escadrille, he asked to join but by the time he became a qualified pilot they were no longer accepting new recruits, so he joined the Lafayette Flying Corps instead. He served with French flying units and he completed 20 combat missions.

When the United States finally joined the war, Bullard was the only member of the Escadrille or the French Flying Corps who was NOT invited to join the US Air Service. The reason? At that time the Air Service only accepted white men.

Now here is the part that almost sounds like a sequel to ‘Casablanca’: After WWI Bullard became a jazz musician in Paris and he eventually owned a nightclub called ‘L’Escadrille’. When the Germans invaded France and conquered it in WW2, his Club, and Bullard, became hugely popular with German officers, but what they DIDN’T know was that Bullard, who spoke fluent German, was actually working for the Free French as a spy. He eventually joined a French infantry unit, but he was badly wounded and had to leave the service.

By the end of the war, Bullard had become a national hero in France, but he later moved back to the U.S. where he was of course completely unknown. Practically no one in the United States was aware of it when, in 1959, the French government named him a national Chevalier, or Knight.

In 1960, the President of France, Charles DeGaulle, paid a state visit to the United States and when he arrived he said that one of the first things he wanted to do was to meet Bullard. That sent the White House staff scrambling because most of them, of course, had never even heard of him. They finally located him in New York City, and DeGaulle traveled there to meet him personally. At the time, Eugene Bullard was working as …

An elevator operator.

Not long after Eugene Bullard met with the President of France, he passed away, and today very, very few Americans, and especially African-Americans, even know who he is. But, now YOU do, don’t you? And I hope you’ll be able to find opportunities to tell other people about this great American hero that probably only 1 American in 1 Million has ever heard of.