Dear Mr. Magnusen, I couldn't agree more!

                                                                     

How will America truly achieve greatness if Trump sets us upon each other like 'thieves'? This is NOT the way of [the historical] Christ, but an outright rejection of his message. American greatness ought to be defined by virtue, wisdom, and humble service to others.                      

     America’s greatness is NOT, and never has been, defined by power and wealth. If we choose Trump, we are crying out “Barabbas!” And like the crowd at Jesus’ trial, our souls will break when we call his name.

  

The above dialogue is an excerpt from an article authored by Steven Magnusen. Mr. Magnusen holds a master of arts degree in historical and systematic theology from the Catholic University of America.

IT'S AN ANNUAL OCCURRENCE... The April Fool

 

                poem by L.P.-G / 4-2023

Still Under 30 !

                           

Dr. Kaitlyn,                

             

TRUSTY 'GUSTY MARCH'

                                                                         

This third month gusts,

And all seems mad;

 Impatient as we are...

Did we forget?

It's always marked

The seal of winter's scar?

I loathe the panting

Trenchant wind;

It ebbs and crests

All night.

We'll greet dear April

Soon enough;

Yet, she's not

Always bright!

poem by L.P.-G./ 3/2023

As I Looked North One March

                                                                                     

Three  resplendent  robins

Sat on my

Neighbor's lawn.

The time was

Half-past noon-day sun

(A good while after dawn).

They scurried up to branches

And danced around with glee,

I swore I spied a secret smile

That swirled about that tree.

One of them alighted

And motioned to the rest,

"Spring's around the corner, boys...

Get going !  Go get dressed ! "

 

Their cries alerted groundhogs,

And one peered 'neath

My deck...

There was no sign

Of Spring in 'there';

It muttered,

"What the heck? ! ?"

A grey squirrel

Scales my silver pine,

Two black cats saunter by...

I heard a whisper in the wind:

Spring tiptoes in the sky...

poem written by L.P.-Grenn

copyright March 2023