Sunday, April 29, 2012

She is but...

 She can sense it coming

That doom spreading in her body

She is but 12, the age of change

She can see the comet

Coming towards her

Dashing through the sky

In 20 years

She sees it daily

She reports it

To her local authority

‘She is but 12”

They say

And on that day

They are condemning

The human race.

Monday, April 23, 2012

Art Show

While No One Was Watching Survivors of child sexual abuse in art exhibit on this silent epidemic A national tragedy and a health epidemic of shocking proportions are going unnoticed by the media and unaddressed by Americans and our institutions. One in six boys and one in four girls will be sexually abused before age eighteen. “500,000 babies born in the U.S. this year will be sexually abused before 18 if we do not prevent it.” -Darkness to Light organization Sexually-abused girls grow up three times more likely to become drug addicts. Children who’ve been abused generally have higher rates of teen pregnancy, sexually-transmitted disease, depression, hostility, and difficulty forging close relationships. Unbeknownst to most Americans, April is both National Child Abuse Prevention Month, and National Sexual Assault Awareness and Prevention Month. To bring attention to those observances, the International Agency for Minority Artists Affairs presents, “While No One Was Watching,” a group art exhibit to give voice to the silent epidemic of child sexual abuse.

More info at

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Ice creams are only for Angels

Wandering, through the shopping center
She picks a little flower from the
Garden floor
She wanders up to the stall owner
Near his clown trailer, to play
"Win a prize, Win a prize" he says
"Win a prize, win a prize" he says

And you watch, from a distance
In a dream, not really paying much attention
Studying the flower in her hand
You turn your back, if for an instant
And you notice the clown, once
Content, now his face is a tear

Watching the little girl
You have seen her drop the flower
Play with the bottom of her skirt
Twirl and dance away
Lost in her vision,
As she plays and plays

Watching the clowns as they spin
Back and forth, their face stuck
In an internal rhythm
Back and forth
Back and forth

And as you watch her
Twirl, Where are her friends?
She is alone
And in a blink of an eye, your downward gaze
She is gone; the clown sad and lost

And there she is
Screaming, blonde, crying
Tears streaming down her face
Her mother

"Where is my daughter"
"where is my daughter"

The clown disappeared, and all you can describe
Is the face, and his tear
And the van
But the precise moment, your
Downward gaze, moved
You were a stranger, watching a girl, dance

And you wander away
Not knowing what to do
For really you can only describe
The simple scene
And remember this
As, Icecreams are only for Angels

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Skateboarding the Nullarbor

Friday, April 06, 2012

New look!

Wow, Whitedoves Blog has a new look. Hope you enjoy your visit here. Please feel free to read the comments from readers of the blog and enjoy your time here.

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Thursday, April 05, 2012

The Snow Flake

Soft; it rides the wind
So chrystaline does it shine
A tear from heaven

The sun dips slowly
Rotating forward; it dies
Drifts through the mountain

The snowflake lifts fine
And moves slowly on her palm
Sitting upright tall

She touches it fast
The flake folds in her soft hand
Dying, the girl cries

Comparing the flake
To her internal sadness
Melts slowly inside

Tuesday, April 03, 2012

Never dies

They sit on the pond
Two ducks
Across the lilypad
Backs turned

Invisible net
Not speaking
Silence dwells beneath
The two birds
Stern, the lady
Crosses her wings

Silent; the male duck
Is apart, wondering
What did I do?
And there is rainfall
And snow
The pond is frozen

Still they stand
Different ends of the pond
The distant fights gone
"Stay at your end"
The long ago anger
For what is left to say

A hunter
Sees the two ducks
And knows
That he has but one shot
With the two ducks
On the pond
The season is here

Which one does he choose?
He wonders as he sets up the shot
One in daylight
One by a tree
Does it matter which one?

The hunter does not why
He sees the female through the
Guns sights
Slowly; slowly raises and aims
Laying back
He waits

The male duck
Here's but a noise from the
Waters edge
He has not seen the hunter
The female
Not knowing
Not seeing for her back is turned
Hears the rustling softly by

Anger, she says
She turns around to confront the duck
Aiming at him
Anger amasses from her
The male duck is moving she thinks!

And across the pond
She flies
As he flies towards her
His journey different
And just when she realises
She hears it
A shot
In the distance

And the piercing cry
Of the bullet
As it strikes through her heart
And pierces his, trying to save her.

Love never dies.