"Return, we beseech thee, O God of Hosts: look down from heaven, and behold, and visit this vine;" Psalm 80:14



(Based on Walt Whitman’s 1888 Poem to President Lincoln)


O Captain! My Captain! Our fearful trip has begun;

A trip unwanted, a trip that’s haunted our dreams since 9-1-1;

The threat we face Does have a face That face is Radical Islam Extreme;

“While follow eyes your steady keel,” unfortunately there are those who scream

O Liberal heart! Heart! Heart!

“O the bleeding drops of red,”

Jane Fonda led

Protesters fed

With pablum as they cry.


--O Captain! My Captain! Rise up and stay that course

To fight That Fight on foreign soil

Which is intended for our shores

Make no mistake this war is hate the kind we’ve never seen before

A hate so dread And inborn bred into Beliefs that poison the mind.

Ms. Fonda feels safe in her little world But the big bad wolf’s at her door

And will eat up the swaying masses and belch and fume And their posterity will be no more.


O Captain! My Captain! Hark not at this crucial hour

To the media rampant the Congress vampant hungering for Rule And Power

Awaken this Giant which seems reliant on a second 9-1-1 wake-up call;

Seek best counsel; Hear the cries from the ground; And go find the arrows where they fall;

Then again entice us and again entrust us

Illumine the breadth and length of our trip

Though it may be bleak Let us not be weak

As we seek to protect America shore to shore.

And May God Bless Our President

And May God Bless The United States of America.

                                                --Sandra Joan Lee Binkley













We headed down to the Soda Shop

For the best little ‘burgers in town

You could smell those ‘burgers grilling

For blocks and blocks around.


It made our mouth start watering

From tasty scents wafting the air

‘Cause we knew those luring food smells

Held the promise of tasty fare


The cute waitress brought our order

And the burgers and fries tasted so fine

By now smells and tastes were blending

To create an eating experience sublime.


When suddenly the sublime turned sour

As another Scent wafted the air--

A foul smell overwhelmingly reeking

Such that other scents it overpowered.


This stench was akin to morning breath

--An odor bombshell to foul the mood--

First a whif--then o’re-hanging cloud--

Of bad breath that mixed with our food.


Suddenly the burger tasted putrid

We laid down our forks and spoons

The smokers gave a half -smirk our way

Ore whom their bad breath loomed.


For those smoker folks in the Soda Shop

Had just finished their own good meal

And as had become after-dinner habit

The whole table lit up and exhaled.


They looked so relaxed and contented

While enjoying every single puff

A great meal followed by a great smoke

For them this was the real stuff.


While nonsmokers tried shallow breathing

The Smokers very deeply inhaled and exhaled

To spread their bad breath amongst us

And deposit their molecules on our meals.


Consider that because one smells food as one tastes food

And the very combination of smell and taste makes food good

It stands to reason someone bringing in any bad smell to a restaurant

--Why one would think that was just deliberately rude.


We’ve all sat near perfume ladies and after shave men

And hairspray tainters of food are just grand;

But the smoker person has them all topped since

He inhales and exhales time and time again.


So why can Smokers light up in public areas

--Have they the “right” to pollute the air?

--And why should your only option as a nonsmoker

Be that you don’t think you want to go there.


                     ---Sandra Joan Lee Binkley


This is a very rough of a poem in process about abortion.




To My Abortive Mother: You aborted my body

But fortunately had no power to abort my soul

You colluded with doctors whose morals were shoddy

Who cared none for the small body they stole.

The two of you vilified my mere existence

And would not even call me by name

He whispered that I wasn’t yet viable

You wanted to believe I could feel no pain.

You didn’t want to know how it would happen

You just wanted to be rid of this thing--”Me.”

You just wanted it to happen quickly

And justified yourself that it was meant to be

Justification and situation ethics

Helped you make final your decision grim

I then became a candidate for death

With a target on my life and limb.

From that point until forward

Forethought and premeditation would reign

As you conceived, proposed, planned and plotted my demise

After all, one must die so one can get on with one’s life again.

You planned the day you would kill me

And made plans for someone to escort you

For of course you would need comfort

As You went through your pain and ordeal.

But none but God stood ready as my comfort

As I endured my loss and pain to whom only to me it was real.

My soul watched as my shredded body

Was thrown into the trash bit by bit.

As bit by bit you regained your composure

And bit by bit you got your life back.

And bit by bit the doctor spent his money

You paid him to do his part

Meanwhile my Guardian Angel escorted me as from this life I did depart.

But occasionally bit by bit would you think of me

And bit by bit honor my life

Bit by bit would you give me dignity

Would you bit by bit re-live my strife.

For only by bit by bit re-living and thinking of my lttle parts

Can you ever reach a peace and reach God’s heart

And ask for His forgiveness

For my blood cries out to Him from the ground

There is no hatred more loving than selfish love

Nor is there a love any more hateful than selfish love

Than to try to isolate and deny a part of one’s being

And treat with hate the one and overly love the other.

You aborted my potential

And all that on earth I might be

But you weighed that your potential was more important

Than anything I might ever be.

An animal that destroys its own offspring

Gives us all a shiver of disgust how they treat their tot

But self-love and the money trail

And toleration has led this generation to rot.


               --Sandra Joan Lee Binkley


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