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In memory of...
Those whom walk before us...
proof where we have been..
a melancholy promise - where will we go.

(Sugar) Joaquin Dominguez Montez, Junior
18 November, 1951 - 17 April, 1997
  I Am Not Here
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
For I'm not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awake in morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there, I did not die.

Sugar's Poem

Fly Away
There is a book of life in the corner.
It lies hidden in the shadow of the bed,
his upraised hands a reflection
of thousands of pages never read.
His lips are a masque of the prayer
when all the prayers have been said,
so he stares into the body of the needle,
sees wings in the eyes of the dead.
Fly away little sparrow, fly away.

On an open page it is written.
He tries his best to remember the lines,
something hope, something faith,
something God, he knows.
He is lost, he is lost, he is blind
For the liquid heat of the needle,
the blood path where pain stays behind,
he holds her, caresses her body, yeah,
you are faith, you are hope, you are mine.
Fly away little sparrow, fly away.

In the wandering light of the candle,
like the flickering weight of a dream,
when the load gets so very damned heavy,
wake me up, wake me up, I'm unclean.
If I speak my voice may betray me,
I might weep like a motherless thing.
So in silence he waits
for his moment of truth,
for the peace that moment should bring.
Fly away little sparrow, fly away.

Well, tap tap tap goes his finger,
as he chases the bubbles away.
Doesn't matter this time
but old habits die hard,
as he seeks a forgiving vein.
He knows it is done in an instant
as he falls from the bed in a rage.
Regrets and the faces, his Children,
as his hands find the book, turn the page.
Fly away little sparrow, fly away.

Children, sing a song for the mountain,
on the wings of a whispering wind.
Tell the trees in the heart of the forest,
make a place for the sparrow to live.
He is flying tonight on a prayer,
he is mad to be holy and then..
Sing a song for the Earth of his body
and sweet soul gone flying the wind.
Fly away little sparrow,
fly away, fly away.

Penumbra Press - featuring the work of Thomas Paul SternerHowe

Music, Novels, Photography, Art, Poetry & Prose at TrueFire

Reba Gladys Blanke
Birth Date: November 5, 1900

Mary Elizabeth (Betsy) Howe
Birth Date: January 7, 1903