by Robert Burnham

Meaty meat and beefy beef 

Tasty and delicious 

Chicken toes and pigs feet

Chewy but nutritious


Bite into a floppy fish

And taste it's tender flaky flesh

Do you concur the fins and face

Are better fried than fresh?


Herd those steers in one by one 

Don't let them hear the nail gun

String them high and bleed them dry

Next comes even more fun


Just one big slice - not very nice

Will open stem to sternum 

It all flops down, all red and brown

Manna for the vermin


Now that it's dead, chop off the head 

We need the tongue and brains 

It's not that bad, this cow's just mad 

At least he's out of pain


Don't forget to clean your plate

Children starving? That's their fate

Pray to god I don't gain weight

Don't bother me -  I'm eating

The Garden

by Robert Burnham


Can you find yourself in the silence,

a light shining through the rain?  

Will you walk with me in the garden,

and talk with me of your pain? 


The wounded bird lies mortal, still, 

his heart no more to fly.

Each moment now is rough and short,

each breath a weary cry. 


But in his eye no Tear doth form,

no bitter resignation. 

No squawk of fear, nor hate, nor doubt,

no silent consternation. 


Each moment now so bright, so clean.

each pain so without judgement. 

His simple mind falls to a dream - 

of flight so very distant.


Next passing by a flower patch, 

some old and withered brown and black.

All mulched and moist dark earth surround

this bed of death, decay and ground. 


Look close upon this pile of filth,

between the chunks, beneath the silt. 

Therein arises some things new,

some green, some fresh, some young life's brew. 


Is this then death or is it birth?

How can a man discern?  

From one, the next, then next again

- and on and on it never ends -

each cycle in its turn. 


From life to life and life again,

the same star sets as rises. 

Be still, look sharp, 'tis not the end,

life brings its own surprises. 


Our garden walk is now complete,

the journey long and winding. 

A dream of skies untouched by fear, 

A truth so deep and binding. 


Can you find yourself in the silence,

the Watcher who sees past the end? 

Will you walk with me in the garden,

down the path, in the light, with your friend?

Lasciate Ogne Speranza

by Robert Burnham


Focus on the future

When you feel you want to weep

Keep hope alive

And keep yourself asleep


Things could be worse

But you just can't see how

Hope for the future

And assure a grim now


When fear is such

That it catches your breath

Bite on the bullet

And hope for the best.

Instead of confronting

That feeling of dread

Just hope and stay stuck in your head.


And when death approaches

All bleak and bereft

Hope to get better

Miss what life you have left


Where there's life, there's hope...


     for more time...


            and more hope.

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