Troubadours: by Barbara Burgess

Where have all the troubadours gone?
Gone to reality stars everyone.

Lyrics used to tell us what was happening in the world.
Now the big news is who's sleeping with whom.

Never mind the wars being fought
What's the most expensive thing that can be bought

It used to take talent to become a star
Now all you need is a video on You-tube for people to know who you are

Gone are the troubadours like John Stewart and Johnny Cash
Men who sing about the working class
Now people earn millions sitting on their ass

Rebel radio taken over by men in suits;
Why buy an entire album when you can buy just a song or two?

Come back again you troubadours. You rebel rousers who made us think and moved us to action. "When freedom of speech wasn't every four letter word a sailor never said."

Where have all the troubadours gone? Gone to graveyards most of them.

These Hands: A Poem by Barbara Burgess

These hands join in marriage.
These hands hold a newborn baby.

These hands raise in fear.
These hands fold in prayer.

These hands fight for freedom.
These hands fold the flag.

These hands hold a soldier's life.
These hands hold the hands of the ones whose life is slipping away.

These are the hands of a father, a son, a mother, a daughter.
These are the hands of an American soldier, sailor, marine and guard.