Inert Love #poetry #addiction


line of pills

Lustful I think of you

crystal twinkle in my eyes

captivated by the smile you put on my face

nothing for you I wouldn’t do


cannot shake you from my thoughts

you in my every mention

impatiently wait in line

your love have I sought


mistress of my nights

lover of my days

nervous I anticipate

without you there’s  cloudy haze


I lay wrapped within the seams

a bottle in my arms

you  have addictive charm

inert you never dream


How easy is it for us to become addicted?

How hard to be unencumbered?


In Defense of Innocence #humantrafficking #poetry #amwriting

her mother’s beauty she wore

pink ribbon’s once danced on her head

when little sshe loved and adored

her mother’s beauty she wore

promise to be loved and adored

for the drugs she begged and pled

now her mother’s beauty she whored

pink ribbons danced on  innocent’s head


” unique  adoption market” he lied

her eyes glazed by addiction

“promise she a cared for child”

“yes, she will be wanted” he lied

“promise they will not hurt my child”

his eyes gleamed greedy conviction

” perfect opportunity” he lied

her world destroyed by addiction


pink ribbons soaked by tears

no one to chase sorrow away

she lived nightmare’s fears

pink ribbons soaked by tears

she lived nightmare’s fears

men lined up night and day

pink ribbons soaked by tears

no chasing sorrow away

There is nothing pretty or sweet about these pink hair ribbons. Symbolically they are defiled by the avarice and perversion of a world whose words are to protect children but whose actions are to treat them as chattel to be sold and used. When working with street kids, I asked where all the girls were.

“They are gone,” the brothers, cousins and friends would state. “They are chased down by mafia and state police and sold.”

I witnessed the night raids where children were chased down like rabid dogs in the streets. When I went home, I tried to raise awareness and financial support to create safe places for these children to go and be educated. No one wanted to believe that “this” the diabolical sale of children could be happening in our “compassionate” world. Years later that information is coming to the forefront – too late for many whose lives are already expired!!!


Photograph: “Ribbons” ©L. Moon 2013

The Day the … Died #flashfiction #vandalism #Lincoln

A long, long time ago…
Words meant something
promises meant more
you’d turn the sprinkler on and there was an instant neighborhood party
add hand churned ice cream and the old people joined in
but that was a long, long time ago
now we rush around to the loud din of the money factor
churning out paper money faster than we can replace it
and no one from the neighborhood joins in because
water is more valuable than money
the ice cream is synthetic
and the man who delivers ice cream
knows more about the deal with Meth
it doesn’t matter the ice cream is synthetic
as are the promises that important men make
in the shadow of those from
a long, long time ago…

This photograph is attributed under Creative Commons Legal code as being the work of Adam Lederer

Please enjoy other work by Adam Lederer

Oksana – a story of survival #dailypost #children #world #Atozchallenge

painted rose

Oksana -It seems but days ago that you sat on my lap rattling off words in English proud of your ability to master  languages.

I present you with a new challenge to start at, a skill – teaching. “Oksana, take these pictures of words and hold them as you point to them. First say the word in your language, then say the word slowly in English.  Very slowly form the letters  “R_AB_BIT. ” Atleechna you are a natural.”

My eyes sparkle as I look at the proud face of a woman who never knew she would be a mama and certainly not at 65.  “Nina be happy. Oksana will make you proud. At six she is fluent in Russian and English and is attacking Polish.”

Oksana holds the cards with hands that barely shake. Just tiny reminders of the drug addiction she had as a baby. “Yes, you will grow beautiful like the rose and your knowledge of the world like its thorns will keep you strong.”

I silently remove the picture of a bottle from the stack of cards. It too closely resembles the scores of bottles that Oksana’s mama found herself wrapped around. They found Oksana’s mama at the bottom of her bottle one day; a screaming 5-year-old clutching to her ankles. “What was it you poured for yourself? Sleeping pills and Vodka? The Vodka never hid the scars that you got from your husband’s beatings did it? Oksana’s little body only survived because your body shielded her. Your older son Sasha was not so fortunate. What pile of broken glass does he lie under?  Prison is too good a place for a man who uses broken Vodka bottles to tattoo his son using blood as ink.”

‘”Da,” Oksana very good. You pronounced WA_TER well,  just a tiny hint of a V, but not much. Nina your love has cleansed this girl like water. Yes, she will always be old for her years and bear a certain sorrow, but look at her radiant smile.”

“Dance Oksana dance with the children as they play in the waves of the Azov Sea. Fly high with the gull;  he too has much knowledge of the world he sees below him. Crimea is etched with scars well hidden  in the sunlight, but you understand them.”

“Persevere Nina, this is a job for a young woman. The energy and vitality of this young mind will test you. Be strong for her. For one day Oksana will be a strong woman. She will hold the hands of other young girls who suffer at the point of the needle, are cast offs, or are used by men for momentary pleasure. Shield her from her mother and father’s world. She will always wear the scars like Crimea, but she will hopefully wear bravery like a crown.”


I have fictionalized the story of a young girl I met while working in the Crimea enough so she can’t be identified. “Oksana’s” story is one of victory because she was rescued by a compassionate woman who lived in the neighborhood. “Oksana” would have otherwise joined her mama soon as most of the discarded children of that country do.


A2Z-2013-BADGE-001Small_zps669396f9 (1)

I’m also using this story for the Daily Post at WordPress. The challenge is to write three paragraphs (Person Place and Thing), though you can choose to write more or less if you wish — the goal is to get you watching closely, observing, and collecting people, places, and things to use in your creative writing projects. It’ s story that I believe is poignant and needs to be told.


This One’s For You #trafficking #streetkids

How can you look on
while their world is in a state?
boys and girls
dig at the walls of humanity
boring a hole
hoping that someone will help
instead they run for their lives
hopeless outcasts
likely prey of you-lascivious boars
take the girls
give them bread
drugs and a dirty rug to call home
leave the boys to be living scum
on our streets
killing their minds
lest the pain should overtake them
that the lack of love
would consume them
but don’t you worry
as you rest in your ease
most the boys will die
entertainment -you seem pleased

It’s disgusting to see children living on the streets treated worse than dogs. For those trying to help – it’s a crime! What primitives we are though we expound on our intelligence and scientific discoveries. Yet we cannot find a way to protect the preyed upon in our society. My heart has broken to meet young men whose minds are gone (due to over consumption of OTC drugs)- no medical treatment can help these poor souls. Their sisters and girl friends dragged off into oblivion…

Substance of Choice #drugs #alcohol

It was supposed to be…

a nice little story rosebuds and flowers

lovers walking hand in hand by the moonlight

it wasn’t…


What writer can take grim reality and put a bow on it?

How can they call it pretty?

This consuming world, an underworld of sorts,  where children, teens, men, and women are pulled into  an inescapable vortex .


The clarion call “just try it,  maybe you’ll like it”

“you might feel better about your circumstances.”

For some they could “try it”, “like it” then walk away.

What about those who could never pull free?

The magnet held them stronger than any pull they had ever experienced.

Love had no grasp like “the substance of choice.”


The twenty year old college drop out who sits in a dark room a bottle, weed, anything else he can afford.


The young wife who, after sending her children to school,  slumps into oblivion.

She forgets how to make herself pretty;  her substance of choice loves her that’s all that matters.


A man who had everything a job, wife, kids.

It’s all  gone now.

Instead of getting dressed and ready for work,  he forgets coffee and breakfast; all he needs is in his baggy of white nose dust.


The old woman now holds nothing in her hands.

She pushed it all away years ago.

Nothing but memories that haunt every moment of every day.

“Get away from me” she cries into another clear bottle.


Where will they go?

What will they do at the end of the day?

At the end of their lives,  will they be shattered,  broken glass ground so fine you could smoke it?


pointless ashes!

Photo Credit:

Creative Commons/Moondustwriter/C. Eslava

I Can’t Be Crazy!!!

Alicia had heard enough. This couldn’t be. All she had been told was a lie.

“Wasn’t it?” she thought.

My life as a mom and wife can’t be over.

She would need to be drugged until they could find help. How could this be? Just yesterday, she had delivered her baby boy or so it seemed. The doctors hadn’t said anything then. Wouldn’t they have known? She fought back despair. After all wasn’t despair another form of mental illness?

“Alicia – think! What do you recall the symptoms would be: erratic behavior, emotional, angry, can’t make wise decisions. What is the rest ?  I must be crazy. That sounds like me. But- did they ever consider postpartum depression?”

For one moment she had a reasonable thought. Then -“Alicia you are talking to yourself. You are nuts!!!”

Alicia knew her husband and his new assistant would never give her drugs and keep the children away if she wasn’t crazy. Sonya, his assistant, was so sweet.

“Young and pretty- like I was as a young wife.”

There was still that hesitation.A stronger more rational thought.

“Alicia don’t take the medicine! If they make you, force it back up.”  She had to know.


“Alicia, honey, here is your medicine.”

“Oh good, thank you- I was waiting. I think it’s helping. Could you get me some juice? It helps with the after- taste.”

While Sonya was gone, Alicia slipped the pills in an empty envelope.

“Oh thank you. I was able to get them down but this will help with the taste in my throat. I’m tired – I’ll take a nap.”


A week or two went by. Alicia felt better; her terrible headaches were gone.  She didn’t feel like staying in bed round -the -clock though she did so it looked like she was taking the medication.

“Hello Katie. I’m sorry I haven’t returned you calls. I need you to do me a favor. I’ve not been well.  I”m feeling so much better. I was wondering if we could go shopping tomorrow. My husband is overly concerned -please don’t let him convince you I can’t. I think the best thing for me is to get out.”

“Hello Tracy. It was so kind of you to offer to have the children come over. Would you be able to have them tomorrow – and the baby? My husband feels it would be good for them to have a play date. Oh they will love it. Would you mind calling and telling my husband’s assistant your plan.  Thank you so much.”


It was a bright sunny day, children were playing, two friends were shopping, an employer and his beautiful assistant discussed when they would live like there was no tomorrow…

For more stories visit The Tenth Daughter of Memory – theme “Live Like There is No Tomorrow”

No need to hide

Why were you hiding

From people you loved?

When all of the answers

Came from above


You just didn’t know

Where to turn

Path to destruction

Life on the burn


There was no way out

So many sensed

You’d  never get free

Caught by the fence


You never needed

to hide in the wings

what exceptional gifts

talent and things


Stay off the fence

Look up high

That which you search for

Is in the sky!!!!

Photo courtesy of Mysza831

She’s Gone / He’s Gone (Teen Suicide)

Molested by a neighbor

she told me one day

Asked her parents for help

they knew not what to say

she begged and pleaded

a break from this beast

They didn’t aid her

her problems seemed the least

they were until that day

she left them a note

she couldn’t forgive them

was all that she wrote


Everyone knew this boy

had talent we read

had so much promise

a senior they said

he lived to the heights

not wanting to bend

he planned it for prom night

next  morning was his end


Why is she gone Why is he?

they had so much to offer

doesn’t society see?

life can be so hard

give to our teens

hope, support and  love

people they can depend

maybe then

this wouldn’t have been their end

Teen Suicide

Has your life been affected by teen suicide? Not a day goes by when a teen doesn’t contemplate, attempt, or succeed at suicide. I was in the ER last weekend; a teen fortunately was brought in before it was too late. People in tears in the hall a somber cloud hung in the wing. Pumping stomachs – is it enough? How can we be there before the final bell tolls? Who should tackle the problem? We all can play a part. Be a shoulder, be a friend, be that someone who a teen can depend on. Even a smile of acceptance in a crowd can convey hope in desperation. Make a difference it may just save a teen’s life today!

Photo: Ragged by Paleontour

(Lic Creative Commons)