Photos & Poems by Carol Jo Horn of CJ Ink
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The dream of my heart
Converges with
The nightmare of my mind,
In an instant
In a grain of sand.

All that remains is
This ribbon of decay
This gift of emptiness
Ticking slowly toward death.

Each day demands courage
Beyond brave,
Strength beyond strong,
And a heart creating dreams
Louder than a mind can cobble nightmares.


Bury a song in a casket of respect
And what is it worth?
Join the sorority of pain-filled sisters
And where will you live?
Survive death by fire
Only to discover the withered reality
of delayed extravagance.
Bask in the blazing sun of the American Dream
And wake to find you've been robbed of belief.
Do not weep.
It's merely transient realism.


Mother Nature is a Terrorist.
Yes, she IS the shady path through a pine forest,
But, as certainly, the tornado that rips through
your neighborhood
in sight.
She is the birth of a lamb
and the crib death;
A crocus in spring
and a lightning bolt of fire.

Mother Nature, the Terrorist, neither smiles nor frowns.
She changes your life in an instant,
in a tick,
in a single breath.
Mother Nature feels no joy or sadness.
She makes no distinction
between the hurricane
and the rainbow.
It's all the same to her.

Worry and anguish are useless.
She will skip where she is expected
And strike the complacent, unsuspecting.
Not from spite
Or hatred
Or even for love.
Ultimately unfeeling, uncaring,
With no rhyme or reason,
Without a smile or a frown,
No plan
No blueprint
No thought....
Mother Nature the Terrorist just is.



When secrets live behind closed doors,
A crop of dreams goes up in smoke.
Fueled by lies, deceit and old, dry memories,
Impossible desires die in embers of hope unspoken.



This moon,
In a starlit sky
Could be anywhere.
She could be in Paris, or Bath,
On Sanibel or the Oregon Coast.

When she is full,
(Yes Marge she IS always female)
New Brunswick rocks glow in the dark.
Puget Sound sparkles at the feet of the
Olympic Mountains.
And bears fish in Herring Cove.

Juliet lamented the inconstant moon.
But I bless the constancy of that circled orb.
For at this exact midnight moment,
Wherever you are
You gaze up in longing
And our hearts unite in her.


Traces of Heaven
Linger in forests,
The scent of Nature
Untouched for centuries.

Traces of Hellfire
Intrude in War,
The smell of Children
Slaughtered for centuries.

Our choices shape Heaven and Hell.
So why do we cut trees and make bombs?
Why pollute streams and train soldiers?
Just tell us why.

Heaven is not an accident of Nature
You know.
And Hell is not created by chance.

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