jelly fish

PicMonkey Collage

words have escaped me

frustration has robbed every page

your misery, the hurt in your eyes

has been my deep swallow down typhoon rage

i see you in reflections

everywhere throughout my day

a passed window,  your crying eyes

stainless pane, your iv splinted arm splayed

i hear you in windstorms

or at the quiet darkness of night

crying silently when watching your family being killed

trying to keep hidden, out of sight

so i had to forge it

create a cyber heart string trap

i entered my address and yours

and made my plan on Google map

this route has a ferry, road closures

there may be tolls due

but i don’t care, you are scared, and i want to stop your pain

just hold you

18, 939 miles, 519 hours away, my intentions are not smug

i wish i could stop all the fighting

but all i have to give you is  a hug

i travel to Clarksville, Louisiana, merge on Washington 520 West

sail across the Pacific Ocean

head to Japan to wing the rest

keep right at the fork, South Korea, take the ramp

Mongolia’s the way

hang in there, i’m past Russia and in Kazakhstan

on a roundabout while you play

my heart is my compass because I cannot read the signs

some are just numbers, but i don’t care because

we are running out of time

i pay a toll at O-52/E90 and continue on Unknown road

you are a real child, not a see through jelly fish

somehow the world must be told

how what you see and suffer is as real as the YouTube countless blinks

a window to your heart that should make us all change things

. . .stop and think

i’m almost here! i’m turning right on Bani Hilal

put down that empty shell you are playing with

i’ve brought you my daughter’s childhood doll

just the first right on Al Maamoun Street, there’s so much devastation!

oh, my ache!  i must disguise

because i traveled the world to give you love and a smile to your tear filled eyes

now that were together, dear child, i won’t leave you

in Homs we’ll walk, your hand in mine, talking, brainstorm, think . . .

a message to those people bigger than us, keep our hearts from a sea ship sink

we’ll ponder words to dignitaries, figure out a way to slip

that every child deserves peace and a secure family

and not this evil nightmare’s darkened trip

©ruth follmann

unexpected road
PicMonkey Collage beth
there’s no gps
no map
not an architect’s blueprint road design
there was just those who loved you
and this damn sign
there was no car
or showy tour bus
or any transportation mode
just our heavy hearts with you 
hanging at this crossroad
and so I started walking
began about dawn
gravel crunching beneath me
in misty haze moving on
gathering thoughts with wildflowers
Queen Anne’s lace along the way
to reach this tough place 
sit beneath this sign to say:
‘I miss you my friend, Beth!’
throw some rocks
shed some tears
lay down your wildflowers
and hold your memory more dear

Elizabeth Ann Tures
September 17, 1968 – September 16, 2010

©ruth follmann

click here to learn more

click here to learn more

why are you killing Houla’s children, Putin?

by filling up the Giraffe’s Store

Shabiha with knives, even toys to prison

send babies to martyrdom for Assad’s heinous reason

Babylon hore

voices in Istanbul, voices in France, voices from Geneva,

a stance?

when will voices in Syria get a chance?

to live beyond this sainted scapegoat lore?

while U.N. observers go out for more fries

everyday laborers are shot outside work in lines

this is not Jugular Jenga, Mr.U.N. Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon

while you believe there is more than one way of solving

more Syrian lives are meeting their doom

there’s no more, moon

talks and games are school room

time to leave the playground! you bullies and politicians ~ loom

the evil, not the innocent, should be in the tomb


i will not dine~for you Syria

  instead only drink

it is called a fast, because fast is how we need to think

  massacres compounding

public interest waned 

  all need to step forward ~ Take this run away horse by the reins

on this day to remember, those whose lives were given, so in freedom we can live

  a small voice of a child the same peace asks to give

he only has his mother to hide him in a hutch

  just his family after bloody slaughter~ him alive ~  gratefully clutch

in Al-Hola no army rushes forward to rescue liberty

   i fast for those who died for us, and for all in Syria ~ yet waiting to be free

A child narrates about Al-Hola massacre by Assad in Homs, Syria 26th May,2012.mp4

surogate mom
Syria, I alter my motherhood
as you, my freedom fetus, I wanted to hold
all too soon in NICU
incubator, all odds against
I held my breath
... watching you breathe
fighting for each, with rise and fall, of your newborn chest
pushing angrily at propaganda’s tube down your throat
to just finally cry
that pure newborn song of
“IT’S ME!” and “I’M HERE”
there’s no turning back now
you, Syria, are my child
I’ve held you and rocked you in my mind’s eye and heart
as you took your first steps down freedom’s streets
with each banner and protest song’s prayer
you stood resolute and unwavering
like my child at my leg
who will not let go
of the goodness that is family
of the soundness that is love
of the beauty that is an upward smile of life
my child ~ do not let go
by your strength, you mature
by your will, you endure
I hold you, my youthful slender Syria
as you stand tall
your voice cracking and changing with your experience
your confidence
my heart swells
as our clasped hands
mother and child
our fingerprints slide crosshatching each others
my child and what you are
your power to be
has surpassed the mother
I care infinitely
as I cry
here at home
with you so far away
I pray
here at home
while you fight
I love
for you, Syria
my child
soon to be
~ free

surogate mom ~ ruth follmann © 2012

i feel frustration, Syria

i feel a frustration, like watching a young person in teen angst years. Some sail smoothly to the adult world, and some hit every hard path along the self destructive way, hurting themselves and others too. In the end, the child survives to make you proud beyond prior belief, but the road to get there is blood and tears.

Arab Spring has freed countries once held down in childhood, unable to grow and mature to democratic independent states of possibility. Once freed, we see teen angst. Struggles with control and power. They will mature and thrive, in time, as children do. We hold Syria dearest in our hearts, as the child needing to be free to grow, but being punished to do so.

Our prayer, Syria, as surrogate parents of democratic thought, is that you break free soon, struggle, fight as if your lives depend on it, because they do!

Nature teaching us, turtles hatching underground, digging up, crossing hot sands, food for bird predators, food for sea predators, and still we have turtles! Though they may seem slow to our drive through mentalities, they are steadfast.

Be steadfast our brothers and sisters of Syria! Brush away your newborn shells, push past adolescent gang rivalry, pool resources, plunge into the new unknown sea of freedom and independence, and swim glorious as we cry tears in the background, so proud of you! We knew ~ you could do it all along.

مظاهرة قلعة دمشق

it’s dark

bodies press against you

voices already hoarse echo

in a language not yours, strange

a torn card

put in your face

while near running


Damascus Youth Union For Change

it’s cold

bricks reach out at you

from buildings

older than your grandmother’s eyes

you’re in the body of a serpent

moving through streets

senses open wide

any moment could be a sniper

tank’s shell

or shabiha attack

you are boots on the ground now

no time to rethink

or look back

everyone around you is widowed

fatherless, husband without bride

death is only more familiar

than the sound of torturous cries

the mantra is counterbalanced

with a voo doo trilling song

it is a night ripping peace counter attack

of what you know has been wrong

you cannot call out the words

but you raise your hands in beat to clap

around another corner

an entire regime’s face to slap

lifted cell phones charter the course

transmitting every sound

for the record:

murder without remorse

you can feel the strength

the steel glint in every eye

freedom pursued while you kill us

will never be denied

you will not duck into a doorway

their sounds resonate in your chest

you will follow through the night

cold feet for freedom

will not rest

©2012 Ruth Follmann

trayvon martin & cov (wi/w,zi) = (b-a) var (zi)

trayvon martin &  cov (wi/w,zi) = (b-a) var (zi)                   

i’ve been trying to add it up

trayvon martin

we’re broken hearted

& george price

       suspicious in a hoodie

       neighborhood watch

       a walk for skittles

       does not suffice

w. d.  hamilton showed about others, we could truly care

       because a kin selection gene pool together we all share

george price took the findings to numbers

though suffering a form of autism

       created a formula

       for mathematical altruism

on a genetic level

in related and unrelated groups

throughout all humanity

       george price crafted an equation

       of true goodwill, giving love and dignity

his determination to prove it

eventually drove him mad

       he gave all his things to the homeless

       and took his own life ~ overwhelmingly sad

why am i telling you this story with an ending

throat choking,  so grim?

      george price gave his life

       to show our shared gene pool

       can cancel out all racism

the numbers don’t lie

evolution has proved it true

       a million hoodie march of all colors

       for trayvon martin proves it too

suspicion for skin of a different color

does not come from nature’s design

not from our dna

or from our genes

       it comes from our past


       & selfish, money making schemes

put on a hoodie

print trayvon’s picture

hold it to your face

       look into his eyes

       and make a promise

       hatred to erase

be more brave than george price

than his will or sanity

       to stay alive to fight racism,

       promote altruism for humanity

our world is technologically smaller

twitter, facebook, utube, makes me see you, you me

       ill hold your hand and cry

       for trayvon

       if you hold mine too

       so we can walk home at night,

       safe and free

©2012 Ruth Follmann

Mohajer Ghazi Abou Zied, from Daraa

Mohajer Ghazi Abou Zied, from Daraa

who hasn’t held a chubby handed toddler

swayed them crying, side to side

a teething pain or tummy ache to comfort

a bad dream helped them subside

there’s no better smell than sleepy baby

who finally lays down their tiny head

on your shoulder to begin dreaming

dream not Mohajer’s babies, your father is dead

these little ones could have been yours or mine

in a different place or flip of cosmic dime

we’re seeing it because~something~ we have to say

families are sharing their pain

because Bashar al Assad has  to pay

We cannot let him, his father’s atrocities redo

but for those babies, to end this massacre, we have to move

Assad’s father bulldozed evidence underground

We can see every bullet hole, hear every sound

No international translator for the toddlers three

Crimes against Humanities? Verdict: GUILTY!

©2012 Ruth Follmann

Syria ~ one year later
Originally posted by ruthless48 at Syria ~ one year later

camouflage my eyelash

make a drone out of my eye

slip me into Damascus

through a palace window I could fly

shrink me to a mosquito

with the collision strength of an inverse femtobarn

with laser beam acuteness

only one person with intent to harm

revenge for children murdered

women, families plucked from their beds

only wanting dignity, freedom from a torturous regime instead

you cannot arrest me

an international death threat I’ve not composed

freedom of speech is mine

for others who’ve voices were prematurely stole

martyred for a future generation

parents who wanted for their children a better life

were shot, beheaded, beat with volted cables, cut by shabiha’s deadly knife

hospitals changed to rusty tables of torture

as a shopkeeper or postman to fragile life still cling

hoping another day of government ordered punishment

will not on their flesh continue to bring

and what happens


you watch? does your interest wane?  are you bored? no more dread?


rather talk about Rush Limbaugh calling a student a whore instead?

it’s time for a move

Bashar has not his pace slowed down

he is burning rooms of families alive, after shots and in gasoline douse and drown

Idlib could have been your neighborhood if cosmic dice landed differently on life’s table game

If instead this was your name:

18 March


Ayham Alhariri



Mahmud Qeteesh Aljawabra



Monzer Momen Almasalmeh


14 years old, died due to inhailing tear gas


Hussam AbdelWali Ayash


First four martyrs of the Revolution of March 15 ~ nearly one year ago upon onset ~

WHO are WE to be spin doctors, like a Macy’s perfume counter smile

to pass by crimes against humanity

hoping it will stop, be quiet after a while?

we are all part of the human race

a race is when you are running

keeping up a pace

there are other runners too

they are all from different teams

all are sweating, pushing limits, to the finish line’s winning split second dreams

we are all  running

but some of us are being shot, shelled, and tortured off the track

if we remain silent

our strength in collective voice hold back

we relinquish our right to be part of that run

we are not part of the human race

but less than animals have become

because even animals care for their own

in protecting the herd, they are diligent, take pride

we flip past news channels while our own in Syria languish & die

don’t give up your claim as part of the human team

a generation from here & now, hopefully, in a more peaceful scheme

we will have learned that we can cross international ties

cut out the time wasting, life costing, red tape

to stop torture of children, and women who are raped

we have to do something now




before ourselves as human beings

we cannot    call each other    anymore

©2012 Ruth Follmann


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