James McLain Poems

Each year, over 22,000 children enter Florida's foster care system.
The majority of these children have at least one chronic medical condition.
Florida's foster care children experience four times the emotional problems as their counter part's.
Florida's foster care children average three different placements,
...

My ex - wife, her wet brain and (ARD) alcohol - related dementia
as it relates to her most recent arrest, July 14 2016,
for child neglect.
and more recent trip of September 1 2016, traveling to Taylor Correctional Institution, to pick up a sexual predator,
...

There is no shortage of darkness here, either
one can see it or one doesn't.
One can feel the sun, the heat alone is misleading.
In this darkness where there is light, my fingers cling to the moon,
...

She was large and tall but not obese.
So I stood before her face, as she convulsed.
The tremors came, as if in giving birth.
She would dip her head to find release upon the mast.
...

Yours is a life artificially lengthened
grass that was green, I struggle to remember.
The making of love, beneath the brown thistle,
new children pass by and they to learn to whistle.
...

Say that it's 9: 00 in the morning, your older children are at school and the baby is watching Sesame Street so you sit down for that morning cup of coffee and a few minutes of peace.
Suddenly, there's a knock at the door and you wonder who that could be this early in the morning. You go to the door, still in your pajamas and this professional-looking social worker is standing there saying that someone has anonymously reported you for child abuse and/or neglect.

You're stunned.
...

I am finally lost and tired to tired
to go to sleep.
I have been drawn in to deep to deep
to escape to dream.
...

While still alive, look as dusk closes in
the moon light on my face, could not be felt.
Those voices that murmur above my tired head
are all the voices in my life unremembered.
...

It is here in America where the sweet animal's are,
and horror waits for thee in sleep attacks.
There was no plot except by they, where numerous bodies
before I came to be, in death now lie.
...

Nothing with her was casual, I flew around the bush like a bee.
The night's were harsh in the light, as a moth I wanted more.
Some like them hot and as such fires grow inside wavered not.
So I planted a rose garden and fruit tree's around the house.
...