Flying Island

God Bless Our Troops by Barry Harris God bless our troops especially the snipers who, eye at the scope,  scan a man hanging in the cross hairs, perhaps the enemy, a man who can be dead a thousand yards away one second after God blesses the trigger. God bless our troops, especially the drone controllers sitting in cubicles underneath a Nevada desert, firing a missile a continent away at a band of terrorists or a wedding party. Small decisions make a terrible difference, true spooky action at a distance. Bio: Barry Harris is editor of the Tipton Poetry Journal and has published one poetry collection, Something At The Center . Barry lives in Brownsburg, Indiana and is retired from Eli Lilly and Company. A graduate of Ball State University with a major in English, Barry was founding editor of Tipton Poetry Journal, which has been published in print and online versions since 2004. In 2009, he helped found Brick Street Poetry, Inc., a no...

At the End of the Day by Barry Harris At the end of the day innovative, outcome-focused, out-of-the-box 21st century stakeholders stop ignoring the elephant in the room and just put the moose on the table. They know who they are: spot-on team players who step back and look at the big picture. The good, the bad, the ugly avoid a cross-functional disconnect to leverage a six sigma project that speaks to our vision which will then   transform the organization. Long story short, they will move the needle, aim high, pick the low-hanging fruit, take this sucker into the sky and land it on the Hudson! Bio: Barry Harris is editor of the Tipton Poetry Journal and has published one poetry collection, Something At The Center . Barry lives in Brownsburg, Indiana and is retired from Eli Lilly and Company. A graduate of Ball State University with a major in English, Barry was founding editor of Tipton Poetry Journal, which has been published in print and online ve...

she does not tolerate paradox well nor him for that matter nor her cat who likes to lie across her shoulders while a chocolate labrador sits at her feet in stark obedience ambiguity sits uneasy with her she demands her facts black and white unstirred with no nonsense loyal lapdogs work best in her mind:  low turnover no need to retrain even her thoughts or plow new earth of any kind she was done with all that a long time ago when some festered hurt pestered her long after the initial pain had passed now she grows thistles with the hope that some Sweet William or Jack-in-the-Pulpit might unexpectedly poke through that is why he stays to discover if he is the true wildflower she sees and not the mass of contradictions he knows himself to be                               --by Barry Harris               ...