The Puppet Master . . .

The Puppet Master . . .

What do you think about “The Puppet Master” for the title of my fourth book? My notes are growing by the day . . . I just can’t stop until I piece it all together . . . And last night I fell upon the Why? . . . Soon I’ll explain the video at the top of Dreams, and blood diamonds . . . Can you say Conspiracy?

Ever wonder why we think certain words are bad? Liberal, Communism, Government Handouts, National Health, Social Security . . . Ever really wonder why other words make us think of strength, power, goodness? Ever wonder how Joe Leiberman could switch parties and still be credible? How can any Democrat become an Independent and still have friends in congress, but in truth he’s Republican . . .
It’s kind of how James Carville, a staunch Democrat is married to Mary Matalin, a battler for everything Republican . . . They have two kids.

Folks the battle waging is for you . . . A show for power with two sides, as if one was good and the other evil. The truth, The Puppet Master doesn’t care . . . Agendas may appear to be different, but the outcome is always the same . . . Ever wonder why?

Everything is connected . . .

Today I heard Pope Bernard is coming to the United States . . . Da Vinci Code followers, do you think this means something?

He is slated to go to the White House . . . The rumor-mill has it that he refused to give Condi an audience . . . Sounds about right . . . Though you won’t hear much about that one . . . Condi is on the short list for McCain, getting ready to battle the Dems. Whoever the winner is or the female/male ticket or the male/female ticket . . .

. . . While here the Pope is going to the United Nations. Just to be a mouse in the Pope’s pocket.

Ever wonder why we went into Afghanistan? Bin Laden right? No actually, someone with royal blood wanted a piece of the poppy crops . . . For a while the drug shipments were down and now, they are shipping for an all time high . . . Sorry I just couldn’t help myself.

What about Iraq? A Pyrrhic victory for the Bush family . . . I thought it was over Oil . . . ? No more likely water. You see, a small country in the Middle East was running short . . . What about the oil? Just a small by-product . . . Like all commodities Oil surfs along with the rest of its buddies, gold, silver and diamonds . . . Well maybe not diamonds or maybe not Oil now, anymore . . . It’s so confusing . . . So if you think the world is running out of a commodity then you’re apt to pay whatever The Puppet Master wants . . .

I’ve been researching The Puppet Master for many years and now it’s starting to surprise me when I can predict what’s going to happen next . . . Iran is on the horizon. I cringe every time I hear about an aircraft carrier going through the Strait of Hormuth . . . I get this eerie feeling left from the Gulf of Tonkin. Do we really need another Persian War for whatever convoluted reason?

But the U.N. was never pulled into Iraq . . . There are only five countries left without a Central Bank . . . I wonder which?

I wonder if the Pope will get an audience with the FED?

Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

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And It Started With Nixon . . .

And It Started With Nixon . . .

CANCER-FREE . . .

My baby boy is still CANCER-FREE. He is recovering from Lung Surgery. He went under the knife for a supposed growth in his lungs . . . They took out good portion of one lung . . . And found nothing!!! That was a week ago. He was in the hospital four days. He’s doing great and recovering quickly . . . But I’m tired as hell. Stress has worn me out . . .

And It Started With Nixon . . .

Wow . . . Ever thought we are just too smart, just to conniving? . . . My research has led me in some pretty strange places. From a movie called, “The Hoax” to E. Howard Hunt and Nixon and even Kissinger . . . I have yet to connect all the dots, but I can tell you already the marks form a complete circle . . . AND EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED.

Though, something still haunts me . . . I can hear voices, there yelling out to me . . . We could have won that war!!

And that’s the rub . . . Salt in the wounds. You see Vietnam was never about Communism. It was never about a righteous cause . . . War never is what they say. Every generation has to learn this for themselves . . . And it’s always so very painful. And then always there seems to be some ridiculous shallow person saying, “What would the population be without war?”

And I start to cry . . . Nature and the Lord will take care of that . . . This is an Elitist War . . . Created, waged by those who think they are better than everyone else. They think they’re better than the men and women they send to fight.

And when I start to write my words, it will be a work of fiction. And when I’m done, I’ll be tempted to take the manuscript to Washington and leave it at the foot of the great wall. And my tears will flow heavily . . . They gave so much and we were too busy to stop them.

Today we are back in a conflict brought on by their lies. No one ever knows why . . . But I can tell you, truth is a great pine tree stretching upward toward the sun. It’s needles droop weathered by the wind and rain. It sits among multitudes of scrawny saplings, all trying desperately to silence its voice. The pine stands alone, climbing high into the sky fighting for its right to subsist in a world of half-truths and misdirection.

And I wonder, do the restless spirits walk the night? Do they march the hallow grounds of Arlington? Do they crawl from their eternal beds or does our guilt keep them trapped roaming only in our thoughts?


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, sleeplessnights book, poetry, Dan Hanosh’s poetry, Dan Hanosh, Ramblings on the wires, Dare to Dream Live Your Dreams, Dreams, Live your Dreams, Nixon, Kissinger, Watergate, the wall, Arlington, CANCER-FREE, a great pine tree, hallow grounds

Everything is Connected . . .

Everything is connected . . .

For sometime I have been saying that everything is connected . . . In my study of the human character I have found that to be true.

Bear Stearns continued . . . Now the FED wants more power . . . They call them tools . . . Who controls the stock market? Who controls interest rates? When interest rates go up the stock market goes down . . . When interest rates go down the stock market goes up . . . And Bear Stearns hit the CRAPER, when a rumor that was circulated through the market that they were in trouble. Stearns stock plummeted and the firm across the street, picks them up for a song . . . And J.P. Morgan’s Dimon just happens to be a member of the FED . . . Hmmm.

The DOD awards contract for Fuel tankers to Air Bus . . . What about American Boeing? Recently headlines state airlines windshields are breaking in flight. It appears the planes are manufactured by U.S. Boeing . . . But wait Airlines have been lax on maintenance, the FAA has been lax on Airlines . . . Is the Boeing products CRAP and Airbus much better or something else?

Oil prices have reached all time highs . . . Independent Truck Drivers stopped hauling their loads for one day, yesterday . . . Diesel is higher than gas and cheaper to produce. Costs are being passed on to the consumer in the form of fuel surcharges for every commodity shipped . . . Oil Company profits are reaching all time highs and to the congress the CEO’s have testified that profits are just reaching double digits . . . And now rumors are starting to circulate that companies are failing to use generally accepted accounting principles . . . Ah, funny Enron accounting . . . This might just seem like fodder, but truthfully without these principles, profits are not being reported accurately . . . Not to the Government, not to the shareholders and not to the American people . . .

The FCC has allowed monopolistic practices to diffuse our airwaves. The media is not reporting stories, their not digging for the truth, reporting the truth . . . The FDA has allowed tainted products into our country . . . FEMA failed to come to the aid of our citizens during events such as Katrina . . . HUD has failed to police the housing market, Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. The SEC failed to police Hedge Funds, Bear Stearns, Lehman Brothers, Goldman Sachs . . . Homeland Security failed to secure our borders . . . FAA failed to regulate the Air Lines. Our deficit is reaching trillions . . . Our health care is in shambles . . . The American Dream is just a memory.

And so everything being connected . . . Our Government is in ruins . . . It has become so during a Republican President’s Term . . . A party, a man that believes in less Government. That believes in privatization . . . Isn’t that an oxymoron . . . The private sector always maximizes profits causing costs to skyrocket to you and me . . . And the Iraq War fought with a large private army, costs are in the trillions . . . Investor Hedge Funds bailed out by the FED, paid for by so called worthless paper mortgages . . . But aren’t all paper mortgages secured by the property? Yes, yes it is . . . Isn’t the FED part of the Government? No it’s not. The FED is made up of the largest banks in the world . . . With their foreign shareholders . . .

And now I ask you, when is a CRAP job rewarded? When it causes the American people to embrace what you and your party believes . . . Wait a minute . . . Wouldn’t that make failure a victory? Not to you and me . . .

I could end this post here, but I won’t . . . I am a Republican . . . And to me, these guys are traitors . . . To them, money is everything, to me, my country is everything . . . Traitors should be sent to prison for life and they should be striped of all possessions . . . And maybe more. You see our way of Government depends on truth. It depends on honesty . . . We haven’t seen those qualities in a long time. This President has set us back to the sixties . . . To Vietnam. Only we don’t have a draft . . . So which is worse? War is hell . . . Maybe a War Time President should serve at the front of his troops . . . Boots on the ground searching buildings and commanding men. Maybe then things would be different?

What a beautiful thought, our commander where he belongs, at the front of his Army, fighting his war for his people . . . Maybe then we would not be so quick to rush to war, eh?


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, sleeplessnights book, poetry, Dan Hanosh’s poetry, Dan Hanosh, Ramblings on the wires, Dare to Dream Live Your Dreams, Dreams, Live your Dreams, Bear Stearns, Dimon, J.P. Morgan, Iraq, HUD, FCC, FDA, SEC, Bush, privatization, Oil

Through the mist comes uncertainty . . .

Through the mist comes uncertainty . . .

Through the mist comes uncertainty. Ever wonder why each of us has this innate desire to procreate? A need to pass the torch to another . . . It’s as normal as eating and when someone can’t, we feel their pain . . .

Raising children gives us more than it takes. We learn to give, learn to forgive and learn to see the world through the eyes of what it could be rather than what it is.

Uncertainty excites, certainty detracts. We are all going to die . . . But until that day, we live . . . Will we be rich or poor, healthy or something else? Will we be giving, compassionate, friendly, loving or . . . ? Will we be successful?

What is success? So often success seems to relate to money, but is it? What is Religion? Is it merely a belief . . . ? Is it supposed to heal the soul, to raise us to a higher caring, higher propose?

We work, we become involved in our children’s lives, our own lives . . . And each interest separates us from the rest . . . Somehow we believe we are different, but are we?

What fills the white space, the space between lines? Many famous writers . . . They no longer write . . . We don’t read anymore . . . We don’t value the written word anymore. Or is there too much to choose from, too much to disseminate, too much to dissect, to validate because it is based on half truths or whims of some sort of expert in some field . . . ?

Sales, is all anyone seems to care about. Sales of books, of newspapers . . . And what if the words don’t sell?

They are no more. What if Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Steinbeck, Tolstoy, Faulkner never wrote? What if Degas, Renoir, Monet, Cezanne, Pissarro never raised a brush?

Did writers write in the dark ages? Of course . . . So where are the books? Dust . . . Remember those required worthless classes?

The dark ages can and will happen again . . .


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, sleeplessnights book, poetry, Dan Hanosh’s poetry, Dan Hanosh, Ramblings on the wires, Dare to Dream Live Your Dreams, Dreams, Live your Dreams, the dark ages can and will happen again

Happy Easter . . .

Happy Easter . . .

A friend made a comment about Dreams . . . “I see you’re getting into politics.” And it woke me up, slightly. I just thought it was time to open up and explain . . .

I never intended Dreams to be political, but then the world is at a crossroads. It’s always at a crossroads of sorts. But today I have to take pause and act when I see something or someone I deem as special. And of course, anything can be justified . . .

Recently I have been avoiding everything that causes me to reflect, to sit and think . . . Except for things that keep me busy . . . So madly I’m scurrying around working on my house. Plumbing, electrical, drywall, you name it . . . Occasionally I write in my journal, but definitely I am avoiding any work on my novels. You see, I’m nervous . . . And when I get nervous I eat . . . Many drink spirits, it’s the same . . .

My son had/has CANCER . . . I’ve called him a survivor, though that may not be the case. It felt so good saying it . . . Thursday my son will have lung surgery . . . His MRI’s have detected a growth, a small growth. They want to remove a 3 centimeter portion of lung tissue and biopsy it. They say it may be nothing . . .

And they thought it would be wise to operate and physically examine his lungs . . . They tell me, they can feel growths better than see them . . . Lung CANCER, the typical prognosis after finding a sarcoma. And so, and so I’m worried . . .

I’ve grown cold to all feeling . . . And anyone that knows me or my writing can attest that I write with my emotions and so today I have to avoid what I love to do because I can’t go to that place where I write . . .

I will write again . . . This experience will not be wasted. You see, I was trying to distance myself enough to write my son’s story. My next book was going to be something from my youth, called “We Walk Alone”. It’s a story about growing up on the playground, around a ball and game. It’s a story of unlikely people coming together. It’s a story that I’ve needed to share for a long time . . . But now I just might have to move up Jordan’s Story . . . I call it, “This Side Of Midnight.” It’s fiction as all my novels are, but fiction is always dipped in truth . . .

What’s odd is I’m pulling back and my wife she is reaching out to family, friends, etc. And all I want to do is run and hide. And so come Wednesday, people from all over will flock to her side. And for me, I will be plagued with something as bad as locusts . . . I am a writer, my privacy is all important to me. But I can’t feel . . .

I have woken to her sobs and maybe a tear has flooded in my own eyes, but I remain steadfast . . .

Where have my tears gone? Still I won’t, I can’t let them in . . . I’m not one of those that is afraid of what people think. Hell I cry at movies. And thus, I know a few things . . . I know my son. He is strong. I must be strong for him. He is my baby boy. I raised him. We don’t have to say a word, because the other knows what the other is thinking. There is no way to hide our emotions from the other . . .

He’ll be in surgery for four hours. Last time they thought it was supposed to be twelve, it was eight.

The good news if you can call it that, they won’t have to spread his ribs, last time they cut enough of them out. He’ll stay in that cold dreadful place for five to seven days. And then they’ll tell us what the next step is . . .

He heals fast . . . Five to six weeks and then he’ll go through physical therapy . . . How he hates physical therapy, then maybe Chemo, again or Radiation?

But you know, just five years ago . . . We would have had no options . . . Just the big one.

Keep us in your prayers . . .


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, sleeplessnights book, poetry, Dan Hanosh’s poetry, Dan Hanosh, Ramblings on the wires, Dare to Dream Live Your Dreams, Dreams, Live your Dreams, CANCER, physical therapy, my baby boy

Dad is a Racist . . .

Dad is a Racist . . .

It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to admit to myself. But it’s true . . . He just laughs it off as if I am nuts. I’m not laughing . . .

Somewhere along the way, I broke out, became my own man. Maybe one day as a country we’ll be able to put it all behind us? I hope very soon . . .

I know why I’m not prejudice . . . I grew up on the playground. There was no color there, just ball players. And I know I would gladly sacrifice myself for friends and they would for me . . .

I understand very well what Barack Obama way saying about the previous generation in his More Perfect Union Speech . . . I also understand what he was saying between the words . . . Older black men have a right to be a little bitter. So would you . . . But it’s also true that the older white generation was/is prejudice . . . They’ll never admit, people never ever find their own faults. Ever wonder why? I do all the time.

Thank the Lord for youth and the way they see the world. Change is in the wind and just maybe we’ll all be proud again . . . ?


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, sleeplessnights book, poetry, Dan Hanosh’s poetry, Dan Hanosh, Ramblings on the wires, Dare to Dream Live Your Dreams, Dreams, Live your Dreams, Barack Obama, prejudice, Change is in the wind

Today We Have A Choice . . .

Today We Have A Choice . . .

For the past twenty plus years, our American Values have been eroded. They have been ground away by scandals and poor decisions by our leaders. We share a void, an emptiness of despair. We sit on the brink of a great abyss. Will we continue wallowing on that path, I wonder?

Today we have a choice . . . We can believe the old guard, with their messages of hatred and division splintering, thereby guaranteeing us the same tragic results or we can believe in something different . . .

Today I witnessed a glimmer of hope, from Philadelphia, the land of our forefathers, where so long ago a group of men came together for a dream. To build a new and great nation . . . Conceived in Liberty... To us, it became known as the Great American Dream, a place where all men can come together and prosper.

Today in Philadelphia a man spoke with similar words . . . He spoke from deep within his being. He spoke of racial divides as they truly are, of discriminations endured by a generation. And he spoke of bitterness towards their persecutors. And he spoke of a dream, of changes that have fused us together today as a people. And he candidly explained the bitterness.

And his message brought tears to my eyes . . . It seems so long since I have had someone to believe in. That’s all I ever wanted in a President or a Presidential Candidate. Someone to believe, to trust, someone with honesty and sincerity in his words, knowing his words can only come from the heart. Purity of heart is the heart of all Americans. And today Senator Barack Obama gave me back my Pride.

Today we have a choice, we can stay the same or we can be great once again . . . The choice is ours.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, sleeplessnights book, poetry, Dan Hanosh’s poetry, Dan Hanosh, Ramblings on the wires, Dare to Dream Live Your Dreams, Dreams, Live your Dreams, American Dream, Barack Obama, glimmer of hope, purity of heart, racial divide, bitterness, change, the choice is ours

Investors Are So Stupid . . .

Investors Are So Stupid . . .

And the research for my fourth book continues . . . Remember, every thing is connected. There are no coincidences . . . Hell no one could make this CRAP up. It’s just too good.

First off, this is not the post I was planning . . . I was going to tell you about De Beers and Sierra Leone, Charles Taylor’s connection to you know who . . . But then this Spitzer thing happened and well that was yesterday. And today the big story is Bush and Iran. Alright, let’s jump right in . . .

The Mid East Commander Retires . . . Hell that’s a nice way of saying Bush gave him his walking papers. Wars are big money . . . They make money for Arms Dealers, Mercenaries and the winner gets the spoils. That’s a huge business. Everyone works both sides . . . And the Merc’s in Sierra Leone were paid with the rights to diamond minds, millions . . . How about an oil well or two. Anyone want to bet on Iran? What a vacation this Summer with pay in beautiful Iran? All the gas you can use for free . . .

So what’s the deal with Spitzer? . . . Why did the Spitzer scandal air itself Monday? How did anyone find out?

The Federal Bank Secrecy Act . . . What’s that? What’s the Federal Bank got to do with it? Good Question . . . Do you think somebody on the Fed had it in for him? . . . Da.

Today the Fed announces the Central Bank would bail out banks for 28 days . . . The collateral risky mortgages, that’s U.S. property . . . Mention the Fed and I start to cringe . . .

Yesterday Americans were happy as peaches in a basket and then the Fed starts manipulating the markets and somehow they become property owners . . . Who is the Central bank? Who is the Fed? What does Rothschild have to do with it?

Don’t you know . . . The Fed is a private entity. The big boys, the Rothschild Banks . . . Central Bank, the gang . . . Rothschild owns large quantities of stocks in very big companies, fortune 500 . . . Can they manipulate the profits of said companies? They are members of those boards and so many others . . . You tell me.

CRAP people, wake up . . . Bush don’t give a damn about you, not Republicans, not anybody . . .

Ok, let’s put it in terms everyone can understand . . . Globalization and privatization are shams. It allows those idiots in Washington to sell our country up the river. It doesn’t matter if it’s Hillary, Bush or McCain . . . Maybe we have a shot with Obama, I’m not sure yet? Though he looks like the only possible bet we have . . .

The truth about the Presidency is whoever gets it, is coming away with Billions . . . That’s millions with a B.

Right . . . Yea, that’s right. So here we are giving contracts to Europe for tankers when our own country should be supporting those that voted for them . . . Remember the people, hey that’s us.

Yea, I know all you free marketers out there think that they did the right thing. Tell me that when your job vanishes like the elk or the wolf . . .

So here we are believers of their CRAP about oil . . . Oh it’s running out all right, millions of years of rotting leaves and plants. Sure it’s running out, right out of the ground and into their pockets. You’re paying $4.00 because of China. Who do you think is bidding up the oil?

The Rothschild’s and Rockefellers are smarter than us . . . They know the importance of lineage and secrecy . . . That’s right they keep their money in the family and pass it on generation after generation. And we spend all of ours.

. . . Globalization works don’t it? Your jobs went to Mexico and then they went India and now China . . . Industry will always, always seek the lowest price for labor. That’s why the U.S. border will never be closed . . . Not by Democrats and certainly not by Republicans . . . So when the U.S. market is destroyed where will they sell their goods?

How many billion Chinese are there? How many people in India . . . ? And you say you’re a Republican. So am I, but I’m not stupid either . . . I know where Industry goes, so goes the market, so goes the jobs and so goes the money . . . So when do you move to China? I’m staying, I’m fighting . . .

And Microsoft, Bill feels the need to import 900 workers from India . . . That’s the same man that stole windows from Apple . . . Hell the total number of work visas given each year is something like 60,000 and Microsoft receives almost 1000 . . . Why? Why? Why?

Oh, they’re better educated . . . Wait a minute, we educated them . . . Oh yea, we did. What’s the deal?

The deal is this . . . Your Government has sold you out, every last one of them. There’s no such thing as a two party America . . . No really, there’s not. Why do you think they give a damn about abortion? They don’t. How could they and be in support of the death penalty? . . . You know, their playing us . . . And it doesn’t feel real nice!

Do you know which of your politicians are Bilderberg members? Do you even know what the Bilderberg is? Just another think tank . . . No not really. This one is made up of Billionaires, Politicians, the Elite. To be a member, you have to be invited. Have to have power and a billion in assets. Some allude to them as the new world order . . .

Is it a conflict of interest to be a Member of Congress and a Bilderberg? It should be . . . But when is anyone held accountable anymore?

And Lady Lynn, she supports Hillary . . . That’s Lady Lynn de Rothschild . . . An American married to Evelyn de Rothschild of the clan Rothschild . . . They spent their honeymoon in the White House during Big Bill Clinton’s proud days in the White House . . . Remember the Lincoln Bedroom scandals . . . Google it.

Isn’t fiction beautiful . . . To be honest, these opinions are mine after much research, I have connected the dots and have determined them as such . . . And I may be wrong, but not too far off.

Something stinks in Denmark, eh? I’ve always said, “If it looks like a goat, acts like a goat, it must be a goat.”>


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, sleeplessnights book, poetry, Dan Hanosh’s poetry, Dan Hanosh, Ramblings on the wires, Dare to Dream Live Your Dreams, Dreams, Live your Dreams, Bush, Iran, Mid East Commander Retires, Spitzer, The Fed, Central Bank, Rothschild, China, India, Microsoft, Globalization, Rockefeller, Hillary, McCain

Republic or Democracy . . .

Republic or Democracy . . .?

While researching my fourth book, "Legions of the Fall", I disclosed some startling truths . . . These truths I am considering building my plot around. A question is haunting me. Is my beloved country, really a Republic, not the Democracy, I perceived it to be?

What I found shocked even me, the cynic . . .

For the U.S. to be a Democracy there needs to be two parties and the people need to have a say, they need to be heard . . . So what’s the problem?

When it looked like Hillary was going out for the count I said, “The comeback kid, eh?”

No . . . I said, “the fix is in” . . . The Clinton's just won’t go away. Does anyone out there remember Whitewater? All I ever wanted from any President was to feel proud of them, of my country again. That’s all I wanted with George Bush and look what he did . . .

Don’t we already know what the Clinton's are about . . .?

If you’ve forgotten let me remind you . . .

+ Whitewater – alleged banking and real estate scandals with friends Jim Guy Tucker and Jim and Susan McDougal . . . Billing records from Rose Law Firm, which Hillary Clinton worked for mysteriously disappeared and somehow they turned up in the White House. To this day, Susan McDougal still refuses to speak about it. ( Stay tuned ).

Does any one remember that George Hubert Walker Bush turned an $80,000 investment in Enron into $18,000,000? Does it really matter how many years it took? Still smells like CRAP.

+ the Clinton’s CattleGate: An investment of $1000 turns into $100,000.

+ Gennifer Flowers – Bill’s twelve year affair.

+ Paula Jones – Bill forgetting to zip up.

+ Hotel Clinton – some call it the White House Lincoln Bedroom, others call it a cash cow . . . Clinton's charged $150,000 a night to sleep there . . . It was rented out over 300 times in their days. I wonder where that money went? Maybe the White House is for sale, eh?

+ Monica Lewinsky – Cigar anyone? I wouldn’t take one from Bill if I were you . . . Monica went to the White House 37 times after leaving for another job. She also offered a job for being quiet by Clinton man, Vernon Jordan, a member of . . .

Remember the House impeached Big Bill for Lying . . . Here we go again.

+ Jaunita Broaddrick – This time Bill was accused of raping her in the late seventies.

+ White House Vandals – Believe it or not . . . They took the W’s off all the keyboards. Funny, eh? Maybe but we paid for them . . . They took silverware and furniture.

+ Midnight Pardons – And there were the 24th hour pardons of Marc Rich . . . Oh and let’s not forget pardons for friends and co-conspirators, Susan McDougal, Henry Cisneros and Roger Clinton. Hugh Rodham, Hillary’s brother was paid $400,000 to assist in gaining pardons for Carlos Vignali.

For those of you who aren’t Familiar with Marc Rich, he is a member of . . . Google him for yourself . . . Then connect the dots.

And this is just some of it . . . And these crooks want another turn at bat . . . Heaven help us . . .

The funny thing is we believe that the United States is a Democracy . . . It’s not, it’s a Republic. We have two parties that want you to believe they have different agendas . . . They look that way on the surface, but when you actually look at accomplishments you realize they are actually working for the same agenda.

+ National Health . . . We’re never going to get it.
+ Border Security . . . Forget it, neither one really wants that.
+ Globalization . . . Both parties are dying to sell this country to the highest bidder.

Don’t believe me? Google Bill Clinton and see what he accomplished during his term . . . Then Google George W. for his accomplishments. George H. Bush is a member of . . .

. . . Dang if they don’t look just about the same . . . A cookie cutter scenario. Really? What is it about secret organizations? Their secret . . .

Alright, here’s the poop. You need to check for yourself . . . Google the following;
+ Marc Rich
+ Illuminati, Freemasons, P-2, Trilateral Commission, Bilderberg, CFR . . . Oh and gee, the Bilderberg named themselves after a hotel. They are supposed to be the Elite. ( Look at the names. You’ll be surprised. )

And then when you watch CNN, MSNBC, etc. and that expert comes on, maybe you’ll be able to put the two together . . . Ever wonder what those experts were getting to be an expert . . .?

+ Da Vinci Code – Opus Dei, Order of the Malta . . .

And don’t think that this is just happening in the U.S.? Everything is connected . . .

The book is fiction or is it? I always say, fiction is the truth history forgot to mention. To find the truth you have to read between the lines. Royalty, bloodline is the clue.

. . . And next time I will tie a few more possibilities together . . . And remember there’s no such thing as coincidence because everything is connected.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

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The Truth Sits . . .

The Truth Sits . . .

The truth sits stagnant right before our eyes. The Nixon years have never left us. Those players rose in ranks of groups the Elite hold and we the people have unknowingly followed their lead all these years.

Why would a Democratic President’s policy be almost the same as our current Chief?

Ever wonder why the world never stops fighting wars? It’s not what you think . . . It wasn’t when I found the truth. All I can tell you is to look for yourself and remember everything is connected.

Globalization, Privatization is all the same misguided mission, not anything to you and me. Start with “The Da Vinci Code” and read between the lines . . . Follow where it takes you. You just might be surprised as I was. Censorship is alive, don’t let anyone kid you . . . You must find it yourself.

Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, sleeplessnights book, poetry, Dan Hanosh’s poetry, Dan Hanosh, Ramblings on the wires, Dare to Dream Live Your Dreams, Dreams, Live your Dreams, everything is connected, censorship is alive, Da Vinci Code

The Illuminati . . .

The Illuminati . . .

Wow, it’s been a while . . . After finishing my book, Sins of a Father, I have been on a mission. Research for another book, I’m reading everything I can find. You wouldn’t believe where it’s taken me. I started looking into the existence of secretive organizations, I found so many throughout the ages . . . And then I started to ask myself why? I have a theory, now.

Then I read Dan Brown’s, “Angels and Demons” and reread, “The Da Vinci Code.” I’ve often said, fiction is great at hiding the truth, you have to learn to read between the lines. Now I’m on a search of those hidden items, and to say the least it’s very enlightening.

History lies . . . For whatever reason, we believe what is plastered on written pages, newspapers, books and now electronically. So I’ve come back to writing a blog . . . I have decided to just keep one of my blogs, Dreams are yours to share. Time won’t allow any more than that. You’ll have to find me, I won’t go looking for traffic . . . I’m too busy looking for answers, that may interest you . . . In the days to come I will slowly release bits and pieces of what I’ve found . . . It just might just shock you?

The Illuminati is real . . .


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.


Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, sleeplessnights book, poetry, Dan Hanosh’s poetry, Dan Hanosh, Ramblings on the wires, Dare to Dream Live Your Dreams, Dreams, Live your Dreams, The Illuminati

And a star shined brightly overhead . . .

And A Star Shined Brightly Overhead

“Peace and Goodwill to all men.” Those words have always echoed in my mind.
As a boy growing up in a small town, I was not protected from the outside world. Every night as we ate dinner it managed to scale the walls I had built to hide behind.

From halfway across the world from rice paddies in the delta, came the gruesome black and white images of death and dying, boys not much older than myself. I shared their fear, I felt their pain, as they ducked and bobbed in the tall grasses. My neighbor’s neighbor, a father’s son and the forever silence of an alien battlefield. The heaving bulging sacks tossed onto waiting whirling birds of prey. And those left behind with longing stares as their weary eyes followed the dark specks into the vast whiteness.

It was a time of violence, a time of protestors hurling rocks, tear gas canisters exploding, buildings burning, armed soldiers shooting killing, and nightly body counts. The most vivid image happened one particular Christmas. During a ceasefire, came the pictures of the many lifeless sacks lying juxtaposed on the dry grasses of an LZ in a place where the guns were supposed to be silent . . . They said, war is hell and death is death . . . And I knew then, I wanted nothing to do with it or them.


A shadow of man sat with his arms cradled over his heart, dozing silently. Periodically waking he gazed toward the fireplace. His white hair casually cascaded over his ears and into his beard. His eyes fluttered in deep sleep, as the fired roared. A chilling cold snow blew outside and his thoughts were lost in a time he had left behind. At his side, pulling on his shirtsleeve was a wee boy child.

“Grand Papa, tell me an olden days story?”
“Huh,” said the old man fighting to open his heavy eyes.
“Tell me a story,” pleaded the boy.

The old man wiped sleep’s traces away and sat up. He yawned uncontrollably and straightened the wrinkles from his sweater. He reached down and wisped up the boy with his once mighty arms and held him close. Looking deeply into his emerald eyes, magically he began his tale.


Many, years ago, a war was raging all around. It was bitter cold. The snow was falling heavily, drifting and blowing. The world outside had become a dunes of shimmering whiteness.

Deep in the woods, in a cabin, a young boy waited. He waited by a frosted over window for his father to come.

“Mother, he’s coming tonight isn’t he?”
“If he’s able, but Fritz, you shouldn’t expect him. Go do ya chores,” she said.
“But Mother?”
“You heard me . . . And bring back the plumpest hen in the coop.”
“Ya Mama,” he replied.

The snow had drifted over the porch and up the log walls. As he opened the door, a chill went through him and made the fire sputter. Quickly he pushed the door shut behind him and struggled through the frigid powder. As he made his way, his thoughts faded to the warmth of their first days as prisoners of the woods.

It was early March when the bombs started to rain from the sky.
“Helga, we must leave tonight or . . .”

Helmut never finished the words. He stopped before he muttered the word die. He tried, but he couldn’t. Helga and little Fritz didn’t need to know the real danger wasn’t falling from the sky. It was living and breathing all around them.

“But where are we to go, Helmut?”
“I know a place in the forest, we can go there. Wake little Fritz and we’ll go.”

And so they gathered their things and made their way to an abandoned ruin, a shack in the Argon Forest. It took them till dark to haul the cart with all their belongings deep into the forest. They were too tired to do anything but sleep and that night Helmut had to wedge the door into place. Still the wind blew through the walls. From his bed on the floor, Fritz could see the stars through the roof. It wasn’t much of a home. With its rustic facade, it was more suited to a family of wild pigs.

“What if the cabin owner comes back,” asked Helga?
“My sweet, there’s no need to worry, no one will be coming back.”
“How do you know?”
“Don’t worry, they won’t be back.”

Fritz had heard them talking. Father seemed so sure. It was as though he knew something.

Early the next morning, father, mother and Fritz were busily working to make the small cabin, their home. They re-hung the door, tacking a sole of an old shoe, where a rusted hinge used to swing. It would give them time enough to get another hinge.

“Helmut, we need a ladder,” said Fritz’s Mother.
“Ya Helga . . . Fritz you find small trees,” he said holding up his thumb and index finger. “You take the saw.”

Fritz searched the nearby woods, cutting the young saplings and hauling them to the clearing. Once he had a pile, his father began stripping the bark. He cut eight grooved mortises in the strongest two, with a chisel.

“Fritz, cut eight runs, this long,” commanded his father, holding up his two large hands.
“Ya, Papa” said the boy.

Fritz sawed the ladder’s runs with the handsaw and his father cut rectangular tenants into each end. Ever carefully Helmut worked, stopping periodically to test each run in the mortises. When they fit snuggly, he would start cutting another. Finally he used a hand drill to peg the runs to the legs.

“Father, where’d you learn that?”
“Son, my father taught me. He was a carpenter as was his father.”
“Why aren’t you a carpenter?”
“Because they told me, I had to do something else.”
“Why?”
“Never mind you. We have work to do.”

Helmut placed the ladder against the side of the shack.
“Father, what’re you doing, now?”
“At night, you like looking at stars, but in snow and rain, I’m not so sure, eh?”
“Ya,” said Fritz.

The boy watched his father chop a log into shingled slats. He tossed them into a stack until he had enough and bundled them together. He took a handful of nails, a hammer and climbed up unto the roof. Carefully he fitted the slats over the holes and nailed them. Once the roof was mended, Helmut carried the ladder to loft and lashed it into place.

“Fritz, help me carry the mattresses from outside.”

Fritz did his best as they hauled the pads into the cabin. The boy pushed as Helmut pulled each one up the ladder and tossed them into place. Mother made two berths by hanging several blankets from roof supports.
Mid afternoon, tiredly they continued to work stuffing wall cracks with chinking made of mud and moss. As darkness fell, the cabin was tight to the rain and cold.

The next day they hauled the cabin’s stove from the creek bed. Helmut and Fritz eased it back to its original place in the kitchen. Behind the shack, Fritz found the smoke flues tossed in the bushes and before long, the chimney was venting the choking fumes of cook stove.

“Papa, why did someone trash the cabin?”
“I don’t know, but maybe they didn’t like what was going on here,” he said trying to explain the unexplainable.
“Helga, this winter we eat and sleep snug and warm,” said Helmut.
“Papa, what’s this for,” asked Fritz pulling open a trap door.
“It’s a root cellar,” said father.

In the middle of the floor was a door that led to a cellar. It was large enough to hide in, if the need arouse.

“Helga, we should cover the door with your rug. It might be useful, yet?”
Helmut built a large log table with bench seats that straddled the cellar door.

The log cottage was slowly becoming a safe haven in the middle of a dark lonely forest. It would be warm and cozy even on the coldest of nights.
The next day, Fritz’s father would return to the city where he’d work each week. He would return to the woods whenever he could. One of the first trips, he brought seeds for a garden, which kept Fritz and his mother busy. They removed several trees and turned over the top soil. They planted rooted pieces of red eyed potatoes, onion seedlings and seeds from pumpkins, beets, and bright red tomatoes. Each day they hoed and weeded the garden. When there was no rain, they carried water from the stream.

On one trip, Helmut brought a dozen chicks. Fritz and his mother spent the next several weeks building a coop and a small shed for goats and rabbits.
But the happiest return was when Helmut returned with Max, a small fuzzy puppy. Its feet were too large for such a little dog. Helmut suggested that the animal would probably grow into them.

“Helmut, what were you thinking?” Helga asked.
“You need protection and the boy needs a companion. The war is not going well. Every night the sirens blow and we wander aimlessly off to the shelters. All the while, people are being herded into box cars . . . The army, rumors report is deserting. The English are supposedly just over the Rhein and could cross any day.”

“Helmut, I’m worried.”
“Don’t worry. You and Fritz will be safe here. There’s no reason to worry.”
“I worry for you.”
“Don’t, I’ll be fine, my sweet. You worry too much.”

In the warmth of August, Fritz and his mother labored preparing for the cold winter months. Each day Fritz chopped firewood and stacked it in the shed. The harvest from the garden they preserved and stored in the root cellar. Potatoes, squash, pumpkins, apples were stored whole, while berries and tomatoes were preserved in glass jars. Nuts were stored in bags in the cellar.

A mighty gust blew a frosty chill of snow into Fritz’s face. Instantly he was pulled back to the cold night as he trudged through the deep snow toward the shed. The chickens were in their roosts. He pushed each one aside. One by one he gathered their eggs, wrapping them in a handkerchief, and sliding them gently into his coat pocket. Finally he grabbed the plumpest hen and nestled it under his arm. With his free hand he quickly dispatched her and hurried into the house.

“Did you get the eggs?”
“Ya, eight,” he said handing her the limp bird.
Fritz took the eggs from his coat pocket and took off his coat.
“How about a Christmas stew?” asked his Mother.
“With dumplings?”
“Ya, now go fill the wood bin, looks like we’re in for a big snow.”

But before Fritz could put his coat back on, Max began growling, then came a heavy rapping on the door.

“Quiet, Fritz. Put out the candle!”
“But maybe it’s only father?”
“No. Max never growls when he comes. Now, be quick and blow out the candles.”
“Ya.”

Helga slowly opened the door. Three soldiers stood shaking in the cold night air. The whiteness hid their uniforms making it hard to recognize who they were.

“Ya,” asked Fritz’s Mother?
“Sprichst du Englisch?”
“Nein,” she said shaking her head from left to right. Quickly she realized the men weren’t German.
“Sprichst Du Franzosisch?”
“Oui,” she said, nodding, worried they were in danger.

After a moment, the American soldier muttered a childlike phrase.
“Madam, entree?”
“Oui, but . . . but you must leave your weapons outside Monsieur,” she said as firmly as she could be.
“But . . .” and finally he said, “Oui, Oui,” knowing they needed shelter from the storm.
“Fritz show the soldiers where to put their things, schnell.”

The leader gave a soldier a command and he handed his weapon to him and quickly he dipped his shoulder to help support the wounded man. Fritz led the way as the man with the weapons followed him to the shed. Max ran ahead jumping into the air attacking as many snowflakes as he could before they reached the ground. With each leap, he fell into a heap and rolled in the snow.
Helga held the door for the soldiers to come inside. She pointed to the cot by the fire. The leader helped the wounded man over by the fire.
After a few moments Fritz and the soldier came in and dusted the fresh snow off their coats.

“Mother, should I get another hen?”
“Ya,” she said nodding.

When Fritz came back, he had another bird nestled peacefully silent under his arm. Helga quickly cleaned the two and cut them into pieces. She placed them into a large iron pot with several slices of bacon and put the pot on the stove. Soon the bacon began to sizzle. She peeled potatoes, onions and chopped them up and added them to the pot.

Two soldiers were sitting at the table when Fritz sat down. One of the men pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket and handed it to the boy.

“Danke,” replied the boy as he took the bar.

From the stove came the sweetest aroma of frying chicken. Helga turned the chicken and covered the pot. The wounded man was snoring from his cot. Another was petting Max, while one retrieved a chess set from his pack.

“You play,” he motioned to the boy.
“Oui,” said his mother from the stove.
“You,” he pointed to the white pieces.

After a while, Helga added several pitchers of water to the pot and covered it once more. Shortly, Max began to growl again. He ran to the door and paced back and forth barking. Beyond the door, low male voices could be heard. A rap could be heard on the door’s surface.

Helga went to the door and opened it just a crack.

“Fraulein, may we come in and warm ourselves?”

Helga shut the door a moment to think. Then just as quickly she cracked the door again, knowing if she didn’t the soldiers would get suspicious.
“Mein Herr, you must respect my guests?”

“Fräulein, of course we will respect your guests.”
“Leave your weapons in the shed and then you may enter and share what we have!”
“Fräulein, I must protest. We are fighting a war.”
“Ya, I know. But if you don’t respect my wishes I can’t let you in.”
“Danke Fräulein! We will obey your wishes.”

The officer turned to a soldier in a white hooded uniform and said something. Immediately the man began collecting their guns and ammo belts.

“Fritz, show them where to put their weapons.”
“Ya, mother.”

The soldier turned and followed Fritz to the shed.
“Son, do you have a Christmas tree?”
“No, mein Herr.”
“Well, what do say we cut one?”
“Jawohl, mein Herr,” said the boy, unsure but nodding with a smile.
Fritz followed the soldier into the woods where they found a suitable pine tree.
“There,” said Fritz.

“Then that’s the one,” said the soldier and quickly cut the tree.
Helga led her new guests into the cabin and to their astonishment, across the room, sat three soldiers.

“Ma’am,” said the German soldier, “You can’t expect . . .”

The woman’s guests were their enemies, the ones they’d sworn to fight for the motherland. They were members of the Allied Army who had killed their families and friends with bombs in the night.

“Sir, you have a choice, you can come in, warm yourself and fill your bellies or not . . . “

The German officer paused, and finally he said, “Ma’am, we’ll respect your wishes . . . Herr Sergeant, is that one hurt?”

“What’s he saying?” asked the American Sergeant, anxiously.
“He wanted to know if your friend is wounded. He is a surgeon and asked if he could help.”
“Oui,” said the American soldier.
Quickly the German doctor knelt by the wounded man. He opened the lying man’s shirt and removed his bandages. From a dark can, he sprinkled the wound with sulfa powder and bandaged it, once more.
“Herr sergeant, he will be fine. The bullet straight through, just keep it clean.”
“Danke,” said the American.

The boy and the other German soldier entered the cabin. Quickly, the soldier reached for his knife.

“Mein Herr, it is alright,” said Fritz, grabbing his wrist. “They come as friends. They are guests in my mother’s house. You must respect her wishes or leave.”
There was a long moment of silence.

“I’ll stay,” he replied. “Where do you want the tree?”
“In the corner,” responded Fritz’s mother.

An American soldier set his pack on the table and began digging inside. The German soldiers watched him carefully, expecting him to pull out a weapon.
“Sir, what are you looking for?”

“Cigarettes,” he said and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and passed them around.

“Danke,” said each German soldier.
“We need to decorate the tree,” said Fritz, “but with what?”
“Maybe each of us could hang something we value,” responded the German Lieutenant.

“Ya,” said Fritz.

And everyone nodded in affirmation. Helga opened a bottle of wine and poured cups for everyone.

“Merry Christmas,” said the American Sergeant, holding his cup high in the air.
“Frohe Weihnachten,” said the German Lieutenant and lifted his cup into the air as did everyone in the cabin.

The soldiers searched their things. An American took off a cross he wore around his neck and hung it on a branch. A German soldier removed a black cross he received for bravery and pinned it to the tree. Another gently tucked a picture of his girl into the tree’s green needles. One took a prayer bookmark from his Bible and hung it from its red ribbon. Another took a friend’s dog tags. A pair of golden wings a father had given. Helga took her father’s pocket watch from her apron pocket and hung it on the tree.

“We must have a treetop?” said one of the soldiers.
“I have just the thing,” said Fritz as he slid under the table and into the cellar.
In the far corner was a loose board. In their first days, Fritz had found the hiding spot. It was used by a previous resident. He retrieved the cloth object and hurried back.

“Here,” he said as he handed the object to the German Lieutenant.
Everyone stood silent. In his out stretched hand, sat a crumpled dirty-yellow six legged star. The officer’s eyes began to water as he recognized the Jewish prisoner’s Star of David.

“Sir, we must arrest . . . ,” said the German soldier.
But the German officer cut off his words before he could utter them.
“Keep quiet. Tonight, we do nothing or ever. That’s an order. You understand,” threatened the Lieutenant. “You will say nothing or I’ll have you fighting at the front.”

“Yes, my Lieutenant,” returned the soldier.

Everyone stared as the German Officer placed the Star of David at the top of
the tree. No one spoke, no one moved. It was as if nothing else existed anywhere, but in a little cabin in the woods.

“Let’s eat,” announced Helga, as she began dishing out plate after plate of piping hot chicken and dumplings.

Everyone sat at the table, except the sleeping wounded man.

“Let us give thanks,” said the German Lieutenant. “Lord, bless our hosts and these men that we eat with. And bless all soldiers tonight, those that have died and those that will. Let us one day live in peace once again. Amen.”
“Amen,” repeated everyone in their own tongue.

That night everyone laughed and ate till they were full and then they ate some more. They drank hot coffee and told stories and ate sweet potato pie.
When it was time to part, each one thanked their host, wished each other well and left into the chilling cold.

“Which way to the front?” asked the American Sergeant.
The German Lieutenant pointed toward the edge of the forest and said, “Da, my friend.”

“Thanks, we will never forget.”
“Nor shall we.”

And for an instant one Christmas Eve in a cabin in the middle of a raging war, everyone’s gaze turned upward to the top of a ragged pine tree and a star shined brightly overhead.


“Grandpa, you’re crying?”
“No my son, I’m just happy to pass this story on to you.”
“Aaron,” called his mother.
“In here Mama. I’m sitting with Grandpa.”
“Don’t bother Grandpa Fritz.”
“Ok, Mama,” said the little boy, jumping to the ground, running into the kitchen.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

Technorati Tags: Dan Hanosh’s Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dreams Are Yours To Share, Dan Hanosh’s Sleepless Nights, Sleepless Nights, sleeplessnights book, poetry, Dan Hanosh’s poetry, Dan Hanosh, Ramblings on the wires, Dare to Dream Live Your Dreams, Dreams, Live your Dreams, Star of David, Christmas Story

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Well It's Done . . .

Well It’s Done . . .

December 14, 2007, another dream has reached fruition. My novel, Sins of the Father is finished . . . I even typed those joyous words, THE END.



I have yet to have my Montecristo Cigar and a glass of Scotch . . . I’ll do that tomorrow.

Four years in the making, 621 pages double spaced, over 109,000 words. And now it’s done. It meets my approval.

I never thought this day would actually come. There always seemed to be another edit. When will it be published? That’s another thing altogether. Maybe never, I’ll let you know.

The real victory is in the writing, putting your words on a page . . . So many never take the time to write, never start and their story dies with them . . . Not me.

How cool is this . . . A poetry book written in 2004 another in 2007 and a novel in 2007, most likely available in 2008. Dreams can come true. All you have to do is make them happen. And now I can get hopping on my book marketing plan for Sleepless Nights . . . It’s a little late, but that’s alright with me.

What’s next? A short break to maybe find my life again, maybe put together a book of short stories, seeing I have so many sitting in my files. Oh spend a little more time writing with my little buddy.


A Christmas Memory . . . The Kind You'd Like to Forget

Tomorrow I think I will write a Christmas story or finish the one I’ve started. Maybe somehow I’ll find that spirit that has alluded me . . . I don’t like Christmas much these days . . . Do you remember when the Christmas dream ended for you? You know, when you knew there wasn’t an SC.

For me it didn’t happen on any specific date . . . I had older sisters, they lost the belief and somehow they convinced Mom and Dad that no one in the family believed . . . Yet, I wasn’t ready. And before that specific Christmas I dreamed, SC came to the house and I sat on his lap. Mom and Dad were in the dream and it felt so real. I tried to convince my sisters, but Mom and Dad said it never happened . . . That’s when I knew. I think I cried for days. Nothing was ever the same.

And to be honest, I think SC would do a better job than we ever did bringing Christmas Cheer. And when I was older, I played SC at the in-laws each Christmas, until the kids were too old. And you know kids always want to believe. It’s a shame we don’t let them.


Dan Hanosh
Dreams are yours to Share

My Books:
Just Released . . . Sleepless Nights, AuthorHouse, 2007
A continuation of The World . . . through a poets eyes.

The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004

Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
Dan’s Room 2 Write

Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.

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