Before we get to Write Fearless, We of the Showbear Family Circus write with a heavy heart to tell you that the author of these three poems, Jonathan Dowdle, passed from this life between acceptance and confirmation of terms. There was an 8-month delay. We learned 10 days ago that the reason for the delay is that Jonathan was hit by an 18 wheeler and killed.

Jonathan (Jon) Douglas Dowdle, 38, of 255 Drucilla Drive, went home to be with the Lord on Friday, September 13, 2019.

Born in Nashua, NH, he was the son of Eileen McLean Dowdle (Richard Davis) of Gaffney and the late Stephen Terrell Dowdle. He was employed with Dollar Tree Distribution, was a published writer and enjoyed writing. He loved animals, especially dogs, loved his family, especially his nieces and nephews. Mr. Dowdle was a member of Beaverdam Baptist Church.

His family has granted our request to publish them posthumously.

We, high on our own wisdom, seem marked
Strange as Cain in our ambivalence,
In our ignorance, using our lofty views
To twist each heart, to plunge the knife deeper
Into the bloody dark,
We destroy one another in great and small ways,
And praise ourselves
For the wisdom of our destruction.
How the killer seems to exist
Small, or large, within each heart,
As we refuse to read the stories,
But mark one another into each part,
Tattooed with nationality, gender, the color of skin,
Our time stamps of religion,
All the labels that wear us thin,
Oh how wise we are,
Oh how grand, that we mark the world
Into empty, static views
That refuse to understand, Oh how wise we are
In the masquerade of a master plan,
A master plan, or a master race,
A victim’s plan, or a state of grace,
From above, and deep below
We play those broken games,
Wondering why there is only blood and bones
That wear our empty names,
Refuse to seek, or to see, but then ask
To be seen, our great hypocrisy it seems
All fire and gasoline,
It is not that there is no protection,
None wiling to grieve, love, live,
But that we accept this madness
As ordinary as it is,
So before you speak the master way,
Open your eyes wide enough for the full view,
Then and then only should you break your pause
To try to speak your truth,
So play these cards with blood and sweat,
Then deny the heart’s own crimes,
Before you speak your next part,
Check your pulse, and check the time,
You bury the story beneath your tale,
The killing, that deeper crime,
You will only know the truth
If you look within, and open your eyes.