scienematters.bsky.social
Poet & Children’s Author | Writing through this moment—about justice, hope, and the world we’re building next.
www.jaciturner.com!
https://shorturl.at/6Qynu
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4/ We must resist this.
We must amplify voices of scientists.
We must demand transparency.
And we must remind our leaders: truth is not the enemy. Suppression is.
#ProtectScience #TruthMatters #DemocracyNeedsFacts
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3/ A democracy depends on an informed public.
Cutting off scientific research is a direct assault on the public’s right to know what is true. It’s an attack on future generations.
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2/ If you can’t disprove the facts, you defund the fact-finders.
If you can’t counter the evidence, you silence the scientists.
This is not a budget choice. It’s a power play.
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So let us stand, and let us teach,
And lift the truths he fears we’ll reach.
For every lie that he may shout,
A thousand truths still blaze throughout.
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It heals the land, it lifts the blind,
And leaves its lanterns lit behind.
The tyrant scorns what he can’t bend,
Yet truth survives, it does not end.
And though he tries to cloud the skies,
The truth, like dawn, will always rise.
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Yet fear of facts is fear of light,
A desperate grasp to dim what’s right.
He turns the lab into a stage,
And stokes the fire, then fans the rage.
He cuts the funds, derides the test,
And crowns the silence as success.
But science isn’t left or right,
It builds the world, reveals the night.
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For though the night begins to fall,
You gave me light once, gave it all.
And now I hold it, warm and wide,
A lantern lit from love and pride.
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You still know me, but not each day.
Your eyes drift off, then find their way.
I speak, and sometimes you reply,
Like clouds that part to show the sky.
I bring you back with stories spun,
Of all the things we used to run.
A joke you told, a song you knew,
And just like that, I feel you too.
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You laughed in ways the walls recalled,
With humor quick and joy uncalled.
A twist of wit, a look, a grin,
The light of you shone bright within.
But now that spark flickers and fades,
Like dusk erasing golden blades.
The lines you knew, the jokes you made,
Lie tucked beneath a softening shade.
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We’ll question, learn, and name the cost,
And light the path that others crossed.
For even now, with voices strained,
The flame of reason still remains.
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But truth is more than words in rows,
It’s in the work that thinking shows.
It lives in care, in pause, in doubt,
In slowing down to sort things out.
So let us be the steady ones
Who weigh the facts and not just run.
Let future minds not trade their spark
For soulless scripts that miss the mark.
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But filled the page with shallow pride.
No fact to ground, no truth in sight,
Just echoed claims and borrowed light.
This wasn’t progress: just a trick,
A shortcut built with code too quick.
No checks, no eyes, no guiding hand,
Just empty echoes made to stand.
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Thank you for sharing!
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For what if Christ is not just there,
But dwells in hearts that choose to care?
A spark, a guide, a whispered flame,
That stirs each time we love His name.
And maybe you have felt it too,
In all the good you try to do.
He’s not just watching from the skies,
But lives in hands that help and rise.
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In lifting hands, in wiping tears,
In showing up despite my fears,
In walking on when roads feel steep,
In keeping promises I keep.
Not perfect, no, but still I try,
To tell the truth, to hear a cry.
And when I do, I feel Him near,
Not in my words, but in the ear.
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Who taught you not to question well,
And what gets lost the more you dwell?
You don’t need fame, or school, or flair,
Just grit to think, the will to care.
The smallest spark can light the dark,
And help another find their spark.
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A lie repeated, bold and loud,
Becomes the law, becomes the crowd.
We lose the thread, the floor, the ground,
And wonder how we came unbound.
But it was us who looked away,
Who let the truth decay each day.
So ask yourself before you share:
Who profits most if you don’t care?
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When comfort hums and silence buys?
They count on that: the slowed-down chase,
The minds that drift, the hollow space
Where once lived fire, now lives the ease
Of trading thought for what will please.
But truth, neglected, starts to fade,
And leaves behind the mess we made.
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Returning now to where I’m known,
The porchlight’s hush, the meadow’s tone.
The rain is more than just a fall,
It’s Colorado’s quiet call.
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It smells like roots and life begin,
Like every leaf is breathing in.
The road unwinds, the fields extend,
And peace arrives, a gentle friend.
Not seeking what I had to find,
But bringing rest to heart and mind.
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I don’t need blame to name the ache,
Or burn the past for healing’s sake.
I only seek to speak it clear,
The girl I was deserved more near.
And now I stand with open eyes,
Not hardened, no, but growing wise.
They did their best. I’ve done mine too,
To build the love they never knew.
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They didn’t ask, they didn’t see,
The questions curling inside me.
Not out of harm, or lack of heart,
But from a life that pulled apart.
I once felt small, erased, unseen,
The quiet child caught in between.
But over time, I found my ground,
In truth, in voice, in things I’ve found.
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And while they spun inside their storm,
I learned too young to self-conform.
The hurt I felt came not from them,
But from the world beyond their hem.
And yet, their gaze passed right on through,
Too tangled in their own undo.
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One breathes the peace its founder gave,
The other guards an empty grave.
Yet still, I feel the ember glow,
A different wind begins to blow.
For if the smoke can rise in Rome,
Then maybe grace can find its home.
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They preach in tones of “us” and “them,”
With fear wrapped tight around each hymn.
A gospel trimmed to fit their line,
Then passed off as the Lord’s design.
I watch one Church begin to rise,
While mine is silenced under lies.
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A shepherd’s call, not loud, but near,
To lift the hearts it failed to hear.
But here, across the fractured states,
Where pulpits bend to fuel their hate,
The cross is hoisted not in love,
But crowned with flags they hold above.
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And maybe one day I will be
A grandma-figure joyfully.
Not by the book, but by the heart,
A late arrival, still a part.
We all bloom in our chosen hour,
Some slow to rise, but full of power.
And I am here, both strong and true,
Not early. No. But right on cue.
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And when I came, they welcomed wide,
No questions asked, just arms and pride.
As if the years had built a trail
That love could follow, without fail.
I may not bear a mother’s name,
But still I cherish just the same,
The laughter now, the bonds we keep,
The quiet roots that grow so deep.
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But love, it doesn’t keep a score,
It waits behind an open door.
And even from a distant place,
They held me close in heart and grace.
I wasn’t lost; I took my time,
To grow into a steadier climb.
Not rushed, not certain, not yet clear,
Just finding how to bring me near.
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Your kind words truly made me pause, Paul. I just write what I’m feeling—and never imagined it could help someone in this way. Thank you for reminding me why it matters. 🙏🙂