Tamara Chipman

Nicole Hoar

Please Come Home
by Ray Bassette

Highway of Tears
by Ray Bassette

Poems
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Mother, Daughter, Sister......I loved you

By Henry Michell
May 4, 2006
Dedicated to the missing or murdered women along the "Highway of Tears"

Along the lonely highway
The little Indian Village was silent and remote
The elders were whispering and the children stopped playing
As I walked in unisonance of my heartbeat

I thought
          "It's just like yesterday
          But, your loved ones are with you"

I am a woman
I had honored and respected the fathers of this world
They had listened and done their best to understand
As I sat and pondered about days gone by

I reflected
          "It's just like yesterday
          But, your loved ones are with you"

I am the "walking wounded"
I talked about things like my sons, daughters and grandchildren
They had prayed and wondered about me
As I looked beyond the lost highway

I listened
          "It's just like yesterday
          But, your loved ones are with you"

For I am only a woman
I wanted to say so much, but it was too late
My voice trembled and my heart stopped beating
May God have mercy on those who done wrong

By Calvin Harasemchuk

 I wrote this poem to bring attention to our Missing Sisters. If these women were your middle class or high class types..the outrage would be unreal. Poor and the runaways do not get the attention, They are the throw away society, Just remember, These women are somebody's children and they deserve to be found.

MISSING SISTERS

Missing Sisters Living On The Street,

All Battered And Beat,

Escaping A Hard Life Back Home,

Moving To The City, Forever On The Roam,

Drinking And Using To Dull Your Pain,

Up All Night, Sleeping During The Day,

Many Different People You Meet,

Some Are Kind, Many Are Mean,

Drifting From Town To Town,

Why Did You Ever Leave Home? My Sister Of Brown,

You Left Without Saying Goodbye,

Your Family Left Wondering Why,

What Happens Next Is Unknown, You Disappear,

Missing Sisters Leaving A River Of Tears,

Just Another Woman Of The Night,

Who Has Gone Come The Morning Light,

Just Remember, Not All The Sisters Are Ladies Of The Street,

All Are Victims Of A Crime, Somewhere A Mother Weeps,

Politicians Speak, Words Are Just Words,

Actions Mean More, Find Our Missing Sisters,

Find Them, Be It Dead Or Alive,

Let Their Mothers Say Goodbye…

Highway of Tears
By Inner Wisdom

I am every parents' nightmare

For I am cold,

For I am calculated and miserable.

I will come out of nowhere and

Feed off your energies until you're run dry

I am called Fear.

I speak my truth when I say

The nightmare we call Fear

Will be caught in their tracks

And Justice will be served.

My heart goes to the families

Who have lost their loved ones.

Speak your truth

And your voices will be heard.

I am here for you.

Inner Wisdom

Tania Norman
Dedicated to Tamara

Mother day has come and gone and still no word from Tamara Chipman..
 
   Mothers day is a day to remember all mothers,
   and because Tamara is a mother and a friend
   she is on my mind even more then usual.
   Her disappearance leaves many unanswered questions.
   How do you explain to Tamara's son were his mother is
   when we have no clue where she is, or if she is ok.
   Until family/friends finally  get answers to Tamara's whereabouts
   I will always hold hope that my dearly missed friend will return safe.
   My mother passed away when I was 7 years old, and let me tell you
   growing up with out a mom is really hard. I knew my mother was in heaven
   growing up I always hoped it was a bad dream and I would wake up
   and find mom was alive.
   Now to me the idea of growing up not knowing where
   mom is will be even harder to deal with..
   someone out there knows what caused Tamara's disappearance and I BEG
   you from the bottom of my heart to PLEASE pass on any information you have
   to give this little boy peace of mind,
   He deserves to know why Mommy never came home..

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My name is David Culver

I am from the

 State of Alabama,
state side. I am writing you, because even when I was first told about the
Highway of Tears, it was about three years... four years ago I guess. My
publisher here in Kamloops BC, told me all about it, and the stories which were
coming from this place in northern BC. I was already very deeply
emotionally connected with a missing case in Alabama, from 2001 in August.
Her name was Shannon Nicole Paulk, from Prattville, Alabama. I knew her,
and she was a wonderful girl, and a very friendly girl of 11 yrs. I have
written poetry, for many years, but it was then, in 2001, when I began
writing and publishing my work for the missing. When I see any poem I have
written for little Shannon, in a book, or paper, or on the internet, I feel
somehow, she is still out there, her spirit in a way touching many people
around the world even
now. These girls who have vanished along this long stretch of highway in
BC, or who have been found murdered... there are so many, and so young. It
breaks my heart to look in their faces, in the pictures, that their entire
lives were in front of them, and taken this violently away from them. In my
mind's eye, Shannon stands beside each one of these girls, and they all have
their place, with God now. I know this for sure. I wish I could do
something for the families of these children. Their hurt, will never leave
them. It will never go away. My heart, belongs to them always. and I don't
really believe, I will ever write poetry for any other reason now. These
little spirits live on... and their hearts... and the words, I place with
them, I only hope helps, in some way, for someone, somewhere, to relate
with. Please keep this web site for these young people alive. Let all the
world see, and feel, what we all, have lost. My love, and prayers, to Cory.
You are not
alone. May God bless.
-Always sincerely; DAVID CULVER- "Poems For the Missing"

BUTTERFLY

By David Culver
The falling of leaves in autumn,
are the whispers and sighs of those
who stood around you,
healing the wounds they suffered,
when against the gray dark wilderness,
they found you
with rosey wreaths, propted
in the sandy dirt.
It made us aware of a season dying.
That night, sounded the breaking
of hearts inside us.
Now, when this season comes,
it hides us in all the silence
a world could give, to heal the hurt.
But, a hurt that never went away,
yet, stays in small rooms of our hearts,
and somehow, still finds you...
drifting alone in our conscience.

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