Time was
when we
wondered
if we
would be
together
tomorrow.
Now is
when we
wonder
that we
are still
together
today.
fifty-six years
is a long time
and no time
at all.
Not enough time
for those who fall
in love.
Category Archives: POETRY
MAGA MINDS RACING
Getting started is the hardest.
Once begun, everyone runs
to be the first,
or at least to be
in the crowd
that crosses the finish line
in record time.
Those left out of the race
try to keep pace
along the sidelines
never raising the question
of where they are headed,
or what they might gain.
They simply imagine
there must be a prize.
What a surprise
to discover there is
none at all.
It was test to see
who would fall
into line.
Their pride is satisfied.
They feel superior
to those who are so inferior
they did not run at all.
OCEANS
I could become an ocean
If I unleashed the rivers of tears
Building behind eyes seeing,
Building behind ears hearing,
Building behind a mind
Buried in grief over what I find
Hidden within family and friends,
I thought were of a kind;
Who saw hate and felt repulsion,
Who heard lies and became disgusted,
Who watched inhumanity and scowled,
Who with outrage spoke aloud.
Instead, they smirk and smile,
And change the subject acting proud
To shut down discussion and discomfort at discussing hard truths.
Either they are in avoidance of discord;
Or worse, they approve of lies and hate,
And are simply happy to see hate flourish.
They are not the least discouraged.
I could become an ocean.
Instead, I check my emotion.
I seek to find some common ground.
Impossible when they shut all true conversation with me down.
Is this what pushes us apart,
a river of tears breaking canyon
walls of disagreement apart?
I could become an ocean
Washing them away as I allow
My tears to flow.
Until the valley of tears
Washes hate clear
And silts and nourishes the soil
That love may once again grow.
I could become an ocean.
GETTING DIZZY
I wait upon the turning point
Dizzy and disoriented
By its rapid display
Of reality asway,
Believing the transformation will soon stop.
And if I can hang on tight,
And if I do not drop
All will then become clear.
A new way of seeing the world
And connecting its dots
Will unite us all in every endeavor.
Not because we are so clever;
But, because we must do better
Or destroy our selves,
Dust to dust.
Turning points are dizzying affairs.
We must grab hands to slow its course.
We must focus on a single point as we ride
In constant circles, growing wide,
Until the entire world bounces by
And we all feel the brunt of gravity
As it drags us down past reality
Where the vaguest hopes reside.
When will this end, we ask and fuss?
Knowing how it ends is up to us.
If only the spin would stop long enough
To catch a breath, I could get tough.
It is dangerous to let go when spinned out of control.
The spin disturbs the mindfulness which makes me whole.
If only those who stand and watch would reach to pull me out.
But, they hesitate and obliterate
Any discussion or action
until I fear it will be too late.
What will they think and how will they feel
To watch me destroyed on the spinning wheel?
SOFT TOUCH
Touches can be tough and hard to unravel,
like tangled skeins of thread woven with hard feelings
they pinch and grab until we hurt.
So needy are we for touching connection
we often forego our own protection
against those touches which do us harm.
We must teach ourselves to crochet and knit together
the fabric of our lives with love and self-acceptance
until our skin glows with health and satisfaction.
And if I touch you, then, while my soft skin glows,
my touch will heal your pain and calm your fears,
and together we shall share something of the divine.
I place one of my hands in yours, my lover, my friend.
I place the other over your heart, where our love starts,
and eagerly await the feel of your loving hands on me.
How fortunate are we that we feel silky strands of delight
as we clothe one another in blessed and loving light.
Touch can be tough and hard; but not ours, never ours.
It takes courage to be a soft touch and open our seams
to disclose the person below the cloth masking our souls.
Soft touch is made for lovers and friends, the only touch which mends.
Filed under POETRY
AGES OF LOVE
No one tells us love takes time to ferment,
like a yeast bread, or fine wine.
The heady fermenting scent unsettles us all the while;
and, we fearfully seek avenues of escape
from the changes in its composition.
Love’s growth challenges our position.
We stop and wonder how we got here;
even though we still do not know where we are.
Thus, such questions make us feel like fools.
Patience is a virtue because it is so rare.
Kindness and faith in one another is the only rule
to follow on the route which keeps love alive.
Blindly, we stumble past years of discontent.
Only after decades of loving do we realize
we carried one another’s hopes and dreams,
like a heavy sack upon our back until
we reached the destination where we could build
the life we were each destined to lead.
Hand in hand we stand and view the space
which has become our most sacred place;
the place we hesitantly share, breathing the same air,
remembering the same joys and sorrows,
hoping for just one more tomorrow
of loving communion and contented union
of two bodies now made one, finally.
We look around us with wonder.
We finally know how to love, over and under.
Love takes time, yours and mine.
Filed under POETRY
NIGHT TERRORS
Night closes in
tightfisted, grasping,
leaking tears from the sky
mingled with snow,
cold and deadening
of all senses, and all sense.
until we are afraid to let go.
At this hour dawn seems too far away
to make any difference at all.
Too much can happen while held tight
in night’s eerie thrall;
and bound thus, body carefully trussed,
will-power to overcome threats
has no power at all.
Words cannot fully replace fear
as unexpected threats draw near,
in dreams stuffed as pillows
embroidered by past ill deeds
viewed on media screens.
Knowing even worse lies ahead
who could remain in bed?
It used to be we welcomed each new day.
Now, we stretch out night’s hours
to avoid awakening too soon
to hear the new day’s notice of doom
spewed by text and on X
all night through.
Hate will soon raise its head, right on cue.
ONE CAN NEVER HAVE ENOUGH
When did having enough
become having… too much?
Too much… to notice
the unmet needs of others.
Too much… to stop considering
all persons sisters and brothers?
Too much…to vote in elections
and engage in democracy’s protection?
Too much…to pay close attention to news
and recognize propaganda as our muse?
Too much…to keep our eyes open wide
to the manipulation of our grievous pride?
Too much…to fight for workers in unions
and buy American products in communion?
Too much…to protect all our children’s progress
from sexualization, gun threats and media stress?
When did having enough
become… too much
to pause and consider what the future means
instead of what meaning we hold in our future?
We did not arrive in this time and place
of utter ruination and near-total disgrace
simply because of one man and one political party.
We got here all on our own, so sorry.
We rugged individuals reach the top all alone.
We see and hear this truth in every tome and tone.
Overcoming all competition
without a need for contrition
that we forged ahead
without dread
of the kind of world we were creating;
only self-entertaining with no room for debating
that there might be a better way.
In stead we chose to play
video games and gambling on games.
We have no shame. We simply whine and complain.
Can we finally admit that it is time to quit?
When did having enough
becoming having…too much?
Our commander-in-chief
has never learned that lesson
His belief mirrors our own belief.
It is bringing this nation nothing but grief.
When did having enough
become having…too much?
PURE OF HEART
On this Holy Day
no obligation takes part
in the love and respect I feel for you,
dearest Mary, Queen of Hearts.
No need for men to declare
you are woman beyond compare.
Nor need to justify your place
with convoluted tales of grace.
You bore the heavy pregnancy gait
and the seemingly endless 9 months wait,
a grueling trek by foot and donkey
away from safety and into mystery.
You sheltered in the meanest space
and kept up with Joseph’s heartier pace
as women are so often wont to do
for men and children in need of you.
You entertained guests who came to view
the wonder of Light renewed by you.
When you likely most needed rest
you gave your all to all your guests.
And then you fled as Joseph’s dream
must have made you want to scream.
All to keep your loved ones safe and sound.
Your strength and love are so profound.
And still you give to all of us here now
your grace and love and keep your vow
made through Angel Gabriel in ages past;
a promise that to this day still lasts.
“Behold,I am the handmaiden of the Lord;
Let it be done to me according to your word.”
Such a pure heart needs no more explanation.
The Light always carried within you is our salvation.
A feast day for an Immaculate Conception
sounds like a useful mansplain deception.
I overlook my useless eye-rolling emotion
and give you, dear Mary, my full devotion.
Filed under POETRY
ROCK-A-BYE,BABY
Get rid of the cradles.
Make America strong.
All day long,
the same twisted song.
No cradles for children sitting at their desk.
Run, hide, fight until your death.
No cradles for special needs learning.
Defund dollars which fulfill childhood yearnings.
No cradles for child workers at night.
Employ them younger and later, even on school nights.
No cradles for the hungry, the homeless and poor.
SNAP and low-income housing supplements are no more.
No cradles for immigrants, nor refugee asylum.
Go back where you came from. You are mere scum.
No cradles for a republic and voting rolls.
Gerrymander away voting rights, for sole control.
America is no longer the beacon of old,
no longer the cradle of democracy, so we are told.
America refuses to follow any rules.
The Rule of Law has become a dictator’s mule.
Americans are almost put to sleep,
distracted by fables, eyes nearly closed.
A nation of immigrants seeking their rest.
Too weary, now, to even try to do their best.
Their minds drift off as their eyelids drop.
Their minds close down as they simply stop.
Rock-a-bye, baby,
On the treetops.
When the wind blows
The cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks
The cradle will fall.
And down will come baby
Cradle and all.
annarino writes 