Losers unite fast.
Winners make moments last.
Spectators lose all.
Category Archives: POETRY
DEMORALIZED
Newscasters used to tell it like it is.
Now, they are opinionated forecasters.
They still tell us who.
They tell us who said why.
They no longer tell us
what, when or how.
That would expose the lie.
No wonder we are demoralized
within both its meanings,
no surprise.
First losses began long ago:
No more manners as a guide.
No more conscience to lower pride.
No respect for others.
No authority recognized.
Second losses are less discreet:
No longer safe in thoughts nor words.
No longer safe on our own streets.
No more hopeful for the best
when every known fact is put to the test.
No more law and order.
Due process now out the door.
Demoralized beyond repair?
The people rise, at last, at last?
Not in anger and outrage.
Peacefully assembling on marching feet.
Nuns, priests, ministers, imams and rabbis
offer a morality well-intentioned if incomplete.
But this is how our story goes.
We are not perfect, heaven knows.
Our moral code is soft and flexible.
Our democratic republic makes it workable.
It offers a way to respect ourselves and one another;
to recognize all as sister or brother.
Immorality is what we see, and vote for?
Approve of, and laugh about too obviously?
See where we have led ourselves and our country,
fueled by wantoness and greed.
Demoralized we may be.
Still a people willing to fight to remain free.”
“NOLITE TE BASTARDES CARBORUNDORUM.” – Handmaid’s Tale
TRUST DIPLOMACY ?
I cannot be certain
Of the men behind the curtain
Of press conference
Media accounts.
My uncertainty mounts
At words “They have to fight”.
What space is their in peaceful diplomacy
For such European flummery to one who spouts
Putin’s fundamental effrontery?
“They must fight.” Have I heard that right?
More bombs, missiles and drones dropped overnight
On Ukraines families and children,on civilians
Proves the point.
We have a president who annoints
A killer, aggressor, man who acts a devil
And supports his evil need to fight.
Despite what we hear, rely on what we see.
Rely on what we see men and women do.
Sanctions still lifted.
Bank accounts secure.
No pressure on Putin.
Words? We need much more!
FORTUNE TELLERS
Squirrels dance with abandon
to circadian rhythm
leaving behind all restraint,
and stashes of seeds and nuts
in unlikely places which
I shall discover in Spring.
Like gypsy fortune tellers
they scamper from one customer
to another predicting what is to come.
The plants seem to listen
afraid not to learn their fate.
They wilt a bit and lose color
as their fortune unfolds.
Their worst fears make them bold.
They bloom twice as many flowers.
They turn every flower head to seed.
They will not be caught unaware
of warnings gypsy squirrels have brought.
Perhaps, their glory will fade.
But, all will not be lost.
The squirrels promise new life will appear
in old and new plots.
Filed under POETRY
KEEP BREATHING
upon hearing results of 2016 election in USA.
Chains of cool air
strung like loose beads on thread
rattle unsteadily
within lungs too tight
to move out the breath
aching to leave
a heavy chest,
weighted down
by tears of regret.
In the first stage of grief
I am angry,
so angry,
my country is dead.
Who will grieve with me?
Those watching reality TV?
Those betting on games?
Those still seeking fame?
Those paralyzed by fear?
Those who only hold dear
their latest triumph over others?
Worn-out working single mothers?
Frustrated youth, anxiously hopeless?
Fired civil servants abandoned, feeling useless?
There are tears enough for us all.
But, too few who will cry out loud.
The screams must be released, you see,
that we may again breathe free.
Breathe out, damn lungs, despite the pain
Only then can we breathe freedom in again.
freedom haiku
Today is Sunday.
Another week of dissent.
Restore freedom now.
NO!
The strongest word in any language is “NO”.
It is every child’s first word for a reason.
To a toddler’s parent it is treason.
It carries more weight than cuddles or cudgels
used to reprimand, remand and reform.
Its power can overturn threats and intimidation.
Its shout can garner attention and create doubt.
Its momentum can move mountains about.
Its clarity quickens response to its shame.
It calls attention to errors or cheats in any game.
It works where no other method succeeds
to enforce self-interest’s vitality and need.
Its surprise increases the ability to annoy.
“NO!” can be weakened if too late employed
Authoritarian rule is under attack
every time the word “NO!” is shouted back.
“No!” used in concert create symphonic dissent,
until the whole world rises to up-end
intimidation by armed and masked men
who invade our streets and use force to bend
our knees and our minds and our very lives.
When will such madness end ?
When more “NO” is heard than “yes”.
On such “NO!” does one’s freedom depend.
Every child knows this to be true.
Speak your “NO!” now before freedom is lost
to me, to all of us, even to you.
SMALL SPACES SMALL MINDS
The smaller the space in the head
or in geography, or in any cartography,
The less room for challenges and new ideas.
Facts have only so much space.
They must cling fast to last.
Those who limit themselves
to live inside bubbles
seldom recognize such troubles.
They are sure of everything
and wrong about nothing.
They have organized their small space
impeccably, intelligently, flawlessly.
So they must be as well.
They have neither time nor space to dwell
upon possible fallacy.
Only those outside the bubble can see
the absolute dangers of such insanity.
It is a new kind of mental illness
born in the stillness of active minds
revolving unchallenged by facts
that would make their theories unwind.
No such persons should be given power
over those who would see freedom flower
with a just and truthful effort, hour upon hour.
Those who live in openly-wide spaces,
who are woke to every possibility,
to every person and new discovery
are shut down and shut out
until autocracy has destroyed democracy.
CICADAS
Cicadas are singing an age-old announcement.
In six weeks the first frost will replace,
at least for some small time and space,
humid-heavy heated air
and gasps for breath
with a cool-crisp
galloping pronouncement
that Summer passes over to Autumn
all responsibility
to foster human civility.
It has been a tough time this summer.
Climate change disordered earth’s coasts
with rising oceans and in-land flows,
a drenched earth policy
to point out the fallacy
of carbon overload.
Fire’s rages grow stronger.
We cannot ignore any longer
the impact of humanity
which seems to clasp insanity
as an entitled mother-load
to wealth and power.
Greed has become
the man of the hour.
while most of us simply strive
to find someway to survive.
The earth belongs to all, not some.
With stately haste Winter comes.
We have little faith Winter will grace
the earth with a surcease of worry.
Worry mounts with each snow flurry.
Earth shall eventually find balance.
Hopefully, we shall earn similar allowance.
STORMY NIGHT
STORMY NIGHT
Scattered rain was predicted.
The evening news meteorologist
calmly warned of light rain.
Instead, a wild storm came
filling the night with thunder
and meaningless blunder
as lightening broke asunder
a peaceful, if not restful, sleep.
Too wild a storm to venture out in.
A storm to set us back and shut blinds
to keep from seeing or fearing ruin.
This storm rapidly blew in
while most of us slept.
At sunrise, when I rose, I looked outside,
finally, and see the truth.
It is not what I was told, nor surmised.
The yard is battered.
its inhabitants scattered in burrows;
the garden littered and furrowed
by limbs dragged and cuffed.
The flag hangs upside down
until it touches the ground
in sacrilege and shame.
The flag holder has been pulled loose,
its screws unscrewed, its anchor
pulled apart and left hanging in dark space
through a night of constant turmoil,
leaving my flag drenched and soiled.
In morning light I could finally see
the upending of democracy,
right on my front porch
where everyone could if they would
easily see. No neighbor reported
nor interceded to fix a flag so distorted.
But, false solar lights alone
across the yard ways shone,
too low-light to assess
a flag under duress.
In morning light, in my nightgown I alight
to pull my flag up and close.
I place it upright to stand tall,
allowing the tears soaking it to fall,
that it may slowly dry out with the sky;
held by a newly installed holder,
one stronger and bolder.
I promise you this: the flag, my flag,
will soon again fly safe and free.
As will all of our beloved country.
annarino writes 