Category Archives: POETRY

SELF-CUTTING

Photo by Kelly on Pexels.com

It appears my country is bleeding out

from wounds cut both shallow and deep.

Blood flows from old wounds reopened.

Those hurt the worst, do not doubt.

We see patterns of hate where cuts scar.

MAGA rubs the body politic until it burns.

It wears long sleeves to clothe and hide

the wounds of Project 2025.

Our collective guilt has finally won out.

Cutters inhabit the White House

screaming fake rage and fake news

that makes great TV 

but leaves the world crying to see

the death of a once-great democracy.

Stop the bleeding we beg and plead.

Staunch the flow, lower those hands

cutting so eagerly 

to destroy the place we once felt safe,

if not perfectly, at least happily, free.

Cutters cannot stop themselves.

It is up to you and me.

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AWAKE AT TWO

I started to wake when I was two.

Before I knew 

to look at anything or anyone

for something other than

who they were,  or

what they could do.

Color, gender, wealth or age

meant nothing to me.

I was almost brand new.

I had no context to see

why such differences

should matter to me.

Mom and I were shopping

in the bargain basement

of the Five and Dime store

when I suddenly awakened in awe

to the most beautiful woman I ever saw.

“Mommy, I shouted with delight.

Look at the chocolate lady.”

The lady smiled. Mommy frowned.

She took my hand, turned me around,

and bending down 

instructed me in a hushed voice,

“It is not nice to comment 

on how anyone looks.”

The Lady saw my distress and guessed

I felt I had done something bad.

But, she smiled as if she were glad

and simply asked me with tender care,

“Do you like chocolate, little one?”

In joyful glee I replied “it is my very favorite thing.”

Mommy sighed, and apologized 

for her daughter’s lack of manners.

“No need” was the reply. 

And with a loving smile she knelt at my side.

“Thank you,” she said, “for seeing me

and thinking of me so lovingly.

And so I learned that day to stay awake

and notice all the wonderful people

surrounding me,

sharing love so easily.

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Filed under FAMILY STORIES, POETRY

COLORFUL GRACE

Acrylic on canvass by Louise Annarino, 2-22-2025

Nature is a generous patron, and quite witty

She paints our world and makes it pretty

with a variety of colors, none like another.

Yet, each color is sister and brother

on the wide spectrum of light

which turns us away from night.

Not content to withhold her grace

She asks each of us to simply embrace

All the colors of our world,

all the joy her works unfurl.

She asks us to find our own space

among the wonders she has put in place.

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GREY SKIES

ACRYLIC ON CANVASS by Louise Annarino, 2/20/2025

Grey days may appear

to cloud freedoms, far and near.

Don’t give in to fear.

Think as Spring draws near

of all that you hold most dear.

Peace and beauty shall appear.

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Filed under art work, POETRY, POLITICS

ABUNDANT CHANGE

Acrylic on canvas by Louise Annarino 2/18/2025

Hope is in the soil beneath our feet

Ready to grow seeds in the lengthening days

Until beautiful souls flower and fill our needs.

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Filed under art work, POETRY

EVERYTHING IS POLITICAL

Everything is political.

Every thought, word and deed

propels us at top speed.

Day in and day out,

hour after hour,

to reach for our power.

Children wield power well,

if unknowingly.

They use it incessantly

from womb to tomb.

Dust to dust

politics is a must

to thrive, indeed to just survive.

Politics is the skill to find a safe way

to live another day.

Deplore it, if you will.

Ignore it at your peril.

Feel free to laugh and play

while others guard your way.

Until others stop,

until they drop

all pretense of care

while you have been unaware

their needs have taken center stage

and your insistence

turns to resistance

to their formerly hidden rage.

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THE BOOT

Photo by Towfiqu barbhuiya on Pexels.com

Bodies tell stories.

The boot is on the right foot.

It lifts up the right side.

It tilts the body left.

The left leg shortened,

for a short while;

long enough for the right 

heel to heal the heil.

The right heel steals balance.

The right heal steals my right

to take walks, plant seeds,

to talk with ease, laugh aloud.

The right heel pains me,

isolates me,

leaves me motionless.

Soon, the boot will be off.

Therapy will begin to complete

the healing needed to stop

the pain in the heel, and heal the heil.

The extra weight will be lifted.

Both feet will balance the gait

of a body ready to move forward,

beyond the lies, beyond the hate.

Time to heal, if patience allows.

I ask so little it seems;

and yet, too much for now.

Now, when words destroy bonds

formed from shared adversity,

in fear of diversity and loss of power.

I stumble through the day, booted

by the weight of the jack boot

on a leg that has born too much weight

of too much fear, too heavy a hate.

And still, despite the added weight

and uneven gait, I march on,

in my own, stilted way,

on this President’s,

not King’s,

Day.

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SELF SOOTHE

I paint to find a soothing space where words subside and bliss abides.
This is my most recent project. I hope it soothes your soul and cheers your heart during these stressful days.

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WITHIN

AI Generated image

I thought I could not write because of my pain.

Not, so.

I hesitate to write because of my disdain.

You know.

I think you have may felt it before.

It rises not from my within.

It rises from your within. It is your most-feared sin.

It sleeps in the place your secrets are kept

of all the times you felt inept.

While I simply raced along your side,

trying to match all the runners with pride.

But, you did not want me there.

That is your eternal prayer.

You thought I should stay in my place.

You feared I could actually win the race.

You deep-down know how weak that feels.

You deep-down know how foul the appeal

to those who would embrace

every runner in the race.

So, you create fake news and tell stories

that cause the runners and watchers to worry

that the race is fixed, corrupt and costly.

You can only lose if there is nothing left to gain.

You prefer full destruction than your personal pain.

You care not the cost.

You cannot handle a loss.

It is you I disdain.

You, I hear explain in rambling detail the goodness,

rightness, advancement of hate.

You who shuts doors and padlocks the gates.

You, I watch burn books and erase history.

You, who imagines a world draped in mystery

where no scientific fact

can remain intact.

My words cannot be allowed to create

more fear, more sense of loss, more hate.

My words could darken the stars.

My words could start wars.

That I cannot allow and must abate.

I cannot add one ounce to your tons of hate.

If you think these words apply to one man,

you sadly misunderstand.

They apply to all of us, to me and to you.

We created the world we try to eschew.

In our deep spaces are we mere bagatelle?

Are we a nation without a story to tell?

We need not seek nor accept our ruination.

We have a Constitution, amended to perfect our nation.

We race not to win a trophy nor prize.

The race does not rely on crowd size.

We run to show how races can be won

when runners align and voters cheer on

every runner who flies by.

By my definition

the greatest competition lies within.

Racism is our Original Sin.

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PIRATE OR PRIVATEER

Pirates have always been roaming the seas, boardrooms, and where trades are made by greedy decrees.

Those serving the common good have long understood the need to orchestrate the moves they make, regulate how they take the booty, and disclose where they hide.

Privateers are not so prevalent since they rely on government to protect their hide and share the booty in return for protection regardless of true affection.

Elon and his brethren pirates have turned from corporate pirates into privateers, seated on the podium with Republican profiteers.

No more chance to orchestrate the theft from National Treasury, nor regulate the loss of national security by Justice Department employees.

Inspectors General are no more. They and other watchdogs have been shown the door. And who is left to explore truth and reality without independent media?

How can any democracy survive when privateers are allowed to thrive outside all constitutional constraints? And The Supreme Court refuses any restraint on criminality by those in charge?

Privateers are a greater threat than pirates be. The pirates moved off-shore long before privateers were invited to stand beside those who planned to stand with autocrats, despots and traitors to democracies.

We are in the midst of a third Barbary War within our own boundaries and institutions; not off Tripoli’s shores. what ammunition is available in federal courts when even SCOTUS undermines the Constitution?

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