Category Archives: POETRY

BEHOLD THE SKY

Photo by Max Andrey on Pexels.com

The river of color flows through the sky

weaving its way beneath and between

all that is seen and unseen.

Undulations of colors entwine 

the energy of the divine

with the hopes of humankind.

We fear the sky’s fall

bending our knees

hiding our eyes,

until we lose sight

of the wonder of it all.

Motion and change delight

and yet, we cannot grasp hold

of what is before our sight.

And this loss of control over the diversity 

and complexity of colorful skies

entraps and belies

a sense of self so small

it frightens us all.

The skies are not falling

simply because its colors shift.

The movement within the sky

can never send us adrift.

Gravity holds us all together,

keeps us spinning, it is true;

but, never allows us to go too far, too fast. 

It helps make the moments last

until we can understand

what we stand under,

an open sky which belongs to all.

Look up and behold the sky.

Reach up to touch the clouds.

Dance in the wind, bathe in the rain.

Never lose hope ever again.

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HIDDEN TRUTHS

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On the lintel stone

of my grade school

above the entrance

children passed through

every day,

after we left church

where we gathered to pray,

were the words to guide us through

childhood to adulthood as the

the good sisters would say:

“Ye shall know the truth

and the truth shall set you free.”

Those words I reviewed

each night before I slept,

an examination of conscience

of my personal truth;

what I had done that day,

who I had shown myself to be,

to myself and others

I had met along the way.

Uneasy truths rose in my mind

of tasks left undone

so I could play;

unmet needs of others

who got in my way;

truths I wished would go away

so I could pretend to be

someone so much better

than you, and better than me.

It is not others we fear.

We only fear who we are,

deep inside 

where our truth resides.

So, we hide away from ourselves

and fear discovery

that we are truly

not enough:

not good enough,

not strong enough,

not smart enough,

not wise enough,

not wealthy enough,

not educated enough,

not employed enough,

not courageous enough

to examine our conscience;

to own our thoughts and deeds,

to own our responsibility,

to own our need for love,

for passion,

for resilience,

for endurance,

for persistence.

Better to take time

to watch the game,

to drink at the bar,

to take the drug,

to avoid all blame

for what we refuse

to give away.

And the only way 

this fraud can continue

is to become a con

like so many others.

Great con men become

our saving heroes

and allow us to blame

all The Others

in their name.

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SATURDAY MORNING ON TRIAL

KRONOS/SATURN by Peter Paul Rubens , Public Domain

Saturday  morning;

dawn rises on a new day.

Saturn’s history at play

beyond ancient Rome’s sway.

We wonder if he will be made to pay

for destroying Saturnalia’s gifts.

This is no  Christian’s Christmas Day

created to hide his pagan ways.

This Saturnus is defective ,made of clay

which changes shape day after day.

Inside the gas giant on display

in the heavens worlds away

raging storms churn and flay

rallying followers 

drawn by his magnetic field

into icy rings that circle and shield

this Titan who seeks to wield

total power over the field;

not of wheat and grass and grain,

but of institutions threatened again

by fear and hate and retribution.

That is this Titan’s contribution.

He threatens every man, woman and child.

He devours even his infant son

held in his own arms but seen as a threat

to his control and power

which he worries over hour after hour.

This defective Saturn’s trials have just begun.

We wonder if courts will justice deal

before the Titan destroys all we love

because he cannot love, but only fear.

November votes bring new beginnings.

We can choose decency with heart;

choose freedom and love, or our end is near.

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FASCISM COURTS the USA

Criminal free space?

Oval Office is the place.

SCOTUS nazis say.

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WRITING ON THE WALL

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The swastika was painted on the outside gym wall.

Underneath the words

“Die, fish eaters, die.”

Anti-semitism is broad

and crosses lines

in so many ways.

Victims are sought among Jews,

Catholics, and Romany, too.

No one is excused

from the hate and need to show

that the hater is bigger, stronger,

in control of a world

they feel is out-of-control.

Seeing hate painted on my school

was frightening to see but not the end

of the feelings inside, the birth of my pride.

Cowards in the night sent me such fright.

Unleashing their hate, leashed my own.

There is no place for hate 

in my world, nor yours.

Cowards and bullies never win.

They always over-extend.

Hate destroys them from the inside, not out.

Love builds up inside their victims, then out

it flows to every other sister and brother.

What do I know?

What do I fear?

Not a swastika, nor white hood.

I fear those who refuse to do good;

who remain silent and unmoving

in the face of a racism, sexism,

anti-semitism and hate speech;

who laugh at jokes meant to harm and disarm;

who refuse to recognize the alarm

screaming in protest and marching along

streets paved with prejudice and fear.

Who see the writing on the wall

and walk away to gated communities

and streets paved with gold.

They allow the old stories to take hold.

I walk the streets where the injured gather

amid the brave souls who know what matters,

and protect those under attack.

The brave who insist we take truth and love back.

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THE WAY TO PEACE

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

Even if I could

give you peace

I am not certain I would.

Struggle breaks apart

and shreds the comfortable ways

we hold in our hearts.

Discomfort makes us let go

of ideas held taut by thick skins.

It make us eager to run to and fro

to shake off the pain and instead

become free to fly beyond

the old ideas lodged in our heads.

I would not have you wait for permission

to embrace the battle inside.

I would have you take over the mission

to set fear and pride aside.

True peace only arrives

when our hearts are torn asunder,

and we discover

what makes us truly alive.

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GAZA

Photo by SHAMIM HOSSAIN on Pexels.com

Shooting fish in a barrel

is not a noble act

No courage required.

No reasoned plan needed.

No applause sincerely given

to endorse fisherman’s creed

to take only what you need.

Fish have no ideology

written on their fins.

The fisherman cannot identify

which fish carries the tale

of Hamas attacks and hate.

Yet, all fish must share their fate?

Revenge, I understand,

in heated moments lost in pain.

But cold calculation

with no disassociation

between guilt and innocence

simply makes no sense.

But, when did war ever

protect the innocent ?

When did war ever set free

those who had no part

in hateful perfidy ?

Shooting fish is never pretty.

But, this ? This ?

Shooting fish in a barrel

with no chance of escape

can never be explained.

Find a way to peace

or take the gun away.

Photo by Luiz Fernando on Pexels.com

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BORN IN THE USA

Photo by Daniel Bendig on Pexels.com

Being born in the USA

does not make me better.

It makes me luckier.

Winning the lottery

brings euphoria.

Sharing the winnings

brings me satisfaction.

That is love in action.

My question is always

one taught me by JFK.

Not, “what can my country 

do for me?”.

But, “what can I do 

for my country?”

The only way

to make America better

is to remind myself

I do not matter

more than any other 

American, immigrant

or refugee.

I do not matter 

more than any other

African, Asian, Latino

nor European.

Each of us hopes to be free.

Each of us has our own journey.

Some of us are luckier than others.

All of us are sisters and brothers.

My country is better

when I am better, kinder, truer

to the home of the brave

and the land of the free

where democracy demands

I stay on guard against those

who would embrace autocracy.

This is what America asks of me.

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COYOTE

The coyote leapt

over the stubbled grass hedges

along the pond’s edge.

Silent single goose

stares silently in stillness

on the rocky ledge.

Each day the numbers

dwindle among empty nests

where Spring and geese mourn.

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THROUGH-LINES

Supreme Court Building 1 First by Carol M Highsmith is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

Before amendments,

only white men could vote

under a constitution meant

to protect white male power

and their wealth to control the hour.

The hours of Women’s Labor.

The hours of Black Labor.

The hours of Asian Labor

on railroads crossing the nation

with white men’s wealth protected

in box cars, from southern fields

and northern industries.

Photo by Christian Catamo on Pexels.com

Oh, we can easily see

why Originalist judges seek

to turn back time and make weak

the power gained by women’s suffrage,

African-American civil rights fights,

and Japanese reparation gains.

Each accomplishment a refrain

against white male supremacy.

There is a through-line of meritocracy

from serfdom and caste

until at last

white men must choose 

which they love more;

their country or their power,

their countrymen or their wealth.

There is no stealth 

as they seek to regain

what they once owned.

The rest of us!

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