They have already lost
who fight over land no one owns.
Earth is hers alone.
Category Archives: POETRY
LIES
The universal lie is
that I never lie.
Always untrue.
We all lie.
We all do.
There are but two reasons why.
Knowing that is seeing true.
Knowing that may save you.
The first lie
may save your injury,
comfort your suffering,
grant you your freedom,
shelter and protect,
uplift and encourage,
open you to love.
The first lie is the oil over
troubled waters,
is the hidden key
to new discovery,
is the extra note to more harmony.
The first lie brings peace.
The first lie helps us see
we are part of loving community.
The second lie
causes injury,
increases suffering,
denies our freedom,
makes us feel unsafe.
Discourages our history
Berates new ideas,
closes us to love with hate.
The second lie is not
so noble as the first.
The first lie is for us.
The second lie is for the liar.
The first lie sets boundaries
to expand our sense
of love and creativity.
Its purpose is to protect.
The second lie has no “red lines”
it refuses to cross; but, only seeks
to sate the need of the second liar.
The second lie is for him, not us.
The second lie denies our right
to create connections and see the light
that fills all persons whose lives intersect.
It restricts any chance for us to connect.
The biggest liar of them all
is not the first, nor will be the last.
He is simply the liars’ poster boy.
And poster boys never last.
But the lies they tell persist
no matter how many resist
the pull of hate to the surface.
The greatest lie of all
is the one we tell ourselves
that we are somehow better,
somehow best.
We are liars, all.
If not we would have let him fall.
He would join other liars in jail.
Let up hope that soon
truth will finally prevail.
Filed under POETRY
TOO LATE TO FALL
The days are too short and I am too late to Fall.
Already squirreled away are days of memories.
Flights of fancy replace flights of geese as I stray
along paths emptied of those I loved and knew.
No masks can hide the loss of smiles
stolen by chronic illness and despair
that movie theaters, museums and restaurants
will ever be safe for those who struggle to stay well.
Longer nights are a blessing in disguise,
where one can hide the lack of company
and loneliness subsides.
Too late to Fall. Too ill to conceive a winter
depleted of all company.
With the sun hope rises, only to set too soon.
In the midst of all this, it is too late to Fall.
Only so many years are left to share
with friends and family, if I dare, at all.
I am too old, too sick,
too late to Fall.
Filed under POETRY
FELLOW TRAVELERS
Cliches are used to describe
beliefs held by members of the tribe.
Fellow Travelers need never think.
They simply repeat without a blink.
They readily follow the scripted lines
which leaders lay down clean and fine
on minds at ease and entertained
by political games played again and again.
Fellow Travelers are nothing new.
Names have changed as hatred grew.
Stalin or Putin, Hitler or Ali Khamenei,
Leni Riefenstahl or Kelly Anne Conway,
Mitchell or Flynn, Himmler or Halloway,
Chamberlin or Trump, Goring or Meadows,
“Both sides are good people” and happy fellows.
No Fellow Traveler deserves a pass.
Two Party systems have paved the way
to allow us to defeat hate each voting day.
Until now, when an entire party has become
the Fellow Traveler of world leaders of hate
whose acts of oppression and crimes of war
remind us humanity has not come so far
as we imagined and hoped and prayed.
We must vote them out next election day.
Elections have never mattered more.
No Fellow Traveler can be allowed
to cross the threshold of Congress’ door.
No Fellow Traveler can take up residency
in The White House of our nation’s presidency.
No nation can remain free
whose voters cannot think independently.
Filed under POETRY
SUNRISE
The sky alights as do I.
Sun fills the fibers from head to toe.
Sun awakens so I must go.
I must go follow the sun it seems
or languish within startling dreams.
I prefer reality to map my way out of night.
I prefer a mind and heart filled with light.
Shadows always fall behind me.
Darkness no longer blinds me
though I am on unfamiliar paths
and the light will not last.
For a few hours, at least,
I progress past the breach
where it would be easy to fall
onto hopes covered by a pall.
Light guides my way
for another day.
It no longer matters if I know
exactly where I am meant to go.
I simply take delight
that it is not yet night.
This, then, is the destination
for each soul and every nation.
Be in the here. Be in the now.
Let this be our solemn vow.
As difficult as it is to follow the sun,
humanity’s journey has just begun.
There will always be another night.
Sunrise always returns to give us light.
Filed under POETRY
AN ODE TO MIKE JOHNSON
A Speaker who speaks silently.
He hides in plain sight openly.
Bearing no color, chatting amiably,
amid many-hued others feverishly
there to cover stories that bleed wickedly.
He seems so normal; and, so confidently
preaches stories and fables smilingly.
Keeping all entertained endlessly
as their eyes fall from the prize of democracy,
Stolen and hidden in his wallet shamelessly
are votes cast, all hopes bashed easily.
He smiles calmly, benignly and evilly.
He leads as his party follows blindly.
Hiding in the spotlight openly.
His weight placed upon freedom crushingly.
Filed under POETRY
BUILDING BLOCKS
Whose power fills the vein,
courses through the body politic,
amidst the loosening strain
by seeking peace and unity
to replace the the fearful rage
wrought by endless war ?
Culture is not the same
as power playing games
to win at any cost
what some fear they have lost.
What they have lost they took in theft.
No need to now feel bereft
of what one never owned.
Thieves have no honor it is clear.
Nor hesitation to build fear
by bullying, intimidation and threats.
Lies cannot heal the wounds,
nor close veins opened in regret
of what we failed to acknowledge
in a past we chose to skew.
Structures fall in blocks of despair
as we stand in quaking dread
of what might lie ahead.
Disaster and opportunity are well met
in the rubble which now settles about
our feet, and all we doubt.
Thoughts and feelings drift down
in the dust settling all around
thoughts tossed and set askew.
We are left choking on what we cannot see.
A pause is not amiss.
But, we cannot afford to wait
to rebuild a globe and create anew our fate,
and heal the hurts from falling debris
from hidden, hate-filled, fearful history
disclosed as walls and nations tumble.
Gather those who grieve the loss of democracy.
Clear the rubble, dust and minds
with a truer view of history
Dedicate such memory to better buildings.
This is humanity’s strength.
Not the structures of banks and governments;
but the blood flowing in the veins
in powerful resiliency to those who would suppress
truth and honesty.
The muscle and sinew of strong minds and hearts
whose only thought as worlds break apart
is how to build anew
a better, fairer, stronger structure
to protect both me and you.
REMEMBER THAT THOU ART DUST
Revenge is a dish
best served cold.
forgiveness is a feast
meant to feed us all.
When fear replaces hope,
and impulse thoughtfulness,
death becomes
the boon companion
of he who wields the sword
to decapitate infants,
shoots the gun
to annihilate a people,
or sets the fire
to decimate a place.
There is no saving grace.
There is no promise of immortality
to be fulfilled in hateful commonplace.
There is only disgrace.
Personal value, human value,
no longer take the stage,
nor takes a bow, by those enraged.
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Forgiveness is a feast for all.
Where it can be found,
nor how,
I no longer know.
But search I must,
before we all turn to dust.
Filed under POETRY
HALLOWEEN
I want some tombstones,
though not my own;
the fake ones which fool
little ghosts, faeries, and ghouls
who ply their trade at my front door,
calling “trick or treat” and more,
as I did so on long ago nights.
I still recall the creepy frights
from neighborhood kids who screamed
and jumped out of dark corners with eyes that gleamed,
laughing with glee at my horrified screech and shout.
That is what Halloween was all about.
Halloween used to be the time when death’s screen
was removed from our young eyes
and we could discover with fearsome surprise
that none of us would ever
live forever.
I want some tombstones in my yard
to remind little beggars from near and far
that life is short and is to be treasured
beyond any sweetness candy can measure.
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 