Category Archives: POETRY

SNOW FALL

The world is falling apart, its people deranged.

War and famine join as climates change.

People are on the move to escape the pain.

Water cleanses in blasts and depths unseen.

We wade through facts, the truth unseen.

Snow starts in the upper atmosphere.

Warm air below alters snow

unless we remain cool

where heated skies collide

and moisture tears up in our eyes.

Watching the snowfall gives us hope.

It blankets ugliness’ scope falling on all of us with equal glaze.

Snow reminds us of our better selves and better days.

Spring warmth is gentle like our souls.

It melts the snow so flowers may grow

within the gardens of our hearts.

We are in the midst of a great change.

Unsettled as Spring weather

we must remember we go through this change together.

And those of us who garden will share the bounty of what we sow

with all who are willing to enter

our gates, their needs in tow.

The old world is dying with every angry breath.

Snow in Spring reminds us there is new life after death.

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Campaign Music

No single note is discordant.

No single vote voiced is wrong.

How the songwriter

puts the notes together

determines the song.

Our brains fine-tune our ears

to listen for the meaning

of words carried on the notes.

Some songs lift our spirits

to reach a higher cause.

Some songs depress our spirits

and make our hearts pause

with the fear of the other

we hated all along.

Some songs get us on our feet

to dance together, smile and sing.

Some songs hold us in our seats

ready to shout out in defeat.

The songs which truly make us strong

Are those we can rely upon

to offer hope, and love, and peace.

How the notes are brought together means everything.

The music that is America

is hard to sing if notes

are not treasured,

So many notes over so many years

from so many places refugees fled in fear

of famine, crime and even war.

We have sung the song of safety and of freedom,

welcoming all to our shore.

Songs that open minds and hearts

are the best place to start

a journey to a better future;

unlike the songs meant to keep us apart.

So many discordant notes

strung together create chaos,

not a strong and lovely song.

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THE LIGHT WE REFUSE TO SEE

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I used to believe Truth lived in the shadows.

If only we could shine enough light,

then Truth would be set free

for all to see.

There are those who prefer we stay in the dark,

it is true. They fear the Light will open our eyes.

It is no longer so easy to darken the streets 

upon which we set our feet

hoping to reach a place of greater liberty.

Truth speeds around the world 

from one shadowed place to the next.

Through media Truth moves at the speed of light.

Truth seekers use facts to light our way

along the path to a new day,

one where Light holds sway.

The darkness can no longer hide Truth in shadow.

Those who live in the dark side of life

create new truths able to live in false Light.

In their constant retelling of lies

Truth simply dies in plain sight.

The battle between the Light and the Dark,

between Truth and Lies

is now exposed in MAGA prose

stealing the limelight with false praise

for oligarchs, autocrats and murderers

whose only goal is to control

the flow of wealth into their own pockets

while those who work to be whole

starve and struggle at their feet.

Those forced to  flee and seek amnesty as refugees

would add their story to our own 

brightening the Truth we already know.

The telling would not surprise the homeless

who walk our own streets.

The homeless, like Truth, used to hide in shadow.

We try to keep them there so we cannot see

the borders they have crossed.

Truth and Light and Love are all apiece.

Without Love we are blind and refuse to seeTruth.

There is no Light strong enough to overcome

deliberate blindness cushioned by lies.

We allow them in boardrooms, newsrooms,

hearing rooms and even, courtrooms.

“Speak Truth to Power,” isn’t that what we say?

When Power seizes the Light with falsehood

can we not see that False Light

can never be allowed to hold sway?

True Light is always more powerful than false.

Liars know this and ban books, and oppose

all who stand alight within Truth’s glow.

This is the one thing I still know.

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PAIN

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Pain changes all.

It puckers lips which can no longer speak.

It furrows brows and narrows the view.

It buckles the knees, threatens our fall.

There is so much pain everywhere,

enough to spare, too much to bear.

Pain always wants out,

it erupts in a shout,

“Make it stop!”

“Stop!”

“Just stop!”

Does anyone hear?

Too many continue

to pour salt in the wound.

Too few seem to care.

Too many press fingers on spots

that pulse too hot

until pain explodes and we drop

to our knees as we plead,

“Make it stop!”

“Stop!”

“Just stop!”

Human angels run by

and try not to cry

as they sound the alarm

and beg to succeed

in stopping the harm.

U.N. food trucks are bombed.

Opposition leaders are killed.

Weather tells stories

to gain our attention.

The earth pleads as do we,

“Make it stop!”

“Stop!”

“Just stop!”

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SNOW!

We often think that Spring brings our first hopes

of a new life, a new world, a new cause to celebrate.

We need not wait for Spring to hope.

Eight inches of snow fell silently and cloaked

the surfaces of note that set our scene,

a scene fearfully bleak which clouds all thoughts

of a fearless life, and hides the fear which lies below

our greatest hopes, limited by what, we do not know.

We fear the worst after watching the news

meant to keep us watching, our nerves hanging on every word.

Snow!

Snow changes our landscape in a moment.

The deeper the snow, the greater the wind, 

the more we see of all the possibilities 

to change the world we ache to know.

All darkness and decay disappears by end of day.

White whorls of snow cover every branch of every tree,

and shrub and shed. No tracks yet made by others 

who share this place with me.

The sun rises in  a fiercely blue sky and tracks appear

upon the new world of white light strewn across its face.

Snow!

Snow allows us to dream we can make all clean.

Our purity glows within each crystal caught by sunlight,

raising our spirits, capturing our innocence.

We believe we can change, too. All is right in a world draped in white.

My first hope does not wait for Spring.

It comes alive at the sight of the first big snow.

Snow reminds me that landscapes can change swiftly,

purely, beautifully aglow. Even war’s wounded landscapes

appear at peace when covered in snow.

Impoverished neighborhoods where crime rules breathe softly covered in snow.

Snow!

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POETS

Beyond the words is a place

every writer longs to be.

There, where unvarnished truth

resides alongside unlimited expression.

Poets would take you on the journey 

beyond the words.

The path is not straight.

The path cannot be seen.

The path can only be felt.

The path takes one beyond

the land of dreams 

and thoughts unscreened

to the place nothing seems.

In nothingness all lives.

Every possibility sounds out

silently.

The song cannot be heard.

The song can only be felt.

Until nothing erupts quietly

and words return

surprising me.

Art flows not from the poet.

Art flows through the poet

from that place

beyond the words

where all art resides.

The journey is within.

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NAVALNY

How difficult to embrace such courage ?

How easily to allow Putin to disparage

and criminalize political opposition?

And what is our position?

How hard did we fight to protect such bravery

from an autocrats utter depravity?

We watched Navalny return to Russia 

after being poisoned by one who would crush

a man with such courage and dedication

to the spirit of democracy and anti-corruption

in the same manner of Trump’s disruption

of our democratic republic’s election.

Trump would jail his enemies if he could.

“Lock them up”. His rallying cry would

encourage the cowards to pickup their guns,

their MAGA flags and clubs on the run

to the Capitol in open display,

or hidden in darkness as they prey

on election officials, prosecutors, judges, and jurors.

threatening all opposition to his criminal furor.

By all means send your political donations

to the RNC which pledges to destroy our nation.

And put another Putin in place here at home

where the deer and the antelope roam

across a country where freedom once ruled.

Stolen elections by a cowardly fool 

is a disgrace to America, land of the free and the brave

overrun by fools giving the OK to rule by the depraved.

Navalny, we stand by your grave with great respect and pray

that we can find the courage you displayed, every single day.

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ELECTIONS 2024

Carnival rides at sunset by Marcus Burnette is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

The election year carnival has set up on the town square.

Hawkers shout from every tent, “come try our wares.”

Games of chance do not come free.

Choices are forced by our monetary needs.
Every player needs tickets to play.

Too few funds shortens the stay.

The House of Mirrors is on full display.

But the images inside are shattered in the fray

of fast-moving events and fast-talking cons.

Bombarded by fractured light we simply go on.

We get lost amid broken images

with pattern-less scrimmages

as we move through mirrored rooms.

Our hearts pound out a sense of doom.

Anxiety reigns.This feels like no game

that anyone can win, nor simply gain fame.

This House of Mirrors creates fear

and makes each step too dear

to waste on those seeking our vote.

We respond to the loudest note,

no soft word can compete

as we close our eyes and complete

the winding route to the outside.

Suddenly, we just want to hide.

It is all too much to pay attention.

We are as fractured as the mirrors we faced,

mirrors which displaced reality’s space.

Down is up and up is down.

We search for a safe space with none to be found.

We are surrounded by the false laughter of clowns.

All we once knew to be true is turned around.

We yearn for past days when we stood on solid ground.

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DYING WHILE LIVING

Like it was yesterday and ever day since

is the memory which makes me wince

that childhood can be erased

and all lost innocence traced

to a single moment.

Sister lined up my first grade class

along the back wall, she put us in place,

gently pushing and prodding.

Then, she drew our attention, with no coddling,

to the lesson she was about to impart;

one which will reside there until my soul should depart.

The lesson from our first grade catechism

explained the grace of God as our chrism.

Every child wonders why she is born,

how her life came to be is a question well-worn.

The answer sister told us is simple and clear.

God simply wanted us here.

She added with smiling and quiet sigh.

From the moment of your birth you begin to die.

That is your purpose; to live then die, to journey to God.

I blinked my eyes in solemn surprise, then prod

with the question I just had to ask, “I am dying alive?”

The answer was clear, “Doing good is how you survive.”

Age is not a curse, but a lesson in living

after a public and private life of giving

all that one is or ever could be,

seeking every person’s right to liberty.

With age comes wisdom softly hidden

in that catechism message often forbidden

to instruct the lives of our children,

entertained and overly protected

by a crass generation of parents selected

to bring forth lives to serve others in goodness,

not merely create a personal fortress 

filled with money and goods to stem their loss

of lives full of purpose, all honor tossed.

Dying to self starts at our birth.

Living for others gives our lives worth.

Remember this rule from God’s covenant.

Living for others makes age irrelevant.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY,IMMORTALITY

Photo by Marina Utrabo on Pexels.com

This day is the last day

that I am able to say

I am seventy-four. 

My aching body feels the score.

I have pushed constantly my rock uphill.

Now, it pauses at the top, momentarily still.

I halt to feel the weight of years gone by,

the laughter and tears, the chuckles and sighs.

I am ready to cross the great divide

and slide downhill as my youth subsides.

It is downhill where I shall find 

my fastest speed of all my time.

The wind feels stronger,

helping my journey, afraid no longer

of what awaits at the end,

or even, just around the bend.

The scenery blurs on the way,

replaced by memories of every past day.

Memories are more sure to my eye

then all that staccato-like flies by.

When I finally reach bottom

I can let the rock roll away, forgotten.

Finally, I can spend my days at play

take off my shoes, grinning teeth on display

and smiling with unbridled joy at the past

sigh to the heavens, “At last! At last!”

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