Only the young believe they have time
to wait for the perfect time
to make a difference over time.
Older persons have too little time
to wait for perfection lost over time.
Neither can afford the time
it takes to find the perfect time.
Neither must let the perfect
get in the way of the possible
None of us has that much time.
Early morning risers are a breed apart.
They insist upon rising in the dark.
Their tattered dreams soon forgotten
they move to uncover windows;
not to simply let in the coming light
but, to first, acknowledge the night.
Darkness holds little mystery
to those who accept the misery
of what they watched unfold the day before,
and to believe the new day’s light will restore
balance, fairness, wisdom, hope and more.
Surely, the sun will shine on goodness
and love will once more rise with sun’s rays?
Such hopes can only be born in the dark.
Once sun rises and bathes us in her light
we forget the need for change we felt,
we hungered for, we fought for through the night.
Like babes in dark wombs we struggle to alight.
We yearn to be free of darkness and held tight.
Such memories of those first moments
are waiting to be born now in this morn’s sunlight.
Those who wake and walk in darkness know,
once more of us awake, all can soon be set aright.
Hardened hearts break easily,
leaving broken pieces to fall
as heavy weights of brute strength,
and painful threats strewn about the streets
bathed in pepper gas and tears
of gas dripping over the faces of our children,
our elderly, our disabled; all allies
of the young who’s futures face flash bangs
of deceit and fraud and outright theft.
All of us thrown to the ground
stumped and stamped upon
by those whose hardened hearts
keep breaking and flung about in rage.
The hearts of those who protest are soft.
They are known for their easy acceptance.
They are berated for their ease of conscience.
Such hearts cannot break apart.
They are part of one eternal heart.
The hearts of protesters are soft, but firm.
Such soft hearts are resolute and unbreakable.
Their love of country and of one another
continue to beat strong and full of love.
Such hearts always remember to BE GOOD.
The only way to stop strong hearts
is to capture, perhaps kill, them.
Hearts connected to one another
always continue to beat on.
Ukraine’s heart beats on.
Gaza’s heart beats on.
Sudan’s heart beats on.
Iran’s heart beats on.
Greenland’s heart beats on.
Canada’s heart beats on.
Central America’s heart beats on.
South America’s heart beats on.
The European Union’s heart beats on.
Minneapolis’ heart beats on.
Chicago’s heart beats on.
Los Angeles’ heart beats on.
The United States of America’s heart beats on.
Freedom’s heart beats strong,
and beats on, now and forever.
Even the sun
has difficulty rising
above the cold clouds.
We gather our strength
like warm blankets against hate.
Soon to be knocked down.
While the world watches,
holding our breaths in its hands,
we wonder and weep.
The past, not prologue
but warning, of what’s to come,
shouts out its last gasp.
This, this too, shall pass.
Spring tumbles frozen hatred,
melts evil away.
Rise up, Sun, and shine.
Rise up sisters and brothers of mine.
It is time. It is time.
Now, hear the alarm.
It is past time to awake.
No need to tremble nor shake.
Gather the courage our many blessings have built.
and renew rights once promised,
now eager to be fulfilled.
Filed under POETRY
Even the sun-rise is solemnly quiet today.
moving from dark black to half-mourning grey.
Protests no longer seem enough to keep evil at bay.
A nation dawns dark robes in courthouses along the way.
Its people gather in darkened-by-blood pews to pray.
Pews misguided by male power, compassion set astray.
We mourn the loss of liberty today, and every day.
When will white male supremacists finally be made to pay
for their evil, unlawful, lying, bullying craven displays?
This question continues and refuses to go away.
Our answer cannot afford to wait. We cannot delay.
Americans are overfed
on soft food,
pre-digested,
pre-prepared,
pre-packaged
and all but dead.
“Give me something to chew,”
they say.
Even a lie will do.
Americans have learned to
eat lies for breakfast;
for lunch and dinner, too.
They brag about feasts
empty of nutrition that builds life,
but full of calories bringing strife.
Offering such empty scenes
of family life left sorrowing,
of neighborhood crime fallowing
entire blocks within every hamlet.
Sitcoms no longer hold their attention.
“Give me something to chew on!
they demand incessantly.
A I might be their only salvation.
They have lost the patience
for solemn contemplation.
They no longer know how
to take slower bites,
to savor a meal surrounded by family;
nor keep a schedule.
They buy modern on-the-go insanity,
even while waiting forever it seems
to order a vente-decafe-no cream.
Their jealousy at losing
what others have not
now knows no boundaries
as they gobble up
the power that such losers corrupt.
They no longer need to chew at all.
They buy all the crap, having nothing at all.
Time to go green. Time to come clean.
Of course, we shall as soon as our screams
fade away with the plea,
“Give me something to chew on”
that is real, that is true.
Is that too much to ask of you?
Over-processed replies
may be all we can get
from those pre-packaged politicians whose lies
overcome the silence of over-processed cowards
too scared to openly repent.
Chew slowly as lies melt in your mouth.
Lies feed nothing; cannot keep you alive.
Lies are killing a land of freedom once prized.
I have been carried over mountains
dredged in gold
by sunlight’s curve of light
as dawn unfolds
and opens her arms,
and gently releases her hold
on earth’s many charms.
The wonders of my world shift
within my sights
in bits and pieces set adrift
until I string them together like jewels
to hang around my neck
and light the darkest days ahead.
Indeed, dawn’s delights
can lighten even the darkest nights
in waking dreams sensing the coming light.
Dawn works her tentative way
across this bleak space every day.
Dawn awakens an eagerness to find my place
among other beings also lit from within.
Together, we can light the entire world.
It is dawn. We have dawned.
It is time to begin.
Filed under POETRY
My guess is as good as yours, you know.
We can argue and remonstrate as we go.
Stardust falls too easily upon the earth
where we abide, and constantly seek rebirth.
Imagination takes us within its thrall.
Reality may not be real; not real at all.
We watch stories unfold on stage and screen
Impossible to believe what our eyes have seen.
For a moment all that exists is a creative idea,
a fantasy which draws us all near,
connects us without fear.
It coats us in fairy dust,
and so, we trust.
These moments of suspended reality
remind us of our tightly held duality.
Our starry-eyed souls try to hide inside
a body which runs open and wide,
which seeks to break free
and reach for the stars seen in dark skies.
All we really need to do is look inside.
That is where reality truly resides.
Filed under POETRY
The wind has ceased clearing away
old lies and false games in play.
New lies form and cling to every surface
and truth is once again surfeit.
Snow may provide pristine cover
until snow melts and we discover
one lie lies atop another.
Spring seems too far away
and each day we must wait seems unsafe.
I welcome any blowing wind that rages,
if it uncovers the millions of pages
hidden behind bureaucratic stages.
Sunlight always follows storms
which speed across a continent’s norms
and freshens the air we all breathe,
able to fill lungs eager to breathe free.
A cold wind is as good as warm.
Each wind has its own charm.
Both can clear the air and remove
what would cause us harm.
No wind today to grace
what feels a very unsafe space.
So, I blow words across a page.
A warning wind blowing hard and truly
meant to make us all a bit unruly.
No place for Kings, I remind you.
We gather together, we too few.
Let the winds blow and harden our stance
to face and uncover lies which advance
the tyranny of greedy overlords
who cannot stand up to truthful words.
Spring is coming, or so, I have heard told.
Until it comes, blow winds! Blow!
No matter how cold.
annarino writes 