Category Archives: POETRY

UNDERSTATED

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There is so little that is understated now.

No more elegant lifting of a single brow.

Excited stammers and caustic frowns

by the faithless Republican clowns

who mimic a man who would wear a crown.

There is no thoughtful, errudite display.

There is only posing false, and evil, play.

Trumped up hearings day-by-day

now hold sway hiding reality away.

He does not lead; but, is just a toy

they use as an effective ploy

to take away power from the many

so they can hold on to every penny

they have gained by writing rules

to benefit themselves and other fools

who overlook their history

and their sworn oaths and holy duty.

What games are played out every day.

While we are left to hope and pray.

And legislation is torn to shreds

that protected us lying in our beds

believing we could face another day,

and see more laws added to hold harm at bay.

They play on fears which they create,

their greed for money and power to satiate.

Vote before it is too late

and democracy is no longer ours to celebrate.

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DEFAMATION

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Words can cut too close to the bone. 

Words’ outside meaning fires the skin.

Words’ inside meaning, hidden from view

fires up hateful spew, just as true.

Words can cut too close to the bone.

splitting back the skin of what we have known.

Words open gaps to see within

what we have long hidden beneath our thin skins.

Words can make the blood flow strong,

too hard and too fast for too long.

Words flow beneath the marrow

to the depths of what we think we know.

Words pulse with their own beat

dancing through bodies to the soles of our feet.

Words leave bloody footprints to follow

until all blood is lost and our souls become hollow.

This is how words kill.

From outside in then out again

opening wounds we did not know

had crusted over wounds from long ago.

Words tear scars opening wounds anew

while ripping apart the peace we had found

to cure and to heal hate with love.

Words tell us love can never be true.

Words tell us love is not real;

if real, then, love is too weak to abide.

Words help us bury love so deep it subsides

and only hate can hold court inside.

Words boost false pride

that I am better than you.

I die inside as I try to kill the few

who speak the truth you once knew.

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HOSTAGES

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We are all hostages.

bound by screens 24/7

of hateful acts and sorrowing loss

entertained by relief

it is not we

who suffer it all.

Yet, we do.

We only know if we stop

long enough to sense our loss

of innocence and trust

and thus

we hurry along from screen to screen

and from scene to scene

until there is not time

to reason and rhyme

the truth we cannot allow

ourselves to realize

we are the prize

captured by those who control

what we see

and what we know.

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DULL DOLDRUMS

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I must remind myself daily

that it is not me.

The clouds sit heavily

filling the deep valley.

There is no wind to fill my sails.

every effort to move on is doomed to fail.

I sit and ponder and sometimes wail.

My spirit locked in by clouds like the tightest jail.

I am in the dull doldrums, so it seems.

Sun hides in mourning as I try to dream

of gardens and beaches… such light-filled themes.

Ohio winters’ dull doldrums make me scream.

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NO EXCUSE HAIKU

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I have to ask my

husband first. It seems a curse;

is the best excuse.

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THE SPACES BETWEEN

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Words on the page matter not at all.

It is the space between the words

where mystery dwells.

I fist my hand around the pen,

my defending weapon of choice,

while I struggle with stories to tell.

I do not explore the words;

but, the spaces between and aside

while I open my self wide.

We may read the words together,

and search the space between words

hand in hand, eye to eye, heart to heart.

No hate can break the bond of words, 

shared in the spaces between, apart.

And, then, we can know all there is to know

as we join our empty spaces

deep and dark, side by side.

Reach for the stars if you will.

I prefer to explore one another

between the the words of languages 

unknown, unable to be spoken.

None of what is written matters at all.

It is the space between words

where love rises and falls.

Hate cannot find its way in the dark.

But, love can. 

Love carries its own light within

the spaces between the words.

Love glows in the dark.

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NO WORDS

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My words are in hiding.

They went south

on orders by an enemy

in a language unknown

on internet connections silenced

on phones which could not be charged

written on leaflets

dropped from the sky

with the dumb bombs

which destroyed the words

where I reside

in hopeless desires

for peace, at first;

now, simply, not to die.

My words and I moved south

to promised safety.

My words and I could not speak

of what we saw 

along the way

south,

leaning on false promises.

Still, my words must hide

in shelters bombed 

despite the promise

despite the effort

carrying my words

which are my children,

silent, on my back.

Trapped, my words and I

with nowhere to go.

Without hope.

No one speaks words;

Only the bombs may speak,

with a language of their own.

A language no one understands.

One no one ever wants to hear. 

My words hide here.

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HAIKU FUNDAMENTALLY TRUE

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No confessional

can hold the sins of men done

in God’s Holy Name.

Right-wing Pharisees

roam the halls of governments

exercising hate.

They lie to themselves

stealing freedom’s greatest truths

to lie to us, too.

Money flows and fills

pockets-to-let to control

greed’s supremacy.

Unregulated

democracy fails to be

free for you and me.

Fascism now reigns

in God’s name, on lips profane

from pulpits and schools.

Separation fails

to protect laws, or faiths,

when religion rules.

Time to drive out the

money-changers from temples

of government, now.

We cannot allow

such hate and such harm to be

offered in our name.

Such Offertory 

should be left at the altar,

not legislatures.

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THE SQUIRRELS AND I

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Squirrels multiply fast around here,

as fast as they run about the yard.

Three new nests in the Linden tree 

have appeared,

Hidden by dense leaves

out of view.

The sun hides too.

Her light is now hidden by clouds.

She has stopped dancing amid shadows.

Like the squirrels I am too proud

to simply sit and wait for sun 

to show her face.

Without sun 

we barely know our place

in this darkened, cooling space.

We no longer dig and play

in garden beds anchored in clay.

The squirrels have stopped their foray

for bulbs planted a month ago,

ceased moving them to a new place

or worse, chewing or eating them first.

The squirrels, and I are nearly as dormant

as the perennials, and as scattered.

My body yearns to find its way,

to dig and plant, to weed and hoe.

It no longer drops onto the garden bench

to rest and watch the birds and bees.

I drop onto my nested couch instead.

The squirrels and I have grown

too cold, too weary

amid days as dark as night.

The squirrels and I have become too quiet.

Sun’s warming disposition

no longer lightens nor warms us.

Birds no longer join us in chorus

as we hummed alongside the busy bees.

Neither of us are ready

for the coming deep-freeze.

We squirrel away.

I on my Netflix couch;

the squirrels find their own 

entertainment and playful connection

I remain ignorant of those; 

and, so, I and cannot mention

what keeps them tight inside.

My own tightness will not subside

no matter how hard I try.

I cannot blame the sun.

She still hangs overhead.

Like the squirrels and I

she has decided to hide.

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DARKER DAYS

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I no longer wait through the night for sun to rise.

Darkness diverts stray thoughts and lets my mind play.

Flowers have taught me to wave away sunny days

whose glare overcomes the true color of all it covers.

Flowers’ colors are brighter on cloudy days

when sun’s harshest, boldest gaze 

is tempered by drifting clouds and shade.

The sun arouses, but not always in positive ways.

Passion and love arouse in darkness, under cover,

preparing us to live together on sun-filled days

which can overheat our passion with a challenging gaze,

and guns drawn out in furious blaze.

Night brings safety after those last shots are fired

into the night to hold it at bay, for those who tire

of being alone, hopeless and afraid; whose souls require

less sun to stimulate their hate and more cool nights

to bed down and draw covers over their endless fright.

I welcome the night which offers respite and insight.

I welcome dreams which bring truth and understanding alight.

If only we could recall our dreams in daylight,

perhaps we could create world where justice and mercy prevails

and all are treated right.

On the the hotter, brighter days ahead I fear we may fail,

holding on to what we cannot truly see in such bright daylight.

In such over-heated light true color is lost to our sight

distorting our view of all that is true.

Shoving microphones and spotlights on our frailty

too often distorts our reality

until we no longer can recall the truths learned on darkest days.

I no longer wish the darkness of night away.

I see all more clearly in the muted light of night

than ever I can see in brightest daylight.

I no longer wait through the night for sun to rise.

Darker days are here to no one’s surprise.

They may bring the only way we can survive.

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