Category Archives: POETRY

CHARITY

Photo by Timur Weber on Pexels.com

If I come to you in need

would you care for me?

Would you open your door?

Would you allow me in?

Would you lecture me on choices made?

Would you tell me I must not sin?

Would you point out the truth of my failures within?

Would you judge me or love me?

Is that even a choice?

Would you teach me or listen

to my oft’ silenced voice?

Human we both be;

Ill-mannered or worse occasionally.

At fault more often than we care to admit.

Would you invite me in and tell me just sit?

Would you open your door?

would you let me in?

Would fear turn your lock

and your heart harden to rock?

If I come to you in need

would you care for me?

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HAIKU

MAY FROST

Photo by Mariya on Pexels.com

First light. What a sight !

Tulips hold their petals tight.

Ice came in the night.

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RETIREMENT

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

It feels like the waiting has ended.

I no longer know where time goes.

Wherever it is, it has left me behind

as I follow paths no longer known.

Forgotten perhaps, known paths and I,

or should I say me?

A ghost to those I no longer see.

Such freedom is golden, as is my age.

I hammer another nail into the boards

building an enduring new stage

for the play to go on.

A new script takes shape 

on pages of print awaiting new actors

to bring me alive as I sprint

to unknown territory

devoid of all glory.

Welcome, indeed, a new stage for my play.

What better way to spend each new day.

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TOO OLD TO SEE

Angelo Annarino, Sr. with his youngest grandchild, Johnny.

Too late I rise to see the dawn

of new days when peace is praised;

when all may love, and loving live;

favored by children who long to give

new ways of seeing, doing and being.

We aged can only live on faith

that youth will find a way through

the messy world we leave behind,

and accept our fervent hope

that one day they may forgive

those who refused to awaken

to what the world could be

if it had embraced love

and respect for all humanity.

Days grow shorter, faster,

sooner to see sleep arrive

and dreams of years of work gone by

to create the space for family to thrive.

Touch remains with soft words of praise

for children and grandchildren

who have learned my ways.

I am satisfied.

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HAIKU

WEEPING WILLOWS

Photo by Mike B on Pexels.com

Sadly drooped willows

like sorrowful young widows

cry into the stream.

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BIRD BATH BEAT

Photo by Mason McCall on Pexels.com

Spirited sparrows and wrens so dull and drab

mingle with cardinals beautifully clad.

Sultry robin pulls closed her robe

leaving her breasts cleverly exposed.

Flicker rounds on the oldest tree 

and begins a steady beat.

Sweet arias of birdsong lift to compete,

their voices familiar and strong

while mourning doves amble along,

chaperones staying and swaying in step.

Listening and watching such beauty I wept.

Each bird’s note has a place in the chorus

of avian talent displayed before us. 

Each wing and beak in flighty choreography

tells a breathtaking story of bird glory.

Insects hiding beneath dark-dank spaces

have no chance amidst such diving graces.

The sun arises each morn as do I

to enjoy their dance before birds take to the sky.

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AGING

Photo by Nashua Volquez-Young on Pexels.com

A single year’s length

has deprived me of the strength

seventy-four years built.

Like sand it has been seeping 

from muscles knotted and bemused

by excess effort and misuse

and a lifetime of abuse

by Amazonian female dreams

of living by independent means.

Of course, all is not lost 

and I need not count the cost

since enough strength remains

to tend what I must

before this lovely body

bites the dust.

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THE GARDEN SHED

(series of Haiku garden thoughts)

The garden shed holds

tools, not fame, within its frame.

Garden dreams inside.

Rabbit’s family 

burrows beneath happily.

Loves to race ‘round shed.

Vines climb the sides.

Flowers peep around corners.

Well-protected shed.

Shed hides in shadow.

Garden glories brightly glow.

Shed is true hero.

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GARDEN OF DEMOCRACY

Photo by Gelgas Airlangga on Pexels.com

Seeds have pointed ends

and sharp edges

browned and dried at rest.

Planted by strong winds

into dark soil opened

by seeds’ thin crest.

Growth and change

know no easy kindness;

strive in fierce battles to persist.

Await mere chance to emerge in sunshine

through storms and rain

from under soil’s harsh duress.

Noblesse oblige is well and good.

It fertilizes earth to grow the seed.

But it is seed which has stood

the test of winter’s snow

to make a healthy garden grow.

Strong agents of change protect

the tender plants we sow.

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HAVE A GOOD FLIGHT

Photo by Craig Shine on Pexels.com

How do you pin down a dream?

Or, bind a mind so tight

all hope takes flight?

I do not see why you would;

even if you could.

When hopes and dreams are lost

we all pay a terrible cost.

No gated house, no security alarm

protects every place of possible harm.

The threats and fears you plant

grow into weeds that choke

the life out of every community,

disrupt any sense of unity

to hold a country together

to fight its true enemy.

Too late we discover the truth.

We finally remember and see 

the enemy we cry as uncouth

is actually you and me.

So, let us set every dream free,

embrace hope and reach for the stars.

Let us remember for once and for all,

all that we could be, and who we really are.

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