Category Archives: POETRY

ODE TO THE RIGHTEOUS RIGHT

Photo by Lara Jameson on Pexels.com

If I were to tell you what I have been thinking

The embarrassment we both would feel

would be unlikely to appeal,

and that which each us would never 

hope to reveal.

But, of course I have no filter

to hold back honest perceptions.

Should I do so, anything I write

would be obvious deception.

Thus, my silence has descended

as a weight upon conception

of any new creation.

Does no one else see the destruction

being wrought against true thought?

The annihilation of creation

to move us forward as it ought?

No need to ban books or what is taught.

Your violent rhetoric descends and upends

those willing to create a better place

in a newer world, free from error and strife.

Your lies make my truths rise so high

you pick them out in your rifle sight,

aim and fire, destroying my light.

And that is your goal, is it not?

To destroy all that you are not.

Not decency nor truth, nor equality.

Nor compassion, nor peace, nor freedom.

All you are is greed and lust for control,

allowing wealth to trap your soul.

In this ungodly hour you use our churches

as bastions for your holding power

over all that is holy and sacrosanct.

My country ’tis of Thee. 

And, Thee, are destroying

my country, and my faith in Thee.

You are not right.

You are simply using your might

to block out all light.

I cannot stay silent.

It would bring on the night,

with the nightmare you hope to ignite.

Thus, today, once again, I write.

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COURAGE!

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Too many today feel disaffection

expecting a loving connection

where none is possible.

Independence is overrated

in a culture soaked in sex

and self-gratification.

What bonds can be created

when self-focus reigns supreme

and dodges vulnerability

at every opportunity.

What love can grow in such infertility?

Have we lost the basic ability

to fall in love, to wrap in feeling

the deepest needs we fear to speak?

Courage! Courage! Take the risk to try

to open your heart, deep and wide.

Yes, love may fail. It almost certainly will.

But taking love’s ride is such a thrill.

Grab that hand. Touch that cheek.

Allow your deepest longings to speak.

Perhaps this one will 

be the one who listens 

with a heart ready to be filled

with you.

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ODE TO ANGELA AND ANGELO

I have outlived my own mother,

one like no other, as yours must be ,too.

A mother who labored to bring me to life

then labored every day after

to create a world of joy and laughter,

joined by my father with teasing whiles

who kept a joke ready for when I most needed smiles.

Life struggles were an everyday event

twisted into humor at every bent.

Nothing could really bring us down

so long as we could laugh and play the clown.

Long gone are my parents, to play other venues

where they must have been needed,

while I continue to live honored and feted.

Happy birthday to me, yes, it is indeed

thanks to two people whose love brought forth

a daughter who could never fully explain their worth.

Being loved teaches love of self passed on to others.

Brought to each of us by our fathers and mothers,

if we are lucky enough to join such hearts.

Such love breaks every sorrow apart.

And, love leads to laughter beyond the here-after.

I still feel Dad’s touch tousling my hair

as Mom grunted a sigh of despair

at some forbidden lark I had dared.

I still sense their dismay when I leap into a fray

they would wish I had avoided,

or take a risky challenge simply to brighten my day.

I hear their voices of warning advising how to proceed.

Their teachings continue to meet my every need.

They may be gone beyond my sight

but they continue to live within a greater light

that fills the heart and seeds the mind just right

that I see Dad’s grin on my face as I pass a mirror,

or hear mom’s lilt as I sing at the kitchen sink,

recalling her tilt into dad’s arms as he gave me a wink.

Each day my parents gave to me

is wrapped like a present in distant memory.

I am thankful for the life they gave to me.

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NORTH MARKET GRAVEYARD

Columbus Metropolitan Library map of North Graveyard, Columbus, Ohio

The bodies left buried

beneath the parking lot

are being excavated.

Who they are, we know not.

The North Graveyard was relocated

more than one hundred years ago,

but hundred of bodies were left to rot.

The bodies of those who died

while their families were passing through,

moving onward to take the lands

of Native Americans pushed aside.

Unclaimed children or the sick

who stopped to rest, and there, they died.

The bodies of African-Americans

buried with such strangers, 

in plots set aside

for those whom true burial plots

in the sanctioned section were denied.

The bodies of the poor immigrants

without any claim to sanctioned graves.

The bodies of those without family, 

with no one left to claim a grave.

Forgotten and hidden from our view

until developers dug footers

to support their grand scheme,

a multi-use tower on land once deemed

the graveyard for a city

who forgot how to grieve

for those not white, nor wealthy.

But, now, we remember, as best we can,

and rebury with dignity 

every child, woman and man.

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RACING THE WIND

Photo by Suparerg Suksai on Pexels.com

Day after night, night after day,

high pressure, low pressure

winds here to stay,

a world in disarray.

Weather is more predictable

with each new measuring tool.

Less stable winds make prediction

a game for worried fools.

Earth bellows and heaves,

quakes at the disgrace

of shifting ideologies

gathered at the starting gate,

ready to race.

What prize do runners seek

running over Earth’s oldest tracks,

heaving as the path cracks

beneath their greedy feet,

sweating oil, with greasy smiles?

Who waits at the finish line

to hand out the winning purse

filled with drug, guns and oil cash

at the end of their long dash,

during a race where Earth 

is pounded into submission, or worse.

Breathless audiences watch 

the entertaining game.

Some bet, some cheer, and many cry.

The race to unknown riches takes power and control, 

enough to make one frown and sigh.

But such a race is meaningless

and getting very, very old.

Earth cares not who wins such a prize.

Earth overtakes all racers

who race against her clean skies.

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LOVING HEARTS

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A heart cannot break

when it has been given away

and held in another’s embrace,

by layers so deep, love so strong

it finds the place where it belongs

The heart can neither crack nor flake

held safely against the heart of the other,

strengthened and treasured

by steel bands and grateful hands

that strengthen not only the bond

but the heart itself.

With each giving the heart grows stronger,

fearful  and doubtful no longer,

until nothing exists

which could tear it apart.

There is nothing so strong 

as a loving heart.

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HAIKU

Winter Garden

WINTER GARDEN, acrylic on canvass, Louise Annarino

I watch the garden grow

beneath the blanket of snow,

waiting to emerge.

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FANTASY NEWS

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

No more storytelling to avoid dwelling

on facts that call to action.

No more storytelling distraction.

When life seems more fantasy

storytelling undermines responsibility.

Only the facts, only the facts, please.

Give us only the facts and we will build

our own story, reach for our own glory.

No matter the difficulty or doubtful success

at least our lives would belong to us.

Manipulating the life of the tale leaves us

unsure, disconnected, and breathless.

We can take no pride nor have any remorse

for a story so overblown it is not our own.

Fragmented like all fairy dreams, we lose our course

in the heightened senses you endorse.

We simply want to live our lives,

and show our children they can survive.

Stop the fantasies. Stop the lies.

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WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS

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Beautiful sunrise

after deep sleep surprise,

warmth in the deep cold,

loved and protected,

spoiled beyond measure.

Some of us already 

have found our treasure.

Others huddle in doorways

and sleep over grates

where air lifts from tunnels

and some warmth emanates.

On the air rises the question, repeatedly,

from such disturbing discrepancies.

Why are you treated differently?

Who smiles such good fortune

on my undeserving face

while you suffer in the same space?

How can I let go of the privilege you see

and allow you to taker my place?

Perhaps that is the wrong question to pursue.

Better to ask if it could be true

that good fortune could smile on both me and you.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness

are meant for all; not, just a few.

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THE WEIGHT OF TEARS

Photo by Mathias Reding on Pexels.com

The weight of water rests 

heavily upon the breast,

hiding the heart in folds

of malcontent hung 

as window-coverings 

over the soul.

Tears too many to count

mount an assault

on streets where cameras watch

murderous intention

wrapped in police action.

Sacrifices for the greater good

should not come at such cost

of all innocence lost.

Acting with impunity

in every non-white community,

sanctioned by prejudice

draped with power

in a racist shower.

The weight of water rests

heavily upon the breast.

We are drowning in it.

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