Category Archives: POETRY

THE WORLD IS COUNTING ON YOU

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I asked the question on my mind

to Mom and Dad long ago.

How did you not know

the Germans were rounding up Jews,

and Gypsies and dissidents who cared

that their nation was being overtaken

by Nazis who sowed despair

in Poland, Austria and France?

How could America divert her glance

from war looming on the horizon?

I did not understand then.

I do not understand now

why until Pearl Harbor 

Americans shrugged a brow.

Not Dad, he enlisted long before Pearl.

He saw that war knocked on our door

as he escorted ships full 

of lend-lease goods to Britain’s shores.

Like Ukrainians, we hoped Britains

could forestall a world-wide war

that Americans must fight.

Out of mind, out of sight

seems to be not only a universal dodge

but an eternal one as well,

lasting across generations 

with shallow memories.

As then, now, we have fascists here at home

with white supremacy guiding their views

and politicians pleading their cause

as the nation’s own, ignoring American principles

of freedom and equality

as they burn books and block votes

and bind women to their side

that they may attack children

and threaten life with weapons

of war in schools, churches, synagogues 

and even grocery stores.

Are such threats truly unseen?

Are such threats overcome by entertainment T.V.?

Americans know the score

on Dancing with the Stars and Housewives

from too many cities to keep count.

And, yet, have no time to explore

candidates and policies before they vote,

if they do vote with raised brows 

at a ballots’ surprise of choices to be made.

So, they stay away, and let war descend

without raising a hue or cry.

Soon to be come a nation occupied

by foreign notions from foreign nations

who did not even need to raise a gun

to destroy democracy for every American.

It need not be this way.

Get to work and learn the truth.

for once, put aside your play.

Then go vote on election day.

It is the least, the very least

you can do.

The world is counting on you.

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ANGELA’S CHILD

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How can time get away

when it stands still so much of the day,

encased in memories of yesterdays?

I know I should be doing more

but what more seems 

too tentative to explore.

Batteries charge in the sun as do I,

walking block after block

avoiding clouds’ shadows

avoiding stepping on cracks

lest I break my mother’s back.

I often wonder if she knows

I still follow her path

and watch her back

to find my way;

and, if she 

still watches me.

If so, I know, she is the wind

pushing me along

and keeping me strong.

The wind washes clear

the fog of discontent

and lackadaisical malaise

that seems to come 

with greater age.

I am my mother’s child

wily, wise and wild

still able to get up

off the couch 

and run, and run, and run.

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CLOUDS

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Clouds drape like a shroud

across my visage, arms and legs.

Walking on this windy day is hard

and drags me to the ground

as step by step I pray

for those who hunker down

in homes where danger lays

like hot honey burning the skin,

unable to get away 

from  the flow of screaming

bullets, bombs, and storms

with names like

warlord, Putin and Ian.

Each step I safely take

is heavy, carrying the pain

of others whom I cannot save.

Simply continuing onward

is all I can handle today,

under the shroud,

too slow and weighted down

to make a difference

or even a smile.

How does one lift up others

when lifting a foot 

to go one more step

seems impossible?

Even words are weighted

with unspoken thoughts

too heavy to lift

above the shroud

of a world encased in cloud.

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Fall Is Here

Quick change artist fell

among the snowflakes above

Bringing autumn down.

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EDEN’S GARDEN OF EVE

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The Days of Eden ended

not because of the woman Eve

who ate of its fruits;

but  because of toxic masculinity

which made rules to reign her in.

Who gives abundance

only to test restraint ?

Her generosity of spirit,

her willingness to share,

her offer to feed her mate

cannot be the cause of man’s downfall.

Was it the shock of her greater

courage, curiosity, generosity and love

which pushed man over the edge?

Images of him dragging her by the hair,

cudgel in his hand to beat her

into submission, as her screams rend the air

are still with us today.

Women are still forced to cover their hair,

lest they lead men astray.

Women work the soil in our gardens 

until we are covered in dirt

and mud stains our clothes

and seeps between our toes.

We stand and stretch admiring the roses

then head inside to shower and clean

our naked bodies, and wash seeds

and other debris out of our hair.

How good it feels to be washed clean

inside and out, away from man’s glare.

How lovely the gardens we tend

all over the world, where men continue to tell

us we must suffer for our sins 

and bear children in pain to remove the stain

of our sexuality, all for man’s gain.

I love my garden, I do.

But I would have loved Eden, too.

But, man, fearful, foolish man

threw it all away.


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Mahsa Amini

Too loose the covering over her hair

enraged the men who could not bear

a woman’s power of feminity

threatening the control of their masculinity.

It is not women they fear, is it not?

But their dissatisfaction with their lot.

Too weak to accept the challenges they face

they blame women for their own disgrace.

Powerful men stand side-by-side,

partners with women and feminine pride.

Only the cowardly weak attack women.

How do we find love enough to forgive them?

They ought to worry as they fight in the streets

against those who refuse to accept defeat

of human rights and freedom of choice,

and the right of women to raise their voice.

Mahsa Amini! Remember her name.

Iranian women, and men, her courage we claim.

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UKRAINE

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Each day I awake seeking news

of Ukraine’s fight to survive.

Happy I survived another night

to greet a new day

in a place that is safe

from falling bombs

and chemical weapon threats

that blow into my mind

from Syria.

Nuclear threats reach farther,

threatening us all.

Each morning I hope to hear

that Putin has fallen to such disrepute

that he and his type,

his cronies all,

have been put in their place

by their own disgrace.

I awaken seeking peace

among the ruins of Ukraine

whose people could never

be ruined or displaced;

but strengthened and graced

by their courage

and love of country

and one another.

A lesson for us all.

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CLOUDY DAYS

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The rain came during the night.

Soft and silent blessings fell

to drench the earth

where mankind dwells.

But they slept on unaware

that helpful forces left a gift

to soften the soil

of hardened hearts.

They rose with the dawn,

faint light clouded over,

and misunderstood such peace

brought a chance to subside

the blazing heat of anger

in fearful eyes 

scorched

by staring at the sun

of a too-bright false sunrise.

Cloudy days ahead 

to soften the blow

when they awaken to the lies

that they have been told.

Every artist knows

one sees clearer

on cloudy days

when truth is crisp

despite the haze.

Or maybe,

because of it.

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COME REST WITH ME

Centuries pass

not in straight lines

but in circles

piled upon one another

and stretched

in genomic lines,

pulling free of destiny 

we thought well-defined.

We look back

only to be distracted

by the patterns

cut up and rewound

until the tales are lost

in webs blown apart 

by unexpected winds.

It is hard to see 

paths forward

when past paths

overlap and spiral

out of our control.

Progress makes its own way;

only when control is stayed

by openness to change,

and comfort in staying afloat

until we land exactly where 

we were meant

to come to rest.

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RUNNING TOWARD WINTER

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As frantic squirrels gather nuts

I hurriedly gather friends to my garden;

creating memories to last the winter,

locked deep in darkness,

as the nuts squirrels store

beneath the soil,

to be dug up as needed.

If only I can recall

where I put them.

If not, they will be reborn

when Spring returns

and friends gather once more

to bloom in full splendor

which far exceeds the memory

of what went before.

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