Category Archives: POETRY

HOAR FROST

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Frost rises before dawn and flees the garden bed

before Sun can catch her in her splendor.

Faster than squirrels she runs across fields and rivulets

leaving white crystals trailing behind in a momentary glittery shine

across the folds of orange and gold left by falling leaves

that shimmer in the slight breeze of Sun-warmed air

to prepare us for the day to come.

Each morning I rise and try to catch Frost by surprise,

but she is too slick, too quick; and I, now too slow.

She laughs in my face with icy breath until I am so cold

my limbs tremble as the those of the trees shedding leaves.

I shed my earthly dreams as frost awakens me to journeys ahead.

Frost is a fleeting thing, reminding me that I am, too.

Frost has turned my hair white; it seems, overnight.

And so I say, “Good morning, Frost.”

And she replies, “Good morning, you.”

Such days are numbered, and too few.

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MY REPUBLICAN DAD

ANGELO ANNARINO,SR. WITH DAUGHTER LOUISE

“I just need 11,000 votes.”

“Give me a break.”

Sounds eerily like saying to my daddy,

when I was just a wee lassie,

“I just need $5.00.”

And my Republican dad would reply,

“And I need a hole in my head!”

And that was the end to that.

Because, I had sense 

to know when the game was up,

to know I had lost,

to know I was on my own.

And because, I knew I could do

what I needed to do on my own

I’d get on with life and make it great.

I did not need fawning crowds

shouting hateful slogans aloud

at my Dad, who was right to deny

my weak-kneed pleas to ease my need

for the latest toy, candy, or cookie delight.

My Republican dad believed 

in working his way using his labor and mind

to put food on our table and a roof overhead.

He did not run scams on neighbors

nor friends, nor even total strangers.

My Republican dad, whose Democratic friends

exchanged ideas with him every day

on how to keep our nation great

kept an open mind and used it to find solutions

to unite and expand everyone’s rights

to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness;

especially, for his children and theirs.

My Republican dad would be turning in his grave.

A conscience stronger than partisanship

would not let him accept such gamesmanship.

I can hear his response to election deniers,

whining while shouting, debased town-criers,

“You talk like a man with a paper hat!”

And that, folks, would be that!

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DREAM OR REALITY ?

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Is the line between dreams and wakefulness 

the same line as that between 

lies and truth ? 

Do those who refuse to be awoken

simply prefer to live in their dream world

where their power knows only those bounds

they tie about themselves

and feel able to loosen as they choose?

It is said the more educated one is the easier 

it is to believe conspiracy theories.

Sheer ignorance does allow a lie to fly.

But, worse, are those who choose

to remain ignorant of truth by staying asleep.

They decry being woke as if facing truth

is too painful, too uncomfortable, to know it.

Incongruence is unsettling as any scholar knows.

We search for meaning in everything.

We want the pieces to fit in the puzzles we work.

When the pieces do not fit, we become angry

and blame the puzzle pieces and take satisfaction

in wiping them off the table.

Perhaps, if we could be brave enough to truly see, 

the truth could set us free to choose pieces of reality

as it is when we are woke, not when we dream

of being more than we really are.

The truth is we are not perfect but we are enough.

Who told us we were not enough matters not.

Parents, wives, children, bosses ?

Conditional love leaves us bereft enough

to prefer the dream to such reality.

But, we are so much more than dreams.

if only we could realize we are loved, unconditionally.

Realize means living real lives.

And so I wake you from your dream

of superior being and dreamer of lies

to say I love you, just as you are.

Stay awake with me. There is work to be done.

A lot has piled up since you closed your eyes to truth.

I need you by my side to work within reality,

not with false pride; but, with opened eyes.

“You shall know the truth

and the truth shall set you free.”

And I shall love you through eternity.

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NUNS AND US

In the days when women’s options were few

the women I saw around me, women I knew,

found ways to become the best they could be

within the confines of misogyny.

Lucky was I to be taught by nuns,

a sisterhood which withstood Middle-Ages threats

by joining nunneries behind gates barring men.

Within such walls great minds could form

great thoughts, with freedom and creativity.

These women persisted as they resisted

the control of such men as abbots and bishops.

These women persisted as women do now

by standing up straight and taking a vow

to stay true to themselves and not be defeated

by ridiculous removal from tables  seated

only by men, for men, with men who concluded

false beliefs in women’s abilities which shone

a light often greater than their own.

Nuns are not fools, far from it. From them I learned

that this is a man’s world, but a woman’s heaven.

Women who saw heaven on earth as a real possibility.

Today, nuns’ ranks are fewer as more opportunity

is open to women, who still must bring 

their own chairs to the table where men are sitting.

Now, women are building their own tables

and invite men to sit there, too, no threat intended.

But insecure men unable to share power labels

fear their days of sole control are now mere fable.

Sisterhoods have expanded beyond Abbey walls.

All over the earth women now stand tall and state their vows.

The vows they share expand geography and history.

Women have come a “long way, baby”.

We are the nuns. The nuns are us.

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HAIKU

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Dancing among trees

leaves drifting below my knees

breeze lifting my feet.

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VOTE BLUE

Politics well-played avoids wars.

Games require referees not on-the-take,

and rules to establish guidelines

to mark the true scores.

Even Monopoly puts wrongdoers in jail,

and cheaters lose turns to correct

false places on the board.

Poker often leads by bluffs

But stacking the deck is deplored.

Republicans no longer play politics well.

They pay off the refs and announcer in the box,

Unilaterally re-design the track

and put burrs under saddles

To fix the race they brazenly run

with no thought to the damage done;

not only to their opponents,

but to the chance to keep the game fun.

Instead, they ruin any chance to avoid

the wars and disasters sure to come.

Vote Democratic, everyone!

It is the only way our republic can last

So we can all join in and play

fair and square another day.

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HAIKU

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Patient activist

is an oxymoron twist

delaying all change.

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THE FROST OF WAR

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Brazen bronze seedbeds

accosted by frozen brown bombs,

following an early frost,

when flowers freeze before

leaves and people fall,

their lively colors trapped

still vibrant and glowing,

as if they are not dead after all.

Broken boards and barren stalls

line the barns left as fallow

as the fields where bombs have fallen.

Images so serene and spare

burn the sockets in despair

that life so precious

no longer has a place

among this not-so-human race.

The season of death and dying

has descended and too many dreams

have been up-ended.

Bursts of air throw up clods of dirt

upon the nations of the earth

burying every sound of mirth

amidst the screams of lasting horror.

And yet we know that Spring will come

after this winter of solemn sorrow.

The best we can do is hope

for a better tomorrow.

So it has ever been

and hopefully,

so it shall be

if only we

can survive

the winter

and war’s demise.

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WOMEN

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Women are a sisterhood of might,

warriors with truth in sight

who love with lust and passion

and in ecstasy’s delight.

Women are the robins of the nests,

nurturers warming all within their light

who love with care and comfort

and in blossoming insight.

Women are the lions in dark night,

protectors with fierce might

who love with strength and power

and guarantee our rights.

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MEMORIES

The hummers have left with the long sunny days.

Frost settled down and intends to stay.

All that is left of the hummingbirds feeding in my yard

are memories of their daily visits and aeronautic repertoire.

I miss their dancing forms as they move from flower to flower.

I am left with cloudy days that drag out lonely hours.

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