Category Archives: POETRY

DEBRIS PILES

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When does rescue become recovery;

and, recovery become repair and restoration?

How much time do we grant to discover life?

How fast do we move beyond such inquiry?

And if we fail to take the time, 

do we risk building our lives upon the dead?

How much have we lost in moving too soon,

before we discovered the foundation

upon which our lives have been built?

Rescue workers scramble over Floridian piles of debris.

As we scramble over the piles of debris in our own lives.

For those who take time to dig deep

our way becomes clearer, cleaner, more promising.

Understandable to fear what we may find amidst the debris.

More fearful, to remain afraid, and never discover

what lies beneath our surface that we might build stronger lives.

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ANOTHER MISSILE CRISIS

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I still remember the days of the Cuban Missile Crisis as if they were yesterday.

I still recall the look on Sister’s face as she read the memo she soon shared and displayed.

Duck and cover had no place among the wizened nuns opposed to fools at play.

Instead, we gathered in the church. Before the altar we knelt and prayed.

Then, we were sent home to be with our families, expecting missiles to fly our way.

I hurried and ran all the way home, tripping over myself, that frightening day.

Those were the days of bomb shelters dug in backyards where kids played.

Not in our yard, Dad explained. Even if we survived nuclear radiation in the bombs first hits

we would remain below for years until it was safe to come above ground, only to see

destruction all around, no food nor water safe, no crops nor animals, just empty space.

What good would such survival be? Better to die, he said,… immediately.

And so we children knew the new reality that life was under constant threat each day.

Then, Kennedy forced the Russians away from our back door until another day.

Russia has not stayed away from solemn threats to have its say and make us pay

for its failed experiment in communism as democracy gained greater sway.

China, North Korea and Iran eager to join in the latest fray.

This is nothing new, nothing unseen before. There has always been war.

Always a need to defend our doors. But, impossible to shutter doors to nuclear war.

Greed for power and wealth overcomes sanity in communism or democracy.

This war has two fronts, as all wars do: a home-front, and one off-shore.

October has returned with threats that November elections might correct.

But, once again, I am unsure if we have the guts to face down the clowns,

who play us like their fake pianos; and to shove them out of the ring, and out the door.

No duck and cover for me. I love my democracy. I will stand in the open forevermore.

I will never give in to bullies and fear. I shall stand firm and pray. Then, I shall vote.

With you by my side, we shall endure. Of this, fellow citizens, I am sure.

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SPINNING OUT OF CONTROL

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I will not write one more word

other than those which rise on their own,

without my preset notions of what is real.

I see a world spinning out of control,

a globe spun by frantic hands on its curves.

It sits atop the desks of politicians, bankers and CEOs.

Perhaps the world merely sits in its place

and it is we who spin tales and define its space.

Perhaps it is we who determine earth’s pace.

Perhaps Earth is the mother telling us

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Leave your brother and sister alone.”

“Stop causing trouble.”

Perhaps it we who are spinning

out of control.

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LISTENING TO MOTHER EARTH

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Earth, our Mother, in so many ways

never rests, as good mothers everywhere,

until her children are safe

and able to become their very best.

Earth streams winds seldom seen

in ages past, to cleanse the air we breathe

of toxic chemicals and toxic thoughts,

too often ignored until humanity seethes

with anger torn from shattered dreams.

Earth’s tears drown our shores,

our over-run rivers and streams swollen

beyond the banks of civility and decency,

spreading across villages and cities.

We watch earth’s loving children join hands

to help those caught within the bands

of hatred fueled by power and greed,

furthered and supported by religious creed

distorted by self-indulgent need

to retain a control it never had;

dividing the world into good and bad,

which Mother Earth understands

could destroy her children and leave her all alone.

With Mother Earth we make our stand to secure

a future of loving kindness for all her children,

of every kind. Rock, wind, water and fire we implore

have patience with us as we try to create 

a world right, not might, rules once more.

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OCTOBER SKIES

OCTOBER SKY, Louise Annarino, 2017

Brace your self for a bumpy ride.

October suns glide and slide

across the brow, beneath the feet

of creatures running to complete

the fattening tasks needed to compete

with coming cold as sun retreats.

Winds blow swift above, and heavy below

laden with ice and crystal snow 

that melts as it falls through warm air below.

Ice-cold wind, ice-cold rain

on too-short days when sun cannot remain

long enough to lift corners of lips into smiles

of true delight as we prepare for winter nights.

Grab a hot toddy, hot chocolate too.

Get out the boots and sleds that once flew

down hills slick with sleet in childhood delight.

Be prepared to cheer and hoot sun’s appearance

as dark skies and cold are put on clearance.

Like a good salesman I beg you to buy

the wondrous beauty of an October sky.

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PLANTING TULIPS

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The Holland bulbs are on their way they say.

Soon, before first frost, I shall lift the plants

which bloom late to make space below

for tulip bulbs to settle in and grow.

In early spring tulips’ color may appear

unless squirrels discover my perfidy

in hiding the bulbs from their discovery

and move them as their own yard decor.

The squirrels and I often play such games.

Neither of us keeping score.

Abundant life means we both partake

of the joys of sharing garden space.

Squirrels, rabbits skunks and chipmunks

galore dance along to the garden’s birdsong

as I sit and read beneath a shade tree

until Autumn leaves fall and frost covers my seat,

and threatens my icy feet to slide under me.

First snows are already on my mind these cold mornings.

The geese fattening by the ponds give fair warning

that Fall’s falling temperatures foretell

Winter will soon arrive to spell my days outside.

I shall retreat inside to read by the fireside

awaiting the days those tulips arise.

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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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