Category Archives: POETRY

WHAT WE’VE GOT

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Kent State taught us that white deaths matter more

than Black students shot at Jackson State the week before.

Will protests-to-come under attack by armed and masked militia

teach us that Brown and Black people under attack is indicia,

within the borders of a nation dedicated to the proposition

that all men are created equal to the oppression,

of rich men of ill will in hiding from congressional oversight

and protected by the US Supreme Court’s judicial might?

I see the writing on the wall, not graffiti, after all,

but executive orders illegal and ill-tended to destroy

the hoped-for dreams of every American girl and boy

not born into wealth, in no need of human labor

to offer enough cash to create a way to savor

all that life could offer a middle-class caste

now turned in serfdom, as in decades long past.

We are not in a culture war.

We are in a class war.

We are in war we thought civil war had ended.

Yet, we continue to watch the republic untended

by leaders who did not see the need to fight

and believed compromise with bullies was right.

Workers sold out over and over again.

Blocked in every effort to build strong unions.

Students sold out over and over again.

Blocked in every effort to get a sound education.

Children sold out over and over again.

Blocked in every effort to find safe protection.

None of us now treated with human affection.

None of us now safe in our streets or our beds.

None of able to take a breath without dread.

Whether you voted for this, or not.

This is what you wrought.

Now, this is what we’ve got.

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DREAM OF MY SELF

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In dreams we are known

in ways we can’t know ourselves.

Keep dreaming, my soul.

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AUTUMN IS IN THE AIR

Acrylic on canvass, self-portrait, louise Annarino

Cold air is heavier.

Its density 

has a propensity

to hold us in place,

inside,

asleep.

It is enough

to make one weep

who loves the heat.

I welcome it

for its cooling property, 

its innate ability

to calm and soothe

the painful reality

of an overheated,

seemingly defeated,

world once at peace.

Oh, it was but a brief

moment in time

when hope was alive

and the country thrived,

and nations strived

to help democracy

overcome autocracy.

But, I digress

under great stress.

Cold air is weighted

with shards of ice

torn loose from northern fields,

with such power to wield

that it weighs down sunrise,

to no one’s surprise.

It puts the worker bees to sleep.

They awaken inside flowers

lacking the power

to find their way to their hives.

Cold air makes dreams

more difficult to bear,

their messages too heavily aware

of all the world’s problems

fair and unfair.

Autumn is here

and the world bows down

under the new weight.

Winter is not far away.

I cannot wait!

As sun rises the only sound

is the song of geese southward bound.

I place the heating pad round

a sore back from bending down

to plant bulbs squirrels have already found.

Soon, snow will coat the frozen ground.

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AMERICA DANCING TO MAGA-TIME

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The ballerina pirouettes.

Round and round she goes.

Her satin slippers turn endlessly

as she balances on her toes.

Dizzying it would certainly be

to spin so unnecessarily.

But, she uses a trick she very well knows.

She picks a single point in sight

and holds her focus on that point, so tight.

She keeps her balance and dances on,

steady as the graceful dancer we all know.

And when the music ends

as every song must

she takes her bow and we all cheer.

America is well and still on her feet,

avoiding the fall we all feared.

America shall dance again

as soon as the new song begins.

Voters shall pick a tune they enjoy,

one that cares for every girl and boy,

for every color, race and creed,

for laborers and workers, rather than greed.

The Land of the free.The home of the brave.

The audience of those who refused to cave.

Ballerinas keep their eyes on the prize.

Focus and keep dancing: a word to the wise.

Keep dancing to your own true beat.

Stay focused and stay on your feet.

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KEEP LAUGHING

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Earth is laughing so hard 

she is holding her sides.

Her laughter has not died.

She holds it inside.

Too often, there is not a smile to be seen.

Comedians and laughter are under attack; 

sad attempt to kill laughter, it is true.

But, let me tell you

I awake every day with a smile on my face

and my mind full of plans and laughter as I cope;

planning strategies to keep us all woke

enough to strategize and energize

enough to keep Earth and our freedom alive.

I smile when I find new ways

to resist, persist and overcome

those who strive so hard to make us glum.

Where they see threat, I see possibility.

Where they feel fear, I feel connected community.

When they shout their pain, I shout my glee.

Earth trembles to keep her laughter inside

at the foolish ego-maniacal MAGA leaders’ pride.

Earth continues to teach us her lessons

with a smile on her face from sunrise to sunset.

Giving us the means to keep us alive, and all our needs met.

Balance and connection are what we need

to continue on the path to wealth without greed.

Intersected boundaries are what we need

to continue on the path to true peace.

This is Earth’s greatest gift: her instinctive ability

to make us laugh as we grow in humility,

knowing we cannot berate nor control

Earth’s power to grow, to heal and renew

the damage men and women unintentionally do.

I laugh aloud with Earth today.

Our guffaws and chuckles thrown out wide.

Come laugh with us, then; and hold your heaving sides.

Try to unbend and dry your eyes so you can see.

That laughter has not died, nor ever must.

Constant negativity has nowhere to go

except “dust to dust” buried below,

in the space laughter has made deep within Earth.

And once this doom and gloom comes to an end

the entire world united in mirth 

shall laugh once again.

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WHERE HAS LOVE GONE?

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I do not know where love has gone.

Into hiding, I believe, free from harm.

So much anger clothed in love’s costume,

hate hidden from view so I am not consumed

by the true nature of what the costume hides;

all except the hands fisted by my side,

which velvet-suaded gloves still reveal

all the angry violence I could wield,

if I were not so terrified of the pain

I could visit upon others. I refrain.

I refuse to become just like those

who name-call with fake smiles and pose

under crosses, and above crowds,

saying the the ugly hate-filled truth out loud.

I desperately try to maintain my balance.

I believe compassion bears no allowance

to strike back when under attack.

But, turning the other cheek is a trait I truly lack.

Never take a punch and not fight back, I heard dad say.

But, never start the fight, if you can safely walk away.

Is this where we are now, afraid to put up the fists

when the attack is scheduled on government lists?

How long do we wait for the blows to fall?

How far before we are imprisoned inside the wall

of government ordnance and secret police?

How will we ever know any peace?

I do not know where love has gone.

I search and I search for however long

it will take me to find it and hold it tight

while I build strength for the coming fight.

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SHOUTING OUT IN THE HALL

The voices are too loud out in the hall.

No one sitting solemnly inside 

can understand the meaning of it all.

No matter how close one tries to listen

the cacophony distorts all meaning

of words angrily shouted, until tears glisten

feeling the hatred and monstrosity

which keeps all ears and hearts enthralled.

Thrills and chills sell as well as bloody gore.

“If it bleeds it leads” is a phenomenon 

we know too well. 

Shouters point a finger and shout some more.

Such behavior always draws a crowd.

Once they have your attention

the “soft-sell” begins the con in whispers.

And while they have your keen  attention,

hanging on every word they mention

in the twisted story, repeated over and over,

using religion and love as a cover

to bring us to our knees to beg forgiveness,

they try to manacle our minds and tongues

if successful. If not, our hands and feet

in courtrooms, jail cells and on the streets.

Once all this is done, the coup is complete.

The Bill of Rights becomes an empty promise,

a useless piece of paper torn asunder,

while disingenuous voices thunder

in all the halls, in every building, across the nation.

It is when the voices stop we shall finally hear

that democracy has been lost, as we all feared.

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THE DAWN OF DISCONTENT

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Darkness has not yet lifted

from the night of a waning moon.

This is the time of discontent

when one feels most alone, but soon,

the sun shall rise.

Others choose to sleep through darkness.

I cannot. Like a lone wolf,

I choose to stay awake, woke to wonder

hidden in all I yet may discover

in people and places I have never known.

I plant seeds of yearning in my soul

that love may take root and grow

beyond my own cultural limits,

beyond the bounds of all I know.

I try to stay awake, though weary,

to watch the new day dawn.

As it surely will.

As it surely will.

As it surely will.

Turn three times and make a wish.

I wish to fearlessly face the heat of these days

with cool calm and laughter so strong

it awakens the entire world.

Will the new dawn reveal 

that which was destroyed

while an entire nation slept?

This question is what makes some people

sleep the whole day long.

Their eyes appear open, but they sleepwalk;

perhaps hoping they are dreaming

and the day is a mere nightmare

from which they will soon awake.

I cannot pretend. Not I.

Even in the dark my eyes open wide.

I must see what darkness has wrought.

I tend to the garden I have created,

to the life of growth I have sought,

as the sun rises over roots sorely stressed.

I cannot allow the plants, nor my self, to die

even though they can no longer thrive.

I am awake in the dark, but not alone.

So long as I see clearly, if not cheerily,

the life of other living things all around me

resisting the threat in the day ahead and hanging on.

Sensing our togetherness is what makes us strong.

I watch the discontented dawn.

The sun continues to rise.

As will you. As shall I.

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NO CELEBRATION

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I celebrate every child’s birth.

I celebrate no man’s death.

I smile at every child’s birth.

I cry at every man’s death.

I do, however, celebrate, or not, the in-between

where a man’s lived-life is truly seen.

I celebrate a man of compassion,

whose common goals derive from a passion

to welcome diversity and inclusion,

where women are equals with no confusion,

where equal rights is not an illusion,

where religion is not a quote but an action,

where selflessness helps everyone gain satisfaction.

I do not celebrate those whose false ego and pride

make money a god of hate and division.

I can mourn such a death, and not celebrate it.

I can  mourn such a life, and not celebrate it.

Death closed a door that no one should open.

No celebration of life nor death can erase truth as we know it.

Find reasons to love those hurting and sorrowful.

But, make no excuses for what was so horrible. 

Speak not evil of the dead.

Nothing more to be said.

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NOT A LOOKING GLASS, NOR WINDOW

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I see you looking through the glass

aghast.

As Alice in Wonderland you fear

falling down rabbit holes.

We all do.

You think the glass is a window.

It is a door.

You seem not to know

it can open for you.

A small push against the lash

can open the way

to a world where anything

is possible.

Everything is now in play.

The old ways are falling away

pushed aside by fearful elements

with false ego and too much pride.

They lie to create a place to hide.

No door is too strong to block you.

You are an American voter.

Your vote holds sway.

Yes, I see the barricades

being put in place, more every day.

Your strength, dear voter, 

comes in numbers so strong

they cannot hold the door closed too long.

Once through the door

we clean the debris away.

Americans living in the light of truth;

we light our own way.

American voters will have their say.

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