Category Archives: POETRY

INSIDE GUESS

Photo by Igor Cibulsky on Pexels.com

My guess is as good as yours, you know.

We can argue and remonstrate as we go.

Stardust falls too easily upon the earth

where we abide, and  constantly seek rebirth.

Imagination takes us within its thrall.

Reality may not be real; not real at all.

We watch stories unfold on stage and screen

Impossible to believe what our eyes have seen.

For a moment all that exists is a creative idea,

a fantasy which draws us all near,

connects us without fear.

It coats us in fairy dust,

and so, we trust.

These moments of suspended reality

remind us of our tightly held duality.

Our starry-eyed souls try to hide inside

a body which runs open and wide,

which seeks to break free

and reach for the stars seen in dark skies.

All we really need to do is look inside.

That is where reality truly resides.

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AWAITING SPRING

Classic Noru2019easter plowed up the East Coast of the United States [Detail] by NASA Goddard Photo and Video is licensed under CC-BY 2.0

The wind has ceased clearing away

old lies and false games in play.

New lies form and cling to every surface

and truth is once again surfeit.

Snow may provide pristine cover

until snow melts and we discover

one lie lies atop another.

Spring seems too far away

and each day we must wait seems unsafe.

I welcome any blowing wind that rages,

if it uncovers the millions of pages

hidden behind bureaucratic stages.

Sunlight always follows storms

which speed across a continent’s norms

and freshens the air we all breathe,

able to fill lungs eager to breathe free.

A cold wind is as good as warm.

Each wind has its own charm.

Both can clear the air and remove

what would cause us harm.

No wind today to grace 

what feels a very unsafe space.

So, I blow words across a page.

A warning wind blowing hard and truly

meant to make us all a bit unruly.

No place for Kings, I remind you.

We gather together, we too few.

Let the winds blow and harden our stance

to face and uncover lies which advance

the tyranny of greedy overlords 

who cannot stand up to truthful words.

Spring is coming, or so, I have heard told.

Until it comes, blow winds! Blow!

No matter how cold.

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THE NORTH WIND

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A fierce wind blows hard and fast

across the tundra’s frozen mass

sliding down south furious and fast

like a feisty child on a slickened slide,

adult control no longer about,

tearing across a playground 

with hearty shouts of glee –

I’m free! I’m free! I’m free!

It is a wondrous sight to see

bending, dancing trees in sway

holding tight squirrels’ nests

close to trees’ heaving chests.

The air is alive in ways we seldom see.

reminding us we, too, can be free.

We can cross the frozen, grieving miles

and dance again wreathed in smiles.

We can find a quickened pace

as wind lifts our feet into space

we once thought too weak to bear our weight.

Mother Nature reminds us of our place

in an ever-changing world whose race

to bring us safely round the sun,

with laughter, joy and fun

brings treasured moments of grace.

North wind reminds what we already know –

we….must…. just….let……….. go!

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BIRDS OF A FEATHER

I envy those still able to place words on a page.

I hesitate at what I might say to display my rage.

Silence is its own subtle, harmful, deadening cage.

I refuse to become like you – a killer 

of all that is good, all that is free, all that is true.

I refuse to become like you – a silent witness

of all that is evil, all who are held in bondage, 

all of the lies which rely upon you.

I refuse to become like you – a sycophant

in silent praise of racist, sexist, xenophobic chant

by tiny minds, fattened by greed, with tiny hands

grasping for the sacred trust, and pedophilic lust

most hide from civil and moral view.

I refuse to become you – a lost boy

in Never-Never Land, fearful and confused,

afraid to grow up, preferring to fly high

above those you believe inferior

so that you can feel superior.

I know who you are; and so, do you.

I refuse to become you; and so, extend a hand

to help you settle down upon a branch of freedom.

It is weakened; it is true.

But still strong enough

with love enough

to hold us…together.

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LONG TIME SHORT

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Time was

when we 

wondered

if we 

would be

together

tomorrow.

Now is

when we

wonder

that we

are still

together

today.

fifty-six years

is a long time

and no time

at all.

Not enough time

for those who fall

in love.

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MAGA MINDS RACING

Getting started is the hardest.

Once begun, everyone runs

to be the first,

or at least to be 

in the crowd

that crosses the finish line

in record time.

Those left out of the race

try to keep pace

along the sidelines

never raising the question

of where they are headed,

or what they might gain.

They simply imagine

there must be a prize.

What a surprise 

to discover there is

none at all.

It was test to see

who would fall

into line.

Their pride is satisfied.

They feel superior

to those who are so inferior

they did not run at all.

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OCEANS

I could become an ocean

If I unleashed the rivers of tears

Building behind eyes seeing,

Building behind ears hearing,

Building behind a mind

Buried in grief over what I find

Hidden within family and friends,

I thought were of a kind;

Who saw hate and felt repulsion,

Who heard lies and became disgusted,

Who watched inhumanity and scowled,

Who with outrage spoke aloud.

Instead, they smirk and smile,

And change the subject acting proud

To shut down discussion and discomfort at discussing hard truths.

Either they are in avoidance of discord;

Or worse, they approve of lies and hate,

And are simply happy to see hate flourish.

They are not the least discouraged.

I could become an ocean.

Instead, I check my emotion.

I seek to find some common ground.

Impossible when they shut all true conversation with me down.

Is this what pushes us apart,

a river of tears breaking canyon

walls of disagreement apart?

I could become an ocean

Washing them away as I allow

My tears to flow.

Until the valley of tears

Washes hate clear

And silts and nourishes the soil

That love may once again grow.

I could become an ocean.

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GETTING DIZZY

I wait upon the turning point

Dizzy and disoriented

By its rapid display

Of reality asway,

Believing the transformation will soon stop.

And if I can hang on tight,

And if I do not drop

All will then become clear.

A new way of seeing the world

And connecting its dots

Will unite us all in every endeavor.

Not because we are so clever;

But, because we must do better

Or destroy our selves,

Dust to dust.

Turning points are dizzying affairs.

We must grab hands to slow its course.

We must focus on a single point as we ride

In constant circles, growing wide,

Until the entire world bounces by

And we all feel the brunt of gravity

As it drags us down past reality

Where the vaguest hopes reside.

When will this end, we ask and fuss?

Knowing how it ends is up to us.

If only the spin would stop long enough

To catch a breath, I could get tough.

It is dangerous to let go when spinned out of control.

The spin disturbs the mindfulness which makes me whole.

If only those who stand and watch would reach to pull me out.

But, they hesitate and obliterate

Any discussion or action

until I fear it will be too late.

What will they think and how will they feel

To watch me destroyed on the spinning wheel?

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SOFT TOUCH

Photo by Teona Swift on Pexels.com

Touches can be tough and hard to unravel,

like tangled skeins of thread woven with hard feelings

they pinch and grab until we hurt.

So needy are we for touching connection

we often forego our own protection

against those touches which do us harm.

We must teach ourselves to crochet and knit together

the fabric of our lives with love and self-acceptance

until our skin glows with health and satisfaction.

And if I touch you, then, while my soft skin glows,

my touch will heal your pain and calm your fears,

and together we shall share something of the divine.

I place one of my hands in yours, my lover, my friend.

I place the other over your heart, where our love starts,

and eagerly await the feel of your loving hands on me.

How fortunate are we that we feel silky strands of delight

as we clothe one another in blessed and loving light.

Touch can be tough and hard; but not ours, never ours.

It takes courage to be a soft touch and open our seams

to disclose the person below the cloth masking our souls.

Soft touch is made for lovers and friends, the only touch which mends.

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AGES OF LOVE

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

No one tells us love takes time to ferment,

like a yeast bread, or fine wine.

The heady fermenting scent unsettles us all the while;

and, we fearfully seek avenues of escape

from the changes in its composition.

Love’s growth challenges our position.

We stop and wonder how we got here;

even though we still do not know where we are.

Thus, such questions make us feel like fools.

Patience is a virtue because it is so rare.

Kindness and faith in one another is the only rule

to follow on the route which keeps love alive.

Blindly, we stumble past years of discontent.

Only after decades of loving do we realize

we carried one another’s hopes and dreams,

like a heavy sack upon our back until

we reached the destination where we could build

the life we were each destined to lead.

Hand in hand we stand and view the space

which has become our most sacred place;

the place we hesitantly share, breathing the same air,

remembering the same joys and sorrows,

hoping for just one more tomorrow

of loving communion and contented union

of two bodies now made one, finally.

We look around us with wonder.

We finally know how to love, over and under.

Love takes time, yours and mine.

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