Category Archives: POETRY

LETTING GO

Carrying away the day in buckets of lost dreams

is a waste of good time and makes 

the compost pile scream.

Waiting in the wings are characters

preparing the next act with useless tact.

Who knows what adventures lie ahead for those

willing to drop the text and pretext of prose

to bring the old play to a close?

For those starting the next chapter

with brave and honest laughter

in a new script meant to convey

a future of happy possibilities,

despite life’s fragilities, all is good.

Right now. This time.This day.

Stand and bow to applause

just as you should.

Now, get off the stage and live.

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KILLING OUR CHILDREN

The garden is awash in earths tears, 

unleashed by climate change fears,

carried on gusts of wind beating down

on an already soaked ground

where drenched petals now lie spent.

The sky cried for days, nothing really new.

But now she cries for others, too;

not only herself as her rhythms are torn loose.

She cries for miles of wounded souls

across America’s fields of woe

as Americans try to cope with the pain

of children ignored, wounded and slain.

Guns locked and loaded against all

who are not white men with moneyed eyes

which blind their view of progressive skies

opened to all that is bright and new;

like children who seek to grow up wise,

appreciating every new experience

as an exploration of greater happiness.

Even childlike innocence is not enough 

to save the lives of little ones

when war is waged by hopeless men

preyed upon by sellers of guns

who magnify phony fears for profit

and ratings and votes.

Earth and I have come undone,

hopes dampened by clouds of tears

hiding the sun. Each child a flower

mown down, unable to run to safety.

Not one.

Not a single one.

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OLD FRIENDS ARE THE BEST FRIENDS

When was the hour 

the garden gained power

to teach life’s lesson of love

that one could recover its loss?

1993 was the year.

Each moment held dear.

The Waterford Tower

ended homelessness

when friendship shared

a dwelling of peace and safety

after illness took my career.

Who knew the fraud of success is real

where friendships are concerned?

Positional power has no hold

on false friendships born daily anew.

Personal power takes energy to maintain,

more than CFIDS allowed.

The oldest friends remained.

Love untarnished, contained

year after year through our play.

Like perennial flowers they sustained me. 

Their roots planted wide, firm and deep.

Annuals come and go with the sun.

Flashier and more colorful, perhaps;

but unable to fulfill winter’s need

to dig down deep beneath winter’s chill

until sunny days of Spring restore

all that one once hoped for.

Old friends flower in my garden.

Old friends remain on cold days of change.

Old friends stay the course until the end.

1993 was only the beginning 

of planting my feet in old soil,

among old friends.

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spit, curse, vote

the tears of curses caught by chance 

for surely I lack strength to hold

back the words I would spit out

at those who sigh platitudes 

and sow doubt at what I see

not before my eyes

such sights are hidden

lest we become so enraged

they can no longer play their game

they hide the view of truth

to soothe and tame

the beast I would become

should I be witness to what I cannot abide

the bullet riddled bodies 

of tiny children who have died

not in a mass casualty event as reported

but in mass murder by weapons of war

a war we make on our own children

to allow white supremacists to intimidate

and breed fear in churches, groceries and schools

until it is too late 

to stop the tide of fratricide

on every street in America

where bullies roam free on the backs

of states rights instead of holding firm

to embrace and uphold the Constitution

and claim superiority to hold power and deny

free speech to those who disagree

in patriotic peaceful assembly

while they bring their guns and weapons

to rallies and threaten

to destroy free society and democracy.

It is all of a piece connecting dots

displaying their duplicity in idiocy.

While our children are taught

how to avoid being killed at their desks.

I cannot write poetry which calmly states

the facts when all I want to say

is vote those guys out who refuse

to keep our children safe.

It is the least we can do,

the very lest.

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WHY ?

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

We carry our load down the road.

What for? Where? Why?

After awhile, our feet simply move on their own.

No direction necessary for places unknown.

No reason necessary to carry

what is placed in our hands and across our backs.

Our only focus now is to stay on track.

We could not look back if we tried.

The load would shift and slide.

Past effort would all be wasted.

We tack on a smile only pasted

from memories of those we pass on our way.

We trudge on day after day.

Still the question lingers, “But, why?”

No religion, nor ideology, nor philosophy given

has truly answered that question. Curiosity riven.

We simply carry our loads.

Then, we die.

So then, why ask “Why”?

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IN THE GARDEN WITH FRIENDS

It is not just the poppy that addicts.

All flowers do to those 

who make gardens grow.

Over rocky , stubbled fields

replacing weeds with scented folds

of roses petaled

in circled fashion we all know.

Flowers call our names

even when we know not theirs,

from rows and rows and rows

of nurseried plants shouting aloud

“Take me home. Take me home!”

So many languages flowers speak.

Gardeners yearn to learn them all,

each one part of a diverse melody

which sings a siren’s song.

The garden is a symphony

of chords and rhythms strong

enough to carry feet along 

new paths from dawn to dusk

to worlds unknown beyond.

Strong enough to lift up all 

who wander through the varied colors,

kissed by bees and butterflies

taking us along on a joyous ride

to the one place for which we long.

A place of unity and uncommon beauty

freed from wilderness, our wildness tamed;

and fear buried beneath the soil

where it belongs.

Like flowers, in gardens we reach for the sun

and welcome the rain to quench our thirst

for freedom, friendship and mirth.

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PROTECT MARIUPOL’S HEROES

I cannot forget Mariuopl’s  brave defenders.

Now, thrown into play by their surrender

to Putin and Russian offenders

of all that is sacred in Mary’s city.

Now, left to evildoers without pity.

Media seems to ignore this ignominy

replacing the glory of the sexier story 

of fighting to the death, which has more cachet

as breaking news than a prisoner switch, any day.

Misplaced attention and failure to attend details

endangers Ukrainian defenders on the rails.

Instead of an exchange, they face trials,

and more victimization mile after mile

by the butchers who claim those who fought back

are war criminals, to cover their own tracks.

Mariupol’s men, women and children were blown off the map.

Ukraine’s borders scattered by Russia’s attempt to overlap

its peaceful neighbors, no longer members of the USSR.

Now seeking a new democratic order, looking afar

to The West whose history mirrors their own more fully.

Putin’s Russia determined to remain a USSR bully.

Now, Ukrainian heroes are more in need of our protection

and our media looking for its own glory screens off in defection.

Shine the light on heroes’ lives Russia bends to their destruction.

Use your news power to defend each hour of their lives and protect them.

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UMBRELLA PEOPLE

Umbrellas block the sun as well as rain.

Create the fantasy we  fearfully hold

that we are really in control.

Mother Nature knows far better.

Physics yet unknown follows to the letter

the balance of chaos in the multiverse.

In every verse is hidden the winds of change.

It is better to explore than ignore and guard against

with flimsy excuses that bend in the wind,

or fly out of our hands, or off their stands

when harsher winds blow than those expected

while we thought ourselves protected.

We hide beneath umbrellas blocking the sense

we were born with to survive this world,

lost with each umbrella that unfurls.

Run in the sun to find shade among the trees. 

Walk in the rain and feel the mud squeeze

between your toes until you once again know

the glory of communion with Mother Earth.

Let senses restore the sense given at birth.

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KEEP ON WALKING

On the street where I walked

held tight by Daddy’s hand

fear brought us to  a stop

as I noticed the words of a man

on the sandwich board he wore:

“The world is coming to an end.”

Daddy quickly gleaned

what had stopped me in my tracks.

The weight of concern at such scene

felt in the tension of my hand.

“Is this true?”

 I asked the most honest man I knew.

Daddy never missed a beat 

as he urged along my feet

glued to the sidewalk by the man’s chant.

Daddy said, “This is nothing new.

Every generation has said the same

since the world began.

It is up to us to make it untrue.

And, we always do.

“When you grow up,” he continued,

There will be a world for you.

People always find a way

to save what they love.

So, just keep on walking

and do what you can do.

And never give up.

The world is too fine 

to let a hopeless man define

the future that belongs to you.

Just keep on walking.

Keep on walking.”

He did. And, I do.

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ON THE PLAYGROUND

Blistering heat on the soles of feet

bared to the earth.

Summer’s stories are foretold 

by shoes left in the closet

as a deposit to pay

for fun in the sun on its way.

Summer is coming when running free

becomes a certainty for shoeless children

and adults like me eager to play.

Let us all run free

from bullets and tanks

from white supremacy

from loss of our humanity

from threats to women

and nursing-less children

from over-heated earth

and timing of births

from storms and fires

from the need to be admired

from fear and remorse

when we failed to stay the course.

Kick off your shoes.

Feel life’s reality. 

Restore your sanity.

For today, simply play.

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