Category Archives: POETRY

STRAINED SILENCE

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If you have nothing

good to say, then stay silent.

Strained silence today.

No “both sides” today.

As if some griefs matter more.

No “hate begets hate.”

If you have nothing

good to say, then stay silent.

Strained silence today.

Each life a sacred

moment expressed in earth-time,

born of the Divine.

If you have nothing 

good to say, then stay silent.

Strained silence today.

Civility shattered.

Podcast by podcast each day.

What really matters?

If you have nothing

good to say, then stay silent.

Strained silence today.

We all grieve always,

ev’ry moment ev’ry day.

Loss all around us.

If you have nothing

good to say, then stay silent.

Strained silence today.

Anger lies beneath

the surface of grief today,

fearing so much more.

If you have nothing

good to say, then stay silent.

Strained silence today.

Love is stronger, heh?

Tell us that another day.

Love now keeps silent.

If you have nothing

good to say, then stay silent.

Strained silence today.

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THE GAME IS OVER

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It is hard to stop this rush toward self-destruction

by a nation so far ahead in the race

no one else could compete and play.

There is no reason to mourn the last mile run

in a race no longer any fun

for any but a very few, 

and fewer still each day in play.

We all know American’s greatest sin

is loving nothing better than a game they can win.

When winning is no longer fun 

we look for someone to blame, and make them pay

for reminding us the game is over

and a new game must be put in play.

And, so, we blamed Joe,

who simply, in so many ways, happened to be

the last leader to toss away the final play.

No one has been a winner since,

nor could be since that final day.

A new game cannot be worth our while

if the top few are the only winners.

The old game with so many losers may be over.

But, we Americans are not over the need to play

a game we all can win,

a game we call Election Day.

Let the new game begin!

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SHARED SHAME

Do you see the military

roaming city streets?

It is not my imagination

we are a threatened nation

about to lose our liberty.

The military which was once

our department of defense

against outside enemies

has turned its face within.

Now, it is the department of war

against those it would once defend.

We saw this coming.

We raised the alarm.

You answered with smarmy charm

that both sides do it.

What “it”? I ask. 

I do not make war against you.

I build no fence to enclose you

in concentration camps 

and jail cells with no chance of bond,

nor due process, nor rule of law.

You do all this and more.

You call me names to intimidate

and threaten my peace, my livelihood.

You take away my safety net, my health,

my happiness, my freedom to speak

and resist you. You call me your enemy

to justify your willingness

to let the constitution be tossed aside.

you no longer have integrity nor pride.

You can only feel shame if you have pride.

And you have no shame.

But, I…

I have enough pride for two;

enough to be ashamed of you.

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OLD CLASSMATE LUNCHEON

Time used to slip away.

Now it skips.

Soon, it will run.

From first grade through high school and beyond,

the bond with old classmates remains strong.

Their faces are still young, to me.

My heart carries the fraught memory

of times spent side-by-side,

as life pushed us away on its tide.

We carry their presence within us with pride.

The me no one ever knew resides in each of us openly now.

I marvel at the person we once hid inside.

Today, we rush ahead of reunion,

meeting for lunch and soulful communion.

Our thoughts and actions have become bolder

as each of us grew older,

except for those who sped ahead.

We honor the lives of those now dead.

We celebrate with impunity

those still part of our hearts’ community.

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Filed under FAMILY STORIES, POETRY

SILENCE

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The walk around the neighborhood is strangely silent.

Cicadas have ceased their songs of warning.

Birds flock south on gentle winds 

leaving the yard yearning for music.

Butterflies still sing with quiet wings 

few can hear.

Gnats and flies loosely lie low 

as caterpillars hold on tight

to leaves of flowers seeding through colder nights.

The angle of the sun has moved us

as we turn around a sun now calmed.

Its bright displays over too-hot days are over-done.

The silence grows as the cold days come on.

Longer shadows of neglect disclose

the weeds who hid in too-bright light.

We now face ever-longer nights.

Is this the calm before winter’s storms?

Are we watching the loss of every norm?

Or have we become so compliant

we fail to even notice the silence?

The neighborhood is strangely silent

as I keep vigil, and hold fast against violence.

Silence, silence. So much uneasy silence

one wants to scream and shout so loud

windows open wide in surprise 

to see what all the fuss is about.

Footsteps march around the block.

Even they are too silent to unlock

the energy sapped by summer’s too-hot heat.

We are just too tired to compete

with the silence, silence. So much silence.

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THE PERFECT STORM

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We are in the midst of a perfect storm.

Those who seek perfection, especially

a perfection to match themselves,

which they consider the norm,

relish the chaos which leads astray

a nation once dedicated to the proposition

that “all men are created equal 

and endowed by their creator with the right

to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

What a lovely concept in sunny weather,

on a clear blue day.

But, those seeing red over perceived imperfection

cannot tolerate those who refuse to let the imperfect

get in the way of the possible.

They prefer to cut programs and taxes,

to keep their money in their own pockets,

show their personal largesse to those deemed worthy.

If only, they could see their own imperfections clearly.

We would not be in this frightful storm.

The winds of fascism and authoritarianism stir wildly

every manner, moral tome, and rule of law, and norm.

The rain of terror by masked militia in our streets

is more costly than housing the homeless,

feeding the hungry, educating our young people

who live with expectations of defeat.

The young see their pursuit of happiness and their freedom

being washed away, with inequality laid at their feet.

I do not believe in perfection. 

There are few perfect days.

Clouds are born by winds unseen 

shadowing perfection and laying it aside

while violent storms brew.

I do not seek the impossible. 

It is too costly and uncontrollable.

I know no policy nor program is perfect, as is no man.

Nothing makes us greater than to simply understand

we are all flawed human beings doing the best we can.

There can be no apology for silently marveling 

and supporting these dark days.

The perfect see no reason to apologize

for the greater wisdom of their ways.

We are left to raise umbrellas 

to protect as many as we can.

But, umbrellas are no match for perfect storms

created by our fellow man.

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GAMBLING ON DEMOCRACY

A I generated image

Losers unite fast.

Winners make moments last.

Spectators lose all.

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DEMORALIZED

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Newscasters used to tell it like it is.

Now, they are opinionated forecasters.

They still tell us who.

They tell us who said why.

They no longer tell us 

what, when or how.

That would expose the lie.

No wonder we are demoralized

within both its meanings, 

no surprise.

First losses began long ago:

No more manners as a guide.

No more conscience to lower pride.

No respect for others.

No authority recognized.

Second losses are less discreet:

No longer safe in thoughts nor words.

No longer safe on our own streets.

No more hopeful for the best

when every known fact is put to the test.

No more law and order.

Due process now out the door.

Demoralized beyond repair?

The people rise, at last, at last?

Not in anger and outrage.

Peacefully assembling on marching feet.

Nuns, priests, ministers, imams and rabbis

offer a morality well-intentioned if incomplete.

But this is how our story goes.

We are not perfect, heaven knows.

Our moral code is soft and flexible.

Our democratic republic makes it workable.

It offers a way to respect ourselves and one another;

to recognize all as sister or brother.

Immorality is what we see, and vote for?

Approve of, and laugh about too obviously?

See where  we have led ourselves and our country,

fueled by wantoness and greed.

Demoralized we may be.

Still a people willing to fight to remain free.”

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“NOLITE TE BASTARDES CARBORUNDORUM.” – Handmaid’s Tale

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TRUST DIPLOMACY ?

I cannot be certain

Of the men behind the curtain

Of press conference

Media accounts.

My uncertainty mounts

At words “They have to fight”.

What space is their in peaceful diplomacy

For such European flummery to one who spouts

Putin’s fundamental effrontery?

“They must fight.” Have I heard that right?

More bombs, missiles and drones dropped overnight

On Ukraines families and children,on civilians

Proves the point.

We have a president who annoints

A killer, aggressor, man who acts a devil

And supports his evil need to fight.

Despite what we hear, rely on what we see.

Rely on what we see men and women do.

Sanctions still lifted.

Bank accounts secure.

No pressure on Putin.

Words? We need much more!

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FORTUNE TELLERS

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Squirrels dance with abandon

to circadian rhythm

leaving behind all restraint,

and stashes of seeds and nuts

in unlikely places which

I shall discover in Spring.

Like gypsy fortune tellers

they scamper from one customer

to another predicting what is to come.

The plants seem to listen 

afraid not to learn their fate.

They wilt a bit and lose color

as their fortune unfolds.

Their worst fears make them bold.

They bloom twice as many flowers.

They turn every flower head to seed.

They will not be caught unaware

of warnings gypsy squirrels have brought.

Perhaps, their glory will fade.

But, all will not be lost.

The squirrels promise new life will appear

in old and new plots.

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