It is easy to be thankful
for those whose love for us rolls easily
from their tongues, envelops us seamlessly
and shoulders us heavenly.
More difficult it is to be thankful
for those whose love growls coarsely,
binds us tightly
and holds us back fearfully.
Not all love is open, assured and courageous.
But, all love is true,
bears a message meant to be heard,
and shares a strength we may need
to make our own
that we may become someone
others may be thankful to know
and love.
Filed under POETRY
An Ode to Writers’ Critics,By Louise Annarino,March 9,2013
Too often
words castigate
instead of illuminate
the disrobing of the soul
by a writer whose purpose
is merely to reveal
an unseen truth.
Not enough that we dare
to show skin bared
and broken open
with tortured minds
sharpened to a fine point
by unholy facts of broken glass
we walk upon with bare feet.
Unafraid of dirty linen
stained by the blood
of virgins always open
to new truths,writers welcome
with open arms
those who would do harm as easily
as those who do good.
Be gentle with writers
in your complaints and admonitions.
So, it is not your position?
Nor your place
to disgrace their efforts,
to scatter their page
with shards of broken thoughts.
Filed under POETRY
Buried Memories of Drought,By Louise Annarino,3-9-2013
The fly rests on a stone chip
laid bare by melting snow
creating easements
of rivulets channeled
into multiple streams
by snowdrops scattered
across the garden bed,
dropped petals
become holding ponds
for the streams’ runoff.
Each giant step I take
across the border
of miniature boulders
leaves behind bare lakes
which soon
will fill
with the mist of
early morning fog,
a final snow melt,
and spring rains.
There is no lack of water now,
no need for hoses,
water buckets,
sprinklers nor rain barrels
to bring life to my garden.
Melons and berries
and squash yet hold
faith in my planting
against the buried memory
of last year’s drought.
Filed under POETRY
Family Reunion,Louise Annarino,March 9,2013
20,000 types of bees ?
Who knew
what I saw last summer,
the few types,
eight or nine,
flying
flower-to-flower
jaunts,
were merely cousins
from beyond my knowledge.
I will look harder
longer
with greater expectations
from now on.
Magnetic pull
from variety
increased diversity.
The mosaic
continues
with dollar plants
from Lowes.
Abbruzzis
or Abbruzzeses,
how many types of
us are there?
More spellings
than we can guess,
more stories to tell
than any one
can remember,
if we ever knew
what is in our DNA.
Like bees hovering
near the hive
we are most alive
when traveling far
to be near
the garden
where we reunite.
Filed under POETRY
An empty car park
becomes the playground
of the last fall leaves,
wizened brown flakes
skittering and scraping
scud missiles
of hope
to the garden
hidden beneath
the asphalt,
now crumbling
from heaving and sighing
its icy skin
itching
for Spring.
Soil pushes up
weeds from beneath
the widening cracks
where shredded leaves
find their final rest
and restore hope.
Filed under POETRY
The Argument,Louise Annarino,3-4-2013
The final words are better
than the first.
They tie up ends
and lessen the thirst
for meaning hidden
within the verse
of charges filed
upon the curse
of a voice demanding
“listen to me!”
Finally
love enters unrehearsed
and stops the loss
that might have been
a different ending
for both sides
unbending
with no reason
nor rhyme
except our time
together.
Filed under POETRY
TUGBOATS
The flag is torn.
The ship of state slips its mooring.
The sea is rough
whipped by winds of change,
the journey
unplanned.
Anxiety breeds like flies
on the dying carcass of democracy
and greed
continues to fill
the slaughterhouse
of capitalist desire.
The overloaded burdens
turn the captain grey before his time
and shudder the rudder
gripped
by his hands on the wheel
as the great ship moves forward.
The bobbing tugboats
common, small,
and defenseless are all
that stand between
success and failure
as they guide the ship to calmer, deeper seas.
It is the tugboats which protect democracy.
Not the sleek yachts.
Not the OIL tankers.
Not the cruise ships…
but the tugboats’ throaty whistles
and hardened hulls.
They work the harbors of the world
dressed down and
heads up
for sights and sounds of risk.
Then, set the path
to true freedom.
Only tugboats
can bring the ship of state, and us,
to safe harbor.
Those aboard the ship of state may wine and dine
the Great Pirates of the seven seas.
They would be wise
to recall
that the lowly tugboat
holds them
all
accountable.
Filed under POETRY
Teenage Signals,Louise Annarino,January 30,2013
We take street lights for granted.
Green,yellow,red
syncronized swimmers
against the traffic tide
bringing order from confusion,
organizing patterns
of construction,
avoiding accidental
destruction
of our pride.
You are not mine.
Independence fuels
your journey,but you
are never alone.
You have me,
a streetlight,
one of many,
often unnoticed
and many unknown,
at every intersection,
seeing you safely
on your way
from youth
to adulthood
and beyond.
Filed under POETRY
Rockslide,Louise Annarino,1-26-2013
Another day started late
beyond the time to contemplate
justification for the time spent
writing a poem
few will read.
Nerves on edge
of a precipice built
with loose gravel,
not a sturdy life,
but shortened breaths
encased in gossamer
wings no longer
able to fly.
And, again
I ask “why?”
Why energy fled
before the keep was taken,before
the soul was shaken
like a tambourine’s
tinny sound,
uneven like my steps
placed in fear
of falling down
on my own,
or in the rockslide
my life is built upon.
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 