Category Archives: POETRY

GAME OF PRETEND

THE GAME OF PRETEND

Louise Annarino

4-23-2013

 

Underpaid taxes

and overrun budgets

shutter rec-centers

factories

schools

hope

while dog parks flourish

with barks of pleasure

by pets at leisure

well fed,well groomed,well vetted,

paraded,protected pooches

while homeless children

follow unemployed parents

left behind middle class time

to unfamilar beds

at night,

up and out

at dawn

to make it through

one       more      day

without childhood play.

Thus, we pretend

our children are okay.

“Whoof”!

Time to feed the dog.

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DRIVING NAILS, Louise Annarino

Driving Nails

Louise Annarino

4-23-2013

 

Voices heard in the distance,

words scattered by cold winds

and the grunting song of tires

on pavement.

Voices not angry but shriveled,

but nevertheless shouted

into the wind,

against the traffic

passing beneath the roof

on which they stand,

tools in hand,

ordering edges and driving nails

into soft shingles.

Better to remain

silent

amidst such violence.

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CUTTING, By Louise Annarino

CUTTING

Louise Annarino

4-23-2013

 

The bucket of water

weighs down

my arm below the knee,

its handle biting my palm

in small,grasping bites

too numerous to count

until my hand,

this hand meant to

pull weeds and cut flowers

is grazed and bloody,

too swollen to hold scissors

or trace the lines of your face

and carry them to my cheek.

The only cutting today

is of self.

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THANKSGIVING,By Louise Annarino,November 19,2013

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.

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An Ode to writers’ Critics,By Louise Annarino,3-9-2013

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.

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Buried Memories of Drought,by Louise Annarino,3-9-2013

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.

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Family Reunion,By Louise Annarino,3-9-2013

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.

 

 

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Dead Leaves,Louise Annarino,3-4-2013

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.

 

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The Argument,Louise Annarino,3-4-2013

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.

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TUGBOATS,by Louise Annarino 3-2-2013

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.

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