Some days the words refuse to let me go.
On other days words pretend I am someone they do not know.
The cut-direct should not hurt so.
Category Archives: POETRY
PRESS, THE ATTACK
Writing in the dark
is hard, requires balance,
leaning on insight.
Things do not smell right
despite heightened sense of smell
and story to tell.
Writing in the dark
makes hard to appreciate
journalists who fall.
Things are now hidden
behind false information.
See? Nothing at all.
And, so it goes down:
free speech, free press, redress.
Democracy Dark!
HUNGER GAMES
I see patterns, not the dead.
Patterns of the dead and dying, instead.
Death by a thousand cuts,
every strength lessened in a labor force,
in flight controllers, educators, hospitals,
F.B.I and military personnel, as well.
Saving money is not the purpose;
but, stealing money to fill the purses
of family and those who hold the cards,
greedy sots who play so hard
they have forgotten how to work
if they ever knew how.
No sweat on their flinty-eyed brow.
The hunger games have now begun.
Watching suffering is part of their fun.
Crying children with aching bellies,
babies once thriving, who will soon be dying.
The weakened working poor and people of color
are always such a weight and bother
to those who seek fortune and fame.
To win, such weak pretenders must play such games.
The cries and shouts are soon drowned out
by Epstein’s files which stretch for miles
across every ocean, their pattern is in motion.
Overpower those you fear and take their power.
Do this day-by-day, hour-by-hour
until they die or wish they could.
Death by a thousand cuts.
Pretend you are doing it for their own good.
Your power is but a sick, slick dream;
a nightmare for hungry children who scream.
Banks profit off your every scheme and stay silent
while you threaten and demean those who show
who you really are, and strive to make clear
this is not who most of us are, or wish to be.
But, too many agree. Too many refuse to see
the patterns they have watched on TV screens
for so many generations that it is destroying a nation.
I see patterns, not the dead.
So busy feeding the hungry we have little time to fight
those who create patterns of dominance and fright
robbing us of the wealth which once fueled our success.
Now, our very democratic existence is under duress.
This is part pf the plan of the Heritage Foundation,
who has shaken the core the the Republican Party so hard
it no longer exists as a proud opposition.
It has become the source of a free people’s annihilation.
I see patterns. I see the plan has been set in motion.
Now, I ask, countryman and women to show their devotion
to a nation entitled to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness
where all are created free as a basic right of creation.
NORTHERN LIGHTS
The Aurora Borealis is too much Latin for Americans
who look at night-time skies to see what is hidden
from their more southern views.
White supremacy’s bright lights and cloudy skies
hide the natural truths seen by more northern eyes.
War between the two settled nothing it seems, now
when night holds sway for many more hours of our day.
Electricity heats the cold and hides the stars
while we stay locked inside and miss the show
our saving sun puts on display to energize earth
and remind us of its power in such a glorious way.
We miss the full glow our northern neighbors see.
We rejoice just to know such light exists,
even though we block its view with technology.
Safe and warm inside, we simply watch it on T.V.
Even a nine year old describes with solemn glee
one more item is met on his bucket list
as if once is enough to behold one
of the universe’s many mysteries.
We reduce all around us to private lists of goals achieved.
We miss the chance to feel the tiny place we hold
together in the expansive and expanding galaxy.
We need never feel deadened and alone.
With such energy and light our truth is shown.
No reporter nor weatherman on our screen
can reveal the natural world right outside our door
in all its truth and glory, telling us the story
of who we are, who we could become, and how to see
the Northern Lights, which warm the heart
and light the soul, if truth be told.
To see the sight of the Northern Light
we must face the darkness and the cold.
Filed under POETRY
MY FIRST AND ONLY CONFESSION
Confession is good for the soul.
I have been told.
My first confession
at the age of seven
Took Sister Mary Claude,
whose diligence I applaud,
months to abate my fear.
First in line, I strode near
the confessional where Fr. Torre
waited to hear blood and gore
from little ones whose blame-game
only recently became a cause of shame.
With whispering words I began to confess.
“Father, forgive me.”( I felt such stress.)
“This is my first confession.”
Father stopped me right there
as I sat on the edge of the chair.
He was behind the screen,
a solemn, still figure barely seen.
“Please speak up so I can hear.”
And, so I did, and started to enumerate
all my sins, expecting him to strongly berate.
His words caused me even greater fear,
“Louise, not so loud, or all will hear.”
No longer did I worry who heard what.
He knew me, when I had been taught,
confession is anonymous.
Now, I felt infamous.
How could I face him across my Mother’s table
when he came each week that he was able
to eat her suga and Italian food;
and feel like family, with buoyant mood.
My only sin that day
was what I confessed every single Saturday,
“I disobeyed my Mother 10 times a day,
every day, of every week, of every year.
I was a disobedient child who shed no tears.
And over these many years
I have never changed my insolent creed
My father told me as I stood at his knee,
“Every man puts his pants on one leg at a time.
No one is better than you; (I liked that line)
and you are no better than anyone else.”
Equality set my soul free, made my heart pulse.
Equality became the base of all courage.
Equality kept me from being discouraged.
As a woman in a man’s world and profession.
I learned to speak up and out loud in my first confession.
Filed under FAMILY STORIES, POETRY
A NEW DAWN
Even the pictures on the wall
are tilted to the right.
Was there another disturbance overnight?
A tweet, and email, a deep-meet out of sight?
Did I stay asleep to avoid another fright?
When dawn came to anew and renew me
I woke to the strengthening light.
I straightened every picture on every wall.
Was all this only a nightmarish dream after all?
I suddenly feel stronger, the longer I recall
what the world looked like before America’s fall.
Once again, I vow, Americans will be able to stand tall.
THE PROMISE OF YOUTH
This is what you say:
What experience do you have?
This is what they hear:
You will never get a job.
This is what they think:
How can I get experience
if no one hires without it?
This is what you say:
What income and collateral have you?
This is what they hear:
I cannot get a small-business loan.
This is what they think:
No one will hire me and I cannot
start a business of my own.
This is what you say:
Your college loans are over-due.
This is what they hear:
We are going to ruin you.
This is what they think:
I cannot get a job or a loan.
Guess I must move back home.
Failure never felt so certain
to the young Americans
who believed with such purpose
that it would be possible to get ahead.
Now, too many live in dread.
And way too many
wish they were dead.
Is this the America we want?
Is this the America we were promised?
What folly has greed wrought?
What tax system created this rot ?
That only those with wealth
can exercise their rights
to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Youth have eyes open wide,
open to all that seems new.
The aged close their tired eyes
hoping nothing at all will change.
But, the aged and their folly shall pass.
America’s promise shall be renewed,
as sure as day follows night.
Vote as if the lives of the young
depend upon you doing what is right.
Because, their lives depend upon you.
They most assuredly do.
LEAD WITH THE HEART
Lead with the heart
and the mind will follow
a path of peace and hope,
strong enough to carry
dreams and generosity
for all those you meet.
No matter how difficult
the journey it will not be taken
alone, silently, fearfully.
The heart knows best what matters.
The heart knows the best path.
The heart unites us joyfully.
The heart beats life determinedly.
The heart overcomes strife.
Lead with the heart and do your part
to create a world worth living.
Some paths are famous and large.
Some paths are unrecognized and small.
Every path matters to those
who walk it and make it their own.
Every path converges as we move
into the great unknown.
Filed under POETRY
BACK TO THE GYM
Most of us have been away from the gym too long.
Our freedom-loving muscles have grown slack.
We had not fully recognized the slack.
Others noted the weakness
of our democratic body.
We went about our day aware that each act
became more difficult, more strenuous.
Success became less assured, more tenuous.
While we grew soft, life grew hard.
We could no longer lift our children above our heads.
Their safety could not be assured;
not only on the playground monkey bars,
but behind their desk, or sitting in church pews.
Even our voices became more feeble
as we stopped the exercise of free speech,
and bemoaned the simple act
of marching down the street.
But others watched and saw our weakness grow.
Knew we were no longer paying attention
to our former strength and ignoring our work-outs,
while we flaunted more the medals on our chests
and the trophies on our shelves.
We no longer recalled how we earned those awards.
We forgot the daily struggle at life’s gymnasium
to keep the muscles of self-governance
strong enough to take on new challenges and ideas.
Our weakness made us run from, instead of with,
others racing along the path to freedom.
We envied their success, our own no longer moving
us forward and ahead.
The only way the weak can win is by holding others back.
The truly strong can win by running hard and long.
We all looked away from those who cheat
to claim a win they do not deserve.
It feels too close to every nerve
now weakened within each lax muscle;
a republic struggling just to stay upright.
Religion becomes the panacea of anxious nights.
We can only hope our muscle-memory
of freedoms gained in the past
is strong enough to make our democracy last.
Back to the gym. Walk the streets. Shout the speech
that you recall in memory grown weak.
Build back the muscle needed to wield your voting power.
Now is the hour
to get back to the gym.
Be strong and carry on!
BALANCE OF POWER
Nature restores balance
upset by human hands
on air and sea and land.
Government becomes unbalanced
when leaders fail to understand
no government can serve us
when controlled by a single man.
No single party can control
a seamless governance of the whole.
Power unbalanced is doomed to fail.
History and Nature tell the tale.
Diversity is the golden rule of life,
counteracting hidden strife
as it strives to interact and share
what keeps the planet alive and fair,
what makes us glad to be alive.
Cooperation is not just wise.
It is the seed of all that grows.
It is the only means Nature knows
to grow the wheat and the rose,
to water the farmland and dry the bog,
to cool summer heat and fire winter’s log,
to spread seeds on the breeze of dawn
and weight the wind blowing too strong.
We have run away from Nature far too long.
We have forgotten to listen to Nature’s song.
We have been singing a discordant tune
to instruments so loud, the song is ruined.
But Nature always restores balance.
It is the base note of Nature’s parlance.
Take off your shoes and walk in the grass.
Feel the freedom you feared lost in the past.
Turn your face into the wind and hold tight.
Feel the freedom you feared lost beyond your sight.
Wade in puddles catching raindrops on your tongue.
Feel the freedom you feared lost and with hands wrung.
We fear we have no way to save our nation.
But Nature gives us a new generation
every spring and through every season
Nature restores our world and our reason.
Balance of Power is the song of the hour.
