WRITING SEEMS
A FEEBLE ATTEMPT
TO COUNTER FEELINGS
WITH THOUGHTS,
I FEAR.
BUT, THAT IS THE POINT
WHERE WE
ARE MEANT TO MEET.
NOT IN RATIONAL THOUGHT
WITH FACTS, NOT FICTION;
BUT, IN MUTUAL FEAR
WHERE CONTROL UNWINDS
AND THERE CAN BE
NO MEETING OF MUTIAL MINDS.
THUS, FEELINGS MATTER MORE
THESE DAYS, THAN EVER BEFORE.
FEAR AND LOATHING ARE COMPANIONS
TOO OFTEN USED TO DIVIDE
THOSE CAPABLE OF LOVE.
WORSE, WHEN DESIGNED AND LED
FROM THOSE ABOVE.
Filed under Uncategorized
Darkness has not yet lifted
from the night of a waning moon.
This is the time of discontent
when one feels most alone, but soon,
the sun shall rise.
Others choose to sleep through darkness.
I cannot. Like a lone wolf,
I choose to stay awake, woke to wonder
hidden in all I yet may discover
in people and places I have never known.
I plant seeds of yearning in my soul
that love may take root and grow
beyond my own cultural limits,
beyond the bounds of all I know.
I try to stay awake, though weary,
to watch the new day dawn.
As it surely will.
As it surely will.
As it surely will.
Turn three times and make a wish.
I wish to fearlessly face the heat of these days
with cool calm and laughter so strong
it awakens the entire world.
Will the new dawn reveal
that which was destroyed
while an entire nation slept?
This question is what makes some people
sleep the whole day long.
Their eyes appear open, but they sleepwalk;
perhaps hoping they are dreaming
and the day is a mere nightmare
from which they will soon awake.
I cannot pretend. Not I.
Even in the dark my eyes open wide.
I must see what darkness has wrought.
I tend to the garden I have created,
to the life of growth I have sought,
as the sun rises over roots sorely stressed.
I cannot allow the plants, nor my self, to die
even though they can no longer thrive.
I am awake in the dark, but not alone.
So long as I see clearly, if not cheerily,
the life of other living things all around me
resisting the threat in the day ahead and hanging on.
Sensing our togetherness is what makes us strong.
I watch the discontented dawn.
The sun continues to rise.
As will you. As shall I.
I celebrate every child’s birth.
I celebrate no man’s death.
I smile at every child’s birth.
I cry at every man’s death.
I do, however, celebrate, or not, the in-between
where a man’s lived-life is truly seen.
I celebrate a man of compassion,
whose common goals derive from a passion
to welcome diversity and inclusion,
where women are equals with no confusion,
where equal rights is not an illusion,
where religion is not a quote but an action,
where selflessness helps everyone gain satisfaction.
I do not celebrate those whose false ego and pride
make money a god of hate and division.
I can mourn such a death, and not celebrate it.
I can mourn such a life, and not celebrate it.
Death closed a door that no one should open.
No celebration of life nor death can erase truth as we know it.
Find reasons to love those hurting and sorrowful.
But, make no excuses for what was so horrible.
Speak not evil of the dead.
Nothing more to be said.
Filed under POETRY
I see you looking through the glass
aghast.
As Alice in Wonderland you fear
falling down rabbit holes.
We all do.
You think the glass is a window.
It is a door.
You seem not to know
it can open for you.
A small push against the lash
can open the way
to a world where anything
is possible.
Everything is now in play.
The old ways are falling away
pushed aside by fearful elements
with false ego and too much pride.
They lie to create a place to hide.
No door is too strong to block you.
You are an American voter.
Your vote holds sway.
Yes, I see the barricades
being put in place, more every day.
Your strength, dear voter,
comes in numbers so strong
they cannot hold the door closed too long.
Once through the door
we clean the debris away.
Americans living in the light of truth;
we light our own way.
American voters will have their say.
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.
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!
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.
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.
Filed under FAMILY STORIES, POETRY
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.
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.
annarino writes 