FREEDOM LOVER

I am not a freedom fighter

in the usual way.

I am a freedom lover

day after threatening day.

I will not duck and run for cover

when bullies blare the call.

I will not turn away my eyes

from all their dubious lies.

I will not fret and stomp my feet 

to match their ugly fascist beat.

I may be small.

I may be weak.

I may be old.

I am not meek.

I am strong to even my surprise.

I grow stronger with every sun-rise.

My strength grows in numbers.

My flower joins the bouquet

my fragrance rousing passion

for my beloved USA.

I cannot let silence stand guard.

I cannot pretend and play

while others fight for freedom

day after day, after day, after day.

My power is a loving blanket

thrown over the fires of hate.

Lovers of freedom, unite.

It is never…never…too late.

I may be old.

But, I am a woman and bold,

as only women know how to be.

I may be sick and weak.

But, I am not meek.

Freedom still smells sweet.

Lift your eyes and feet

and spread love for freedom

along with me.

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Let an old hippie show you the way.

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THE FIGHT WITHIN

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The Cold War taught school kids to “duck-and-cover”

to save their lives, not from bullets fired by fellow Americans;

But from Russian bombs put in place

to put America in its place

in every available space

where bombs could reach our shores.

President Kennedy intervened to stop the ships

carrying missiles to fill silos built in Cuba.

School kids stopped to pray that day

before being sent home to “be with their families.”

I recall that day when annihilation of my nation

became too real to hide away.

Khruschev shouted “We will bury you” as he beat his shoe

where he sat at a desk in the UN.

He foretold our future there and then.

He said we will “destroy you from within.”

That is when the great pirates began to grow rich

in their race shore to shore running

arms, and drugs, and sex slaves galore;

depositing money passed hand-to-hand

into banks off-shore until it washed up and over 

the World Bank, its monolith waves too big to ignore.

The dish on American tables ran away with the spoon

feeding the greed of a growing American oligarchy.

It has taken my lifetime to measure

the true loss of America’s treasure

amassed in stealth by pirates dressed as lobbyists,

and PACS funded by dark money

who claim the false goal to live free in our fragile democracy, 

our greatest wealth.

The pirates stole into control of our country 

with entertainment instead of news.

Encouraging citizens to sleep and not be woke to the tragedy

of pirates placed within a government grown too thin

by tax cuts for the pirates like Trump, Vance, Bannon, Musk, Ramaswamy,

Hegseth, Gabbard, Alito and so many others.

Leaders now promise to deregulate all guards against their pirate theft.

And a sleeping nation nods “yes,” ignoring the pleas of true patriots, left bereft.

The pirates have  opened the gates and our Ship of State is un-moored.

They smile and smirk with strong-men and must not be ignored.

We cannot simply give up and give in

watching our country destroyed from within,

while Putin and America’s pirates count coins and grin.

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TRY TO DREAM

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I try to keep dreaming.

But, nightmares interrupt

and catch the seam of hope

and fray the edges 

of the dream.

The night unravels hopes.

Morning brings new light,

but very little, if any, insight

as I try to piece together

a new garment to weather

the storms brewing overhead.

Nothing makes sense.

Every hand is out for cash

to fight the good fight

already lost, and still fraught

with the need to try  

to stand,

to grasp hands,

to still the fright.

Yet, dreams turn to nightmares

day after day and

night after night.

Joy can only bend so far 

and grace hold up heads and hearts

only so long before the silent song

erupts in outrage and disgust.

We do what we must. 

But, dream ? I am no longer sure

that dreams will endure.

All I can promise is

I shall try to keep dreaming

forevermore.

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IF ONLY

If only I were a bird

Fluffing feathers to increase my girth

And insulate my true worth

Staying warm this way instead,

Despite the bitter cold and dread.

But I am no bird. I am but a girl

Old enough to know better

On such bitterly cold days,

Watching my freedoms iced over,

Under Nazi salutes

And executive dis-orders.

Instead of fluffing feathers

I reach for carbs to increase warmth

And fill a need birds too feel

When cold grips the air we breathe

And hot words blow smokily

To cover the lies and foolery

Meant to limit our ability to fly.

We have a lot in common, the birds and I.

We are both on endangered species lists,

Fearing our days of flying free are numbered.

We both try to increase in size

That we may create warmth and strength inside,

And fool bullies not so wise,

Who would block our way

On freedom’s journey to better days.

If I were a bird, could I simply fly away?

Instead, I wait and fuel my body.

I wait in trust for better days.

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KEEP REACHING

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Best doors open deep,

without handles, but only

open from within. 

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BREATHLESS WORDS

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I am out of breath and words.

The hill ahead we must climb

seems much too high

and tightens the core

in bands of steel

that limit flexible movement.

How can we climb under such duress?

Any future hope must be a mere guess

that we can find a way

through the dark and fretful days ahead.

Fatalism blocks the intake of air.

Fear locks an exhale all too aware

of obstacles placed along the path.

Few sherpas remain to assist,

compromised by willingness to desist

the smug faces of so many now in charge.

Human compassion is suppressed.

Freedom is kept at-large.

The goal remains the same.

The path is now littered in shame.

I am out of breath and words.

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FIGHTING WORDS

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Poetry has fled.

Art hides in plain sight

behind clouds of flame,

beyond winds of change,

before plutocrats take the stage,

no longer waiting behind the scenes

which hide their rage.

Words have lost all meaning

when facts go unchecked

flung too fast to sustain truth 

and belief in its power to right wrongs

for the weak and the poor, 

tossed aside by courts which cower

fearing loss of wealth and power.

Which words are safe when lies procure

the party in power’s silent vote to score

total control of each life, each thought,

each breath threatened by dirty schemes

to pollute the earth, water and air?

Words cannot be spoken, claimed by death

of the rule of law.

No words exist to describe the depravity

some of us saw

as our words lay dying

first inside

then outside

where meaning can be lost.

Words remain frozen in heavy frost,

weighed down by cold hearts

and dead souls

seeking total control.

Freedom resides in words

which too often remain unsaid.

Words too softly spoken to wake

those asleep, escaping, all hopes dead.

Too few words of truth must compete

with an onslaught of unchecked lies.

I listen and watch, lost in thought.

I write and I plead against what we have wrought.

Poetry, I fear, carries too-little weight.

Poetry, perhaps, has waited too late

to escape the threat when so many lies

have buried the truth for power and greed.

Money has always been the creed

clothed in religion and faith

which grants God’s grace

to those who deserve to see His face

on dollar bills and hung on towers.

False gods seek our praise as they devour

a country whose best citizens 

refuse to use their power to remain free,

and would rather lose their democracy.

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MUMPISM

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Like lichen I cling

to foundational rocks, loose.

Democracy lost.

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HAPPY NEW YEAR 2025

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Worn and weary I 

run away from words hidden 

in the dark of night.

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Pained and poured out I

slowly ascend the mountain

reaching toward the light.

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Strained and so sore I

peruse the new horizon

coming into sight.

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Battered but brave I

reach into my open heart.

Love overcomes fright.

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MERRY CHRISTMAS 2024

Hope is the deep breath needed to sing Carols

heralding Jesus’ birth.

Hope is the breath first breathed into all living things.

Hope is the breath that softens

the hard contours of defended hearts.

Hope is the breath that soothes

the rough edges of fearful minds.

Hope is the breath that animates

the graceful move to gift our very selves.

Hope is the breath that lifts

the blindness of hateful eyes heavenward.

Hope is the breath that challenges

the world to dream of peaceful, new beginnings.

Hope is the breath that stores

the strength needed for moments when courage is needed.

Hope is the breath that brightens and enlightens

the darkness within each breathless soul.

Christmas is a time for deep breaths filled

with hope to face another moment, day, month, year.

Keep breathing is all that is required to fill

the world with Hope.

Each breath keeps Hope alive.

Merry Christmas with every breath taken

deeper in every way, every day

during the Jubilee Year of Hope.

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