ODE TO AUNT MILLIE

Carmela “Millie” Guinta 11-15-28 – 11-22-23

The world seems empty now,

solemn and still as a sacred vow.

The light which glanced from face to face

whenever her bright presence graced

gatherings of family and friends

joined like prayer beads end-to-end,

with voices raised in unbroken rhythm

which began like prayer and ended in hymn.

Such music we made as she led the chorus.

All she did, she willingly did for us.

How blessed we have been to have her near

for so many days of her ninety-five years.

The world now seems a colder place.

Yet, she still surrounds us with her warm grace.

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THE NARCISSIST

photo by History in HD on Unsplash

IN LOVE

what goes around 

comes around

in never-ending

ripples of affection

and deep attention 

one to the other.

Love is communion,

the gasping union

of recognizing self 

in one another.

Love is only love

when it is both

given and accepted.

Love that goes one way

is not love at all;

but  manipulation

and destruction

of any chance for union.

Love that goes one way

inevitably rings false,

a masterful deception

which destroys communion.

Narcissism gives nothing,

but takes all it can get

and more, of those who 

cannot accept love

in all its forms and favor.

Accepting love is too hard

for those who are its stranger.

Accepting love warns them

of the past disappointments

when their hearts were in danger.

The narcissist breeds more fear,

and warns them to resist

the call for love both given and received.

In this way, he deceives.

He alone is worthy of love and safe,

so in his arms they place

every dream of being loved.

Love must go both ways.

Always.

One-way love is not love at all.

It only brings destruction and our fall.

Alone, and unloved, we remain after all.

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NATIONALISM HAIKU

Photo by Xabi Oregi on Pexels.com

Nationalism

sees no boundary to man’s

inhumanity.

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WAR HAIKU

Photo by Ahmed akacha on Pexels.com

They have already lost

who fight over land no one owns.

Earth is hers alone.

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LIES

Photo by Carlos Herrero on Pexels.com

The universal lie is

that I never lie.

Always untrue.

We all lie.

We all do.

There are but two reasons why.

Knowing that is seeing true.

Knowing that may save you.

The first lie

may save your injury,

comfort your suffering,

grant you your freedom,

shelter and protect,

uplift and encourage,

open you to love.

The first lie is the oil over 

troubled waters,

is the hidden key 

to new discovery,

is the extra note to more harmony.

The first lie brings peace.

The first lie helps us see

we are part of loving community.

The second lie

causes injury,

increases suffering,

denies our freedom,

makes us feel unsafe.

Discourages our history 

Berates new ideas,

closes us to love with hate.

The second lie is not 

so noble as the first.

The first lie is for us.

The second lie is for the liar.

The first lie sets boundaries

to expand our sense

of love and creativity.

Its purpose is to protect.

The second lie has no “red lines”

it refuses to cross; but, only seeks

to sate the need of the second liar.

The second lie is for him, not us.

The second lie denies our right

to create connections and see the light

that fills all persons whose lives intersect.

It restricts any chance for us to connect.

The biggest liar of them all

is not the first, nor will be the last.

He is simply the liars’ poster boy.

And poster boys never last.

But the lies they tell persist

no matter how many resist

the pull of hate to the surface.

The greatest lie of all

is the one we tell ourselves

that we are somehow better,

somehow best.

We are liars, all.

If not we would have let him fall.

He would join other liars in jail.

Let up hope that soon

truth will finally prevail.

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TOO LATE TO FALL

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The days are too short and I am too late to Fall.

Already squirreled away are days of memories.

Flights of fancy replace flights of geese as I stray

along paths emptied of those I loved and knew.

No masks can hide the loss of smiles

stolen by chronic illness and despair

that movie theaters, museums and restaurants

will ever be safe for those who struggle to stay well.

Longer nights are a blessing in disguise,

where one can hide the lack of company

and loneliness subsides.

Too late to Fall. Too ill to conceive a winter

depleted of all company. 

With the sun hope rises, only to set too soon.

In the midst of all this, it is too late to Fall.

Only so many years are left to share

with friends and family, if I dare, at all.

I am too old, too sick,

too late to Fall.

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FELLOW TRAVELERS

Trump supporters near the U.S Capitol, on January 06, 2021 in Washington, DC
Getty Images

Cliches are used to describe

beliefs held by members of the tribe.

Fellow Travelers need never think.

They simply repeat without a blink.

They readily follow the scripted lines

which leaders lay down clean and fine

on minds at ease and entertained

by political games played again and again.

Fellow Travelers are nothing new.

Names have changed as hatred grew.

Stalin or Putin, Hitler or Ali Khamenei,

Leni Riefenstahl or Kelly Anne Conway,

Mitchell or Flynn, Himmler or Halloway,

Chamberlin or Trump, Goring or Meadows,

“Both sides are good people” and happy fellows.

No Fellow Traveler deserves a pass.

Two Party systems have paved the way

to allow us to defeat hate each voting day.

Until now, when an entire party has become

the Fellow Traveler of world leaders of hate

whose acts of oppression and crimes of war

remind us humanity has not come so far

as we imagined and hoped and prayed.

We must vote them out next election day.

Elections have never mattered more.

No Fellow Traveler can be allowed

to cross the threshold of Congress’ door.

No Fellow Traveler can take up residency

in The White House of our nation’s  presidency.

No nation can remain free

whose voters cannot think independently.

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SUNRISE

Photo by Louise Annarino

The sky alights as do I.

Sun fills the fibers from head to toe.

Sun awakens so I must go.

I must go follow the sun it seems

or languish within startling dreams.

I prefer reality to map my way out of night.

I prefer a mind and heart filled with light.

Shadows always fall behind me.

Darkness  no longer blinds me

though I am on unfamiliar paths

and the light will not last.

For a few hours, at least, 

I progress past the breach

where it would be easy to fall

onto hopes covered by a pall.

Light guides my way 

for another day.

It no longer matters if I know

exactly where I am meant to go.

I simply take delight

that it is not yet night.

This, then, is the destination

for each soul and every nation.

Be in the here. Be in the now.

Let this be our solemn vow.

As difficult as it is to follow the sun,

humanity’s journey has just begun.

There will always be another night.

Sunrise always returns to give us light.

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HAIKU

Now comes the junco

from his northern clime to mine

singing garden rhyme.

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AN ODE TO MIKE JOHNSON

A Speaker who speaks silently.

He hides in plain sight openly.

Bearing no color, chatting amiably,

amid many-hued others feverishly

there to cover stories that bleed wickedly.

He seems so normal; and, so confidently

preaches stories and fables smilingly.

Keeping all entertained endlessly

as their eyes fall from the prize of democracy,

Stolen and hidden in his wallet shamelessly

are votes cast, all hopes bashed easily.

He smiles calmly, benignly and evilly.

He leads as his party follows blindly.

Hiding in the spotlight openly.

His weight placed upon freedom crushingly.

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