I should have been named Rose,
for I am full of thorns.
Those who draw too near,
or dare to touch too readily
may bleed, and dance uneasily.
I turn to the sun in passion’s grace.
I welcome any rains that come.
I am unafraid of blowing winds.
I dodge the hail dumped by storms.
I scent the garden in sweet surrender.
I allow the strong of heart to pluck my blooms.
I await thoughtful gardeners who seek my embrace.
I should have been named Rose.
Filed under POETRY
Only the stump of the gangly tree remained
after Grandpa, who did not conceive the dream,
destroyed the dream with each cut of the limbs
of the tree from which his grandson fell and broke an arm.
To Grandpa the tree had lost its charm.
It had to be cut down to avoid more harm.
Adults are funny that way.
They too often see harm in children’s play.
Children, little heathens that they be,
expect harm with regular frequency.
And, so, the tree was cut off from us, but we
built a tree house anyway, in which to play;
and warned all adults to stay away.
It was not built prettily; but, with whatever
we pulled from cans along the alley,
and raided from piles of trash.
To a child such piles are a treasure cache.
Thus, we kids our tree house celebrated
though Grandpa was far from elated.
“Let them be, Pop,” Mom laughingly stated.
“Kids will be kids, as once were we.”
Lessons learned from a time so long gone,
remembered now, to remind us how strong
the need to create and celebrate rises
despite the times all goes wrong.
Life is simply full of surprises.
Building from trash is sometimes the wisest
and the best which we can do.
This is my self-study two.
Filed under POETRY
What do we do?
those of us who love you?
Earth, answer me.
Not with fire and floods,
nor famine and disease.
Your waters still call to me.
Your awesome glory
brings me to my knees.
I climb your mountains,
descend your cliffs,
sail upon your seas.
Earth, I love you
still,
despite your need
to balance out your spirit
by threatening me.
Yes, I know, you warned me
long ago, and repeatedly.
But, Earth, I love you so.
What can I do
to prove my love for you?
I cannot let you go.
Can you say the same for me?
Filed under POETRY
I would love you if I could
not with tender looks,
nor delicate feelings
encased in soft touches.
I would love you with harsh words,
and bold shoves
until you fell before your foolish pride
and caught my heart in your hard fist.
I would hold that fist closed about my heart,
feel it pulled from my tight chest
in heavy pants of longing,
making it difficult to breathe.
I would love you.I would love you.
I would If I could.
I would if you allowed.
Filed under POETRY
Excuse me, Judge,
to be fair
I must be allowed to break the rule
of law and every other kind
so I may be able to do my thing,
which right now,
well, since forever,
has been running rings
around the opposition
to whatever scheme
currently could make me king.
Money has never been enough.
So, judge, I have to get tough.
You cannot believe
you can treat me
like all the other thugs,
who commit crimes
but cannot stand to do the time.
I am in a political campaign.
I have no time to admit the blame
for what I have done,
and continue to do.
Judge, shame on all of you.
Those other criminals can admit
their crime.
I simply do not have the time.
My problems are all because
of Jack Smith who dares to charge me
with crimes I have committed
against the country and the people
I must rule.
Judge, your interference
is really cruel.
If you, or anyone else, gets in my way
there will be hell to pay.
That should do it.
That is what I have to say.
Bullies always get their way.
I am the biggest bully of them all.
Let the others take my fall.
Filed under POETRY
You became someone else
While I was turned away,
head buried in books
refusing to lift eyes off the page.
Years of study in silent solitude
drew me far away
from the truth that is you.
You, the girl inside,
hidden from view.
Filed under POETRY
If love can survive death,
it can certainly survive life.
No challenge is too great
to overcome hate.
Wearing love as a mantle
protects the ego inside
allowing humility
to overcome pride.
Carrying love as a shield
pushes anger aside,
opening new paths
far and wide.
Holding love as a torch of fire
enlightens all within its reach,
opens eyes wide and inspires
an easier search for truth and peace.
Embracing the spark of love in others,
no matter how small it appears,
empowers trust and dispels fears.
If love can survive death,
it can certainly survive life.
Love saves us both,
those who give and receive.
Love saves us all.
Hate simply deceives.
Start sewing love.
One stitch at a time.
Filed under POETRY
Nights are too long
for those who cannot sleep;
too short for those who labor
longer than is wise to keep a roof overhead.
Each needing to secure
what is needed to survive
and avoid their demise.
Retirement brings no respite
from feeling desperate.
It is not a lock against the clock
clicking through anxieties that bind
sleep deprived prisoners to their comfy chairs
to sit and simply stare until they can awake
and shake off lost hours abed;
too weary to take a walk
or pick up the phone to talk,
or create anything worth the time to wait
for applause, faint praise or commendation;
too tired not to expect condemnation.
Why should their be applause
for simply living long enough to retire,
as if gaining years allowed
some reason to feel proud?
Perhaps some lives, like some nights, can be too long.
Time to get up and dance through the dawn.
No life is ever too long
once we learn to dance to our own song.
Filed under POETRY
I thought the money in the bank was mine.
All mine. All mine. All mine. All mine.
I did not know I could not take it.
I lacked intent to commit the crime.
I had no intent to take what was not mine.
It is all mine. It is all mine. It is all mine.
As are you, and you, and you…
My people are the very best.
I am smarter than you, not stupid,
if you believe only what I want you to.
I won. I won. I won. It’s true. It’s mine I say.
It’s all the same to those who hurt
and hate and fight against their fate,
hiding behind irreligious faith
to praise the savior of their own demise.
We won. We won. What is our prize ?
Pure intention to commit the crime
in plain sight, in plain view
in text, on tape, in interviews.
I won. I won. It’s mine, this crime
against the country, against me and you.
It isn’t a crime to take what is mine.
“I take whatever I want, and they let me”,
these people who are mine, all mine.
It won’t be enough.
I am sure.
Inconvenient facts are such a bore.
Unless…
and this is just a guess…
you love our country more;
and loving
opens the closed door
upon considering
what is in store
if justice is denied,
just to save your pride
and the story you tell to justify
the twists and turns
of so many lies.
One can only hope it is true
that we can count on you.
Your country needs you.
As do I
to keep the temperature down,
calm the storms,
and grow democracy
in rows just and orderly.
Freedom dies too easily
when weeds are allowed
to grow un-fact-checked.
The forecast tells us
four counts must be enough.
annarino writes 