Pollyanna is misunderstood.
She does not smile because
her world is perfect.
She smiles because
nothing is.
No disappointment finds its way
to destroy her imperfectly happy day.
GOOD MOURNING
Morning, hidden by smoke haze, weakens resolve
after sins no dreams could resolve.
An anger so deep and profound,
the pain of our loss deadens the sound
of hurt and betrayal in silence, tightly bound.
Anger and fear choke the woke
whose only sin is that truth should abound
and evil be run to the ground,
and that love can be felt all around;
that every child can live in hope
in a country where fear has been defeated
and guns are no longer needed
to feel safe
on this morning,
in this space
where I wake mourning.
I wake. I am woke.
I keep moving
to a place where we
shall overcome
again
and again
and again.
Good Mourning !
Filed under POETRY
THE END OF AFFIRMATIVE ACTION
Back to running the race barefoot
across dank and dirty streets
covered in the broken glass of misery
and dreams untold, unable to unfold
the promise of equality
between the shoeless forgotten humanity
and the well-shod, well-trained, well-fed
and well-funded runners
placed feet ahead of the starting line.
The Supreme Court handles the gun
announcing the start of the run.
The race has always been fixed by race
to keep everyone in their place.
The lies continue to run free,
and destroy our dream of equality.
Turning back the race clock follows
turning back the women’s clock
denying opportunity to overcome
the way the race has always been run.
We are in a race for our lives.
None of us should be surprised.
So, still I run. Still, I run.
Still, I run.
THE SWEET LIFE
The bees have memorized my face.
They gracefully recognize my place
in the garden, stretching and bending low
to deadhead and weed the beds
of the flowers we grow,
that they may feast on nectar so sweet.
Dusted by pollen which flavors our honey,
the bees and I manufacture joy and delight
that melts on the tongue and lights the eye.
Laborers together, in our garden, the bees and I.
Filed under POETRY
TITAN
How far up and how far down
do we measure courage so profound
that lives are turned upside-down?
Perhaps we are meant stay on the surface
held by the gravity.
Shallow lives can ease our way
but they do not deepen understanding,
if lived day-by-day being afraid
to take deep dives to understanding
all the forces at play.
Were we made to stay in the light
and never explore the darker side?
Even plants begin as seeds
buried in darkness as if asleep.
Mysteries are stored and buried deep.
Must every mystery be solved
and every risk taken
that we may never be mistaken?
Those who brave such deep thoughts
or climb steep cliffs to greater heights
give the rest of us time to discover our fright
of what and who are unknown,
questioning the safety of such insanity,
questioning our own inane humanity.
Why do we go where none have gone before?
Why do we wonder “what for ?”
Like seeds we reach higher as we aspire
to see the light and know much more
as we deepen the roots to explore
all that has been and could be still
in unsafe places where we could be killed.
It is the very core of our folklore
that we were meant to challenge and explore.
And still, I mourn.
And still, I mourn.
Filed under POETRY
REMEMBER MARTHA STEWART ?
Martha Stewart was full of ideas.
They were all “a good thing”.
And then she told one lie
to the F.B.I.
Martha Stewart roused no hate.
Martha Stewart was not a saint.
Nor are you nor I.
But she did not steal nuclear info,
plans of defense and attack during war,
or national secrets meant to restore
safety and security forevermore.
She did not pose a threat
to those who now protect
every city, state and shore.
She did not place in question
our entire nation’s protection.
She told one lie and admitted her fault.
Off to prison she went and never balked.
Five months in prison, five months confined
at home, and a $30,000 fine.
Now, tell me why, for the love of country
why he cannot go to prison for repeatedly
telling lies and stealing a nation’s secrets
and threatening to destroy our nation
and its ability to stay safe and strong?
Do we have a king and not a man?
Have we misunderstood this all along?
His title was MISTER President; not
your highness. Have you forgot?
Does he have a rule that never ends?
What is he then?
Better than a common criminal?
Better than you or me?
Better than keeping our nation free?
Better than a democracy
of the people, by the people, for the people?
Tell me who we are, then.
If not a people who rule themselves
subject only to the rule of law.
Never subject to a criminal who shelves
the safety of our nation in a bathroom,
ballroom, or resort.
I await your retort.
Stop the nonsense that he cannot be jailed.
Of course he can, and so could we
if we engaged in such perfidy.
Filed under POETRY
FILING DAY…more to come
I am finally setting up a filing system for the hundreds of poem I have written over the last 25 years. This poem still rings true. So, I am sharing it with you.
I AM THAT EVE 10-27-1999
I am that Eve
who stood before that tree
and beheld the face of God
eye-to-eye,
as an equal.
I am that Eve
who chose to leave her father’s garden
for one of her own making,
God’s co-creator
of the garden of earthly delights.
I am that Eve
both Magdalen and Madonna
in reflection of God’s love,
an earthly and eternal
gift to man.
I am that Eve
who waits in stillness
and fruitfulness of Spirit
who would crush the head
of those who hiss their judgement of others.
I am that Eve
who takes the hand of man
and leads him from ignorance and lies
to self-knowledge, and places him
in the hands of God.
I am that Eve
who touches the roots
and taste the fruits
of ancient wisdom
and God’s own heart.
I am that Eve.
Filed under POETRY
HAIKU IN MY DEFENSE
The lines were too long.
I was too busy to wait.
So, I robbed the bank.
THE POET
I wake with words upon the tongue,
fingers ready to write down thoughts among
the fractured dreams of worlds long gone,
whose stories linger eon after eon.
No breakfast nor shower first for those like me
who live and breathe a universe of poetry.
Filed under POETRY
SUMMER
Summer wears her heart on her sleeve.
Her false smiles and beguiling ways
encourages all to believe
that she is available to play flirtatious games.
But, know that Summer will always have her way.
She drags us away from kitchens, desks
and comfy chairs out into her garden on display.
She allows us to become more aware
of her silken charms directed our way.
Droughts and cloudbursts,
sun that brightens and burns our skin,
Allergens and particulates that settle within
make it hard to breathe in her presence.
Her insects sting and guilelessly bite
while Summer’s flower-perfumed essence
awakens and entreats our most intimate senses.
It would be so easy to love Summer. She puts us to the test
against Autumn, Winter and Spring as to whom we love best.
Summer has become a little too free for me.
I prefer a season who holds back her charms
and grants me shy glimpses which raise no alarms.
As Earth heats Summer’s gaze, subtlety fades away.
Summer has become almost too bold,
too sure of her dominance, too unsafe
to simply play our Summers away.
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 