By David Glenn Cox I woke from a deep sleep from a nightmare this morning. It was unusual and not something which happens to me often. I was back in …
Truth in a Time of Lies
Truth in a Time of Lies
Filed under Uncategorized
MY FIRST AND ONLY CONFESSION
Confession is good for the soul.
I have been told.
My first confession
at the age of seven
Took Sister Mary Claude,
whose diligence I applaud,
months to abate my fear.
First in line, I strode near
the confessional where Fr. Torre
waited to hear blood and gore
from little ones whose blame-game
only recently became a cause of shame.
With whispering words I began to confess.
“Father, forgive me.”( I felt such stress.)
“This is my first confession.”
Father stopped me right there
as I sat on the edge of the chair.
He was behind the screen,
a solemn, still figure barely seen.
“Please speak up so I can hear.”
And, so I did, and started to enumerate
all my sins, expecting him to strongly berate.
His words caused me even greater fear,
“Louise, not so loud, or all will hear.”
No longer did I worry who heard what.
He knew me, when I had been taught,
confession is anonymous.
Now, I felt infamous.
How could I face him across my Mother’s table
when he came each week that he was able
to eat her suga and Italian food;
and feel like family, with buoyant mood.
My only sin that day
was what I confessed every single Saturday,
“I disobeyed my Mother 10 times a day,
every day, of every week, of every year.
I was a disobedient child who shed no tears.
And over these many years
I have never changed my insolent creed
My father told me as I stood at his knee,
“Every man puts his pants on one leg at a time.
No one is better than you; (I liked that line)
and you are no better than anyone else.”
Equality set my soul free, made my heart pulse.
Equality became the base of all courage.
Equality kept me from being discouraged.
As a woman in a man’s world and profession.
I learned to speak up and out loud in my first confession.
Filed under FAMILY STORIES, POETRY
A NEW DAWN
Even the pictures on the wall
are tilted to the right.
Was there another disturbance overnight?
A tweet, and email, a deep-meet out of sight?
Did I stay asleep to avoid another fright?
When dawn came to anew and renew me
I woke to the strengthening light.
I straightened every picture on every wall.
Was all this only a nightmarish dream after all?
I suddenly feel stronger, the longer I recall
what the world looked like before America’s fall.
Once again, I vow, Americans will be able to stand tall.
THE PROMISE OF YOUTH
This is what you say:
What experience do you have?
This is what they hear:
You will never get a job.
This is what they think:
How can I get experience
if no one hires without it?
This is what you say:
What income and collateral have you?
This is what they hear:
I cannot get a small-business loan.
This is what they think:
No one will hire me and I cannot
start a business of my own.
This is what you say:
Your college loans are over-due.
This is what they hear:
We are going to ruin you.
This is what they think:
I cannot get a job or a loan.
Guess I must move back home.
Failure never felt so certain
to the young Americans
who believed with such purpose
that it would be possible to get ahead.
Now, too many live in dread.
And way too many
wish they were dead.
Is this the America we want?
Is this the America we were promised?
What folly has greed wrought?
What tax system created this rot ?
That only those with wealth
can exercise their rights
to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
Youth have eyes open wide,
open to all that seems new.
The aged close their tired eyes
hoping nothing at all will change.
But, the aged and their folly shall pass.
America’s promise shall be renewed,
as sure as day follows night.
Vote as if the lives of the young
depend upon you doing what is right.
Because, their lives depend upon you.
They most assuredly do.
LEAD WITH THE HEART
Lead with the heart
and the mind will follow
a path of peace and hope,
strong enough to carry
dreams and generosity
for all those you meet.
No matter how difficult
the journey it will not be taken
alone, silently, fearfully.
The heart knows best what matters.
The heart knows the best path.
The heart unites us joyfully.
The heart beats life determinedly.
The heart overcomes strife.
Lead with the heart and do your part
to create a world worth living.
Some paths are famous and large.
Some paths are unrecognized and small.
Every path matters to those
who walk it and make it their own.
Every path converges as we move
into the great unknown.
Filed under POETRY
BACK TO THE GYM
Most of us have been away from the gym too long.
Our freedom-loving muscles have grown slack.
We had not fully recognized the slack.
Others noted the weakness
of our democratic body.
We went about our day aware that each act
became more difficult, more strenuous.
Success became less assured, more tenuous.
While we grew soft, life grew hard.
We could no longer lift our children above our heads.
Their safety could not be assured;
not only on the playground monkey bars,
but behind their desk, or sitting in church pews.
Even our voices became more feeble
as we stopped the exercise of free speech,
and bemoaned the simple act
of marching down the street.
But others watched and saw our weakness grow.
Knew we were no longer paying attention
to our former strength and ignoring our work-outs,
while we flaunted more the medals on our chests
and the trophies on our shelves.
We no longer recalled how we earned those awards.
We forgot the daily struggle at life’s gymnasium
to keep the muscles of self-governance
strong enough to take on new challenges and ideas.
Our weakness made us run from, instead of with,
others racing along the path to freedom.
We envied their success, our own no longer moving
us forward and ahead.
The only way the weak can win is by holding others back.
The truly strong can win by running hard and long.
We all looked away from those who cheat
to claim a win they do not deserve.
It feels too close to every nerve
now weakened within each lax muscle;
a republic struggling just to stay upright.
Religion becomes the panacea of anxious nights.
We can only hope our muscle-memory
of freedoms gained in the past
is strong enough to make our democracy last.
Back to the gym. Walk the streets. Shout the speech
that you recall in memory grown weak.
Build back the muscle needed to wield your voting power.
Now is the hour
to get back to the gym.
Be strong and carry on!
BALANCE OF POWER
Nature restores balance
upset by human hands
on air and sea and land.
Government becomes unbalanced
when leaders fail to understand
no government can serve us
when controlled by a single man.
No single party can control
a seamless governance of the whole.
Power unbalanced is doomed to fail.
History and Nature tell the tale.
Diversity is the golden rule of life,
counteracting hidden strife
as it strives to interact and share
what keeps the planet alive and fair,
what makes us glad to be alive.
Cooperation is not just wise.
It is the seed of all that grows.
It is the only means Nature knows
to grow the wheat and the rose,
to water the farmland and dry the bog,
to cool summer heat and fire winter’s log,
to spread seeds on the breeze of dawn
and weight the wind blowing too strong.
We have run away from Nature far too long.
We have forgotten to listen to Nature’s song.
We have been singing a discordant tune
to instruments so loud, the song is ruined.
But Nature always restores balance.
It is the base note of Nature’s parlance.
Take off your shoes and walk in the grass.
Feel the freedom you feared lost in the past.
Turn your face into the wind and hold tight.
Feel the freedom you feared lost beyond your sight.
Wade in puddles catching raindrops on your tongue.
Feel the freedom you feared lost and with hands wrung.
We fear we have no way to save our nation.
But Nature gives us a new generation
every spring and through every season
Nature restores our world and our reason.
Balance of Power is the song of the hour.
MAGA CIRCUS
MAGA CIRCUS
The clown leads the circus parade
Following the elephant ahead,
Carrying shovels to clean up the way,
And invite us under the tent.
The clown interrupts each display
Of circus performers’ great feats.
The clown make us laugh to distraction
And keeps us in our seats.
The clown is what we best recall,
For memories are short.
We may not remember what we see.
But, we remember how hard we laughed.
The circus is not a school to teach.
The circus is a business to empty our pockets
Until it once more moves on.
The circus is not a church where we pray.
But a place we feel it is okay to play.
When the tent stakes are pulled and the circus train pulls away
All that remains is an empty field
Trod into mud on rainy days.
SLEEP
Bodies and words awake at 4 a.m.
have no respect for the woman I am.
A review of conscience
is all well and good.
It reminds me of all that I should.
But, forgets who I am
and that I am doing
all that I could,
and not doing
all that I would
if I were not who I am.
Too tired, too little, too late,
thoughts fly sky high
as life passes me by.
Two women sit here together,
the me and the I.
One who knows her self,
a self which few surmise.
The other one who shares
her thoughts, to her surprise.
No rest this dark night.
Tomorrow comes with the light.
I sit in the darkness
and wait for the sun to rise.
Filed under POETRY
MISSING YOU
Your touch breathes life
imparting energy
gathered from the stars
shining in your eyes;
heat from the closest star,
our sun, through you,
warms my heart.
Too long apart
without your touch
my skin grows cold.
Breath tightens its hold.
Life has no meaning nor
great story to be told.
Missing you becomes a safe
where love is kept for dreaming.
I climb inside its darkened space
to calm my desperate yearning.
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 