SOLEMN VOW

Photo from Louise’s and the bees’ garden.

Where does my world begin and end?

Before the horizon or beyond it to some unknown shore

That has only appeared in my dreams before?

Is my world worth saving, again and again.

Are we simply so tired we do not mind it could end?

Helpless, it seems, I am to do more.

Technology now must save the day

as I find my own simple way

to save and protect all that I love.

I cannot sit still and not do my part.

I must give it my all, and give you all my heart.

I plant native plants and trees,

flowers whose blooms dance in fierce breeze.

Butterflies and bees swoop in and sip

the nectar of gods, nip after nip.

I feed the homeless and shelter those displaced

by flood, fire, crime, famine and war.

I visit the isolated and phone the lonely.

I stay healthy enough to stay earth-bound a few days more

to love those far away and those close around me.

I fold my hands and grip my rosary beads

praying those with power and ability

know what to do and how to succeed.

I love this Earth, its flora and fauna;

its sunrises and sunsets and all in between.

I love its sunny days and cloudless blue skies;

and days when storms hide sun behind a screen.

There is no place in the universe that I would rather be

than right here with you, as we face such adversity.

My hope lies in science and those drenched in creativity

who see beyond today to a future of love and harmony;

not just for all the people of the Earth

but for Earth herself who offers us sanctuary

within the endless energy of planetary boundaries.

Where does my world begin and end?

Right here, with you, right now.

This is a solemn vow.

take it and make it 

your own

somehow.

HIBISCUS, acrylic on canvass by Louise Annarino with gratitude to her garden.

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NOT JUST A DREAM

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Dream bigger.

Seek more.

There are no limits

beyond the door.

Stand at the fence.

Find your spot.

Peek through the holes.

Let your interest be caught

by what you enjoy,

by what you have not.

It is all yours

wherever you look.

It is yours to explore.

One foot, then another.

Keep on going

until you discover

something you never

imagined before.

Let dreams guide your way.

Let them tow you along

to places of light and music

where you sing along.

Then dance through the night

and on into the light

emboldened and strong.

What a beautiful sight !

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HAIKU MORNING KISS

Photo by Alena Shekhovtcova on Pexels.com

As I awaken

I feel your weight above me.

You taste delicious.

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JUDGE NOT THE JUGGERNAUT

Photo by Caleb Oquendo on Pexels.com

How fast can you run?

There is no answer.

We run in the shade, or in the sun.

The ground may be soft or hard,

the path straight or curved,

the mile-markers left in shards,

the incline flat or elevated,

the stones buried or strewn,

the road tolled or gated.

Knees  buckle and ankles twist

just when your gait opens in full stride.

Impossible to predict catching a ride.

How then can we expect to know

how far and how fast

others can go ?

Such expectations are doomed to fail.

We cannot pretend we can see

what barriers exist for others, you see.

I barely know what stops me

from getting from here to there.

We all move on a wing and a prayer.

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Trial Rising

Acrylic on canvass by Louise Annarino, illustrating the light of Justice rising to overcome the threat to democracyposed by a former president and those who support him.

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LOOKING YOU IN THE EYE

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When we become isolated as we did for Covid 19 we stopped meeting those good souls who bring light and laughter to our world. We have along way to go to heal that sense of isolation. We can do it one moment at a time.

If we rely on social media, the entertainment industry, or even the news to bring others to us we face the stories least likely to display the inherent goodness of man and beast. “If it bleeds, it leads” rules our airwaves, our social media accounts, our own prurient interest.

This does not only damage our children, as studies show. It damages all of us. It is no wonder 38% percent of Americans sought mental health care during the past year.

Putting down the cell phone, closing the I-Pad, shutting down the computer is a life-affirming act. Engage other human beings who may be on their devices trying to connect with somebody, with anybody! Make eye contact whenever you get the chance. Interrupt your silence while waiting in interminable lines that have become the service sector’s bane, caused by understaffing. Talk to others waiting with you. Not, with a complaining voice; but, with an interested voice. The world lost millions of people who were productive workers, who made things run smoothly for all of us. Feel their loss with compassion for them, and for those left behind trying to fill their shoes. There is no fault in trying to cross fault lines with generosity for others’ struggles. Look in the face of the disgruntled worker at the fast food counter. Ask how they are doing. Listen and watch their expression ease. Perhaps, even garner a smile.  

We are human beings doing our best with all that we have. Some of us have more to work with. Some of us have less. Everyone struggles with something. We need not carry others’ crosses. But, we can walk beside them, act as witness and ally to their struggle, encourage and support them with our strength, our love, and our respect.

This week has been one filled with unpleasant errands. Each time I was helped by someone who had few smiles and was overwhelmed by work. Yet, each person responded to my request for help with a gentle regard. Each person became more relaxed, smiled more, even laughed as I looked them in the eye and asked about their lives as they bent to the task of helping me. They performed acts of kindness, as they probably do hundreds of time a week. As I leave, I always tell such workers to thank their mother for raising such a wonderful son or daughter. Everything about their demeanor comes alive. They stand taller. Their shoulders drop and pull back. The creases around their mouth disappear. Their smiles appear. Everyone is someone’s child. everyone needs to be noticed. Perhaps, if we pay more attention to those who do good, more of us would be good.

I am guilty, too often, of bringing attention to the fools of this world who legislate, print, speak, and promote hate. Today, I want to remind myself and you of all those who courageously do good, despite being ignored and even disrespected. I want to thank all those who devote their hours, days and lives to  being there when needed by others:  the surgeons doing open-heart surgery on two of my dear friends, the UPS clerk who returns unwanted Amazon purchases, the tire guy who explains how tires work and deteriorate over time and which brand works best just for my car, the pharmacist who fills a prescription and the tech who answers questions over and over and over, the phone scheduler who finds a location with ease of access not simply an open date for an appointment, the neighbor who put out my recycling bin and returned it to its proper spot without being asked, the friend who called who really had nothing to say but “I love you”; yet, not in those words.I enjoyed my wait at the car dealer with  the Muslim woman who spoke of teaching her children to pray and know the Koran at summer camp and listened to my story of teaching Catholic children prayers and the Bible in public-school-kid summer camp, the Italian-American woman who laughed as we shared family stories only Italians would find funny while we all waited. Lest I forget my beastly friends, thanks to the feral cat who chased the rabbits out of the garden, the songbird trilling a song while hundreds of fireflies danced in my yard last night. 

There are so many ways to hide from one another. There are few good reasons to do so. Those reasons which do require hiding are fraught with danger and not to be ignored. But, too many times, our fears our unfounded. They are based on prejudice and ignorance. Too many times, we are simply afraid to look foolish. I challenge you to look like a fool today. Talk to someone you have never met, nor been introduced to as if they were a long-lost friend. You might just find out that they are your friend, even if just for a moment in time. The moments add up. Trust builds. Hope builds. Faith builds. And most importantly, love builds. Few of us are great. Few of us are famous. Few of us have any clue what we are about. But each of us can look others in the eye and speak, then listen with respect and interest. One moment at a time we can reconnect our world, a world where trust in one another creates a free, peaceful, and loving union of our citizens.

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LIFE

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This is all I know.

First, you come.

Then, you go.

This is all.

I know.

I know.

It is all I can know.

Yet something shows

from hidden places 

up and below.

Something unbidden

that hints at more, longer;

that feels better, stronger.

Where does more come from?

Where does more go?

Where did I come from?

Where shall I go?

It is never enough 

this life that I know.

This is all?

Can this be so?

I want to know.

I want to know.

I want to know.

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WOMANIMAL

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I refuse to forget I am an animal;

neither saint nor sinner,

simply human, strong, yet frail.

I never trust those who sit 

beside me in the pew

whose fate is writ in holy script,

while I search for the Holy Grail.

I cannot pretend to be born anew.

I was born of human parents,

good enough for me and you.

They filled me with faith in the ability

to be a better animal, as I grew.

So I try my best knowing I may fail,

never fearing when I do.

With animal power in my genes

through the jungle of life I pursue

a course which lets me take only what I need

with no plan to injure or deny

the needs of other animals

as we make our way side by side.

With neither cynicism nor regret,

I embrace my true nature and never forget

to find courage in an animal’s pride.

I know what I am, do you?

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ANGELA’S DAUGHTER

Angela Abbruzzi Annarino, high school graduation photo

“So Long as we have food on our table, I won’t let anyone else go hungry!” answered Angela to her husband’s warning not to feed every man who came to her door.  It was soon after her husband, each of his three brothers and her five brothers returned from WWII that Angela began feeding the homeless who knocked on her door. Hobos, they were called, who had ridden the trains cross country, looking for work. Most had been soldiers, airmen, or sailors; now just trying to be useful, and survive an uncomfortable and confusing civilian life. At Angela’s door they were welcomed with a smile and hot food, and a sandwich and fruit in a brown lunch bag to take with them.  Before leaving they could be found cleaning out gutters, painting the garage door, pulling weeds from the curb crease. “They could be you,” Angela would remind her husband; “and, I hope someone would have fed you if you were hungry.” Angela did become curious as to why so many men came to her door rather than other doors on the street. One hobo showed her she had been marked as a “kind woman who will feed you” with a coded chalk mark on the curb in front of her house.

The homeless did not seem fearsome to her children, just visitors who enjoyed their Mother’s food like any other visitor to their home. No one was allowed to leave unless they had first had something to eat at Angela’s table. She would tell her children, “I remember what it was like to go to bed hungry. My brothers stole milk off porches to bring home to us. Sometimes that is all we would have to eat that day.” 

On her daughter’s 5th. birthday she took to the streets on her new Huffy bike with training wheels. A year later, the wheels were off, and she was free to ride the  neighborhood closely guarded by the Italian family and friends who lived among the now retreating German immigrants who had “moved up” into middle class neighborhoods. On every block were two or more Italian grandmothers sitting on the porch keeping tabs on the neighborhood children: Annarinos, Akes, Angelettis, DiBlasios, and Corsis vigilantly covered the south end. Angela’s daughter felt safe enough to ride to the river, drop her bike by the side of the dike and climb over it into the Tectum drywall dump where she and her brothers had built forts. 

Hobos sometimes slept in their forts. She loved the stories they shared with her, and she could be found sitting around their campfires as they swapped tales of glory and remorse. She also shared cans of beans heated in the flames, passed around the circle with a shared spoon. No one never knew about these afternoons with the hobos. Instinctively, she knew these men were misunderstood and needlessly feared. She did not even tell her Mother. Not because she was banned from talking to hobos; but, because she was banned from the river and the dump.

And still, the wandering soldiers and sailors return, too often feared; too often, ignored. Homeless, jobless, weary beyond all understanding by those of us who live in peaceful worlds with food on our tables. Angela would be ashamed of what she sees happening today. For today’s homeless include women and children, people forced out of their homes and jobs by the greed of investors seeking exceptional profits rather than expecting CEO’s to reinvest in companies, spend profits on research and development for long-term growth; unwilling to pay taxes to support local schools, build their own infrastructure and pay public employee salaries.  Corporate  boards buy off CEO’s of our corporations and universities with exorbitant salaries and bonuses; until they are forced to lay-off workers, increase tuition, reduce salaries-pensions-healthcare, ignore environmental and safety regulations, or relocate to foreign countries to make the profits ever higher to satisfy Wall Street’s greed.

Some things never change. It is not Wall Street’s greed which causes us to forget we are a community of people relying on each other for survival. It is our own greed and our own fear. It is our fear someone else will get more than we have. Our fear that sharing what we have will make another stronger. And our fear of “the other”, those who may be of a different race or nationality, have mental health issues, or simply difficulty coping, who just returned from repeated war zones, who have never had family security, who have been beaten and abused. We don’t fear them because they are “not like us”; we fear them because they are JUST like us. We fear that we could all too easily become one of “them”. And so we shun them, and try to forget they exist. We turn a deaf ear to their pleas and arrest anyone who would occupy Wall Street, or main street.

What would Angela tell us today? “Open your doors and feed everyone; make a seat at your table for anyone who needs you, not just for food, but for love.” I know she would say this. How do I know?  Because, I am Angela’s daughter.

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UN-SOCIAL MEDIA

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Listen 

to nothing I say.

What do I know,

of life, anyway?

No golden rule

lurks behind my walls,

set in place by fear,

washed away by gall.

No single tear

can bring the wall down.

No frozen laugh

explode frozen ground.

Each must answer

our own question, after all.

Defense is too difficult, like prayers,

behind a fallen wall.

We are conceived in darkness

to become pure light.

Step out silently

from your darkest night.

Do not speak until

you get it right.

The Tower of Babel fell

in noisy confusion

under the hellish weight

of failed communion.

Social media is not social at all.

It tears down towers built

too narrow and too tall.

It explodes every

brick and stone wall

laid to defend and protect us all.

Keep your peace.

Keep mine, too.

Think before you speak.

Or, speak not at all.

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