NORTH MARKET GRAVEYARD

Columbus Metropolitan Library map of North Graveyard, Columbus, Ohio

The bodies left buried

beneath the parking lot

are being excavated.

Who they are, we know not.

The North Graveyard was relocated

more than one hundred years ago,

but hundred of bodies were left to rot.

The bodies of those who died

while their families were passing through,

moving onward to take the lands

of Native Americans pushed aside.

Unclaimed children or the sick

who stopped to rest, and there, they died.

The bodies of African-Americans

buried with such strangers, 

in plots set aside

for those whom true burial plots

in the sanctioned section were denied.

The bodies of the poor immigrants

without any claim to sanctioned graves.

The bodies of those without family, 

with no one left to claim a grave.

Forgotten and hidden from our view

until developers dug footers

to support their grand scheme,

a multi-use tower on land once deemed

the graveyard for a city

who forgot how to grieve

for those not white, nor wealthy.

But, now, we remember, as best we can,

and rebury with dignity 

every child, woman and man.

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RACING THE WIND

Photo by Suparerg Suksai on Pexels.com

Day after night, night after day,

high pressure, low pressure

winds here to stay,

a world in disarray.

Weather is more predictable

with each new measuring tool.

Less stable winds make prediction

a game for worried fools.

Earth bellows and heaves,

quakes at the disgrace

of shifting ideologies

gathered at the starting gate,

ready to race.

What prize do runners seek

running over Earth’s oldest tracks,

heaving as the path cracks

beneath their greedy feet,

sweating oil, with greasy smiles?

Who waits at the finish line

to hand out the winning purse

filled with drug, guns and oil cash

at the end of their long dash,

during a race where Earth 

is pounded into submission, or worse.

Breathless audiences watch 

the entertaining game.

Some bet, some cheer, and many cry.

The race to unknown riches takes power and control, 

enough to make one frown and sigh.

But such a race is meaningless

and getting very, very old.

Earth cares not who wins such a prize.

Earth overtakes all racers

who race against her clean skies.

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LOVING HEARTS

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A heart cannot break

when it has been given away

and held in another’s embrace,

by layers so deep, love so strong

it finds the place where it belongs

The heart can neither crack nor flake

held safely against the heart of the other,

strengthened and treasured

by steel bands and grateful hands

that strengthen not only the bond

but the heart itself.

With each giving the heart grows stronger,

fearful  and doubtful no longer,

until nothing exists

which could tear it apart.

There is nothing so strong 

as a loving heart.

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HAIKU

Winter Garden

WINTER GARDEN, acrylic on canvass, Louise Annarino

I watch the garden grow

beneath the blanket of snow,

waiting to emerge.

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FANTASY NEWS

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

No more storytelling to avoid dwelling

on facts that call to action.

No more storytelling distraction.

When life seems more fantasy

storytelling undermines responsibility.

Only the facts, only the facts, please.

Give us only the facts and we will build

our own story, reach for our own glory.

No matter the difficulty or doubtful success

at least our lives would belong to us.

Manipulating the life of the tale leaves us

unsure, disconnected, and breathless.

We can take no pride nor have any remorse

for a story so overblown it is not our own.

Fragmented like all fairy dreams, we lose our course

in the heightened senses you endorse.

We simply want to live our lives,

and show our children they can survive.

Stop the fantasies. Stop the lies.

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WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS

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Beautiful sunrise

after deep sleep surprise,

warmth in the deep cold,

loved and protected,

spoiled beyond measure.

Some of us already 

have found our treasure.

Others huddle in doorways

and sleep over grates

where air lifts from tunnels

and some warmth emanates.

On the air rises the question, repeatedly,

from such disturbing discrepancies.

Why are you treated differently?

Who smiles such good fortune

on my undeserving face

while you suffer in the same space?

How can I let go of the privilege you see

and allow you to taker my place?

Perhaps that is the wrong question to pursue.

Better to ask if it could be true

that good fortune could smile on both me and you.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness

are meant for all; not, just a few.

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THE WEIGHT OF TEARS

Photo by Mathias Reding on Pexels.com

The weight of water rests 

heavily upon the breast,

hiding the heart in folds

of malcontent hung 

as window-coverings 

over the soul.

Tears too many to count

mount an assault

on streets where cameras watch

murderous intention

wrapped in police action.

Sacrifices for the greater good

should not come at such cost

of all innocence lost.

Acting with impunity

in every non-white community,

sanctioned by prejudice

draped with power

in a racist shower.

The weight of water rests

heavily upon the breast.

We are drowning in it.

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NIGHT SWEATS

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UKRAINIAN NIGHTS

Shattered dreams last night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

AMERICAN NIGHTS

Shattered dreams last night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

AFRICAN NIGHTS

Shattered dreams lat night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

ASIAN NIGHTS

Shattered dreams last night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

MID-EAST NIGHTS

Shattered dreams last night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

EUROPEAN NIGHTS

Shattered dreams last night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

War never ends now.

We don’t know how.

We hold on tight 

to what we do know.

Afraid to let go

during uncertain night

and awaken in hopeful daylight.

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HOLOCAUST REMEMBRANCE

Photo by Nur Yilmaz on Pexels.com

Empty shoes piled high and deep

their secrets we cannot keep

lest we forget

the truth of who we are

humans not so far

removed from animals

in a kingdom too low

to acknowledge the fact

that we must control

what lies within ourselves

and not one another.

We must remember we are all

sisters and brothers

created from a single mother

each cell between us a bond

instructing us not to harm

lest we forget and destroy

the best of who we are.

Weep upon the pile of shoes

of those who walked their last mile

into the ovens and gas chambers

Jews and gypsies

homosexuals and disabled

those who wore hate’s label

of yellow stars and edicts

enacted by those in brown shirts

shouting slogans and sound bites

we once more hear on our streets

across our airwaves

at rallies held by MAGA stars

and from their congressional seats.

Lest we forget,

remember the empty shoes.

They could soon be yours.

This is a time to remember

even as those who survived

leave this place and space

and leave us the task of remembering

lest we forget.

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LAST BREATH

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Last breaths fall all around

harmonizing without sound

on video and police cameras

lost amid the din

of self-hate turned around

decency spit on the ground

angry moves erupt in fear

calling up death ever near

the surface of inner torment

burying perpetrator with victim 

in darkest night of souls 

in human form

forgetting the best of humanity

remembering the worst

self-fulfilling prophecy

of beasts unleashed

from chains of self-deceit

hanging by a thread

of remorse broken into pieces

shards of glass 

that pierce the heart

cries of “mama” on the wind

seeing our selves in mime

shamed by how such a little distance

we have climbed

since the days when we enslaved

took land and massacred 

pushing back and down

pretending a superiority

to hide our insecurity

breathless in the grip

of tortured missteps

on the road to security

forfeiting all purity of purpose

just to breathe out rage

until no one is left

to draw a breath.

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