NUNS AND US

In the days when women’s options were few

the women I saw around me, women I knew,

found ways to become the best they could be

within the confines of misogyny.

Lucky was I to be taught by nuns,

a sisterhood which withstood Middle-Ages threats

by joining nunneries behind gates barring men.

Within such walls great minds could form

great thoughts, with freedom and creativity.

These women persisted as they resisted

the control of such men as abbots and bishops.

These women persisted as women do now

by standing up straight and taking a vow

to stay true to themselves and not be defeated

by ridiculous removal from tables  seated

only by men, for men, with men who concluded

false beliefs in women’s abilities which shone

a light often greater than their own.

Nuns are not fools, far from it. From them I learned

that this is a man’s world, but a woman’s heaven.

Women who saw heaven on earth as a real possibility.

Today, nuns’ ranks are fewer as more opportunity

is open to women, who still must bring 

their own chairs to the table where men are sitting.

Now, women are building their own tables

and invite men to sit there, too, no threat intended.

But insecure men unable to share power labels

fear their days of sole control are now mere fable.

Sisterhoods have expanded beyond Abbey walls.

All over the earth women now stand tall and state their vows.

The vows they share expand geography and history.

Women have come a “long way, baby”.

We are the nuns. The nuns are us.

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HAIKU

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Dancing among trees

leaves drifting below my knees

breeze lifting my feet.

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VOTE BLUE

Politics well-played avoids wars.

Games require referees not on-the-take,

and rules to establish guidelines

to mark the true scores.

Even Monopoly puts wrongdoers in jail,

and cheaters lose turns to correct

false places on the board.

Poker often leads by bluffs

But stacking the deck is deplored.

Republicans no longer play politics well.

They pay off the refs and announcer in the box,

Unilaterally re-design the track

and put burrs under saddles

To fix the race they brazenly run

with no thought to the damage done;

not only to their opponents,

but to the chance to keep the game fun.

Instead, they ruin any chance to avoid

the wars and disasters sure to come.

Vote Democratic, everyone!

It is the only way our republic can last

So we can all join in and play

fair and square another day.

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HAIKU

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Patient activist

is an oxymoron twist

delaying all change.

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THE FROST OF WAR

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Brazen bronze seedbeds

accosted by frozen brown bombs,

following an early frost,

when flowers freeze before

leaves and people fall,

their lively colors trapped

still vibrant and glowing,

as if they are not dead after all.

Broken boards and barren stalls

line the barns left as fallow

as the fields where bombs have fallen.

Images so serene and spare

burn the sockets in despair

that life so precious

no longer has a place

among this not-so-human race.

The season of death and dying

has descended and too many dreams

have been up-ended.

Bursts of air throw up clods of dirt

upon the nations of the earth

burying every sound of mirth

amidst the screams of lasting horror.

And yet we know that Spring will come

after this winter of solemn sorrow.

The best we can do is hope

for a better tomorrow.

So it has ever been

and hopefully,

so it shall be

if only we

can survive

the winter

and war’s demise.

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WOMEN

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Women are a sisterhood of might,

warriors with truth in sight

who love with lust and passion

and in ecstasy’s delight.

Women are the robins of the nests,

nurturers warming all within their light

who love with care and comfort

and in blossoming insight.

Women are the lions in dark night,

protectors with fierce might

who love with strength and power

and guarantee our rights.

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MEMORIES

The hummers have left with the long sunny days.

Frost settled down and intends to stay.

All that is left of the hummingbirds feeding in my yard

are memories of their daily visits and aeronautic repertoire.

I miss their dancing forms as they move from flower to flower.

I am left with cloudy days that drag out lonely hours.

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DEBRIS PILES

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When does rescue become recovery;

and, recovery become repair and restoration?

How much time do we grant to discover life?

How fast do we move beyond such inquiry?

And if we fail to take the time, 

do we risk building our lives upon the dead?

How much have we lost in moving too soon,

before we discovered the foundation

upon which our lives have been built?

Rescue workers scramble over Floridian piles of debris.

As we scramble over the piles of debris in our own lives.

For those who take time to dig deep

our way becomes clearer, cleaner, more promising.

Understandable to fear what we may find amidst the debris.

More fearful, to remain afraid, and never discover

what lies beneath our surface that we might build stronger lives.

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ANOTHER MISSILE CRISIS

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I still remember the days of the Cuban Missile Crisis as if they were yesterday.

I still recall the look on Sister’s face as she read the memo she soon shared and displayed.

Duck and cover had no place among the wizened nuns opposed to fools at play.

Instead, we gathered in the church. Before the altar we knelt and prayed.

Then, we were sent home to be with our families, expecting missiles to fly our way.

I hurried and ran all the way home, tripping over myself, that frightening day.

Those were the days of bomb shelters dug in backyards where kids played.

Not in our yard, Dad explained. Even if we survived nuclear radiation in the bombs first hits

we would remain below for years until it was safe to come above ground, only to see

destruction all around, no food nor water safe, no crops nor animals, just empty space.

What good would such survival be? Better to die, he said,… immediately.

And so we children knew the new reality that life was under constant threat each day.

Then, Kennedy forced the Russians away from our back door until another day.

Russia has not stayed away from solemn threats to have its say and make us pay

for its failed experiment in communism as democracy gained greater sway.

China, North Korea and Iran eager to join in the latest fray.

This is nothing new, nothing unseen before. There has always been war.

Always a need to defend our doors. But, impossible to shutter doors to nuclear war.

Greed for power and wealth overcomes sanity in communism or democracy.

This war has two fronts, as all wars do: a home-front, and one off-shore.

October has returned with threats that November elections might correct.

But, once again, I am unsure if we have the guts to face down the clowns,

who play us like their fake pianos; and to shove them out of the ring, and out the door.

No duck and cover for me. I love my democracy. I will stand in the open forevermore.

I will never give in to bullies and fear. I shall stand firm and pray. Then, I shall vote.

With you by my side, we shall endure. Of this, fellow citizens, I am sure.

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SPINNING OUT OF CONTROL

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I will not write one more word

other than those which rise on their own,

without my preset notions of what is real.

I see a world spinning out of control,

a globe spun by frantic hands on its curves.

It sits atop the desks of politicians, bankers and CEOs.

Perhaps the world merely sits in its place

and it is we who spin tales and define its space.

Perhaps it is we who determine earth’s pace.

Perhaps Earth is the mother telling us

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Leave your brother and sister alone.”

“Stop causing trouble.”

Perhaps it we who are spinning

out of control.

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