LEASHED EMOTION

We all see it. The Pope and I wonder “why ?”.

Pet owners walk right by 

the unsheltered homeless

on streets where they lie 

on cold pavement to pillow their heads.

Then stroll on home 

to put the doggy in his doggy bed.

We all see it. The Pope and I wonder “why?”.

Children hunger for safe water, safe schools

and safety from gun play.

No leash on gun violence to save innocent lives.

While redesigned leashes protect thyroids,

keep our dogs safer than our children

who remain threatened by lead water and bullets.

We all see it. The Pope and I wonder “why?”.

Children and teachers drill “Run, hide, fight”

barricading doors, fearing for the day to come

when they will fear for their lives.

Trainers and doggy educators face no such threats.

Do animal shelters run such drills?

Would we permit such atrocities there?

We all see it. The Pope and I wonder “why?.

Pantries struggle to feed the working poor.

Tiny pets sit in purses on shopping trips to buy

shoes and jewels and more and more, always more

including doggy treats, and doggy sweaters, and doggy toys.

If only the needs of children and the poor 

were handled with such concern.

We all see it. The pope and I wonder “why?”.

We mean no offense. We question the intention.

We unleash the suggestion there is a reason

we all see it. There is a reason to explore

the millions spent on pets that drives

a breach in social accord

played upon by those who seek to sow more discord.

Perhaps pet owners fill pantry shelves, 

schools, homeless shelters, and soup kitchens

with needed goods and volunteer hours.

Perhaps pet owners are teachers and preachers,

nurses and social workers, bankers and barmaids

who offer their services to all in need of them.

Perhaps they, too, are in need.

Perhaps the loneliness engendered

by 5G speed-brokered connection,

and hanging on to a blue planet 

speeding to fiery destruction

is soothed by a purring cat, or by stroking a dog’s fur.

Perhaps walking a leashed pet is the only control

they can imagine, the only comfort they can take.

Perhaps a generation splitting apart

heart by heart, takes heart from keeping

one friend, furry or not, 

safe and alive, 

happy and well.

Perhaps that pet fills their well

with love, repair and loyal care.

Perhaps we should all leash our emotion

and fear, and care for ourselves and one another

as we care for our pets. 

Pet owners surely know this better than most.

They already have the skill to love and protect.

Unleash love. Harness loving acts. Save  the world.

We all see it. The Pope and I question “why not ?”

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TIME TO DANCE

TIME TO DANCE

Beats sound

a groundless thump

against the heated air

of bodies dancing

worry laid bare.

To dance, to leap,

To sing, to weep.

Undulation and ululation

sound the escape

with brave elation.

Dance, dance

with butterflies and bees

as if life depends upon it.

Flutter and flit

On currents of air.

Rhythm and blues

are every day news.

Dance, dance.

Sound the best with feet

lifted above despair.

Dance, dance

with joy unabated.

Float like lilies

on pads created

To go with the flow.

Dance into the future.

Dance down the past.

Dance up the present.

Dance as if this chance

may be your last.

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BLOGGERS

Grief is palpable

hearts made of soft wool;

natural,

real,

felted by tears,

made stronger,

tightening bonds

across miles

circumventing the globe.

Likes on the blog

string together the yarns

of hearts attuned.

We touch.

We share.

We still care

enough to like.

Enough to tell each other

You are heard.

You are loved.

You are heart

of my heart.

We are in this

together.

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A TICKET TO RIDE

Already forgotten bell curves

overcome by spikes and pikes

carrying virus loads

up the nose.

No more waves

of predictability

nor general systems theories

of how things go.

if there are rules of pandemic,

they are rules lost in the mystery,

lost to a history

passed by and past off

by those who scoff

their vulnerability.

Roller coaster rides and pandemics

take away my breath.

Sudden falls after steep climbs

drop my stomach to my toes.

Harsh and sudden turns of phrase

bring fear of death

around each unexpected curve.

One does not mind a five minute ride,

hands held high on final descent;

with a grudging stop and final flop.

The ride softly ends as riders depart.

Unsteady feet steady once more

ready to explore the carousel, and bumper cars,

cotton candy and games of chance.

A three year ride is way too scary

and leaves us wary

of how, if at all, it will end.

With a bang or a whimper?

Or, a sullen long simmer, fall after fall

along rails beginning to wear ?

The ride must continue until all are loaded

with a vaccination, or two, or three;

maybe, more even than four.

The tickets were free,

but too many refused to take a shot

at ending the ride on time.

More climbs, more falls, more curves

until we are all sick to death or dying.

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JOURNALISM

What light becomes

most fashionably bright

to rid us of the shadow of night?

Who decides 

the cast, the angle

shining upon each bead and bangle?

Are we so transparent

no shadow shows,

willing to follow anyone who glows?

How have we not learned

that the light of day

best shows the way?

Fireflies dance around the darkness

distracting us from what matters

while truth lies shattered.

Talking points flicker

all day and night

while truth hides out of sight.

News becomes entertainment,

bread and circuses

to detain us.

News streams the highways

with fast-moving high lights

missing the truth by inches along the way.

Such roads cannot be safely crossed.

How do we get to the other side?

By stopping traffic at our own loss?

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WORDS AT PLAY

I don’t understand poems,

or words, or chatter.

How do they form like loose clay

around the mold of earthly matter?

Words cast up their account

of what lies in the gut

and rise to the mouth

to utter and strut.

Do we have no power

over what we say ?

Are we merely overpowered 

by a shower of words at play?

Somedays, words are so strong

they insist and persist, bursting the cork.

Other days, words are so weak

pulling them out is too much work.

The worst thing is not silence.

The worst thing is a paragraph

dragged out with violence.

Today, all words can do is laugh.

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NEED

Need is alive and well

clumped, clutching the belly

where it often dwells.

Need rises heavily

and steadily

devours the will

posed on the tongue

fearing disclosure

until the body is wrung

out.

Out of time.

Out of strength.

Out of courage

to speak one’s mind.

Then, Need sinks below

The threshold;

travels down the spine

all the way to one’s toes

which curl against the road

before starting to run

away with thoughts.

Need circles around

and around

and around

Need cannot be out-run.

Need always finds a way

to be heard.

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Ohio Valley

I stopped the chide

against cloudy skies

dropped into the river basin

dug out by ancient glaciers.

This is the place of safety from the world

of western fires

of eastern floods

of northern blizzards

of southern tornadoes.

In the middle we lie low

where clouds settle un-seamed

to protect us from extremes.

I miss the sun.

The sun is fun

until it rapes the atmosphere

stripping it bare

Clouds clothe the Ohio Valley.

I welcome clouds’ embrace.

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Pretense

A life of pretense

may be the only defense

against our greatest fears.

Truth lies undercover

lest we discover

we may not survive.

Committees and newsrooms hold tight

to the knowledge

which would allow us to acknowledge

the big spenders and pretenders

of climate and democracy,

the hidden autocracy.

Pretense is a fist clutched tight

by the side

ready to fight

once fear takes flight.

Do not be fooled.

Hang tight.

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