By David Glenn Cox For the last several years, I have been worried about the fate of popular music. With all its pitch correction splendor, and auto …
A Breath of Fresh Air
A Breath of Fresh Air
Filed under Uncategorized
THANKS GIVING
It is good to be thankful.
It is good to be free.
It is good to hope
and dance so merrily.
It is good to be thankful.
It is good if we can see
it is good to keep trying
to save our beloved country.
It is good to be thankful.
It is good for more than me.
It is good for every “other”
who turns I into we.
It is good to be thankful.
But I want so much more.
I want each of us to lift
the light beside an open door.
I want each of us to hold and defend
our sacred declared text and constitution.
I want each of us to pledge
we will begin again
and set aside fearful pride
alongside those who deny
the Rule of Law and all it means,
as it loss threatens the safety
of ourselves, and every sister and brother.
I want each of us to vote the bums out.
I want each of us to cry freedom and shout
“We ain’t buying it !”
to all those who sold us out
so they alone can dance merrily in a ballroom
built on East Wing destruction,
giving in to autocrats’ seduction.
It is good to be thankful.
It is good to be free.
But, only if we all can be
and only if we all
can dance so merrily.
Too many did not think this is how it would be.
They ignored the liberal thinkers they deplore,
and wholeheartedly ignored
the warnings and pleas to face reality.
Instead, they refused to see,
they refused to look into the mirror
of their own racist, sexist depravity.
It was easier to look away.
They knew they would not like
what they would see.
They felt affirmed and at their ease.
But only for a moment.
Now, this is where we are, but need not be.
It is good to be thankful.
It is good to stay free.
ODE TO SISTER ROBERTINE, O.P.
Words create the reality we fear,
or one in which we can rejoice, and hold dear,
and spend our lives, seeing more clear.
Words have power to describe us,
inflame us, excite us,
or kill what is inside us.
Words can kill when taken in
by others’ hearts mired
in grace or sin.
Sister Robertine said:
Be careful what you read,
what you see at the movies, or on T.V.
Garbage in is garbage out.
That is what words are all about.
She knew A. I. before it was accelerated
by techno wizards, not the Divine
who works at a slower pace
to afford human-kind much-needed grace.
Sister Robertine said:
Dress how you want to act,
How you hope to be,
how you want to be seen.
You can create each day,
play the part in your own play.
You will soon become
whom you hope to be.
Dress with self-respect
and respect you will get.
Sister Robertine said:
only “X” or “BIG X”
when our answer was incorrect.
No rewards nor praise
for getting it right.
Working hard to get it right,
to see it through
was the least we could do.
Our reward for seeking knowledge was integrity.
Our reward for dressing well was respect.
Our reward for working hard was strength.
Our reward for seeking hard truths was character.
We could then write our own play,
play our chosen roll, on our own stage.
We could live lives that mattered,
live lives in which lies were shattered.
We could live in the spotlight of grace and power
to change the world for good, hour by hour.
Like all good teachers, Sister Robertine directed the play.
I am grateful for such a teacher every single day.
Filed under POETRY
Words
Some days the words refuse to let me go.
On other days words pretend I am someone they do not know.
The cut-direct should not hurt so.
Filed under POETRY
PRESS, THE ATTACK
Writing in the dark
is hard, requires balance,
leaning on insight.
Things do not smell right
despite heightened sense of smell
and story to tell.
Writing in the dark
makes hard to appreciate
journalists who fall.
Things are now hidden
behind false information.
See? Nothing at all.
And, so it goes down:
free speech, free press, redress.
Democracy Dark!
HUNGER GAMES
I see patterns, not the dead.
Patterns of the dead and dying, instead.
Death by a thousand cuts,
every strength lessened in a labor force,
in flight controllers, educators, hospitals,
F.B.I and military personnel, as well.
Saving money is not the purpose;
but, stealing money to fill the purses
of family and those who hold the cards,
greedy sots who play so hard
they have forgotten how to work
if they ever knew how.
No sweat on their flinty-eyed brow.
The hunger games have now begun.
Watching suffering is part of their fun.
Crying children with aching bellies,
babies once thriving, who will soon be dying.
The weakened working poor and people of color
are always such a weight and bother
to those who seek fortune and fame.
To win, such weak pretenders must play such games.
The cries and shouts are soon drowned out
by Epstein’s files which stretch for miles
across every ocean, their pattern is in motion.
Overpower those you fear and take their power.
Do this day-by-day, hour-by-hour
until they die or wish they could.
Death by a thousand cuts.
Pretend you are doing it for their own good.
Your power is but a sick, slick dream;
a nightmare for hungry children who scream.
Banks profit off your every scheme and stay silent
while you threaten and demean those who show
who you really are, and strive to make clear
this is not who most of us are, or wish to be.
But, too many agree. Too many refuse to see
the patterns they have watched on TV screens
for so many generations that it is destroying a nation.
I see patterns, not the dead.
So busy feeding the hungry we have little time to fight
those who create patterns of dominance and fright
robbing us of the wealth which once fueled our success.
Now, our very democratic existence is under duress.
This is part pf the plan of the Heritage Foundation,
who has shaken the core the the Republican Party so hard
it no longer exists as a proud opposition.
It has become the source of a free people’s annihilation.
I see patterns. I see the plan has been set in motion.
Now, I ask, countryman and women to show their devotion
to a nation entitled to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness
where all are created free as a basic right of creation.
NORTHERN LIGHTS
The Aurora Borealis is too much Latin for Americans
who look at night-time skies to see what is hidden
from their more southern views.
White supremacy’s bright lights and cloudy skies
hide the natural truths seen by more northern eyes.
War between the two settled nothing it seems, now
when night holds sway for many more hours of our day.
Electricity heats the cold and hides the stars
while we stay locked inside and miss the show
our saving sun puts on display to energize earth
and remind us of its power in such a glorious way.
We miss the full glow our northern neighbors see.
We rejoice just to know such light exists,
even though we block its view with technology.
Safe and warm inside, we simply watch it on T.V.
Even a nine year old describes with solemn glee
one more item is met on his bucket list
as if once is enough to behold one
of the universe’s many mysteries.
We reduce all around us to private lists of goals achieved.
We miss the chance to feel the tiny place we hold
together in the expansive and expanding galaxy.
We need never feel deadened and alone.
With such energy and light our truth is shown.
No reporter nor weatherman on our screen
can reveal the natural world right outside our door
in all its truth and glory, telling us the story
of who we are, who we could become, and how to see
the Northern Lights, which warm the heart
and light the soul, if truth be told.
To see the sight of the Northern Light
we must face the darkness and the cold.
Filed under POETRY
Truth in a Time of Lies
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
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.
annarino writes 