POET’S LAMENT
I do not wish to get stuck
in the MAGA yuck and muck.
I wonder if those Germans
who watched fascism unfold
believed the stories they were told
by their brownshirt supported bully;
as the MAGA-hatted crowds
who cheer our own
American grown version
of violent political rhetoric
mant to intimidate and eradicate
those whose power they fear,
and propelled by a sense
of victimhood raised to an art
they plot and plan and strive
to drive Americans apart.
A nation may not survive at all.
Or, if it can survive it may not be intact.
And freedom may be forestalled
until the danger stops casting its pall
on its very survival.
So, instead of love and flowers,
sunny skies and dreamy hours
I write of dangers big and small.
I write of questions which call
for prompt response.
I note with dismay the loss of time to play.
I wish for earlier days
when citizens felt a duty to stand and say
democracy is under threat this day.
DREAMS OF HYPOCRISY
The dream stayed with me through the night.
Over and over the image repeated despite
frequent awakenings disturbed by the sight
of four babies with open staples in their eyes.
No matter other images crossing left to right
in dreams arranging matters as they might,
allowing mind to gain much-needed insight.
Those babies needed someone to make right
harms foreseen if removal was not done right.
I struggled with ideas of how to help all night.
Finally, firmly grip with tiny tools and pull tight
became the answer as I awoke at first daylight.
Then a new thought occurred and set truth alight,
“…first, remove the beam out of thine own eye.”
But, then a new thought came to light.
The staples were open to grab whatever came in sight
and make it their own view, with new and greater insight.
annarino writes 