Tag Archives: courage

MORNING DOVE

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Morning brings us mindless enterprise

until Brain sorts itself sorts itself out

and finds a side to lean on as

rational thoughts begin to unsteadily rise,

as do we, from beds draped in blankets

and dreams, soon lost in shallow mists.

uncertain what this new day will comprise.

We only awaken when the world makes sense again

and each moment of each hour of this day stops

being a devastatingly horrible October surprise.

Which may explain why so many refuse to awaken,

fearful of what the day may bring to their side.

Living in the dawn of denial and refusing to think

keeps nightmares hidden behind false pride.

Which may explain why so many fear being woke,

and despise those awake, yet steadier, than they are.

It is easier for some to remain in the dark ages,

unable to face each new day with hopeful anticipation.

The unstable on their feet, pushed around in misdirection,

bombarded steadily by false presentation on their way

to the kitchen from the bedroom to prepare for work,

which may or may not be securely theirs if AI has a say.

In darkness, they color outside the lines of common sense,

unable, and scarily unwilling, to follow a rational conversation;

or simply refuse to move an inch, holding on to the fence.

We all need a simple cup of coffee, for satisfaction.

We all need a moment, or two, of silent reflection.

We all need to accept our common imperfection.

We all need a personal course correction.

We all need to reassemble our sleepy thoughts

and start behaving as we ought.

We are stronger than we know.

We can stand on our own.

we can let fear go back to sleep

as we awaken on balanced feet

facing each new day.

That is no mean feat.

It was never meant to be.

We were made from and for love.

We are the morning, not the mourning, dove.

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THE BREAK-UP

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I waited awhile for your smile,

perhaps too long.

It never came until too late.

I shall never know

why you made me wait

until I said, “I’ll

be going now.”

Your face lit up in joyful prose

and told me all I needed to know.

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CONSPIRACY THEORISTS

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They are not fooled 

because they lack intelligence.

They are not fooled 

because they lack information.

They are fooled 

because they lack imagination.

It seems incongruous,I know

That those so 

easily fooled by conspiracy theories

stay seated among its mythology 

without questions.

No hands raised to learn more. 

No efforts made to discover

if the storied message 

could actually be other

than what they are told.

Such power games are very old.

Conspiracy theories require

nothing more than dull acceptance

to feed damaged egos on fire

while living half-lives

which must be fueled by ire;

lulled by lives so dull

they cannot imagine why.

They are too eager to create

false safe-spaces 

to guard what life they have left;

where little is required

of those half-alive,

except blind acceptance

of the true thieves

who stole their missing half

long ago.

Now, blaming others.

They have no imagination

left.

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DANCE LIKE YOU MEAN IT

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He has no spleen.

He has no fight.

A childhood chant,

If I remember that right.

Switchblades once ruled

where guns now alight.

Bullies without spleens,

those I remember alright.

Social media makes bullies

to our left and our right.

Social media fakes spleens

for those scared of others’ might.

We could make our peace

and not need a spleen.

We could face our fears

and let others draw near.

We could dance and sing

through winter and spring,

through summer and fall.

We need not fight at all.

We could simply share

all that we know and love,

all that we have to spare.

This is my chanted prayer.

Spineless, spleenless bullies

may take over the stage

and every airwave

with shouted outrage.

Turn them off. Tune them out.

Life is too short to listen to their shouts.

Life is too precious to waste and spin

into useless promises to win.

To win what? I ask of life.

What is worth such strife?

Much better friendship is sought

whether I like you or not.

Just turn up the music and dance.

Give life’s joys a chance.

Feed the hungry, house the poor

that we may all dance forevermore.

Seek connection with fearless affection.

Dance. Just Dance.

Now,

dance some more.

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POWER OUTAGE

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How lucky are we who have electricity

and solid roofs over our heads

while facing the fiercest storms.

When the cradle rocks and trees fall down

we worry a bit and put on a frown.

Yet, we know we only need to wait,

turn the lanterns up, so bright,

we power on batteries to light the night.

Workmen climb poles

amid cold winds grown bold

to make things right.

No billowing tents for us

with open fire to heat the cold

We simply open a book to read by flashlight.

I wonder why I was born 

in this time and in this space;

why I am blessed with American grace.

I wonder why others have not been so placed.

I do not wonder why they seek their way

through jungles, across rivers,

in deadening heat and torrential rain.

I do not wonder why they face such pain

to carry their children to a safer place.

I only wonder at their courage  to dare

while we so spoiled are unable to face

what we fear to be true.

Those who come on bare feet,

those not so blessed, deserve the same grace

as me, and as you.

Electric power outages can be fixed

by brave service workers and much ado.

Moral power outages are much harder to fix

and need a bigger, even braver, crew.

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LIVE FOR TODAY

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Eternity is 

a slippery slope upon

which to place one’s hope.

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BIRDS OF A FEATHER

I envy those still able to place words on a page.

I hesitate at what I might say to display my rage.

Silence is its own subtle, harmful, deadening cage.

I refuse to become like you – a killer 

of all that is good, all that is free, all that is true.

I refuse to become like you – a silent witness

of all that is evil, all who are held in bondage, 

all of the lies which rely upon you.

I refuse to become like you – a sycophant

in silent praise of racist, sexist, xenophobic chant

by tiny minds, fattened by greed, with tiny hands

grasping for the sacred trust, and pedophilic lust

most hide from civil and moral view.

I refuse to become you – a lost boy

in Never-Never Land, fearful and confused,

afraid to grow up, preferring to fly high

above those you believe inferior

so that you can feel superior.

I know who you are; and so, do you.

I refuse to become you; and so, extend a hand

to help you settle down upon a branch of freedom.

It is weakened; it is true.

But still strong enough

with love enough

to hold us…together.

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PURE OF HEART

Photo by RDNE Stock project on Pexels.com St. Anne with her young daughter, Mary; The grandmother and mother of Jesus of Nazareth.

On  this Holy Day

no obligation takes part

in the love and respect I feel for you,

dearest Mary, Queen of Hearts.

No need for men to declare 

you are woman beyond compare.

Nor need to justify your place

with convoluted tales of grace.

You bore the heavy pregnancy gait

and the seemingly endless 9 months wait,

a grueling trek by foot and donkey

away from safety and into mystery.

You sheltered in the meanest space

and kept up with Joseph’s heartier pace

as women are so often wont to do

for men and children in need of you.

You entertained guests who came to view

the wonder of Light renewed by you.

When you likely most needed rest

you gave your all to all your guests.

And then you fled as Joseph’s dream

must have made you want to scream.

All to keep your loved ones safe and sound.

Your strength and love are so profound.

And still you give to all of us here now

your grace and love and keep your vow

made through Angel Gabriel in ages past;

a promise that to this day still lasts.

“Behold,I am the handmaiden of the Lord;

Let it be done to me according to your word.”

Such a pure heart needs no more explanation.

The Light always carried within you is our salvation.

A feast day for an Immaculate Conception

sounds like a useful mansplain deception.

I overlook my useless eye-rolling emotion

and give you, dear Mary, my full devotion.

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MY FIRST AND ONLY CONFESSION

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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.

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LEAD WITH THE HEART

Lead with the heart

and the mind will follow

a path of peace and hope,

strong enough to carry

dreams and generosity

for all those you meet.

No matter how difficult

the journey it will not be taken

alone, silently, fearfully.

The heart knows best what matters.

The heart knows the best path.

The heart unites us joyfully.

The heart beats life determinedly.

The heart overcomes strife.

Lead with the heart and do your part

to create a world worth living.

Some paths are famous and large.

Some paths are unrecognized and small.

Every path matters to those

who walk it and make it their own.

Every path converges as we move

into the great unknown.

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