When things are too hard
to take, take to creation
within and without.
Tag Archives: dreams
ART THERAPY& Haiku
NIGHTMARES
I dream of Nazis…
men in blue jeans and camouflage
jackets with pockets
to hold weapons,
wearing red MAGA hats;
and bleached-hair women
in comfortable clothes
and comfortable shoes,
smiling at cameras
while they praise
a nobody who makes them feel
like somebody.
Like tools they line up
on his bleachers to be used
to disparage and demean
the others they call fiends.
These are not dreams.
These are nightmares come alive
and rending the seams of a nation’s fabric
with fascist schemes.
I can no longer sleep
in the silence
of so many who stay quiet.
Too ashamed to shout with that lout.
But willing to vote him in
to the place where our destruction begins.
I dream of Nazis,
the shouters
the doubters
the scoffers
the weak
the divided
the insiders
who refuse to give up
position and power,
while hour after hour
the fascist beast devours
airwaves and pews.
Let there not be too few
to block his way
on election day.
VOTE!
DOES LIFE COMPUTE?
If only life were like a computer program.
I could simply delete the lies and deceit.
I could simply retrieve what I believe.
I could simply edit out every lout
and paste heroes to replace their disgrace.
I could share and button-down my despair.
I could control, alt, delete rancor and heat.
I could scroll down and out all who troll.
I could shift and place higher with a lift
all those deserving of such a gift.
I could highlight in bold those deserving the gold.
I could edit and replace every con-man and scrape-grace.
I could, if I would, but maybe should
not waste the time to forward and rewind
podcasts littering my mind.
But, I am human and neither prophet nor divine.
I am not even A I; just a person line by line
writing to face another day with distaste
for climate and wars showing such force
that destruction follows men’s course
and hope flows down mountains and wipes out
any doubt that my redoubt will succeed.
Too many lies run down from dark skies.
Too many clouds hide arms opened wide
to future peace and prosperity faced with asperity
while storm-trooper rise to bait and debate democracy’s demise.
Their faces bathed in hate’s light meant to cause fright
across every screen invade my dreams.
I cannot hit delete while I sleep fearing defeat.
If only life were like a computer those disputers
who lie line after line, could be sent to my trash.
If only, we could do that without a backlash.
We prepare protection against another insurrection.
We update our program to withstand hack attack.
Maybe life waits in accord for my touch on its board.
Maybe life does compute and refute every dispute.
MORNINGS
Is the first awakening any better than the last?
Or must we always yearn for what is past?
The sun breaks open the darkness we are closed within.
Even in darkness our light is never dimmed.
Must we compete, then with the light we face at dawn?
Must we shine brighter, hotter, higher, hour after hour
until exhaustion overtakes our effort to shine divine?
Finally, darkness comes to embrace us, calm us, take us
where we may dream of what will be, what was, what is.
Is the first awakening any better than the last?
Will the next awakening be even better than those past?
Filed under POETRY
DREAMS OF STATE
Waking in the half-state
within the space where worlds collide
with no need to run away and hide,
where languages merge to help us realize
our old reality has solemnly died,
we are born anew and lifted high
above the horizon and into the sky
in the arms of the ripening sun
where all new life begins.
Every single day, we turn
in the arms of stars to find our way.
How wild this earth-turn
ride around the sun
across our galaxy spiraling wide
into a universe where silent winds blow.
Where we shall land we do not know.
On mornings like this we do not care.
We are content to fly on currents of air,
floating across places yet to be seen,
across new horizons and new sunrises
to worlds we have never been.
We find new courage to open our wings
and finally let our true hearts sing
in praise of the morning sky’s rising
after the night’s long-dreaming sights
to find ourselves newly alive.
We shout with joy, “What a ride!”
Filed under POETRY
POETS
Beyond the words is a place
every writer longs to be.
There, where unvarnished truth
resides alongside unlimited expression.
Poets would take you on the journey
beyond the words.
The path is not straight.
The path cannot be seen.
The path can only be felt.
The path takes one beyond
the land of dreams
and thoughts unscreened
to the place nothing seems.
In nothingness all lives.
Every possibility sounds out
silently.
The song cannot be heard.
The song can only be felt.
Until nothing erupts quietly
and words return
surprising me.
Art flows not from the poet.
Art flows through the poet
from that place
beyond the words
where all art resides.
The journey is within.
SUNRISE
The sky alights as do I.
Sun fills the fibers from head to toe.
Sun awakens so I must go.
I must go follow the sun it seems
or languish within startling dreams.
I prefer reality to map my way out of night.
I prefer a mind and heart filled with light.
Shadows always fall behind me.
Darkness no longer blinds me
though I am on unfamiliar paths
and the light will not last.
For a few hours, at least,
I progress past the breach
where it would be easy to fall
onto hopes covered by a pall.
Light guides my way
for another day.
It no longer matters if I know
exactly where I am meant to go.
I simply take delight
that it is not yet night.
This, then, is the destination
for each soul and every nation.
Be in the here. Be in the now.
Let this be our solemn vow.
As difficult as it is to follow the sun,
humanity’s journey has just begun.
There will always be another night.
Sunrise always returns to give us light.
Filed under POETRY
TIME AFTER TIME
I can no longer await the dream,
that hope-filled place of freedom
and joy defined and combined
with the dawn of each new day;
only, to return battered
and bloodied by sundown.
Each night’s dream dies
in the too-bright sunrise.
When a new century dawns
new hopes also arise
with new dreams to surprise.
New fears replace the old ways,
dying before our eyes;
and darkness falls, dreamless.
We think there is no new dream
to be found in the new landscape
unfolding before our eyes each dawn,
hidden in the darkness of night skies.
Generations of dreams do not fall behind.
They circle us and curve around time
to revisit the place they first stood sublime.
If only we can recall our history
can we up-end the fearful mystery
of all that is new, never before seen,
difficult its truth to find,
to mend the old dreams ripped apart,
and cure the scars on every heart.
I can no longer await the dream.
I must seize each day that dawns
in this new place,
in this new time.
With dignity and grace and memory,
clothed in all my history,
I awake with new dreams
of more joy and broader freedoms.
I take my place amid the truth of this new time.
and make the dream of this ,and each new day
mine.
Filed under POETRY
WOKE
Wakefulness from nightmares does not feel safe,
nor clearly defines the life we make,
nor effortlessly guides the steps to take
while we try to stay awake
the day after nightmares reign.
The last person to fear, by those whose dreams allow
peace, security, joy and love…somehow…
are those of us who wake from dreams with screams,
and recognize the loss of hope
which forces us to stay woke
lest we descend once again
into nightmares which never end.
The American dream may be the goal
of those who dream peacefully all night long,
as well as those whose dreams unfold
as nightmares left from days of old,
and from the streets left bare
by poverty, racism and despair.
Waking cannot be a sin
for only those whose dreams begin
in sorrow and pain.
Does not every one of us awake?
Are only those who dream sweet dreams
allowed to waken in the morning light
and not have too explain
it is their right
to stay awake?
Attacking those who awake from nightmares
instead of dreams may merely be a way
to keep some within the nightmare world
any sane person would hope to flee.
We are each entitled to awake and greet the day.
Dreamers of dreams or nightmares,
we are all the same.
I am I, and you are you, when we are asleep.
And, when we wake. I am you and you are me,
those who waken to the same day
after long nights of life on display.
in nightmares or in dreams.
Then, morning dawns with sun’s fierce stroke.
Suddenly, we are both woke.
HAKUNA MATATA
Last night I had a wonderful dream.
Hakuna matata was the theme.
Swahili words danced on the breeze.
No trouble. No worries. Take it easy.
Children gathered brushes growing near the river, tools
and colors of paint, as a woman sat on a low stool.
A camera scrolled across the scene from far above
a landscape filled with laughter and love.
One by one each child applied texture and painted lines
across every inch of the woman, now becoming a lion.
Proud and strong she rose up and laughingly stated
“Hakuna matata”. All chatter around her solemnly abated.
Then, voices united as one, the children shouted with glee
“Hakuna matata. No trouble. No worries. Take your ease!”
After that, sleep came easily.
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 