Daybreak of hearts
darkened by fear
turned into hate
that evil may be done
in the name of protection
of women and children
pawns in the game
run by powerful men
weighed down by coin
until they can no longer run
toward the light.
So, follow the money
into darkest night
where faces are hidden
in places forbidden
to those with sight.
Coins dropped on the way
to the safe hidden away
by PACS and dark money
counted and stored before
paying the dues
for fake ads and fake news.
Follow the money.
We are all in the ring
or sitting ring-side
ready to bet, cheering and loud.
Our faces are flushed
with the lust to succeed.
It has become every nation’s creed.
The struggle brings
too much sorrow to contain
in the single, small vessels
that we be.
It is not for me alone that I mourn;
but, for all facing hardships and doubts
only they can know and feel
like blows to the ribs, upper cuts to the jaw,
bruised to the bone,
forlorn and alone.
Have we forgotten how to be
part of a peaceful community,
of teachers and students,
of priests and congregations,
of parents and children,
of even two lovers such as we?
Or, is the struggle meant to be
single combat waged separately?
Every direction I glance I see
a fight-ring where combatants dance.
I take no comfort, feel no glee
in fisted gloves or bare-knuckled fights.
I feel every blow on my own body.
Stop building such rings
and dismantle those we see.
Or, is the betting too lucrative
and are con-men too attractive
to bring to an end
their fronting the purse
we all think we can win,
while they abscond with millions
and tell us great lies?
How could we not have learned
playing chance with fire
means we all will get burned.
While we fight,
they win.
Filed under POETRY
What will seized papers show
of secrets only a few could know?
Would Russia have invadedUkraine
for what President Trump thought to gain
if he served President Zelensky on a golden plate?
That is his way, as we all know,
never enough gold his greed to satiate.
What cabal operated amidst the Oval Office din
across Foggy Bottom from Russia then back again?
What criminal enterprises are hidden in the folds
of papers boxed away in Mar-a-Lago?
The “Right to Know” answers to such questions
Is the National Archives most sacred treasure,
and the people must know every measure
of every step taken at government’s direction.
Archives exist for our most basic protection
as a free people in a free nation.
Filed under POETRY
Good morning yellow-beaked robin redbreast.
I see you quenching your thirst in the bird bath of cobalt blue,
Your brown feathers closed and at rest.
You look toward me wondering why
I am not digging earth to reveal
The worms and insects for your next meal.
Like you, I must first
Have breakfast and quench my thirst.
Some mornings start late after hard nights
Catching the painful dreams in my fists
Anchoring my body to the bed as I twist
The anger and fear as shells fall
On Ukrainian apartment buildings,
Killing the old and the very small.
As a young Black man with a traffic violation
is cut down in volleys of bullets on an Akron street,
Joining other Black men and women throughout the nation.
As nine year old rape victims must flee
to another state to be made well,
and women no longer are free where they dwell,.
As thought police with hateful derision of history
block teachers with facts from teaching truth.
In truth, I cannot rest,
dear robin redbreast.
And you, little bird, may already sense the threat
against you and all creatures of earth
from man’s annihilation.
How can anyone rest with such frustration?
Soon, soon, I will join in the garden,
Weeding and dead-heading, disturbing the earth
and drawing the earthworms nearer to you.
Be kind, dear robin, only take what you need
and never, never, be guided by greed.
Filed under POETRY
Nine to three line pockets
of those whose greed
suppresses votes,
suppresses women,
suppresses refugees,
suppresses America’s survival
suppresses Earth’s survival.
Filed under POETRY
There were too many choices on the dessert tray.
“Each one take one” deserted us in the fray
to take more than our neighbor day after day.
Only those who had already eaten their full
were allowed into the dessert line’s pull.
They soon fearfully learned to guard their place,
that their rights to the line were not earned, but disgrace
to those deprived of sweet-takings
engaged in new nation-making;
not filled with days of Turkish delights,
but with hungry days turned into endless nights.
Where dreams dashed middle-class hope,
which died on buffet lines, the poor man’s trope.
The anger is real, if misdirected
believing The Big Lie that goes un-dissected
lest truth arise before their eyes
explaining they face their country’s demise.
We are the source of our own destruction
electing leaders who lie without compunction
and promise to allow us into the buffet line
where dessert is denied time after time.
Democracy dies with the death of the middle-class.
Without “each-one take one” our democracy cannot last.
The buffet lines of life are heavily taxed
while the dessert line where few stand tight go un-taxed.
They are bloated and full of themselves, supremacists all,
while the rest of us watch democracy fall
Filed under POETRY
Whom shall rise from the dead this day ?
The victims of gunfire in American alleys and streets?
Children caught in the crossfire?
Black men shot in the head for license tag violations?
Ukrainians tortured in basements by Russian troops?
Somalis, Ethiopians, and Sudanese starving to death?
On this day when Christians celebrate Christ’s Resurrection
I pray for a resurrection of insurrection
against greed and usurped people’s power
that breeds gunplay and famine,
rape and suppression of women,
redistricting and election misdirection,
racism and gender disaffection
of human rights.
I celebrate resurrection and contemplate
what still needs our attention.
I hope for more in my Easter basket
than bodies dumped in caskets.
I search for more answers to hatred
while children search for more eggs.
Like the children, I hope to find
what I am looking for;
peace and equity, life and security,
a sacred response to all in need,
an Amen.
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 