Tag Archives: health

DOORWAY TO RECOVERY

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I never saw a door I did not long to walk through,

always wondering what new thing I could discover.

Some doors are never meant to open.

Other doors creak on rusty hinges long unused.

Doors hung on oiled hinges and left wide open

beckon all and sundry to enter at will;

crowd out all meaning, and lessen the thrill.

The best doors are heavily carved with hidden meaning,

closed to all but those with strength and curiosity

sufficient to push them wide enough to pass through.

But every door is warning as well as a promise.

While rest and recovery makes me weak

I know most doors must remain shut and waiting

for my strength and health to return enough

to push open every door I see wide,

and discover what has remained hidden inside.

I cannot be patient. I have no pride.

I push to walk to doors, then push some more;

only to discover what doctors tell me.

I cannot open doors just now, but later.

Tell me what you see on the other side.

My body must rest, but my mind continues to explore.

Surely, you hear me knock-knock-knocking at your door.

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WALKING WOUNDED

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Walking wounded has become a way of life.

Aging does that with its strife.

One cannot complain of shoulders strained

from lifting sleeping children to their beds.

Nor, of knocking knees collapsing from the strain

of running the race to prove one can keep the pace

set by others’ expectations and lack of consideration.

A back bent into permanent library position

after years of reading, writing and speechifying

lacks the strength to stretch, so de-conditioned

it too often can no longer bend as love requires.

Arthritis has found a home in the space between each bone.

Then, the accidents begin to appear as bodies flail and fall.

Gnarled hands no longer grasp knives and water’s glass,

making messes everywhere one can no longer reach.

Nothing and no one can be held tight, nor safely handled.

No more pulling weeds, making unsightly lives lovely

as the body and the garden go to seed.

“Enough is enough” becomes a distraught creed

for those in constant pain who cry out in need;

“No.No.No… Not again !” when the trash can upends

as carted to the street; instead, landing on one’s feet

and smashing toes until they bleed, 

filling shoes and minds with blood as one succeeds

in filling tasks no longer easy to attend, as bodies break and mend.

We all know how this ends. Too soon. No need to pretend.

Or, perhaps, too soon not to ignore the aches and pains

of a full life lived courageously and well.

Each day a new life begins. Life continues and never ends.

Now, that, I can gladly pretend. 

A body on the mend may not look pretty.

But, this old body lives life gratefully, and gritty.

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RECOVERING THE LIGHT

Photo by L.Annarino

Skyline shifts

beyond boundaries of Light.

Dawn breaks apart

Moon from Starlight.

Friend to all,

Sun takes deep breath

and slowly rises

just beyond the Bend

between neighbors’ yards

and my own.

I sit in wonder.

My Joy wanders,

alone.

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KNEE REPLACEMENT SURGERY

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Knee replacement seems an affront to me.

An insult to my body’s integrity.

taking out the knee

which served me so faithfully,

to be replaced by utter falsity.

It will work as a joint should, assuredly.

But, it really means my new knee

is no longer the real me.

The me who knocked together,

whenever I was afraid, with the other.

The knee who knelt in the pew to pray

within the family group every Sunday.

The knee which moved the feet

when I practiced  my ballet,

and danced across the stage

on tap shoes, then all the rage.

The knee that touched yours

when we danced close,

hearts beating down to our toes.

The knee where every baby bounced

while we played horsey and laughed in glee.

The knee that pushed me to my feet

to object to opposing counsel in court;

or at a hearing to enact

what I considered an unjust act.

The knee that bent down to sow

seeds in a garden bed cleared of weeds.

The knee that pushed away

an unwelcome hand or worse.

The knee that I slapped in glee

when I heard a funny verse.

I love that knee.

I hate to see it go.

Part of me goes with it, I know.

Piece by piece each surgery,

has diminished the real me.

My reaction is a form of PTSD

recalling all the times I was told

I was too much, or not enough.

Did my body listen to such guff?

Did I push my knee too hard,

dismantle its soft protective layer,

to satisfy too many others?

It is only a knee, you say.

Not to me. Not today.

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BACK TO THE GYM

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

Most of us have been away from the gym too long.

Our freedom-loving muscles have grown slack.

We had not fully recognized the slack.

Others noted the weakness

of our democratic body.

We went about our day aware that each act

became more difficult, more strenuous.

Success became less assured, more tenuous. 

While we grew soft, life grew hard.

We could no longer lift our children above our heads.

Their safety could not be assured;

not only on the playground monkey bars,

but behind their desk, or sitting in church pews.

Even our voices became more feeble

as we stopped the exercise of free speech,

and bemoaned the simple act 

of marching down the street.

But others watched and saw our weakness grow.

Knew we were no longer paying attention

to our former strength and ignoring our work-outs,

while we flaunted more the medals on our chests

and the trophies on our shelves.

We no longer recalled how we earned those awards.

We forgot the daily struggle at life’s gymnasium

to keep the muscles of self-governance

strong enough  to take on new challenges and ideas.

Our weakness made us run from, instead of with,

others racing along the path to freedom.

We envied their success, our own no longer moving

us forward and ahead.

The only way the weak can win is by holding others back.

The truly strong can win by running hard and long.

We all looked away from those who cheat

to claim a win they do not deserve.

It feels too close to every nerve

now weakened within each lax muscle; 

a republic struggling just to stay upright.

Religion becomes the panacea of anxious nights.

We can only hope our muscle-memory

of freedoms gained in the past

is strong enough to make our democracy last.

Back to the gym. Walk the streets. Shout the speech

that you recall in memory grown weak.

Build back the muscle needed to wield your voting power.

Now is the hour 

to get back to the gym.

Be strong and carry on!

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

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DECONSTRUCTION

Columbus, Ohio 10-18-2025

The streets were lined for blocks on end.

Signs reminded all who rejoiced to attend

Why they walked and talked and smiled and waved

At passing cars who braved delays

While drivers honked horns and shouted out

“Vote him out and make it a rout!”

Costumed critters danced to our delight

Knowing their freedom would give him a fright.

Deconstruct the lies we have been told.

Deconstruct the narrative being sold.

Deconstruct the bullie’s hold.

Deconstruct institutional mold.

Gather in peace the young and the old.

Stronger are you, more wise, more bold.

Deconstruct so we can rebuild

What he has destroyed with his minions’ lack of skill.

We know how to do this, and more.

We have done it many times before.

Columbus, Ohio 10-18-2025
Columbus, Ohio 10-18-2025
Columbus, Ohio 10-18-2025
Columbus, Ohio 10-18-2025
Columbus, Ohio 10-18-2025
Columbus, Ohio 10-18-2025
Columbus, Ohio 10-18-2025

My thanks to my friends in Clintonville area of Columbus who helped me attend this moment of patriots’ challenge to the con men robbing the USA of its power, wealth, ideals and humanity. The lack of media coverage was appalling. The misrepresentation of attendance numbers cannot be challenged when media fails to provide images of the gatherings. A local station covered it AFTER it was over and crowds had dispersed. Another stated hundreds attended when it was actually thousands. We are here. We are resisting. We are going nowhere until the despotism and kidnapping of people and the Supreme Court, universities, news organizations, social media outlets, medical and public health Institutions… even our very language and the meaning of words and phrases has been brought to an end and freedom restored.

We shall not be silenced.

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Filed under COMMENTARY, POETRY, POLITICS

COLUMBUS,OHIO 4-5-2025

Thousands gathered in pouring rain

that fizzled to drizzle

before again filling drains

in a deluge of tears shed from the sky

for all the cruel MAGA plans in 2025.

Cars in parade drove round and round

filled with those too weak or sick to stand

letting the blare of horns shift feet off the ground

as protesters lifted signs and waved

in true solidarity, camaraderie and pride.

Every viewpoint, every age, every gender

straight or pride, every religion; all differences aside.

Small towns, big cities and rural hamlets,

countries all around the globe 

joined together, lifted signs with epithets

and reminders the people run this country

not oligarchs, nor despots, nor traitors, nor kings.

Enough is enough and this is too much

as it silences the Liberty Bell’s ring.

And, best of all, this is just the beginning.

Soon, MAGA will fall.

Still, local and national news ignores

the true message sent today

to save our beloved USA.

Media moguls saw no need

to shoot themselves in the knee

and tell the story of our glory

as we gathered to redress grievances

and demand our government comply

with federal laws and court orders

lest we watch our nation die. 

We are here, and here we shall remain.

We are our own best hope. We refuse to lie.

Fascists now rule over the home of the brave,

supported by Republican cowards

whose complicity credulity strains.

And the news media offers no discourse

to educate and explain

why millions of Americans stood so  resolute,

so long, in such  drowning rain.

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THE BOOT

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Bodies tell stories.

The boot is on the right foot.

It lifts up the right side.

It tilts the body left.

The left leg shortened,

for a short while;

long enough for the right 

heel to heal the heil.

The right heel steals balance.

The right heal steals my right

to take walks, plant seeds,

to talk with ease, laugh aloud.

The right heel pains me,

isolates me,

leaves me motionless.

Soon, the boot will be off.

Therapy will begin to complete

the healing needed to stop

the pain in the heel, and heal the heil.

The extra weight will be lifted.

Both feet will balance the gait

of a body ready to move forward,

beyond the lies, beyond the hate.

Time to heal, if patience allows.

I ask so little it seems;

and yet, too much for now.

Now, when words destroy bonds

formed from shared adversity,

in fear of diversity and loss of power.

I stumble through the day, booted

by the weight of the jack boot

on a leg that has born too much weight

of too much fear, too heavy a hate.

And still, despite the added weight

and uneven gait, I march on,

in my own, stilted way,

on this President’s,

not King’s,

Day.

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THE THIEF

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Chronic pain is a thief 

which stalks every bone and muscle

including the skull and brain

locking the flow across every sinew

of blood’s strength to reign

with ease and grace

across interstitial space.

Legs and pelvis lock in place

and the body can no longer race

along the path around the ponds.

Knees can no longer bend

to rest upon the earth and pull the weeds

nor plant the seeds

where the garden should grow.

Pain even steals words from where they reside 

within the brain’s locked space

where dreams can no longer take hold

since sleep is stolen leaving behind

only grief and disgust at losses too great to abide.

The theft is its worst upon the face

where smiles are forced to hide

behind grimaces and half-closed eyes.

Laughter is the only relief to frozen space.

A sense of humor is the fiercer power

relieving pain hour after hour.

The deeper the laugh the looser the lock

that pain has placed upon the body clock.

Time passes with the pain as laughs invade

the place where pain thought to remain.

Laugh at pain and watch it rush,

pushed away by jokes and a comic crush.

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TWO DIFFERENT TEA PARTIES

Louise at tea with friends

We sit together in the tea room,

four friends sharing stories of our lives

as we have done since first grade.

Now, older ladies at age seventy-five

the stories remain the same in the telling

if not in the content, with little to no surprise.

Our stories are those told by women over time

while their aged hands hold cups of calming tea

Heart-hands are held within the circle of our lives.

We studiously avoid this day 

what brings us to our knees to pray.

We know our country and our world’s democracy

is sadly  attacked, torn, bleeding and frayed

by hypocrites who lie and find distorted ways

to describe the problems we all face.

We agree the Republican Party is a disgrace.

Its leaders praise and offer support

to Putin, Orban and the sort of autocrat

who rules with iron hands and deadly fists,

claiming they are too MAGA strong to resist.

Laughingly, as if they are proud

supporters rally round Trump, shouting loud

with triumphant cheers, they form a crowd

of sycophants and fools who hide their fear

within the lies of those they cheer.

They no longer need to wear white sheets.

They are legally and openly armed to the teeth

to create a white supremacist militia.

They act with impunity in every community,

even in D.C. on the 6th. of January.

Hate crimes increase, threats roam the streets,

and gather openly in social media accounts

where they can hide their hate with open pride.

We old ladies have no fear. We have seen this before.

We have lived long enough to recall all 

those who “drank the tea” and raised the cup

to the “Tea Party” who plotted it all,

willing to watch America fall

so long as Republican supporters with great stealth

could retain their hold on power, and keep their wealth.

This is nothing new. We watched it happen as too few

paid any attention to how it happened and came to be

that we face the loss of our very treasured democracy.

They attack our very humanity, and make love a sin.

Their victimhood becomes a sign of religious grace.

Too many “find Jesus” as His words are replaced

with a false idol determined to win the race

to the White House and the presidency.

So, we sit together and drink our tea.

We may find it hard to stand on our feet.

But we shall not allow our democracy’s defeat.

We will vote for the only political party

we would be willing to invite to join us at tea.

Democrats all, we still can stand tall.

We may be a bit slower, but we go where we need to be,

to the polls to vote for those who still uphold the law.

We still speak what needs to be said

as facts remain alive, and truth is not yet dead.

We are still alive, as you can see. No one is too old

to uphold democracy and jail those whose crimes

are so many and so bold. We ladies recognize

that lies are still lies, no matter who enjoys their telling.

The con is not new, though the conmen may be.

Heat the kettle. Bring the water to a boil.

Brew the tea. Fill your cup. 

Drink the real tea and wake up.

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