Tag Archives: hope

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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MESSENGERS OF THE FALLEN

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Each leaf a messenger from time before time

of cold nights following bright days

along sun’s lowered, angled lines.

Dust particles stir on autumn’s breeze

and from furnace blowers sight unseen.

Fall cleaning is upon us soon as we prepare

for even darker days and deadening cold

reminding us winter snows will silently descend.

We wonder if and when the darkness will finally end.

Falling leaves teach us hope for certain

as we watch them drop their curtain.

They remind us that only if leaves fall, can new leaves grow.

Centuries of Nature’s lessons tell us this is so.

A leaf falls with each vote cast in November.

Elections help us to remember

Spring will come again in fruitful splendor.

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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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LOOK TO THE YOUNG

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To see the future look to the young people.

They are not yet bound by convention,

nor blinded by the past,

as we old people are,

weighed down and eyes downcast

because we must watch the path

we no longer walk easily.

Such history serves a  purpose.

It offers cautionary tales

learned from days gone by.

But, it predicts nothing,

moves too slowly to catch up

with the speed of a future

unfolding before our eyes.

We can hardly understand

what we see in broken spans

as we catch pieces of the changes

meant to help us survive.

Look to the young people

racing on by, sharing nods of heads

while busily taking it all in stride,

smiling all the while,

letting us hold fast to our past

knowing we think them fools;

but they know they are simply cool.

And they are so, so, so  cool.

They carry our hopes with their own,

and the hopes of ages past grown old

into a world we cannot conceive.

They never break a sweat; 

learning more than we can forget.

I want to live long enough to see

this new world they create, strong and free.

I lift my eyes up to them respectfully,

gladly, lovingly and hopefully.

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A NEW DAY IS COMING

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Morning must wait awhile

for the sun to cross the stile.

We wait in darkness,

shadows their starkest;

unable to see our way,

knowing the sun will rise,

always, on a new day.

But, I am awake for hours;

no years, no decades now.

I have pushed away darkened skies,

I have struggled to plant seeds

in hardened soil stomped on

by supremacist feet of clay.

I have listened to hateful words

until my soul shouts and sways.

Always, always, I wait for the sky

to lighten on a new day.

I listen for the first notes

of morning-birds’ first songs

carried on morning-breath’s first breezes

stirred by sun’s rising heat

overturning the cold of night;

up-ending threatening nightmares

and tossing them away.

Soon, soon, I promise you.

There will come a new day.

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BAD KNEES GARDENER

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Packets of seeds are starting to arrive,

which may never grow,

in the mail from companies

with greater gardening skills than I.

Buying seeds is a hopeful sign

that my pained leg might soon be fine.

Perhaps one day my knee can bend again

to plant my treasured seeds in fertile soil

and I can return to lovingly toil

among plants that are my dearest friends.

For now, they sit untended on my kitchen counter.

They sit and they wait, then wait some more

for longer, warmer days filled with sunlight;

and, for a leg which can stretch and move

painlessly and endlessly to plant more seeds

than this world may ever need

to make peace and beauty thrive,

among earthlings happy to be alive.

The seeds sit and wait for better days.

As do I. As do I. As do I.

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THE FALL

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The snow is falling 

again.

She feels like an old

friend.

I fall with her at my

ease.

With one request, if you

please.

I beg her to break  my

fall,

and allow grace to cover the sins of

all.

Sun strikingly yearns to rise and 

heat

the frozen earth beneath my

feet.

My fall, I fear is not easy nor

soft.

Minds cooling their anger keep hope

aloft.

But, I am sinking beneath the 

weight

of my own government filled with such

hate.

Will we ever see another summer  of

love?

If cold snow keeps falling from

above?

One thing I truly

know.

No one can make me hate the

snow.

My heart melts as the snow soon

will.

I hold fast to love for all,

still.

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RISE UP

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Early morning risers are a breed apart.

They insist upon rising in the dark.

Their tattered dreams soon forgotten

they move to uncover windows;

not to simply let in the coming light

but, to first, acknowledge the night.

Darkness holds little mystery

to those who accept the misery

of what they watched unfold the day before,

and to believe the new day’s light will restore

balance, fairness, wisdom, hope and more.

Surely, the sun will shine on goodness

and love will once more rise with sun’s rays?

Such hopes can only be born in the dark.

Once sun rises and bathes us in her light

we forget the need for change we felt,

we hungered for, we fought for through the night.

Like babes in dark wombs we struggle to alight.

We yearn to be free of darkness and held tight.

Such memories of those first moments

are waiting to be born now in this morn’s sunlight.

Those who wake and walk in darkness know, 

once more of us awake, all can soon be set aright.

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STRONG OF HEART

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Hardened hearts break easily,

leaving broken pieces to fall

as heavy weights of brute strength,

and painful threats strewn about the streets

bathed in pepper gas and tears

of gas dripping over the faces of our children,

our elderly, our disabled; all allies

of the young who’s futures face flash bangs

of deceit and fraud and outright theft.

All of us thrown to the ground 

stumped and stamped upon

by those whose hardened hearts

keep breaking and flung about in rage.

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The hearts of those who protest are soft.

They are known for their easy acceptance.

They are berated for their ease of conscience.

Such hearts cannot break apart.

They are part of one eternal heart.

The hearts of protesters are soft, but firm.

Such soft hearts are resolute and unbreakable.

Their love of country and of one another

continue to beat strong and full of love.

Such hearts always remember to BE GOOD.

The only way to stop strong hearts

is to capture, perhaps kill, them.

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Hearts connected to one another

always continue to beat on.

Ukraine’s heart beats on.

Gaza’s heart beats on.

Sudan’s heart beats on.

Iran’s heart beats on.

Greenland’s heart beats on.

Canada’s heart beats on.

Central America’s heart beats on.

South America’s heart beats on.

The European Union’s heart beats on.

Minneapolis’ heart beats on.

Chicago’s heart beats on.

Los Angeles’ heart beats on.

The United States of America’s heart beats on.

Freedom’s heart beats strong, 

and beats on, now and forever.

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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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