Tag Archives: hope

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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MORNING COMES

Tomorrow will turn into today; 2025 to 2026. We will still resist negativity and embrace one another as we seek to create a more American America, fully embracing, perhaps for the first time, our Constitution and Bill of Rights. It will be more difficult than ever. But, I am hopeful it can be done because of my faith in each of you.

I am thankful to all who read by poetry, political essays and family stories. You cover the globe. Your hands reach across oceans. Your hearts embrace human kindness. Your minds seek truth. Your souls seek justice. You give me the blessing of your attention to address the problems we face. Somehow, united across the globe, such intention to do good and treat one another with mutual respect, will work miracles. We shall overcome the darkness as we enlighten each other’s lives. You enlighten mine. I thank you, dear readers. Happy New Year! A new morning comes.

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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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THE PERFECT STORM

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We are in the midst of a perfect storm.

Those who seek perfection, especially

a perfection to match themselves,

which they consider the norm,

relish the chaos which leads astray

a nation once dedicated to the proposition

that “all men are created equal 

and endowed by their creator with the right

to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.”

What a lovely concept in sunny weather,

on a clear blue day.

But, those seeing red over perceived imperfection

cannot tolerate those who refuse to let the imperfect

get in the way of the possible.

They prefer to cut programs and taxes,

to keep their money in their own pockets,

show their personal largesse to those deemed worthy.

If only, they could see their own imperfections clearly.

We would not be in this frightful storm.

The winds of fascism and authoritarianism stir wildly

every manner, moral tome, and rule of law, and norm.

The rain of terror by masked militia in our streets

is more costly than housing the homeless,

feeding the hungry, educating our young people

who live with expectations of defeat.

The young see their pursuit of happiness and their freedom

being washed away, with inequality laid at their feet.

I do not believe in perfection. 

There are few perfect days.

Clouds are born by winds unseen 

shadowing perfection and laying it aside

while violent storms brew.

I do not seek the impossible. 

It is too costly and uncontrollable.

I know no policy nor program is perfect, as is no man.

Nothing makes us greater than to simply understand

we are all flawed human beings doing the best we can.

There can be no apology for silently marveling 

and supporting these dark days.

The perfect see no reason to apologize

for the greater wisdom of their ways.

We are left to raise umbrellas 

to protect as many as we can.

But, umbrellas are no match for perfect storms

created by our fellow man.

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