Tag Archives: nature

KEEP LAUGHING

Photo by Rodolfo Quiru00f3s on Pexels.com

Earth is laughing so hard 

she is holding her sides.

Her laughter has not died.

She holds it inside.

Too often, there is not a smile to be seen.

Comedians and laughter are under attack; 

sad attempt to kill laughter, it is true.

But, let me tell you

I awake every day with a smile on my face

and my mind full of plans and laughter as I cope;

planning strategies to keep us all woke

enough to strategize and energize

enough to keep Earth and our freedom alive.

I smile when I find new ways

to resist, persist and overcome

those who strive so hard to make us glum.

Where they see threat, I see possibility.

Where they feel fear, I feel connected community.

When they shout their pain, I shout my glee.

Earth trembles to keep her laughter inside

at the foolish ego-maniacal MAGA leaders’ pride.

Earth continues to teach us her lessons

with a smile on her face from sunrise to sunset.

Giving us the means to keep us alive, and all our needs met.

Balance and connection are what we need

to continue on the path to wealth without greed.

Intersected boundaries are what we need

to continue on the path to true peace.

This is Earth’s greatest gift: her instinctive ability

to make us laugh as we grow in humility,

knowing we cannot berate nor control

Earth’s power to grow, to heal and renew

the damage men and women unintentionally do.

I laugh aloud with Earth today.

Our guffaws and chuckles thrown out wide.

Come laugh with us, then; and hold your heaving sides.

Try to unbend and dry your eyes so you can see.

That laughter has not died, nor ever must.

Constant negativity has nowhere to go

except “dust to dust” buried below,

in the space laughter has made deep within Earth.

And once this doom and gloom comes to an end

the entire world united in mirth 

shall laugh once again.

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THE DAWN OF DISCONTENT

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Darkness has not yet lifted

from the night of a waning moon.

This is the time of discontent

when one feels most alone, but soon,

the sun shall rise.

Others choose to sleep through darkness.

I cannot. Like a lone wolf,

I choose to stay awake, woke to wonder

hidden in all I yet may discover

in people and places I have never known.

I plant seeds of yearning in my soul

that love may take root and grow

beyond my own cultural limits,

beyond the bounds of all I know.

I try to stay awake, though weary,

to watch the new day dawn.

As it surely will.

As it surely will.

As it surely will.

Turn three times and make a wish.

I wish to fearlessly face the heat of these days

with cool calm and laughter so strong

it awakens the entire world.

Will the new dawn reveal 

that which was destroyed

while an entire nation slept?

This question is what makes some people

sleep the whole day long.

Their eyes appear open, but they sleepwalk;

perhaps hoping they are dreaming

and the day is a mere nightmare

from which they will soon awake.

I cannot pretend. Not I.

Even in the dark my eyes open wide.

I must see what darkness has wrought.

I tend to the garden I have created,

to the life of growth I have sought,

as the sun rises over roots sorely stressed.

I cannot allow the plants, nor my self, to die

even though they can no longer thrive.

I am awake in the dark, but not alone.

So long as I see clearly, if not cheerily,

the life of other living things all around me

resisting the threat in the day ahead and hanging on.

Sensing our togetherness is what makes us strong.

I watch the discontented dawn.

The sun continues to rise.

As will you. As shall I.

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FORTUNE TELLERS

Photo by Davyd Bortnik on Pexels.com

Squirrels dance with abandon

to circadian rhythm

leaving behind all restraint,

and stashes of seeds and nuts

in unlikely places which

I shall discover in Spring.

Like gypsy fortune tellers

they scamper from one customer

to another predicting what is to come.

The plants seem to listen 

afraid not to learn their fate.

They wilt a bit and lose color

as their fortune unfolds.

Their worst fears make them bold.

They bloom twice as many flowers.

They turn every flower head to seed.

They will not be caught unaware

of warnings gypsy squirrels have brought.

Perhaps, their glory will fade.

But, all will not be lost.

The squirrels promise new life will appear

in old and new plots.

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ART THERAPY& Haiku

Letting Go of the Old, acrylic on canvass, Louise Annarino, March 2025
Trump Speaks at DOJ, acrylic on canvass, Louise Annarino, March 2025

When things are too hard

to take, take to creation

within and without.

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IF ONLY

If only I were a bird

Fluffing feathers to increase my girth

And insulate my true worth

Staying warm this way instead,

Despite the bitter cold and dread.

But I am no bird. I am but a girl

Old enough to know better

On such bitterly cold days,

Watching my freedoms iced over,

Under Nazi salutes

And executive dis-orders.

Instead of fluffing feathers

I reach for carbs to increase warmth

And fill a need birds too feel

When cold grips the air we breathe

And hot words blow smokily

To cover the lies and foolery

Meant to limit our ability to fly.

We have a lot in common, the birds and I.

We are both on endangered species lists,

Fearing our days of flying free are numbered.

We both try to increase in size

That we may create warmth and strength inside,

And fool bullies not so wise,

Who would block our way

On freedom’s journey to better days.

If I were a bird, could I simply fly away?

Instead, I wait and fuel my body.

I wait in trust for better days.

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WRITING

Photo by Keenan Constance on Pexels.com

“Start writing” the app says.

So easy is it to reveal

The secret places in the heart,

The solemn vaults in the mind,

The wounded spaces in the body?

Think that is not a really big deal?

Hiding from self seems the norm.

For a very good reason

From the day we are born.

First we must grow into one we know

Can protect and defend

The one we hide deep below.

What risk writers take to open wide

A self hidden and safeguarded inside.

Risk is too small a word for the task

Of showing self vulnerable, anxious, naked at last;

seeking connection inside you, with words that will last.

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LATE SUMMER DAZE

LATE SUMMER, acrylic on canvass by Louise Annarino, 2024

The shades of summer pull slowly closed.

Sun drops quietly behind.

Shadows lengthen across grass carpets

moistened by the dew of cool nights

and warm days peaking through.

Autumn is on her way to paint

hot colors against cool blue skies.

Summer still lingers behind the shade

ready to surprise 

with summer heat intent

on a hot reprise.

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Late Summer

Acrylic on canvass by Louise Annarino, 8-7-2024

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GARDEN LESSON

Photo by Richa Sharma on Pexels.com

There is nothing like a drought

to teach what life is all about.

Waiting for the rain to fall

is not sufficient to survive.

Tender patience does not thrive.

Buds remain closed, tucked and hidden

deep among leaves’ folds

offering a pace to hide.

Roots buckle down deep

and down, down, down

to depths they seldom explore;

knowing once the rains do come

they may open up closed doors.

Eventually, rains come, and even pour.

Rains batter plants stressed and sore;

opening caches held within their core.

It is only after sun appears

that plants let go their fears.

And in that moment plants flower,

Their faith in Nature restored.

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WHERE HAVE THE BUTTERFLIES GONE?

Photo by Nandhu Kumar on Pexels.com

Hydrangeas move as if on a breeze.

A breeze of bees moving flower to flower

across lime green, blue and pink.

Across ruby red and native plants

their flowers do a pretty dance.

On this hot, dry day I watch bees play.

But, where have the butterflies gone?

They did not appear this year.

The yard is awash in colorful blooms

In past years butterflies found plenty of room

to feast and sleep a moment or two.

Butterfly bushes and  butterfly weeds,

native plants and other species

await their return in sad revery.

I ask everyone I know,

“have you seen a butterfly this year?”

The answer is always a baffled, “No.”

Where did all the butterflies go?

And, will they ever return ?

Who knows? Like lovers spurned,

they may have found another garden

to replace my own. 

I can only hope so, as I mourn

a topsy-survey world grown too warm.

Photo by Scott Webb on Pexels.com

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