Some days the words refuse to let me go.
On other days words pretend I am someone they do not know.
The cut-direct should not hurt so.
Tag Archives: poets
MY FELLOW AMERICANS
MY FELLOW AMERICANS
I hold my tongue.
It takes strength I do not have.
Whimpers escape
On shattered breaths,
In silent screams.
The fight worries my soul,
Battle weary and choking,
On words held tight inside.
Once the scream begins
I doubt I could stop.
I wait for your speech.
I yearn for your promise
To stop the authoritarian
Who has taken over our house,
Emptied its vaults,
Stolen its wealth,
Sold its power
To the highest bidders.
So, I write. That I can do
While I wait for you.
To me, this nothing new.
Do you believe me now?
BREATHLESS WORDS
I am out of breath and words.
The hill ahead we must climb
seems much too high
and tightens the core
in bands of steel
that limit flexible movement.
How can we climb under such duress?
Any future hope must be a mere guess
that we can find a way
through the dark and fretful days ahead.
Fatalism blocks the intake of air.
Fear locks an exhale all too aware
of obstacles placed along the path.
Few sherpas remain to assist,
compromised by willingness to desist
the smug faces of so many now in charge.
Human compassion is suppressed.
Freedom is kept at-large.
The goal remains the same.
The path is now littered in shame.
I am out of breath and words.
Filed under POETRY
HAIKU/ POETRY
Wildly careening
prose portrayed as poetry
fools no one but me.
Filed under POETRY
THE POET
I wake with words upon the tongue,
fingers ready to write down thoughts among
the fractured dreams of worlds long gone,
whose stories linger eon after eon.
No breakfast nor shower first for those like me
who live and breathe a universe of poetry.
Filed under POETRY
GREY DAYS
Some days are more difficult than others
and paint will not dry fast enough
to add the details which make the canvass
come alive in form and color.
The grey, pregnant clouds cover the sky
from end to end and roll over again ,and again,
blocking the sun and the light in one’s eye.
The brush sits, waiting in the palm.
The heart sits, waiting out the storm.
The canvass sits waiting
as empty as life seems to be.
But, artists know better than to fear
the light has died forever.
Artists simply wait out the storm,
paint the clouds above the crowd
of grey and dull thoughts;
and, write the words bold and loud.
Some days are more difficult than others,
thank goodness.
They challenge the artist and poet inside
and offer them a place to hide.
Until the sun rises high in the sky.
then artists and poets run outside,
paint and words flying far and wide.
Filed under POETRY
PATTERNS ET.AL.
PATTERNS
Patterns tell stories
usually hidden from view.
Each morning I rise
and pick up my pen,
put it to paper
to see what thoughts
descend.
Today, a series of thoughts
seem attuned to one another.
Four poems gathered
but refused to do more
than make me yearn
for words to return
and tell a story
to help me learn
something.
Anything.
Perhaps putting them in a row
will eventually show
what they are trying to tell me.
so, here, I go.
SAVED BY THE GARDEN
Saved again by the Garden.
Its views extend my own.
Who knows what will become
of the seeds I have sown.
Better to focus on new life
than to reflect on the old.
RUNAWAY
Hurry to the table.
Pick up the pen.
Let thoughts descend
before I pick up a comb,
wash my face,
or even get dressed.
The words run off
too fast for any of that.
I struggle to catch the words
before they are lost
in mundane tasks.
Today, I was too slow.
DISAPPEARING ACT
Where do words go
when they run from me?
To another poet?
To another essayist?
Are they too uncomfortable to tell
the truths I know so well?
Is the runner the words,
or is it I who run
away from words ?
LOST DREAM
A blast of cold air
swept over the sheets
and awakened me too soon
before the dawn
grew bright enough
to see within the darkened room.
I could not see the words today.
I only felt the cold and felt bereft
that the dream had gone.
Filed under POETRY
SIGHT UNSEEN
Meaning hides behind the curtain of words
strung on steel spines laid across windows
open to the view of curiosity seekers
walking the borders of meadows
where secrets are held in shallow graves.
I watch their progress across the land
mined with traps of grammar and rhyme,
their trampling feet raising dust to obscure
whatever truths they might find
should their path be more certain, more sure.
Discoveries are few and far between.
They wander and look everywhere but
where the treasures lie sight unseen.
Makes me wonder why poets write,
what they expect others to glean
from meaning hidden in plain site.
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 
DECONSTRUCTION
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.
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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