Tag Archives: political organizer

A NEW DAWN

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Even the pictures on the wall

are tilted to the right.

Was there another disturbance overnight?

A tweet, and email, a deep-meet out of sight?

Did I stay asleep to avoid another fright?

When dawn came to anew and renew me 

I woke to the strengthening light.

I straightened every picture on every wall.

Was all this only a nightmarish dream after all?

I suddenly feel stronger, the longer I recall

what the world looked like before America’s fall.

Once again, I vow, Americans will be able to stand tall.

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Filed under POETRY, POLITICS

YOUNG AND OLD

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The young ones seem to know

that our world is threatened

is ways we not fully know

but fear all the same.

With each sunrise

another un-nerving surprise

until we are afraid to awaken,

afraid to open our eyes.

Not so, the young 

for whom time moves slow

and each change is noted

and each move forward

is celebrated, not feared.

But, we, the old 

whose breath is slowed

while time speeds away

know life becomes shorter

day by day;

even if the earth 

should pass away.

It will not be without us long.

We are growing weaker

as the young grow strong.

So, we must listen

to their protest and shouts.

They understand better

what each bully tactic is about.

We pretend it is only intimidation.

In reality, it is annihilation;

the end of freedoms seldom known

in ages past. As time has flown

we old ones forgot to pay attention.

Now, the young, whom we also ignored

beg for our attention.

We are never too old to mother the young.

We are never too old to stop what has begun.

We may not be able to march so far as they.

But we can shout from each of our front doors.

We can organize, assist and earnestly pray.

We can honk as we pass the marchers on parade.

We can give courage to those who are afraid.

We can write and call those in charge of our fate.

Time passes quickly for us, but it is not too late.

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AGE-OLD QUESTION

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God, You did not give me 

enough time to explain

why i was born

given this name

put in this place

and soon to die

after so much time

acts left undone

songs unsung

canvasses waiting

brushes and strokes

poems unwritten

essays unstated

each day feels emptier

creativity abated

by aches and pains

and clouded thoughts

this is what getting

older has wrought

faster and faster

being the best

that i can be

no symmetry 

only mystery

of what i was meant

to give and to be

an age old question

or old age question?

even that answer

is too much for me

screaming and kicking

i continue to strive

to discover just what

keeps me alive

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Filed under POETRY