A life of pretense
may be the only defense
against our greatest fears.
Truth lies undercover
lest we discover
we may not survive.
Committees and newsrooms hold tight
to the knowledge
which would allow us to acknowledge
the big spenders and pretenders
of climate and democracy,
the hidden autocracy.
Pretense is a fist clutched tight
by the side
ready to fight
once fear takes flight.
Do not be fooled.
Hang tight.
Filed under POETRY
Out with the old.
In with the new.
Throw away society
Is nothing new.
Long lines of history
Started this brew.
Custom is not custom made
When everyone agrees.
No person better than another
If we could truly see.
Celebrations followed time
In its global rounds
Until the ball with all its hopes
Dropped roaringly to ground.
I wish you Happy New Year
Both with joy and dismay
That too many doors will shut again
On this new year’s first day.
Across the globe
We hear the whoosh and slam
of shutting doors and clicking locks
where too few give a damn.
On this day I resolve
To open wide my doors
And to welcome in with grace
Those seeking a safe shore.
FIND THE WORDS 12/27/2021
Sometimes there is nothing more to be said.
Words lie too pale
to leave a trail
on the page
for others to follow.
Thoughts are too hollow
to offer comfort or recourse;
too shallow
to ease pain and remorse.
One step at a time.
One word at a time.
One breath at a time.
One sigh at a time.
Not enough words to rhyme
nor steps to mind.
We falter and fail
hands gripped to the rail
too frail to climb up,
too weary to climb down. Undecided too long.
Afraid to be wrong.
How can we build back better lacking blocks to build letters
to forms words to create stories,
to restore narratives of glory?
Reset the game
we are determined to play.
Reset the rules
and restore the ante fools
have laid bare,
offering nothing but a prayer.
A prayer without words.
Find the words!
Tell the story!
Filed under POETRY
THE LITTLE AGITATOR
12-23-2021
Did you earn a nickname in your childhood? you know, like a mobster, sticky fingers or tattle-tale ? Some nicknames are freely given merely to shorten names; Elizabeth become Beth, Edward becomes Eddie. There are nicknames dragged from the mouths of aggravated parents in place of a curse, as patience wanes. Such nicknames only work to guide a child’s behavior to the extant they understand all it definitions. Children are quite literal, unlike adults who have learned to use nuance to avoid consequences of unwise words and actions.
My nickname was “ The agitator”; at first “little agitator”, and as I grew older simply “agitator”. In my childish mind agitator had only one meaning: the central post in the washing machine which swished water around to remove dirt from clothes and allow it to be washed away. I found it quite a compliment to know my effort to wash away the dirt hiding others’ motivations, true belief behind their statements, and misleading or misguided behavior was recognized. It was a puzzle why Mom seemed so upset when praising me so often and so relentlessly. This “little agitator” looked for dirt everywhere to wash it away with words. I washed it out of the house, the playground, the schoolroom until everyone could cleanly and clearly see the uncomfortable truth.
The older I got the more I realized it had been meant not a an encouragement but as an effort to block my truth seeking. Stirring up the dirt to wash it away is not always a sound practice around mothers overwhelmed by small children who care not for the daily bath. Politicians and leaders fear a bath as well.
Too many of us prefer to hide behind the dirt. Too many of us allow others to hide as well. We fear our own hypocrisy, I think. Entire industries exist to heap more dirt on the truth of who we are. Sometimes dirt is thrown merely to entertain and distract us from what lies beneath the surface. Those seeking to hold on to their wealth develop artificial turf, and artificial dirt, to create an artificial world where they can hide their greed and their misdeeds.
Nicknames last forever. I claim mine gladly. I am “ the agitator”. Throw your clothes in the hamper and start the wash. It is time we came clean.
Filed under Uncategorized
Scene: Dorm room of Resident Advisor where RA is handling suicidal student refusing professional psychological counseling referral.
For the 10th. Day in a row the scene has been repeated, several times a day, for 10 days. I was that RA.
Finally, the RA says, “If what you want is to kill yourself, go do it.”
The student’s reply, “I will! And you will feel so guilty.”
I reply, “No, I shall not feel guilt. I will be very sad that someone with so much to offer took her own life, instead of accepting help to do the right thing…continue living.”
The student angrily returned to her own room. In a suite of 16 young women. I notified the suite that she was in need of constant observation; and to call me immediately if her behavior became more desperate. After months of living with her, everyone in the suite was aware of her condition and threats of suicide.
Within 15 minutes the student returned and with venomous looks agreed to professional counseling. Immediately, I had a counselor from the university on the phone with her, making an appointment for the next morning. This was a success,
Two-by-four therapy is sometimes necessary, but not for the faint of heart. It is one reason I became an attorney, instead of a social worker or counselor. I wanted the biggest two-by-four I could wield.
We always need to listen. We do not always need to speak words. We sometimes need to wave a two-by-four to build the future we want. The strongest negotiating tool is not always the language of rational speech; but, the language of power and control. We sometimes need to speak the two-by-four.
Congress, are you listening? president Biden, are you listening? Local Democratic Party, are you listening? Put on you gloves and start lifting those two-by-fours into place if we can hope to Build Back Better.
Filed under POLITICS
SOME WORDS MUST REMAIN
SILENT ON THE PAGE
INSTEAD OF SPEAKING OUT LOUD
THEIR OUTRAGE.
NEED I SAY MORE
TO THOSE WHO EXPLORE
EVERY NEWSPAPER AND PODCAST,
AND BROADCASTS GALORE?
YOU KNOW WHAT WE FACE
AND THE FEAR THAT REPLACED
THE EXCEPTIONAL HOPE
AMERICAN BIRTHRIGHT BESTOWED
ON THOSE WITH OPEN HEARTS AND OPEN SHORES,
OPEN MINDS AND OPEN POLLS.
NOW SHORES AND POLLS ARE BEING SHUTTERED
SCHOOL BOARDS AND STATEHOUSES CLUTTERED
BY THOSE NULLIFYING NOT ONLY OUR VOTES,
BUT OUR RIGHT TO CLAIM
OUR DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC
IN MORE THAN NAME
ONLY. IF ONLY, WE COULD SPEAK OUT
UNASHAMED AND ALOUD.
WE ARE NOT PERFECT, PEOPLE, BUT WE MUST BE ENOUGH
AS THE GOING GETS TOUGH. WE MUST BE ENOUGH.
Filed under Uncategorized
12-06-2021
Every morning as I made my bed, I started a new chapter in my book of life by telling myself, for example, “Today is the chapter where Louise starts school; or ate with the hobos by the river, or turned black and blue all over.” Each life experience began a new chapter. Today is my thousandth, or more, chapter. Today is the chapter where Louise writes her book for others to read. Not that others have not been reading me for nearly 73 years by simply watching and reporting upon my shenanigans. Today, they go to print.
Life for me was a book being written chapter by chapter. Sometimes under my control; most often, not. That was the exciting part; the part that kept me truly alive. Each episode was laid out thoughtfully, straightened and smoothed as I straightened and smoothed the sheets on my bed. There was always a need to recognize and tend to the rough edges and lumps. They required hands willing to pull tout the seams exposed by the tossing and tumbling of a child’s restless dreams created in my sleep. I once asked my Mother, “ Mommy, when I get up in the morning is this my real life? Or, is my real life what I dream after I go to bed? They are both the same, both as real. How can I tell why is real?” My mother’s answer, after shrugging off the slight frown of surprised concern on her face, was clear and concise. She said, “ I don’t know where you go in your dreams. But your real world is here with me. This life with me is your real life. And that is where you shall stay.” The sheets, this life, continue to need straightening and smoothing.
My earliest memory of this life is the slatted play of light and shadow across my body as I lay on my back in my crib. The shadows moved with the sun, sometimes dancing in strange patterns if the wind blew. I could feel the light and dark dancing in the breeze across my skin. I was too young to understand how any of this occurred. The memory simply tells me what and where. I recall small hands tossing something aside to grasp the light in a tiny fist, I hear the sound of gurgling laughter as I cheerfully played this game of “catch the light.” Whose fist is that? Mine? Curious, I asked my mother where my crib had been placed? My younger brother had just been born and his crib was in my parent’s bedroom. But, I recalled this light play in a corner of another room. I showed Mommy where the memory indicated and she said, “This is where your crib had been placed, but surely you cannot remember such a thing. You were too young. I told her I always heard a loud thud as I reached for the light. “You always threw your bottle out of the crib. I had the hardest time getting you to take a bottle in the crib.” She believed me then.
Memory is a fascinating teacher. Pieces of memory do not hold equal value. Many pieces are lost in the shuffle as we arrange the puzzle pieces that create a life.Those memories we recall may seem senseless. But, it is those tiny, seemingly senseless, memories which hold the greatest value when examined closely, their rough edges smoothed and straightened.
In these dark days of December, we remember that life is the interplay of darkness and light, the void and creation, destruction and rebirth. Every solstice changes the rhythm. This memory mattered to me enough to remember it and its recognize its value. The sense of beauty and awe in the dance of light and shadow across my body opened my senses to the wondrous impermanence of their interplay; and the expectation of their further encounters. This awe at such beauty stayed with me. Even on the darkest nights of my soul as I cared for dying parents, faced the struggles of chronic illness which stripped away so much of the life I had I built. Even then, there was beauty in the dance between light and dark, hope and fear, known and unknown. How could anyone forget such memory?
I am glad I chose to grasp the light in my tiny fists. Glad I chose open hands, and tossed that bottle out of the crib. I chose food for the soul. And in these dark days I choose both darkness and light, the good and the bad. Each. Both. Together they create a beauty beyond understanding. Together they fill me with hope, and the courage to face the unknown. And together, with open hands, we can gather the light into a beacon to lead us out of the darkness we now face.
Filed under Uncategorized
I hide behind
the oligarchs
who hold
true power.
And, thus, I cower.
I hide behind
Their super PACs
where they hold
their true power.
And thus, I cower.
I hide behind
their media outlets
whose talent lies
In the glower of power.
And thus, I cower.
I hide behind
their channeled wealth
washed through the fortress
of my tower.
And thus, I cower.
Coward that I am.
Coward that I.
Coward that.
Coward.
Filed under Uncategorized
As a small child, I asked my Dad who served in WWII why soldiers called the Japanese “Japs” and worse names; and he explained: it is hard to kill another person, almost impossible to take human life. So soldiers use derogatory names which denigrate opposing soldiers to non-human status. Only after depriving the opposite side of their humanity can you kill them.
I noticed this during the Vietnam-Nam war when we used “ gooks ”. During the Iraq war, we used “towel heads” etc.
This is also what we did to justify slavery, using a word I can never utter, but so ingrained I do not need to tell you what it is. It is the same word we use to justify police brutality and murder of our fellow citizens. It is the word we use to justify our taking of Black lives ability to survive and thrive from cradle to grave post-slavery.
We may not use the word aloud but it has become part of our lexicon.
Some wars go on for hundreds of years. Some wars do not end by bringing home soldiers. But this war must end now. We must “bring back” law enforcement. To a place it has never been.
Instead, it has returned to the slave era of trackers searching out and punishing runners.
Instead we have a president, Vice-President, Attorney General and much of our populace, including police unions who have militarized our law enforcement. Instead, they militarize common citizens and encourage private militias armed for war.
It is no coincidence that we have allowed this to happen. Defund the militarization of law enforcement. Stop the militarization of private militias. End the war.
Filed under Uncategorized
annarino writes 
January 6 Investigative Committee
JANUARY 6 INVESTIGATIVE COMMITTEE 12/28/2021
Secrets erode our fall from earth.
Heaven is too far to know
from whence we came
and how far we have fallen.
No one really knows
if truth be told.
That is a matter of faith
unsure
Unstable
unstoppable
like earth’s wobble
through endless space.
Despite the gravity of the situation,
or because of gravity,
still we fall
deeper into unknowing,
reliant on faith.
Perhaps senseless,
or at best clueless
until the secrets are told
and we able to behold
the truth
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Filed under COMMENTARY, POETRY, POLITICS
Tagged as congressional investigation, Crime, games, insurrection, Jan.6, politics, president, truth