Tag Archives: politics

CONNECTED

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Some losses are too great to be borne.

Some losses are so huge they force us to mourn.

Some losses sift sinew and bone,

ideals and beliefs, tattered and worn.

Some losses pull hearts apart

smiling tears of grief, we feel all alone.

We pretend such loss is not our own

when watched on screens, viewed from afar.

But, connection is more than geography.

Some losses cross borders we cannot see.

Drought, floods and storms floor us all equally.

Bombs rain down on other cities 

and beat us all bloody, in hidden anatomy.

Threads bind us together in an ethernet.

One stitch connecting us here and there, 

of which we are determinedly unaware.

Instead we pretend, through word and prayer,

when what we really must do is give a care.

Some losses are too great to be borne.

Some losses are too great to ignore.

For, when we do, they lead to war.

Like children we make up games

and pretend life is merely a game to play.

Business and politics play out games’ themes.

Media reports but no one referees.

The games of politics and war become a melee.

But, life is much more than a game to play.

Some losses are too great to be borne.

Some losses are too great to ignore.

Our votes are not tokens to be tossed in a loss.

Our votes are connections which must not be lost.

Some losses are too great to be borne.

Some losses are too great to ignore.

Please, stop playing long enough

to go vote on behalf of ALL of us.

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Filed under POETRY, POLITICS

DANCE IN THE RAIN

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If not too early, perhaps too late

rain falls through parched skies,

in drizzles and drips only;

clouds’ moist linings absorbed

by dried out cells

of the hydrogen and oxygen

we need to survive.

The train’s whistle blows

in drowned out gasps.

Wet skies hold back

the usual click and clack

of dry wheels over steel track.

Iron wheels now slip and slide,

a smoother if more uneven ride.

Wet nights lead to wet mornings

drowning our the train whistle’s warning

of all that is to arrive

during this election drive.

Tom-toms beat quieter drums

to speed up hearts 

and slow down minds

as the train approaches

the nations’s destination.

AI interrupts nature’s offer

to set things straight

without a factual bother,

as facts fall beneath

the slippery wheels,

and we are easily thrown off-track

unsure now what is fiction or fact.

We will all soon be mad as hatters.

Too soon, we wonder if anything matters.

After drought, roots unfold  soundlessly

and it is hard to hear the truth’s refrain.

Our senses our dulled by falling rain.

Our restless sleep disrupts our days.

We are lulled by quieter chants,

but nothing has changed.

Courage now, lads and lasses.

The polls await the arriving train.

We must vote, in sunshine or rain.

Open sad and tired eyes.

Listen with too-numbed ears.

The sounds may be different,

but not the refrain.

Time to vote the danger away.

Time to learn to dance in the rain.

Vote!

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DOLDRUMS

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The in-between times

seem wanting but never bore,

filled with dread galore.

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Filed under POETRY

TEAR DOWN THE WALLS

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Let me tell you. Being a woman who is fully human is not a given. It is always a hard-won position. Too many dismiss women as not fully human. Women and their ideas are called “empty-headed.” Women are called “weak-willed.” Women are called “frail.” Men are are not thought to brainless or empty-headed. Men are not thought to lack willpower. Men are not expected to be weak. There are stronger and more respectful words for men. I am all for respecting men. I only ask for the same in return. I do not always get that respect. Even if I had remained in my hometown, married a “nice Italian-Catholic boy” which was my parents’ most fervent hope, I would not have been able to avoid such disrespect. But, I might have had a man to come to my defense. More likely, not. Men know how to avoid a fight. Their lives depend on reconciliation to  bullies. Male aggression can be a fierce and unpredictable experience; especially, by men with gangs behind them. 

Bullies come in all guises. They are not just “street toughs” with cigarette packs stored in the rolled-up sleeves of their tee shirts, tatooed sleeves exposed in warning messages as in my childhood neighborhood. Boys and girls both learned to give them a wide berth. Bullies also exist in board rooms, school rooms, and court rooms.

I did not stay and be a well-behaved little girl all my life. I became a lawyer. I entered courtrooms where early-on I was usually the only woman to make an appearance on a client’s behalf that day. Maya Wiley, spoke of her experience as a lawyer yesterday, in an appearance on MSNBC. Ms. Wiley carries two strikes against her. She is not only female; but, like former Prosecutor and Attorney General of California Kamala Harris, she is  a woman of color. She is Black. She lives in a world where the unspoken message is, “If you are Black, step back.” This is the silent message in the brain of too many Americans. I am a white woman. Yet, I find some empathy in our positions as a female.

Ms. Wiley mentioned episodes in her practice of law as a federal district attorney which matched my own experience. The judge, despite her presence at the Justice department table ready to plead her case, pretended not to know she was an attorney. The judge dismissed her entire identity in that moment. He cut her. She bled. She still bleeds.

On several occasions early in my career I made an appearance on behalf of a client. I sat with other attorneys, all men, in the courtroom waiting for my case to be called. It was called and I approached the Bench. “Good morning, your Honor, I am Louise Annarino, an attorney with the Legal Aid Society. This is my client…the plaintiff in the case before you today.” Standard introduction. Not a standard response from the judge, however. Instead he said with a smirk toward my opposing counsel, a man, “Young lady, you cannot just waltz in here without a lawyer. Come back after you get one. Next!” 

Holding back my anger at his attempt to shame and dismiss me…and my female client…from “his” courtroom, I answer, “ Your Honor, I am an attorney. I am representing this woman who is my client. Let me repeat for you that I am a lawyer from the Legal Aid Society.” He responded,

“And, I told you you must be a lawyer to represent this client.” By this time my client leaned in and whispered to me, “I thought you were a lawyer!” I could barely hear her over the laughter of the male attorneys seated behind me awaiting their cases to be called. The judge laughed with them. I did not. I said, “Perhaps you are not listening to me, or are hard of hearing. I shall give you the befit of the doubt.” I am a licensed attorney in the state of Ohio and I am not going anywhere.” He heard my case. My client had her successful day in court. We both bled that day.

I returned to the office and told my colleagues what had happened. A woman attorney said, “Oh my, I forgot to warn you, we women always carry our license with us and lay them on the bench before we start.” I took my license off the wall and put it into my briefcase. I wish I could say that was the only episode, but it was not. Not every judge, nor every attorney cut me. But, I still bled. I bleed writing this account. All women bleed. We have become experts at stanching the flow. Right now, you are thinking of jokes about our menses ever month. Stop it! Those bleeds bring new life into the world. We honor those bleeds. We do not honor the dishonor of men cutting us down to size where we can be ignored as not fully human, not fully equal; cut and bled.

Kamala Harris was interviewed my Mika Byrezezinski at a Know Your Value Conference in San Francisco describing what it was like to face barriers of discrimination and break down walls. She said, “‘When you break things, it is painful. You get cut, and you bleed, and it will be worth it — But be very clear. It will be and can be a very painful process.’ Kamala Harris knows this. Maya Wiley knows this. I know this. Every woman who breaks down barriers knows this. Women break down barriers every day…int their homes, at their businesses, in boardrooms, in school rooms; and yes, in courtrooms. They break down barriers in friendship relationships, in love relationships,  in business relationships. We still do not have an ERA (Equal Rights Amendment). Why do men need barriers from women? We love them. We respect them. We honor them. It is time for them to do the same. And to those women, too afraid to break down such barriers, we get it.  We know the position you are in. We bleed for you, too.

We say to all people, as Reagan said to Khrushev, “Tear down this wall” so that none of us need bleed ever again. Vote for Kamala Harris in November. We need each other. We need each other healthy, whole and safe.

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Filed under COMMENTARY, POLITICS

GODDESSES AMONG US

I see now why the first deities were female.

Only a woman speaks to the soul of  birth

and breathes new life into 

every soul on this beloved earth.

Goddesses with distended wombs

weighted with hopefulness

are found in every ancient tomb.

Our future had seemed lost.

The entire world seemed doomed.

Death in every household loomed.

A globe on fire steeped in hateful rhetoric

gunned down every effort to escape 

a despondent, hopeless fate.

Covid stole the innocence

of even those usually sitting on the fence.

No one was content to wait and see

what November wrought for democracy.

Moneyed oligarchs of greed stole hope 

as well control over justice with abuse of power.

Federalist  Society Judges delayed justice

hour after hour after hour after hour.

Even the Supreme Court undermined

the Constitution which is yours and mine;

not theirs, not wealthy donors, not those in power.

Then she, she, she, she, she, she, she

took the torch and raised it high.

Emma Lazarus’ female guards our harbor.

Kamala guards us in our darkest hour.

Her smile and laughter brings us

up from our knees, our prayers answered.

A goddess has arisen and made a fuss

of all the lies and hate-filled derision.

Her solemn promise made to us

that she will fight at our side.

She will tan the evil-doers hide

as mothers have always done,

chastising our sins one-by-one.

And so we rise with delighted surprise

to shout as one that we are not done,

and we are not going back where death resides.

We are going forward where life begins.

To a place where elections are open to all.

To a place where life is treasured not spent

on greed and control and all that is indecent.

We are headed to the polls to give our consent

to a mother goddess from heaven’s descent;

called by Joe’s prayers, who always seems to know

what we need and whom to follow.

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WAKE UP THE YOUNG

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The older I get

the harder it becomes to

carry heavy hearts.

Young hearts are heavy

these days of heatwaves, flooding

and fires of war.

My own heart has slowed,

unable to speed or race,

beating a steady pace.

The young run shouting,

fueled by alcohol and fun,

circling around me.

I try to tell them,

straighten your path toward the goal,

a race to be won.

I shout from the sidelines

loss of freedom is gaining

on you, as you play.

Age carries no weight.

My words tossed away as trash,

as victory fades fast.

Woke becomes useless

for the young who sleep too late.

Please, now, come awake!

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POLITICAL PARTIES

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Notes do not always ascend

in a crescendo of delight

They also bend low 

beyond the heart’s swift beat

until we feel breath stop

fearing heart’s defeat.

Notes ebb and flow

in patterns we do not anticipate.

Yet the music goes on

in beauteous escapade

across unlit rooms,

across shady glens, 

across sunlit fields

and parking lots awash

in un-natural lights aglow

above harsh surfaces of worry

where we park to listen.

Music soothes as often as it pushes

heart rates into overdrive.

We rise on dancing feet

or subside to slumberous ease.

One orchestra makes sense

of the notes unfolding

up and down,

racing and slowing

until the music transcends

the past and brings us up fast

to the climax at the end.

Two orchestras cannot play together

unless they play the same notes

at the same pace to the same place

in time and space.

Each must follow the same rules

and read the same music sheet.

Without such agreement

there is a cacophony of sound.

No matter how well one orchestra 

plays by the rules, its uplifting

music becomes mere sound,

its rhythm unable to be discerned

by the racket from the second

orchestra who has turned

from reading the music sheet

and playing by the rules.

We cannot stand the dissonance

and turn the music off.

We mistakenly believe

both orchestras at fault.

It is time to call a halt

to the orchestra of whining instruments

which refuse to abide by music’s rules

and continue to play us false.

I yearn for the sweet sounds of truth.

November cannot come too soon.

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ASSASSINATION OF A NATION’S SOUL

Assassination of a Nation’s Soul

What violence and threat to our democracy 

has done to me

cannot be undone, it seems.

I watch the source of so much pain

fall to ground, his right ear maimed.

I wonder at the loss of feeling at such sight.

I try to feel something, anything, even fright.

Instead numbness overtakes my soul.

This does not seem the same to me

as the grief I felt for the John or Bobby Kennedy,

for Martin Luther King, Jr. or Medgar Evers;

Cheney, Schwermer and Goodman;

For Malcom X and Viola Luizzo.

Where did my compassion go?

I wish I could say I know.

Suffering is all the same.

Every human being feels its shame.

Even that I cannot feel

as layer by layer the Constitution unravels, 

and freedom’s bell no longer peals.

How far my hope has traveled

beyond court decisions and hateful words

meant to appeal to nameless hordes

by those who speak only for themselves, 

cheered by those who fill their empty chords.

Surrounded by narcissistic churls

whose images and taunts unfurl

across media’s many avenues,

such violence seemed inevitable.

And, all he cared about was finding his shoes

as others tried to protect his life,

he struggled against their efforts

exposing them to more danger

so he could rise within their safe embrace

and raise a fist in everyone’s face.

Still, I feel nothing.

Neither sorrow nor joy.

Neither faith nor fear.

Neither love  or hate.

Neither hope nor mistrust.

Look at what this man and his supporters

have done to us!

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Filed under POETRY

THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN

Wizard of Oz: Discovering the man behind the curtains a con man and entertainer.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Only one thing is certain.

In your heart, you know it to be true.

The only person who matters is you.

That is the core of democracy,

a republic which is not a theocracy,

nor a monarchy, nor autocracy.

No man or woman will come to save your nation.

Now, pay attention

to school boards and zoning boards,

and definitely boards of election

where you will find your greatest protection.

Watch the mayors, governors and secretaries of state.

Do they make decisions with love or hate?

Vote out those who help keep his curtain closed

before it is too late.

The man behind the curtain is a wizard and a clown

who loves the limelight and will never fight

to keep the nation safe, nor guarantee your rights.

The man behind the curtain entertains himself

by entertaining fear in everyone else.

Those who serve him bow down in disgrace

and forfeit the security of any safe space

to exercise their freedom of ideas.

They can no longer listen to you.

They must do what he says they must do.

He looks for a way to escape.

Leave him to stew.

Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

Only one thing is certain.

That is you.

VOTE!

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GARDENERS LOVE NOT HATE

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Gardeners know they are not always going to succeed.

They depend on undependable forces to meet the garden’s need.

Too much or too little rain interferes with their success.

Too high or too low a wind can create great distress.

Too soft or too hard an animal’s tread

can destroy an entire garden bed.

Gardeners are not well kept.

Covered in mud or drenched by errant hoses,

they kneel on dirt and scrub off mulch from shredded gloves.

They look like weeds themselves

as they hoe and  and bag the uncomfortable drudge.

They know the garden they view serves as judge.

There are no debates in gardens. 

Debates serve no purpose for the gardener.

Only those who watch and stand aside and wait

feel free to judge the gardener’s flair.

They judge the gardener while breathing in fragrant air

the plants have cleaned.

They judge the gardener while relaxing on paths

the gardener’s feet have cleared.

They judge the gardener while eating crops

the gardener grew in fertile raised beds.

They stay clean while the gardener struggles to remain

on tired feet mired in mud so deep he moves more slow

at a pace they complain is way too slow.

And yet, the gardener in his wisdom carries on

to feed the spirits and bodies of those who watch his work

and share in the bounty of his grace.

Could they even try to keep apace

with the many tasks a gardener must face?

Joe, you have made our garden grow

into a thing of beauty because of all you know.

I know you cannot always compete with liars who berate

your efforts while they stand and smirk with hate.

You may not always look good these trying days.

But, you are beautiful to me in every way.

Stay in the garden of truth where weariness darkens night

and may not be pretty, but grows a garden of delight.

Photo by Andrew Neel on Pexels.com Four years later. Time for a repeat.





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