Tag Archives: politics

BUILDING BLOCKS

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Whose power fills the vein,

courses through the body politic,

amidst the loosening strain

by seeking peace and unity

to replace the the fearful rage

wrought by endless war ?

Culture is not the same

as power playing games

to win at any cost

what some fear they have lost.

What they have lost they took in theft.

No need to now feel bereft

of what one never owned.

Thieves have no honor it is clear.

Nor hesitation to build fear

by bullying, intimidation and threats.

Lies cannot heal the wounds,

nor close veins opened in regret

of what we failed to acknowledge

in a past we chose to skew.

Structures fall in blocks of despair

as we stand in quaking dread

of what might lie ahead.

Disaster and opportunity are well met

in the rubble which now settles about

our feet, and all we doubt.

Thoughts and feelings drift down

in the dust settling all around

thoughts tossed and set askew.

We are left choking on what we cannot see.

A pause is not amiss.

But, we cannot afford to wait

to rebuild a globe and create anew our fate,

and heal the hurts from falling debris

from hidden, hate-filled, fearful history

disclosed as walls and nations tumble.

Gather those who grieve the loss of democracy.

Clear the rubble, dust and minds

with a truer view of history

Dedicate such memory to better buildings.

This is humanity’s strength.

Not the structures of banks and governments;

but the blood flowing in the veins

in powerful resiliency to those who would suppress

truth and honesty.

The muscle and sinew of strong minds and hearts

whose only thought as worlds break apart

is how to build anew

a better, fairer, stronger structure

to protect both me and you.

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POETRY’S PATH

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Poetry may hide under rocks, too.

Poems litter the path with words

often unattached

to any reality,

and blocking the way

to progress.

But, poetry exposed to the sun,

and shared with everyone,

opens up paths of discovery.

Poems can be used as tools

to bring back home

fearful fools

who climbed too high,

led astray by fraudsters

who use their fear

to build a gate,

and create hate

to block the way

to unity and community.

Our village awaits

the return of those who thus roam.

Let poetry guide you home.

Leave hate behind.

Make easier your climb,

unfettered by false letters

in tweets and squeaks

by cowards, hour upon hour.

Such false facts weigh you down

more than personal adversity.

Community will share the load,

no matter how hard your road.

Love, not hate, always finds its way.

Come home.

Come home.

Come home.

Today.

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BULLY PULPIT

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Excuse me, Judge,

to be fair

I must be allowed to break the rule

of law and every other kind

so I may be able to do my thing,

which right now,

well, since forever,

has been running rings

around the opposition

to whatever scheme

currently could make me king.

Money has never been enough.

So, judge, I have to get tough.

You cannot believe

you can treat me

like all the other thugs,

who commit crimes

but cannot stand to do the time.

I am in a political campaign.

I have no time to admit the blame

for what I have done,

and continue to do.

Judge, shame on all of you.

Those other criminals can admit

their crime.

I simply do not have the time.

My problems are all because

of Jack Smith who dares to charge me

with crimes I have committed

against the country and the people

I must rule.

Judge, your interference

is really cruel.

If you, or anyone else, gets in my way

there will be hell to pay.

That should do it.

That is what I have to say.

Bullies always get their way.

I am the biggest bully of them all.

Let the others take my fall.

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WOKE

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Wakefulness from nightmares does not feel safe,

nor clearly defines the life we make,

nor effortlessly guides the steps to take

while we try to stay awake

the day after nightmares reign.

The last person to fear, by those whose dreams allow

peace, security, joy and love…somehow…

are those of us who wake from dreams with screams,

and recognize the loss of hope

which forces us to stay woke

lest we descend once again

into nightmares which never end.

The American dream may be the goal

of those who dream peacefully all night long,

as well as those whose dreams unfold

as nightmares left from days of old,

and from the streets left bare

by poverty, racism and despair.

Waking cannot be a sin

for only those whose dreams begin

in sorrow and pain.

Does not every one of us awake?

Are only those who dream sweet dreams

allowed to waken in the morning light

and not have too explain

it is their right 

to stay awake?

Attacking those who awake from nightmares

instead of dreams may merely be a way

to keep some within the nightmare world

any sane person would hope to flee.

We are each entitled to awake and greet the day.

Dreamers of dreams or nightmares,

we are all the same.

I am I,  and you are you, when we are asleep.

And, when we wake. I am you and you are me,

those who waken to the same day

after long nights of life on display.

in nightmares or in dreams.

Then, morning dawns with sun’s fierce stroke.

Suddenly, we are both woke.

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FIRE

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Who created fire

to cleanse all desire

too hot to handle

man’s desire

to rule in God’s place?

Bound by stones

of hardened hearts

contained fire warms the hearth

where love and safety glow

amidst the deepest dark.

Fire un-contained

destroys every tree

on hillsides, across plains;

sends smoke signals

beyond borders once claimed

by nations no longer constrained

in their wanton use of power

growing by the hour

which drains the very soul

of Earth’s sanctity and place

within the universe of grace.

Fire knows its place,

its power to cleanse

over-rated mankind’s 

history of disgrace.

Man’s invention? I think not.

We simply forgot

we only placed stones to hold its power,

and soon kicked them aside

to save our wounded pride.

History knows the place of fire.

It can hold what is too hot handle

across memory and time.

History turn to ash 

when we burn it to save the party line;

a line crossed by the fire of ire’s lies

burning too hot 

to save people and nations.

Hot enough to restore creation

before man destroyed

his only chance at participation?

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HAIKU IN MY DEFENSE

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The lines were too long.

I was too busy to wait.

So, I robbed the bank.

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GROWING THE AMERICAN GARDEN

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The soil sits compact and firm,

steady and not easily moved 

in its congress with the rotation of the earth.

Nobel in its steadfastness

yet, it is unable to grow a single bloom.

A spade dug deep in its history invades

this too taut and fearfully dark space,

to expose the weeds to light with untidy grace,

disturbing the twisted roots below.

Then, those of us with seed to sow

can bend our bodies to the task

and make a garden grow.

The more diverse the seed, I say,

the happier the birds, butterflies and bees

all agog at the variety of shapes and colors

able to arise from earth disturbed and settled

around a multitude of possibilities

stodgy soil could never anticipate.

Tight-fisted earth formed under sun and shade

is made to shift and flow with uncertainty,

a new and better garden to create.

The season of change is upon us.

We must plant before it is too late.

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FOLLOW THE MONEY

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Daybreak of hearts

darkened  by fear

turned into hate

that evil may be done

in the name of protection

of women and children

pawns in the game

run by powerful men

weighed down by coin

until they can no longer run

toward the light.

So, follow the money

into darkest night

where faces are hidden

in places forbidden

to those with sight.

Coins dropped on the way

to the safe hidden away

by PACS and dark money

counted and stored before

paying the dues

for fake ads and fake news.

Follow the money.

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GARDEN OF DEMOCRACY

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Seeds have pointed ends

and sharp edges

browned and dried at rest.

Planted by strong winds

into dark soil opened

by seeds’ thin crest.

Growth and change

know no easy kindness;

strive in fierce battles to persist.

Await mere chance to emerge in sunshine

through storms and rain

from under soil’s harsh duress.

Noblesse oblige is well and good.

It fertilizes earth to grow the seed.

But it is seed which has stood

the test of winter’s snow

to make a healthy garden grow.

Strong agents of change protect

the tender plants we sow.

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LOVING HEARTS

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A heart cannot break

when it has been given away

and held in another’s embrace,

by layers so deep, love so strong

it finds the place where it belongs

The heart can neither crack nor flake

held safely against the heart of the other,

strengthened and treasured

by steel bands and grateful hands

that strengthen not only the bond

but the heart itself.

With each giving the heart grows stronger,

fearful  and doubtful no longer,

until nothing exists

which could tear it apart.

There is nothing so strong 

as a loving heart.

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