
This is my most recent project. I hope it soothes your soul and cheers your heart during these stressful days.


I thought I could not write because of my pain.
Not, so.
I hesitate to write because of my disdain.
You know.
I think you have may felt it before.
It rises not from my within.
It rises from your within. It is your most-feared sin.
It sleeps in the place your secrets are kept
of all the times you felt inept.
While I simply raced along your side,
trying to match all the runners with pride.
But, you did not want me there.
That is your eternal prayer.
You thought I should stay in my place.
You feared I could actually win the race.
You deep-down know how weak that feels.
You deep-down know how foul the appeal
to those who would embrace
every runner in the race.
So, you create fake news and tell stories
that cause the runners and watchers to worry
that the race is fixed, corrupt and costly.
You can only lose if there is nothing left to gain.
You prefer full destruction than your personal pain.
You care not the cost.
You cannot handle a loss.
It is you I disdain.
You, I hear explain in rambling detail the goodness,
rightness, advancement of hate.
You who shuts doors and padlocks the gates.
You, I watch burn books and erase history.
You, who imagines a world draped in mystery
where no scientific fact
can remain intact.
My words cannot be allowed to create
more fear, more sense of loss, more hate.
My words could darken the stars.
My words could start wars.
That I cannot allow and must abate.
I cannot add one ounce to your tons of hate.
If you think these words apply to one man,
you sadly misunderstand.
They apply to all of us, to me and to you.
We created the world we try to eschew.
In our deep spaces are we mere bagatelle?
Are we a nation without a story to tell?
We need not seek nor accept our ruination.
We have a Constitution, amended to perfect our nation.
We race not to win a trophy nor prize.
The race does not rely on crowd size.
We run to show how races can be won
when runners align and voters cheer on
every runner who flies by.
By my definition
the greatest competition lies within.
Racism is our Original Sin.
I am not a freedom fighter
in the usual way.
I am a freedom lover
day after threatening day.
I will not duck and run for cover
when bullies blare the call.
I will not turn away my eyes
from all their dubious lies.
I will not fret and stomp my feet
to match their ugly fascist beat.
I may be small.
I may be weak.
I may be old.
I am not meek.
I am strong to even my surprise.
I grow stronger with every sun-rise.
My strength grows in numbers.
My flower joins the bouquet
my fragrance rousing passion
for my beloved USA.
I cannot let silence stand guard.
I cannot pretend and play
while others fight for freedom
day after day, after day, after day.
My power is a loving blanket
thrown over the fires of hate.
Lovers of freedom, unite.
It is never…never…too late.
I may be old.
But, I am a woman and bold,
as only women know how to be.
I may be sick and weak.
But, I am not meek.
Freedom still smells sweet.
Lift your eyes and feet
and spread love for freedom
along with me.

Let an old hippie show you the way.

I try to keep dreaming.
But, nightmares interrupt
and catch the seam of hope
and fray the edges
of the dream.
The night unravels hopes.
Morning brings new light,
but very little, if any, insight
as I try to piece together
a new garment to weather
the storms brewing overhead.
Nothing makes sense.
Every hand is out for cash
to fight the good fight
already lost, and still fraught
with the need to try
to stand,
to grasp hands,
to still the fright.
Yet, dreams turn to nightmares
day after day and
night after night.
Joy can only bend so far
and grace hold up heads and hearts
only so long before the silent song
erupts in outrage and disgust.
We do what we must.
But, dream ? I am no longer sure
that dreams will endure.
All I can promise is
I shall try to keep dreaming
forevermore.
Filed under POETRY

I no longer awaken thinking I had died during the night.
No more heavy weight in my chest dragging breath down.
No more lead-bottomed stomach trying to turn fear over.
No more panic tightening limbs positioned to run.
No more thinking thoughts unable to connect.
I am clear now.
Righteous anger replaces my new-found ability to hate.
Courage courses through veins relieved of pain.
Love for others suffering alongside me on common ground abounds.
A coalition of resistance finds strengthened legs and spine.
Brains calm and stay alert and plan how to go up and not down.
I am clear now.
I see the game to disarm and disarray all opposition.
I see the realization victory by evil forces always subsides.
I see the ability of good hearts to speed the failure along.
I see creativity lead ideas ahead, instead of repeating past retreats.
I am clear now.
Here.
Now.
Let me show you.
Together.
We can move mountains
of greed and fear and doubt.
I am clear now.

Better to wait at the gate?
The temptation is to lift the latch and enter.
It is, after all, a public space.
But women know guard dogs lie in wait
on the other side of the gate.
Thus, carefully, we negotiate
each step along the way,
fearful of unleashed dogs nipping at our heels,
ready to tear apart our bodies and our dreams.
And, when they hear our screams
they say, “I had no idea.”
Plausible deniability is their way.
Men, and women too weak to lift latches,
deny that sexism is at play.
They laugh and joke at our fright.
Then simply go on their way,
as they believe it is their sole right.
Anyone who is not Christian.
Anyone who is not white.
Anyone who would lift latches
and move beyond the gate;
only does so, when they can no longer wait
for justice and progress,
which lie beyond the gate,
and the only place
where their suffering can abate.
Are those who lift latches “the enemy within”?
Lift latches in the safest space.
Then, keep the gates open.
It is not yet too late!
Vote!

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.

This is the face of white supremacy,
the sweet little old lady
who lives down the street from me.
She praises the Walz-Harris and
Sherrod brown signs in my yard.
She gleefully says they make her happy.
I offer the extra signs I have to put in her yard.
She gracefully declines, “my family
would make it hard on me.

“So, your family bullies you,” I reply.
Taken aback I watch her smile fade.
“Yes,” she says,” I suppose that’s true.”
“It is just that Black people are so…”
her hands in the air waving away thought…
“They want to take over the country, but ought not.”
“Do you hear what some white people shout,
about taking over government to have their way?
Do you fear them taking over the country?” I say.
A look of confusion crosses her face.
I ask if she thinks every white or Black person
is the same, and if blanket descriptions are really O.K.
This sweet little face now looks away.
Then turns with a frown and admits it’s unfair.
I have family who are MAGA, too, I explain.
If they do not like my signs I simply reply
that they should put out their own signs
and take responsibility for their incivility.
She tells me she is really afraid,
for once glad to be old with death on its way.
I remind her of all dangers she has faced.
I smile and encourage her to take her place
among our past heroes who gave voice to renew
the promise of America for me and for you.
I promise her she is stronger than even she knows,
that together we are strong enough to fight any foe.
I remind her everyone fears what the future portends
She nods and she smiles but her eyes tell a different story
She yearns for the time when being white
meant she could claim control and full glory.
I am an old white lady, but have never been sweet.
Being real is neither pretty nor neat.
I handle truth in its complexity,
dirtying my hands and feet
placing signs in my yard,
refusing to give in to hate and racism.
Ugly truth-teller is my only “ism”.
Silence is complicity.
Fear and hate do not deserve pity.
TEAR DOWN THE WALLS
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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Tagged as bullies, cuts, Kamala Harris, law, maya-wiley, menses, news, politics, racism, Reagan, sexism, walls, women