Tag Archives: religion

Campaign Music

No single note is discordant.

No single vote voiced is wrong.

How the songwriter

puts the notes together

determines the song.

Our brains fine-tune our ears

to listen for the meaning

of words carried on the notes.

Some songs lift our spirits

to reach a higher cause.

Some songs depress our spirits

and make our hearts pause

with the fear of the other

we hated all along.

Some songs get us on our feet

to dance together, smile and sing.

Some songs hold us in our seats

ready to shout out in defeat.

The songs which truly make us strong

Are those we can rely upon

to offer hope, and love, and peace.

How the notes are brought together means everything.

The music that is America

is hard to sing if notes

are not treasured,

So many notes over so many years

from so many places refugees fled in fear

of famine, crime and even war.

We have sung the song of safety and of freedom,

welcoming all to our shore.

Songs that open minds and hearts

are the best place to start

a journey to a better future;

unlike the songs meant to keep us apart.

So many discordant notes

strung together create chaos,

not a strong and lovely song.

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NO WORDS

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My words are in hiding.

They went south

on orders by an enemy

in a language unknown

on internet connections silenced

on phones which could not be charged

written on leaflets

dropped from the sky

with the dumb bombs

which destroyed the words

where I reside

in hopeless desires

for peace, at first;

now, simply, not to die.

My words and I moved south

to promised safety.

My words and I could not speak

of what we saw 

along the way

south,

leaning on false promises.

Still, my words must hide

in shelters bombed 

despite the promise

despite the effort

carrying my words

which are my children,

silent, on my back.

Trapped, my words and I

with nowhere to go.

Without hope.

No one speaks words;

Only the bombs may speak,

with a language of their own.

A language no one understands.

One no one ever wants to hear. 

My words hide here.

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HAIKU FUNDAMENTALLY TRUE

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No confessional

can hold the sins of men done

in God’s Holy Name.

Right-wing Pharisees

roam the halls of governments

exercising hate.

They lie to themselves

stealing freedom’s greatest truths

to lie to us, too.

Money flows and fills

pockets-to-let to control

greed’s supremacy.

Unregulated

democracy fails to be

free for you and me.

Fascism now reigns

in God’s name, on lips profane

from pulpits and schools.

Separation fails

to protect laws, or faiths,

when religion rules.

Time to drive out the

money-changers from temples

of government, now.

We cannot allow

such hate and such harm to be

offered in our name.

Such Offertory 

should be left at the altar,

not legislatures.

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AN ODE TO MIKE JOHNSON

A Speaker who speaks silently.

He hides in plain sight openly.

Bearing no color, chatting amiably,

amid many-hued others feverishly

there to cover stories that bleed wickedly.

He seems so normal; and, so confidently

preaches stories and fables smilingly.

Keeping all entertained endlessly

as their eyes fall from the prize of democracy,

Stolen and hidden in his wallet shamelessly

are votes cast, all hopes bashed easily.

He smiles calmly, benignly and evilly.

He leads as his party follows blindly.

Hiding in the spotlight openly.

His weight placed upon freedom crushingly.

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LIFE

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This is all I know.

First, you come.

Then, you go.

This is all.

I know.

I know.

It is all I can know.

Yet something shows

from hidden places 

up and below.

Something unbidden

that hints at more, longer;

that feels better, stronger.

Where does more come from?

Where does more go?

Where did I come from?

Where shall I go?

It is never enough 

this life that I know.

This is all?

Can this be so?

I want to know.

I want to know.

I want to know.

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HELL ON EARTH

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Prayer has been cheapened by the times.

We avoid the pews where fools recline

and bow their heads to fake news

while making money off government grants

for mega churches which promise service

to the poor and neglected, 

the hungry and disaffected;

yet, vote against every effort to create

a more humane and equitable State.

And, where women fall for the line they are Eve

and evil to want sex 

without admitting how complex

the use of birth control can be

when science is ignored and derided

that men can have all decided

in their favor. Their can be no life

when no egg is released to be indoctrinated

by men of the cloth who refuse to be sated

in their own desires. Instead, women are mired

in deceit and forced to bear the loss of self

to men’s control, if they want to feel blessed.

Enough of this unholy state 

which calls on God’s will to compensate

for their failure to mirror God’s true grace.

Prayer has been lost amid the fray

of those who still kneel to pray

to overcome others who fail to tow the line,

and pay politicians to do their will.

Too many souls have learned to be still

while lies are told and children instilled

with false ideology and true evil;

and their very lives lost to thoughts and prayers

cheapened by the politics of fear.

The path to Heaven has disappeared

as we live through hell right now, right here.

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REBUILD AND RESTORE

Two people on ladders doing carpentry/building. by Mandt contract is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

It is easy to become disillusioned

with institutions which we know,

and which have gotten us this far,

when we see the mess we are in.

So, what do we do? Organize anew?

And create institutions to do

what we have always done.

Does anyone believe our churches,

companies, and governments

were created out of hate?

Our newly formed groups are not new.

It is always the same.

Each tries to do its best, the best it can do.

The first rule of any group or institution,

like the first rule of each individual,

is to survive, and hopefully thrive.

Membership dues, costs and fees

keep each institution alive.

And money corrupts with greed

to be more, have more, do more.

It seems to be a human need.

As usual, we see the angry diatribe renewed

against religions and governments 

for what they have failed to do.

I ask, what do you do?

How many soup kitchens do you run?

How many hospitals have you built?

How many roads do you maintain?

How many times have you failed

to do your best, and ignore the rest

of us? We are only human.

Should our institutions be better?

If so, then so must we be.

Love is not a verb, but an action word.

Love helps us feel the way to act 

better than we ever knew we could.

Love erases the word “should”

with the act which rebuilds 

institutions of which we can once again be proud.

Tearing down is much easier, I know,

than rehabilitating the world

wherever we are, wherever we go.

Find your hammer, whatever it is.

Mine is words on a page.

Grab some nails and form a crew.

The whole world is depending 

on me, and, on you.

Let us rebuild, not tear down

what worked so well before

it became what we chose to ignore,

and let rot

under the weight of heavy storms.

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HOMELESS WOMEN

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untitled women 

work the fields

ply the streets

rock the cradles

cry and weep

unnamed tears

forgotten smiles

un-styled hair

weary feet

arms akimbo

grace denied

homeless

but not heartless,

mores the pity,

where none resides

beside the curb

where hope dies

as titled women

simply pass by

and by

and by

and by

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Mahsa Amini

Too loose the covering over her hair

enraged the men who could not bear

a woman’s power of feminity

threatening the control of their masculinity.

It is not women they fear, is it not?

But their dissatisfaction with their lot.

Too weak to accept the challenges they face

they blame women for their own disgrace.

Powerful men stand side-by-side,

partners with women and feminine pride.

Only the cowardly weak attack women.

How do we find love enough to forgive them?

They ought to worry as they fight in the streets

against those who refuse to accept defeat

of human rights and freedom of choice,

and the right of women to raise their voice.

Mahsa Amini! Remember her name.

Iranian women, and men, her courage we claim.

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THE HOLY TRINITY

This Sunday the garden is my cathedral.

Where I can kneel un-masked

among hostas and ferns

and turn my gaze upon Creation,

Third person of the Trinity

Who sows the seeds of Christianity

Buried deep with the Second

in the fertile soil of the earth

prepared by the First,

Master Gardener of our souls.

I contemplate Second’s rising

as I ponder the resurrection

of every living thing that grows

after a long winter of cold and snow.

What prayers are these I offer

in the pantheon of gods of long ago?

The prayers of an immune-compromised 

Catholic unable to sit among 

un-masked rows of worshippers 

kneeling in too-few pews

listening to the Good News

spoken by priests within brick and mortar,

while I  kneel in the open-air garden.

My communion is deep if incomplete.

I sign the cross and sigh,

breathing in the energy of the Trinity,

which keeps my soul alive.

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