The tree must come down.
It’s stump must be ground.
Know this,though.
Its roots continue to grow.
The lines we rely upon
To stay safe and strong
Will remain under threat
If we rejoice and forget
The threat those roots make
If we do not stay awake.
The tree may be gone.
But the threat still goes on.
We can take down the tree.
But, stay by me.
We must stay alert and fight,
the tree’s shadows alight.
It takes time for roots to die.
It takes time for truth to replace a lie.
I rise again from a tousled bed
into the darkest night.
No lights are yet lit in my neighbors’ homes.
Yet, I do not feel entirely alone.
Ghosts of those who fought earlier wars
lie beside me, and make their cares my own.
Their warnings bubble to the surface
as the tea kettle heats, whistles and warns.
The silence of the night blasts so loud
I believe I hear bombs, missiles and drones
falling onto rooftops, and yards, and neighbors;
in every American neighborhood, and my own.
In this neighborhood, where there is so little fear,
where we have never the devastation of war known.
The detestation of war, too often, is mine alone.
Those who have never gone to war
make war too easily,
Talk about death and destruction
relaxed and breezily.
They send others to march, to fight, to die;
after picking the pockets of the working class
and poor, they select our children to go to war.
Selective service is still in force, but not enforced
lest children of the wealthy have to declare
bone spurs, bad knees, or thinning hair.
Another example of the war made against our own
picking our pockets of hard-earned cash
to wage wars from febrile minds heatedly grown,
while treating our young men and women like trash.
While war protects the the few, their assets and reputations,
it forcefully destroys our chaotically-controlled nation.
The silent night screams out
to waken me with blasts and shouts,
“Make war no more!”
“Make war no more!”
We have no excuses.
Not any more.
Are you awake yet?
Each morning I draw blood
pressing a needle beneath my skin.
It no longer hurts nerves
deadened by repetition.
I watch blood drawn in the streets,
the blood of others
I shall never meet.
I have learned to bear my own pain.
The pain of others is a heavier rain
upon a parched soul
in need of hope.
My greatest fear is that one day,
as in all things,
that greater pain will fade away.
I will become numb to others’ pain.
That is the day I shall be dead
even as my heart still beats
and I still bleed.
Blood will flow in streets I no longer see.
But, I shall no longer feel a thing.
Government has become
too sickeningly sweet.
The only cure is to stop feeding off
brutality, lies and corruption,
hoping for gain that is never enough.
A nation feeding off its own
cannot survive.
Is it possible
for three hearts to beat
within one body?
One full of love and joy
for every creature,
every life form?
One full of sorrow
of what tomorrow
will likely unfold?
One full of anger
and a rage so profound
a heart breaks in pieces?
Oh, now I see.
I have but one heart
being torn asunder.
I am no longer in doubt.
I am no longer unsure.
I am no longer whole.
Filed under Uncategorized
Even the sun-rise is solemnly quiet today.
moving from dark black to half-mourning grey.
Protests no longer seem enough to keep evil at bay.
A nation dawns dark robes in courthouses along the way.
Its people gather in darkened-by-blood pews to pray.
Pews misguided by male power, compassion set astray.
We mourn the loss of liberty today, and every day.
When will white male supremacists finally be made to pay
for their evil, unlawful, lying, bullying craven displays?
This question continues and refuses to go away.
Our answer cannot afford to wait. We cannot delay.
Americans are overfed
on soft food,
pre-digested,
pre-prepared,
pre-packaged
and all but dead.
“Give me something to chew,”
they say.
Even a lie will do.
Americans have learned to
eat lies for breakfast;
for lunch and dinner, too.
They brag about feasts
empty of nutrition that builds life,
but full of calories bringing strife.
Offering such empty scenes
of family life left sorrowing,
of neighborhood crime fallowing
entire blocks within every hamlet.
Sitcoms no longer hold their attention.
“Give me something to chew on!
they demand incessantly.
A I might be their only salvation.
They have lost the patience
for solemn contemplation.
They no longer know how
to take slower bites,
to savor a meal surrounded by family;
nor keep a schedule.
They buy modern on-the-go insanity,
even while waiting forever it seems
to order a vente-decafe-no cream.
Their jealousy at losing
what others have not
now knows no boundaries
as they gobble up
the power that such losers corrupt.
They no longer need to chew at all.
They buy all the crap, having nothing at all.
Time to go green. Time to come clean.
Of course, we shall as soon as our screams
fade away with the plea,
“Give me something to chew on”
that is real, that is true.
Is that too much to ask of you?
Over-processed replies
may be all we can get
from those pre-packaged politicians whose lies
overcome the silence of over-processed cowards
too scared to openly repent.
Chew slowly as lies melt in your mouth.
Lies feed nothing; cannot keep you alive.
Lies are killing a land of freedom once prized.
I envy those still able to place words on a page.
I hesitate at what I might say to display my rage.
Silence is its own subtle, harmful, deadening cage.
I refuse to become like you – a killer
of all that is good, all that is free, all that is true.
I refuse to become like you – a silent witness
of all that is evil, all who are held in bondage,
all of the lies which rely upon you.
I refuse to become like you – a sycophant
in silent praise of racist, sexist, xenophobic chant
by tiny minds, fattened by greed, with tiny hands
grasping for the sacred trust, and pedophilic lust
most hide from civil and moral view.
I refuse to become you – a lost boy
in Never-Never Land, fearful and confused,
afraid to grow up, preferring to fly high
above those you believe inferior
so that you can feel superior.
I know who you are; and so, do you.
I refuse to become you; and so, extend a hand
to help you settle down upon a branch of freedom.
It is weakened; it is true.
But still strong enough
with love enough
to hold us…together.
Get rid of the cradles.
Make America strong.
All day long,
the same twisted song.
No cradles for children sitting at their desk.
Run, hide, fight until your death.
No cradles for special needs learning.
Defund dollars which fulfill childhood yearnings.
No cradles for child workers at night.
Employ them younger and later, even on school nights.
No cradles for the hungry, the homeless and poor.
SNAP and low-income housing supplements are no more.
No cradles for immigrants, nor refugee asylum.
Go back where you came from. You are mere scum.
No cradles for a republic and voting rolls.
Gerrymander away voting rights, for sole control.
America is no longer the beacon of old,
no longer the cradle of democracy, so we are told.
America refuses to follow any rules.
The Rule of Law has become a dictator’s mule.
Americans are almost put to sleep,
distracted by fables, eyes nearly closed.
A nation of immigrants seeking their rest.
Too weary, now, to even try to do their best.
Their minds drift off as their eyelids drop.
Their minds close down as they simply stop.
Rock-a-bye, baby,
On the treetops.
When the wind blows
The cradle will rock.
When the bough breaks
The cradle will fall.
And down will come baby
Cradle and all.
Snow fell.
Quiet reigned
aboriginal and free
amid snow’s mystery.
Only the rabbits
left their tracks
to let us know
life still goes on
despite levels of emergency
tossed to and fro
by weather-casters
who took over the news
while Ukrainian children were bombed,
while fishermen’s boats were blown apart,
while military heroes were called traitors,
while brown and black people were secreted away
to secret places behind fencing and weapons,
while scientists were silenced by conspiracy,
while money poured in to false fronts
put in place by false leaders spouting false claims,
while real drug-runners, insurrectionists, rapists and worse
were pardoned and promoted to prod us to succumb
to the darkness weighing down our days as well as our nights.
And still,
the snow fell.
Pure and white,
it covered up every dirty secret.
It hid all sin from our sight.
it made us believe again.
In what?
What happens when it melts again,
as it surely will,
as it has since the Wampanoag
and every tribe lost its place,
as it has on every plantation
where enslaved persons
plotted to run away,
as it does now with every bonus paid to an ICE agent
subduing a person of color and hiding them away.
It snowed last night.
It is freezing and cold today.
Snow did not create an emergency.
We did.
And, we keep trying to cover it up.
It snowed last night.
MAGA CIRCUS
The clown leads the circus parade
Following the elephant ahead,
Carrying shovels to clean up the way,
And invite us under the tent.
The clown interrupts each display
Of circus performers’ great feats.
The clown make us laugh to distraction
And keeps us in our seats.
The clown is what we best recall,
For memories are short.
We may not remember what we see.
But, we remember how hard we laughed.
The circus is not a school to teach.
The circus is a business to empty our pockets
Until it once more moves on.
The circus is not a church where we pray.
But a place we feel it is okay to play.
When the tent stakes are pulled and the circus train pulls away
All that remains is an empty field
Trod into mud on rainy days.
annarino writes 