Tag Archives: Republican Party

NO RETREAT

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My country is not being stolen.

It is being sold to the highest bidder.

Wealth and power

are the voices of the hour.

Not unexpected 

in a consumerism frenzy

fueled by media and investors.

Capitalism has its own axes to grind.

Now, it seems to grind down me and mine.

Turning to fascism is an easy turn of face

for a people untroubled by greed and hate;

for a nation  built on slavery and Jim Crow,

and denial of women’s rights to earn and grow

at the same pace, with the same grace,

all men seem entitled to know.

Religion once again is used to shame

and disgrace anyone unwilling

to bend the knee to fake gods

and destroy all faith

in a democratic republic of equals

with equal rights to remain free

of religious bigotry.

This is an old story, one we left behind

to build a new nation inspired by the divine

rights of all men and women to be free.

Now thugs are granted bounties

to place their heels on our necks.

Military mission which once defended

is now on our own streets, its purpose up-ended.

Wealth and power which once plundered

third world nations for fossil fuel and cash

now plunders our economy and middle class.

Science  once built a solid foundation

for a healthy, productive nation.

All our scientists built is now being turned to ash.

Massive turnouts in the streets.

Massive turnout at polls complete

our voices shouting, “ no retreat! ”

“No retreat! No retreat!”

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PUTINIZATION NATION

AI generated image

We now live in 

Putin’s America.

Thanks to all of you

who voted

for Trump/Vance

and every republican

in every state house

in every political position.

I could not feel more derision

for you and what you do

every day you stay

silent,

unapologetic,

absolutely pathetic.

A country I thought you loved

more than you hated

women and people of color,

the disabled, war veterans,

children and the elderly,

homosexual and transgendered.

I underestimated your greed.

I underestimated your need

to make yourself

feel better than someone,

than anyone,

else.

I lost your pulse.

My bad!

And, I know you blame me,

and every liberal,

compassionate,

forward thinking

person you see.

So, you bend the knee

and deny democracy

its rightful place

in American History.

Our loss is Putin’s gain.

Your patriotism

has always been feigned.

Mine, yet remains.

My country may not.

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BEGGING FOR WORDS

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How is it

that when silence

seems treason

words resist?

When resistance

seems patriotic

words run away

to a hidden place

even poets

cannot find,

to my disgrace.

I do not fear

my words will 

cause me harm.

I fear I shall harm

my words.

I fear I will harm

my very soul.

I fear words so full

of anger, even hate

shall ruthlessly escape.

So, I shut the gate.

Today, I try to climb

above the world enflamed

by bullies with no shame

and view the world

I once knew.

A world sublime

but not perfect,

trying to be better,

trying to do better,

trying to achieve better

for every single soul.

This is the world of old.

Knowing the past

is good as gold.

Lingering in the past

will not help us be bold.

And being bold I am told

is what brings change,

topples bullies and their ilk,

eases harm and soothes

like a glass of warm milk,

after a harrowing hundred days.

I beg words to come out of hiding.

I beg for law and order abiding.

I beg for the wealthy to fund the fight.

I beg for police and soldiers to do what is right.

I beg for teachers to speak truth and empower.

I beg for journalists and media not to cower.

I beg for leaders to seize the moment.

I beg for clergy to calm the torment.

I beg for the silent to speak aloud.

I beg for neighbors to support each other.

I beg for words to shout together.

I beg for words.

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HEAVEN ON EARTH

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I have no knowledge of Heaven.

I have never been there,

except in dreams.

One thing I do know.

It must be a place where I

am surrounded by goodness,

fairness, compassion

and loving kindness

all of the time.

Heaven is the type of space

where hate has no place.

The sign in my yard

declares it to be so.

But, as we all know,

My selfish concerns sometimes show.

Creating a heaven on earth

may be an impossibility

because of my fragility

and lack of humility.

My human state has a dearth

of courageous purity.

Yet, still, I shall try to create

Heaven on Earth 

as a constant state.

The lack of goodness surrounds me

all too often these cruelty-laden days.

Kindness is the only way to delay

the triumph of evil over good.

I ask all those in my neighborhood

to join my effort, feeble though it be.

Any small kindness is stronger than cruelty.

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THE DEEP SLEEP

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Words fail to awaken on the page

when words fail.

Words dreamlike fight rage

in nightmarish schemes

when words fail.

Before Liberty shut her eyes,

and with despairing cries,

fell into freedom’s now-unsafe harbor

words gave us wings to fly

and above all troubles soar.

Now, words shut down

as they are shot down

as all around us words are bound

with hateful cruelty

demanding fealty

to lying thieves

upending beliefs

in a common humanity.

It is sheer insanity

and words fail to do it justice.

Lower courts words fall before SCOTUS’s lust 

for false security, the only surety

that this is how nations fall into the dustbin of history.

Words are buried so deep

they too soon fall asleep

to escape the pain of obscurity.

That the people rise

is no surprise.

Whose words will act as guide

to peaceful resolution

and a safe conclusion

to those shoveling dirt into our eyes

and blinding us to truths that must not subside

into a deep sleep

to avoid seeing those who weep?

Who will speak now?

Is anyone still awake, still woke?

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FREE THE STRAWBERRIES

Louise’s strawberry garden fenced to keep out chipmunks, squirrels,racoons,deer,rabbits,skunks and a variety of birds; allowing in rain, helpful pollinators, and insect enemies of other harmful insects. Rest assured the gate will be turned right side up and our American garden will once again flourish and produce sweet fruit. Patience and effort, constant weeding out those harming the garden. It takes time and is well worth the effort.

The fence is placed all around

The strawberries are in the ground.

The gate is upside down.

The harvest will be delayed

Dismantling what we made

hour by our, day by day.

Chaos alway brings change.

Gardens too rigorously defended

make fences necessarily upended

to reach fruit not intended

for anyone but a few

who fence out themselves, too. 

What is the gardener to do?

A gate is meant to let us through

to the crop we worked for,

and many of us died for,

a free country we yearn for.

We thought we planted within our reach.

We thought we had enough freedom to teach.

We never thought we would beseech

tearing down everything we had built

to avoid admitting our guilt.

The gate MAGA made is all atilt.

The fence is too high, clearly.

We are just so frustrated and weary.

We may never eat another strawberry.

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MOURNING CUPPA

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The steam rises

then falls

the heat so intense

it moves water

contained in its place

full of promise of a safe space.

Boiling water bubbles slowly

moves the air in structured grace.

The heat so intense

the water’s breath struggles

to escape its place

through a too-tight space.

Water whistles its distress

and warns of eruption,

possible destruction

of water’s very life and form

No longer able to flow in norms,

left on the stove-top too long 

over too high a heat,

preparing for 2025 promises

unneeded, unwanted, unexpected.

The pot empties indecently.

No sudden soggy mess;

just scattered patterns of distress.

All we wanted was a cuppa tea.

That tea thrown overboard

not so long ago.

Now, heat too intense

begins to melt the pot itself.

Overheated, its healing waters

empty into dry, thin air.

Air too thin and too tired to care,

that hot air cannot fill our need for tea.

Our tea cups remain bare.

The only cuppa I may ever again see

is the one left in my memory.

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AWAKENED

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This is no way to wake up.

Perhaps, it has become the only way.

We may have stayed asleep too long.

we may have missed the call

of our immigrant ancestors.
We may have been too deep in our own dreams.

We may not have heard the alarm

in the voices of those awake,

and made to suffer

while we dreamt on.

We may have found dreams

easier to focus beyond

the painful reality

that comes with the dawn.

Becoming awake means

it is not too late

to set aside hate

which weakens all bonds,

and love our country enough

to make it strong enough

to end the nightmares.

We can and we must 

awaken to a new dawn.

I am awake and I quake

in the light made by evil heat

that feels punishing and wrong. 

Today, I uneasily awake

determined to push on

past those who tell us

some of us

do not belong.

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KNIVES AND FORKS

“A lot of people don’t have much food on their table

But they got a lot of forks and knives

And they gotta cut somethin’ “

-TALKIN’ NEW YORK, Bob Dylan, 1962

It all looks so normal out there

Sitting in a garden chair

Winds drying out the humid air.

Children ride their bikes in the street

Shouting out challenge to those they meet.

Everything looks tidy and neat

Like the 1200 men stowed like trash behind the door

Confined to Cecot, deprived of the rule of law

Hidden and forbidden to leave El Salvador.

Only a few are known criminals, most with misdemeanors 

Like parking tickets, who need an intervenor

To explain confining the innocent is certainly meaner

Than recognizing fraternities are simply rich kids’ gangs

And poverty creates such hunger pangs

That forks are not much use and knives have to cut

Something.

Following daily routines can also be mean

When we ignore so easily the suffering of the poor

So easily victimized while we stand with false pride

Crying on social media at what we have lost,

Free to do so without much cost

Until we discover it is too late to shut the garden gate

And take to the streets dodging kids on  bikes

And march in the parks alongside dogs on the leash

As we try not to see how leashed we are.

This is not normal. We are not normal. 

We search to find normal any way we can, just

Something

before the knives come out.

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LAST BREATH

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What is the period of mourning

when a nation dies before our eyes?

Not in sudden cardiac arrest,

not like a slow cancer.

nor a natural aging

of its body politic.

But, like a chronic illness

which has worsened over time,

sometimes in remission

allowing hope to remain alive.

But, when death’s grip pries

the life from every cell

which protected a nation from demise

and its heartbeats accelerate

at a far too barbaric rate,

what then? How can hope survive

when our national freedom dies?

The violence, the bombs, the rubbled ruin 

comes after the next election, I fear. 

The election may save us from loss

of freedom, but at a cost.

Like Ukraine, we can take a nation back

by electing constitutional, loyal leaders

and set our enemies off to the side.

Like Ukraine, our enemies will regroup

and ferociously and physically attack

what they could not seize by stealth.

They will never let go of power and wealth

which we allowed them to take during this

DOGE-dealing, Heritage Foundation steal.

Courts may save us for a time.

But, be prepared.Everything is on the line.

And the mourning is ever-ceasing

for those who see the fate

of a nation which for too-long

embraced its power and its wealth, 

and allowed itself to hate.

Slavery was our original sin and set the stage

for all the other hate and division

that has led to this time of fear and outrage.

How long is the mourning period for such a loss?

It has been my entire life; yet, my hope has endured.

But, my body senses death at my nation’s door.

And, I fear I simply cannot take it anymore.

What is the end to this period of mourning?

Every cell in the body politic is warning

that this nation, our beloved nation

may be close to its last breath.

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