Tag Archives: sexism

TO BE OR NOT TO BE

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TO BE OR NOT TO BE

The dark of night yet lingers and hides horrors from our sight,

as surely as using his poisoned pen our would-be king

claims undeserved, and hitherto unknown, power and might.

Disguised as feeble-minded and deranged in his fake rage,

surrounded by sycophants helping him turn every page,

he orders and re-orders freedom as his serpent

sibilant breath hisses and shouts across a stage,

revealing his sins and our own, as old as this nation.

Our fears and incoherent anxiety revealed with every breath,

as old as earth’s uncertain and unknowable creation.

Our American Garden of Eden has been turned into hell

for people of color and women, immigrants and refugees

who come with promise and work hard to make true

the promise that over 250 years determinedly grew,

and journalists pledged to tell us truth that is balanced and fair.

Even a live view of a firing squad of a criminal in a wheelchair

does not diminish the would-be kings charm

like a snake sung into action by Congressional inaction

which daily increases a litany of new harm

while they refuse to impeach and remove him 

and his co-horts who claim he is only joking, 

and ask us to believe he is such fun,

as he destroys the Bill of Rights, one by one;

and ignores every court order to cease and desist

his personal form of corruption and grift.

The rule of law, its lawyers and judges live in fear

as he unleashes his supporters to threaten and sneer.

Americans, it seems, find some ability to be tolerant,

though not as we hoped, to keep us solvent.

Americans accept racist and sexist firings

to make white supremacy in charge, and re-wiring.

Americans accept attacks on the Capitol and its defenders,

and pardons for criminals whose attacks never ended.

Americans can accept attacks on electoral process

and threats of vote seizures meant to intimidate

and stop voters who cannot wait to participate

in tossing the bums out with freedoms’ voting clout.

Americans can accept endless war financed by the poor

while the richer get rich making deals with enemies galore.

But, hands in our pockets, is a step too far for us.

You cannot steal our money like you steal our Jesus,

to convince us neither He, nor we, are who we once were.

Money has become our one, true god;

and whiteness, and gas prices, our only guiding star.

Vote evil out of this garden of Eden,

the serpent and all who will not act against him,

who now pretend they are on our side with false pride;

while cutting trees into crosses and debasing the wood.

The promise of America  requires you vote Blue

to keep this nation free, progressing, and claiming what is true.

Join NO KINGS rally and marches near you on October 17.

Make a plan and VOTE on or before November 3.

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Filed under COMMENTARY, POETRY, POLITICS

AMERICAN RENAISSANCE

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The dark ages were not dark everywhere.

Light shown to the East, the South, and the West

while Europe cloaked itself in dark days;

as The United States of America does now.

Even camera crews have turned off light and sound.

And evil men and women try to rebound

by creating their own clown-faced muse

with his crypto, coins, twitter, and TV news.

These wanna-be strong-men turn away from the Light of Truth

forsake the Bill of Rights’ light once so very bright

with promise by all, for all, and to do all things right.

We watch all systems fail across airports,

roads, water plants, farm fields, schools and hospitals

and death becomes unleashed by ICE men

playing false as con-men overrule the Rule of Law.

Their appointed judges enact The Rule of Flaw

This may be America’s final straw;

judges sitting in dark court rooms

unable to see what facts there be

so precedence can be overruled

and lights kept turned off, but not for all.

January 6 criminals, rapists, pedophiles, and fraudsters are free

to roam in darkness so deep we cannot see

that none of us is allowed to remain free.

None of us are safe from deportation

to an unknown country, or to our own private hell

here in our own homes, on our own streets,

within our universities and our own communities.

The lights seem to be growing dim

as Dark Ages descend again.

Artists can paint, sculpt and write in the dark.

They see more clearly what is, and imagine what can be.

Their imagery is lightened within dreams and memory.

A new Renaissance can overcome such darkness.

It did so once. It can, again.

There should be no return to the old days, but a rebirth

of those ideals sought enacted by people of Earth,

when our constitution, its amendments and Judicial Act

were put in placed to support a Bill of Rights

to overcome dark night and shine a brilliant Light

across an entire world. Peasant freedom unfurled. 

The work of artists is to bring forth light and right;

a Renaissance of love and peace, respect for all;

and, the courage to make things right.

Art and artists’ dreams dispel, like a liars’ tell,

 shining light in the depths of these dark nights.

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BULLIES

Angelo Sr. and daughter Louise Annarino

I grew up in an immigrant community in a very poor area of town. Inevitably, the inhabitants who claimed this impoverished neighborhood as their own resented the Italian-Catholics so unlike them. Bullies played a large role in my childhood. They roamed the alleys and streets looking for victims. I refused to become one.

My Great-Uncle George Annarino was a champion Bantam-weight prize fighter. His cauliflower ear was a marvel to me, especially when he explained how he got it as we sat together on bar stools at my family’s restaurant. He had retired from boxing and opened a gym, complete with a boxing ring in his garage, by the time I was born. He had taught my teen-aged father to fight. Dad won his first 22 fights. He lost his 23rd. fight and retired; only to learn that his opponent went on to win a national championship. He chuckled aloud stating to me, “I think I retired too soon.”

Dad hung a boxing bag in our garage, and gave us child-sized regulation boxing gloves. He taught his children how to throw a punch. He provided weights and at the age of ten I could lift 150 pounds above my head. I sparred with my Dad and brothers. Dad thought girls should also know how to protect themselves and showed me how a well-placed jab to the nose or eye, a well-placed kick where it would hurt most could disarm an attacker. We were taught to never start a fight, to walk away if possible. And, we were taught to never take a punch without punching back.

I was a lucky girl of that time in our history, a girl whose Dad knew her worth was equal to that of his sons’ worth. This was definitely not the norm in 1950’s America. Dad included me when he taught us to play baseball, football and basketball. My brothers played sports with me. Neighborhood boys allowed me to joint the games knowing I could play as their equal. Childhood ended with menstruation when playing with the boys became forbidden by my mother. Another battle ahead as a woman in a sexist society. But, I retained the athletic ability I had honed. I retained my fighting skills. More importantly, I retained my knowledge of my inherent self-worth. I knew how to stand up to bullies.

I still shadow-box, although not on a regular schedule. I still fight, although not with my fists. I know the value of a well-aimed punch and used it when cross-examining witnesses in court as an attorney. I learned to use the law to fight. I learned to use politics to fight. I organized voting efforts, went door-to-door on behalf of political candidates I admired, using the skills I learned about fighting an oppressive bully to good effect. I worked as a poll worker.

I still try not to start a fight. I have too often been told I am responsible for a fight, simply because I refuse to back down from a bullying conversation. I shall not start the fight. But, I will finish it. I prefer gloves in a ring; but in alleys and across dining tables are sometimes the only choice I’m given, with all gloves off. It may not look pretty. It feels good.

I want our politicians, educators, religious leaders, CEOs, labor unions, and fellow citizens to fight with me. I want them to stand up to the bullies. Not all of us had Dads like mine. Not all of us were trained to defend ourselves against bullies. I understand that. But, too often through my life I had to stand alone in the fight; only later in private to have others who stood back secretly thank me. I would have preferred them to stand alongside me in the fight. So, even if you cannot fight, for whatever reason, will you please stand alongside those who are willing to take on the fight? Is that too much to ask? I hope not. We need every single one of you to stand in solidarity with those of us fighting power-hungry, disgruntled bullies who claim they’re making America great again as they destroy it and us… “We the people.”

Cousin Georgie, Grandpa John and Great Uncle George Annarino

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IN THE RING

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Simply waiting will not do at all.

When did simply waiting

accomplish anything at all?

Yogis pose in silent waiting,

fingers touching in connection.

While we who simply wait

have no connection at all,

and lose ourselves 

in self-destruction when we fall

within the ring where the fight is set

by the one percent and big tech bros

placing their weight and cash

heavily upon our backs

until the fight is so unfair

we realize we have not a prayer.

Church pews sit empty.

The fight is on every screen.

We fail to realize we are in the ring.

We cannot simply watch the fight.

Simply waiting cannot make all right.

We will go down with the count

toppled by high winds, fire, and flood.

The severe cold will freeze life’s blood.

Recognize we are in the fight.

We have always been in, to our chagrin,

fighting for our very lives;

while being entertained to silence

and static acceptance of violence.

Simply waiting did not stop slavery,

Jim Crow, voter suppression, child abuse,

sexual harassment and women’s subjugation.

This has always been the fight of our nation.

This is not a new fight we watch as battles

in the ring to see which latest victim falls.

We cannot simply watch from the sidelines

because it is us inside the ring.

It is we who shall fall.

We the people shall participate.

We the people shall win or lose.

Do not sit in your corner. 

Don’t throw in the towel.

Get up and fight. It is not too late.

Then get to the polls and vote to win.

All bets are on you. Gloves at the ready, and grin!

Then prepare for the backlash, 

one worse than the one before.

Get in the fight again.Knock your opponent to the floor

with such a strong vote he cannot rise.

Put him down for the count forevermore.

Then raise your gloves high and stand tall.

Simply waiting will not do at all.

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Filed under POETRY, POLITICS

BE NOT AFRAID

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As the first female attorney to advise the white males controlling the institution I worked for I understood the underlying hostility that colored every conversation. I sensed the fear of most of those men, fear of a female with power. At one meeting with 3 levels of administrative authority needing my legal advice regarding a personnel matter, I summed up the position our institution faced and explained the necessary actions needed to avoid liability. I asked if they understood and they nodded “yes.” I picked up my file and prepared to leave, raising from the long table around which we all sat with the words, “I shall leave you to it, then.” 

One man directly across from me sneered and said with derision, “You’re  a cold bitch, aren’t you!” I paused, slammed down my file folder and leaned into his angry face and replied, “Yes, and I worked damned hard to get this way.” I smiled “good-bye, gentlemen” and left as a single man applauded me, to my surprise.

I have been called a communist, a pinko, a flower-child, a “n” lover, a socialist, a racist, a bitch, and worse (use your imagination or locker room references) since my late teens while I sat-in, went on hunger strikes, marched and protested racism, war, sexism, ageism, homophobia, classism, unfair tax relief for corporations and unearned wealth, privatization of hospitals-schools-infrastructure-roadways-anything originally financed by laborers’ taxation and turned over to privateers. I watched this agenda progress in the name of conservatism (talk about turning truth on its head)to utility grids, farms and farmers, schools, universities, the internet and other technology, our immigration system…even NASA. 

I learned that calling  me names was a projection meant to distract others from the goals of the Republican Party on the rebound after Nixonian corruption was exposed. Nothing new really. Ask the Native Americans and those enslaved by greedy Americans whose self-interest always overcomes the common good. Call me any name you want. I welcome it. Bullies always go a step too far and say too much when we stand up to them. They look and sound like the fools they are. Be proud of the names you are called. You are getting our nation’s true enemies and worst game-players to show their hand.

“We have nothing to fear but fear itself.” – Winston Churchill

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ZEN I.D.

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The only escape

is to write your name backwards,

as you disappear.

Sleep cannot compare

when engulfed in a nightmare,

mocking exhaustion.

Sleepless nights unite

tortured souls in free nations,

sensing bombs dropping.

The enemy lurks

behind a fascist facade

we call government.

Overnight votes rule,

hidden by crushing nightmares,

in yours and my names.

The only escape

is to write your name backwards,

as you disappear.

Finally, sleep comes. 

Democratic socialists

take back our freedom.

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WE SHALL OVERCOME

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Grind the beans.

Heat the kettle.

Start the day with verve.

Do not start the day with anything less

than love and hope and nerve.

Love is wiser than all the lies.

Love is bolder than fear.

Love is stronger than greed.

Love is all we need.

Love mends broken hearts and nations.

Love is how we succeed.

Love welcomes each dawn’s transformation,

chaotic though it may appear to be.

The path of love, poets tell us,

ne’er does run smooth.

But with many hearts joined as one,

the chaos can, and shall, be overcome.

So, we raise our cup to smiling lips

and sing a victor’s song.

We shall overcome, my loves.

We shall overcome.

Sing it all day long.

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BORDERS

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Borders have their uses.

They tidy-up the scene,

remind us where we are,

and where we have not been.

They assign us each a plot

of able responsibility,

and call us to fulfill our task, 

to act responsibly, as we ought.

Like naturalists we name each plot

to recognize ourselves within its place.

We mark paths between each plot,

a  no-man’s land of sea and space.

Borders are a mere tool to use.

They can create more civility.

Or, they can abuse all gentility.

We can move across borders easily.

They were not made to stop humanity

from going where it needs to go

to find food and shelter, water and safety.

There is the rub in such a construction.

It can also lead to self-destruction.

For we are all part of the same family

of men and women descended

from a single source evolving merrily.

Until, each one of us is forced to face

the human weakness that lies within

and threatens our dreams of what we could win

if only we were better than we are.

If we were better, we could reach the stars.

Such anger we cannot allow directed at self.

We look for somewhere to place it,

when it should be put on a shelf,

placed  where it can do no harm

and give us time to calm our alarm

that we are far from perfect, but still okay.

Our personal borders help us hold our evil at bay.

Instead, we project all the fear and rage

from and toward ourselves to others,

other humans being human, idiot or sage.

We  carefully choose a human target

who does not quite look like us;

and not because he is truly different at all.

But in mirrored reflection of our follies

his appearance creates a place we can hide

that we are truly the same person, inside.

It would never do to project our own failings

onto another who looked just like we look.

It would prove the foolishness of railing

against all who look the same-self ailing.

So, we choose to note a difference

to justify our disdain and  discrimination.

We close our borders with determination.

We miss the prize right before our eyes.

We miss the chance to accept our need

for the strength that comes with community.

We forget, for as long as we can,

that differences reinforce each man

and help us each overcome our weakness,

our circular thinking, our useless imagination

and build a stronger human-kind nation

within every border, across every border

until we kind humans no longer fear

our very selves, nor one another.

We could act as sister and brother

and settle our squabbles with love

as part of a human family.

We could project amity  

and, perhaps, save humanity.

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MARCH 28, 2026

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The place where I write may have to change.

A soft couch for a hard chair I must exchange.

Age hardens the bone more than the sight.

Age does not dull the urge to set things right.

Except…

Age questions all sense of reality.

It doubts what right seems to be.

Age moves faster the longer it goes.

It upsets the cart full of all we know.

Age unsettles from head to toe.

We see higher up and deeper below.

Age quickens and shakes our stability.

It makes us question who we will be

in an uncertain future coming so fast

we wonder how much longer we shall last.

Age keeps reminding us we cannot fall;

not our selves, nor our country, no one at all.

So we march for a future, a future unclear and unsure.

Bravely, because we have done this many times before.

Are we wisely foolish, or foolishly wise ?

The fact we don’t know is no surprise.

So, I get up off the soft couch, and drop the pen.

Time to go march, one by one step, together again.

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ELECTIONS

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.

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