Only the young believe they have time
to wait for the perfect time
to make a difference over time.
Older persons have too little time
to wait for perfection lost over time.
Neither can afford the time
it takes to find the perfect time.
Neither must let the perfect
get in the way of the possible
None of us has that much time.
MY FELLOW AMERICANS
I hold my tongue.
It takes strength I do not have.
Whimpers escape
On shattered breaths,
In silent screams.
The fight worries my soul,
Battle weary and choking,
On words held tight inside.
Once the scream begins
I doubt I could stop.
I wait for your speech.
I yearn for your promise
To stop the authoritarian
Who has taken over our house,
Emptied its vaults,
Stolen its wealth,
Sold its power
To the highest bidders.
So, I write. That I can do
While I wait for you.
To me, this nothing new.
Do you believe me now?
The young ones seem to know
that our world is threatened
is ways we not fully know
but fear all the same.
With each sunrise
another un-nerving surprise
until we are afraid to awaken,
afraid to open our eyes.
Not so, the young
for whom time moves slow
and each change is noted
and each move forward
is celebrated, not feared.
But, we, the old
whose breath is slowed
while time speeds away
know life becomes shorter
day by day;
even if the earth
should pass away.
It will not be without us long.
We are growing weaker
as the young grow strong.
So, we must listen
to their protest and shouts.
They understand better
what each bully tactic is about.
We pretend it is only intimidation.
In reality, it is annihilation;
the end of freedoms seldom known
in ages past. As time has flown
we old ones forgot to pay attention.
Now, the young, whom we also ignored
beg for our attention.
We are never too old to mother the young.
We are never too old to stop what has begun.
We may not be able to march so far as they.
But we can shout from each of our front doors.
We can organize, assist and earnestly pray.
We can honk as we pass the marchers on parade.
We can give courage to those who are afraid.
We can write and call those in charge of our fate.
Time passes quickly for us, but it is not too late.
I am made of stardust
lit by sunlight.
Like lilies of the field
I dig deep into earth
with my toes.
Like birds of the air
I soar on currents stirred
when heat meets cold.
I seek. I soar. I laugh out loud.
I raise my face to the sun.
I dance in moonlight.
My spirit takes flight.
I grow strong.
My beauty abounds.
As earth, my earth
turns round and round.
Time has no meaning
I have found
except to tether my hopes
that change comes around
when most desired,
bright with sounds
of laughter, and courage
unleashed and unbound.
Rejoice in the day,
the month and the year
but stay in the moment.
Have no fear.
Filed under POETRY
I cannot wait to write a poem.
Let thoughts begin to roam
across the blank spaces
where I see only faint traces.
Whatever lurks beneath the surface
is always a surprising surfeit
of what has passed and is to become
a new creation time rolled into one.
Nothing it seems is ever lost.
Experience is the cost
of facing new challenges sent
across the waves of time unbent.
Around and round again I go.
Where I shall end up I never know.
And where I have been becomes new.
And where I go is merely a clue.
When I arrive I shall share with you
the route I took to be renewed.
I hope you will join me on the route.
That is what companionship is all about.
Knowing I shall return at the end of the journey
to your company holds me firmly
upright and focused with eyes wide open
to the beauty of words never-before spoken.
I play today to remind myself in this space
that there is always a time and place
to relax and let go, and just have fun;
to remind myself, I have just begun.
Filed under POETRY
The in-between times
seem wanting but never bore,
filled with dread galore.
Filed under POETRY
Life is a circle
which rolls back along itself
in never-ending movement,
its motion so slow
we cannot see where it goes.
But going forward it is.
It reaches goals a mile a minute,
gaining speed on downward slopes.
Only then do we notice
the movement at all.
We roll with the punches
over new terrain,
fearing any moment we may fall.
But the circle keeps on rolling,
circling from beginning to end
then back again, moving forward
all the while, where wheels
are allowed to move freely.
There are those whose lack
of courage and curiosity
try to put on the brakes
and stop life’s relentless spin
into the future we cannot see,
looking backward as the wheel
spins forward over and over again.
Their fear grows with each
forward motion
drowning in an ocean
of doubt and uncertainty.
They confuse beginnings with ends.
It is difficult to see
when so small we all be.
we look right and we look left;
too small to see
a wheel as large as infinity.
But never doubt, my friends.
We keep on rolling, rolling, rolling
moving forward over and over again.
Our progressive movement
is not a fall,
from grace;
we are always in
the best place;
This time is simply
a new start after all.
We shall come through
as we always do
to new places
with new faces
new beginnings
that never end
but circle on,
and on again.
I can no longer await the dream,
that hope-filled place of freedom
and joy defined and combined
with the dawn of each new day;
only, to return battered
and bloodied by sundown.
Each night’s dream dies
in the too-bright sunrise.
When a new century dawns
new hopes also arise
with new dreams to surprise.
New fears replace the old ways,
dying before our eyes;
and darkness falls, dreamless.
We think there is no new dream
to be found in the new landscape
unfolding before our eyes each dawn,
hidden in the darkness of night skies.
Generations of dreams do not fall behind.
They circle us and curve around time
to revisit the place they first stood sublime.
If only we can recall our history
can we up-end the fearful mystery
of all that is new, never before seen,
difficult its truth to find,
to mend the old dreams ripped apart,
and cure the scars on every heart.
I can no longer await the dream.
I must seize each day that dawns
in this new place,
in this new time.
With dignity and grace and memory,
clothed in all my history,
I awake with new dreams
of more joy and broader freedoms.
I take my place amid the truth of this new time.
and make the dream of this ,and each new day
mine.
Filed under POETRY
No two days are alike, they say.
Every day is a new day.
Only to others when viewed
through their lens, not our own.
Yet, to each of us each day
seems like any other.
We rise. We feed.
We move. We sleep.
We may laugh. We may weep.
The sun rises, wanes, then sets.
Moon appears. Stars stride by.
Once again, sun will rise.
And yet, and yet…
doubt remains in expectation
of strangers to be met,
adventures to explore,
and insights to gain.
Conundrums stealthily reign.
Is each day anew?
Or, is each day the same?
Cannot both be true?
It is truly up to you.
Filed under POETRY
TIME
A single moment
is all. And time is only
a way to forget.
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 