Tag Archives: Trump administration

WHAT WE’VE GOT

Photo by Edmond Dantu00e8s on Pexels.com

Kent State taught us that white deaths matter more

than Black students shot at Jackson State the week before.

Will protests-to-come under attack by armed and masked militia

teach us that Brown and Black people under attack is indicia,

within the borders of a nation dedicated to the proposition

that all men are created equal to the oppression,

of rich men of ill will in hiding from congressional oversight

and protected by the US Supreme Court’s judicial might?

I see the writing on the wall, not graffiti, after all,

but executive orders illegal and ill-tended to destroy

the hoped-for dreams of every American girl and boy

not born into wealth, in no need of human labor

to offer enough cash to create a way to savor

all that life could offer a middle-class caste

now turned in serfdom, as in decades long past.

We are not in a culture war.

We are in a class war.

We are in war we thought civil war had ended.

Yet, we continue to watch the republic untended

by leaders who did not see the need to fight

and believed compromise with bullies was right.

Workers sold out over and over again.

Blocked in every effort to build strong unions.

Students sold out over and over again.

Blocked in every effort to get a sound education.

Children sold out over and over again.

Blocked in every effort to find safe protection.

None of us now treated with human affection.

None of us now safe in our streets or our beds.

None of able to take a breath without dread.

Whether you voted for this, or not.

This is what you wrought.

Now, this is what we’ve got.

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Filed under POETRY, POLITICS

AUTUMN IS IN THE AIR

Acrylic on canvass, self-portrait, louise Annarino

Cold air is heavier.

Its density 

has a propensity

to hold us in place,

inside,

asleep.

It is enough

to make one weep

who loves the heat.

I welcome it

for its cooling property, 

its innate ability

to calm and soothe

the painful reality

of an overheated,

seemingly defeated,

world once at peace.

Oh, it was but a brief

moment in time

when hope was alive

and the country thrived,

and nations strived

to help democracy

overcome autocracy.

But, I digress

under great stress.

Cold air is weighted

with shards of ice

torn loose from northern fields,

with such power to wield

that it weighs down sunrise,

to no one’s surprise.

It puts the worker bees to sleep.

They awaken inside flowers

lacking the power

to find their way to their hives.

Cold air makes dreams

more difficult to bear,

their messages too heavily aware

of all the world’s problems

fair and unfair.

Autumn is here

and the world bows down

under the new weight.

Winter is not far away.

I cannot wait!

As sun rises the only sound

is the song of geese southward bound.

I place the heating pad round

a sore back from bending down

to plant bulbs squirrels have already found.

Soon, snow will coat the frozen ground.

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Filed under POETRY, POLITICS

FEELING THE WORDS

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

WRITING SEEMS 

A FEEBLE ATTEMPT

TO COUNTER FEELINGS 

WITH THOUGHTS,

I FEAR.

BUT, THAT IS THE POINT

WHERE WE

ARE MEANT TO MEET.

NOT IN RATIONAL THOUGHT

WITH FACTS, NOT FICTION;

BUT, IN MUTUAL FEAR

WHERE CONTROL UNWINDS

AND THERE CAN BE

NO MEETING OF MUTIAL MINDS.

THUS, FEELINGS MATTER MORE

THESE DAYS, THAN EVER BEFORE.

FEAR AND LOATHING ARE COMPANIONS

TOO OFTEN USED TO DIVIDE

THOSE CAPABLE OF LOVE.

WORSE, WHEN DESIGNED AND LED

FROM THOSE ABOVE.

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STORMY NIGHT

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Pexels.com

STORMY NIGHT

Scattered rain was predicted.

The evening news meteorologist

calmly warned of light rain.

Instead, a wild storm came

filling the night with thunder

and meaningless blunder

as lightening broke asunder

a peaceful, if not restful, sleep.

Too wild a storm to venture out in.

A storm to set us back and shut blinds

to keep from seeing or fearing ruin.

This storm rapidly blew in 

while most of us slept.

At sunrise, when I rose, I looked outside,

finally, and see the truth.

It is not what I was told, nor surmised.

The yard is battered.

its inhabitants scattered in burrows;

the garden littered and furrowed

by limbs  dragged and cuffed.

The flag hangs upside down

until it touches the ground

in sacrilege and shame.

The flag holder has been pulled loose,

its screws unscrewed, its anchor

pulled apart and left hanging in dark space

through a night of constant turmoil,

leaving my flag drenched and soiled.

In morning light I could finally see

the upending of  democracy,

right on my front porch

where everyone could if they would

easily see. No neighbor reported

nor interceded to fix a flag so distorted.

But, false solar lights alone

across the yard ways shone,

too low-light to assess 

a flag under duress.

In morning light, in my nightgown I alight

to pull my flag up and close.

I place it upright to stand tall,

allowing the tears soaking it to fall,

that it may slowly dry out with the sky;

held by a newly installed holder,

one stronger and bolder.

I promise you this: the flag, my flag,

will soon again fly safe and free.

As will all of our beloved country.

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Filed under POETRY, POLITICS

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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Filed under POETRY, POLITICS

MAMA

Angela Abbruzzi (Abbruzzese) Annarino, high school graduation at age 16

Let’s start a new movement in America.

It is not too late to start anew.

I know I can count on most of you.

We shall call it MAMA,

Make America Motherly Again.

We have had our fill of paternalism.

Let us try maternalism.

We can feed every child meals 

to feed their bodies, hearts and souls.

We can tenderly listen to ease the loneliness

of every grandparent, taking on their former role

as caretakers and dream-makers.

We can heal the sick and ease the way

of those whose minds are different so

all of us can live, love and laugh together.

We can build solar and wind energy makers

to ease the threat of out-of-control weather.

We can offer a living wage to those who labor

on behalf of every family, everywhere.

We can lead our children in private prayer,

within our own homes, and leave to others

whatever prayer, or none, they choose.

We can teach our children well, and if we do,

they will also learn to be good, for the common good

of every person on the planet, like me and like you.

Are you ready? Mothers’ Day will soon be here.

MAMA is on the march to a loving place

of freedom and peace, absent all fear.

We can wear hats, aprons and gloves in blue

A blue hat to block out the heat of hate on any face,

a blue apron to protect the garments of democracy we sow,

and blue gloves to protect hands worn thin by our work

to make our need-to-be renewed nation grow.

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Filed under POETRY, POLITICS

GREY SKIES

ACRYLIC ON CANVASS by Louise Annarino, 2/20/2025

Grey days may appear

to cloud freedoms, far and near.

Don’t give in to fear.

Think as Spring draws near

of all that you hold most dear.

Peace and beauty shall appear.

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Filed under art work, POETRY, POLITICS