Tag Archives: USA

BACK TO THE GYM

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

Most of us have been away from the gym too long.

Our freedom-loving muscles have grown slack.

We had not fully recognized the slack.

Others noted the weakness

of our democratic body.

We went about our day aware that each act

became more difficult, more strenuous.

Success became less assured, more tenuous. 

While we grew soft, life grew hard.

We could no longer lift our children above our heads.

Their safety could not be assured;

not only on the playground monkey bars,

but behind their desk, or sitting in church pews.

Even our voices became more feeble

as we stopped the exercise of free speech,

and bemoaned the simple act 

of marching down the street.

But others watched and saw our weakness grow.

Knew we were no longer paying attention

to our former strength and ignoring our work-outs,

while we flaunted more the medals on our chests

and the trophies on our shelves.

We no longer recalled how we earned those awards.

We forgot the daily struggle at life’s gymnasium

to keep the muscles of self-governance

strong enough  to take on new challenges and ideas.

Our weakness made us run from, instead of with,

others racing along the path to freedom.

We envied their success, our own no longer moving

us forward and ahead.

The only way the weak can win is by holding others back.

The truly strong can win by running hard and long.

We all looked away from those who cheat

to claim a win they do not deserve.

It feels too close to every nerve

now weakened within each lax muscle; 

a republic struggling just to stay upright.

Religion becomes the panacea of anxious nights.

We can only hope our muscle-memory

of freedoms gained in the past

is strong enough to make our democracy last.

Back to the gym. Walk the streets. Shout the speech

that you recall in memory grown weak.

Build back the muscle needed to wield your voting power.

Now is the hour 

to get back to the gym.

Be strong and carry on!

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on Pexels.com

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MY FELLOW AMERICANS

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?

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THE GAME IS OVER

Photo by Edmond Dantu00e8s on Pexels.com

It is hard to stop this rush toward self-destruction

by a nation so far ahead in the race

no one else could compete and play.

There is no reason to mourn the last mile run

in a race no longer any fun

for any but a very few, 

and fewer still each day in play.

We all know American’s greatest sin

is loving nothing better than a game they can win.

When winning is no longer fun 

we look for someone to blame, and make them pay

for reminding us the game is over

and a new game must be put in play.

And, so, we blamed Joe,

who simply, in so many ways, happened to be

the last leader to toss away the final play.

No one has been a winner since,

nor could be since that final day.

A new game cannot be worth our while

if the top few are the only winners.

The old game with so many losers may be over.

But, we Americans are not over the need to play

a game we all can win,

a game we call Election Day.

Let the new game begin!

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THE DEEP SLEEP

Photo by Lara Jameson on Pexels.com

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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4TH.OF JULY, 2025

Photo by Brendon Spring on Pexels.com. Read the full text of THE NEW COLOSSUS, (partially quoted below)by Emma Lazarus and inscribed on the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor.

Today is my funeral.

I have always been myself.

everyone else was taken.

I had become a fossil.

So many layers of sediment

have built up over time

that I

am hard as rock.

Too soon

It has become 

too hard

to remain human.

Especially, when monsters

roam the earth with heavy feet

in lockstep with one another.

They stand atop 

the crumbling rock and pray.

They say

that they

are God’s representative

on this dying earth

to show all the way

to greater days.

We were already pretty great,I say.

I thought we were stronger than they.

I thought they could not

make me, me, me ! their prey.

Yet, on this day we celebrate my birth,

I die during parades

of those who march behind 

school bands playing my songs.

A Statue of Liberty drone-scape

dots the night-time sky

above Red-White-and Boom

crowds cheering while immigrants die.

De-naturalized, de-refugeed

de-citizenized.

No irony there? 

How can the crowds

not realize I am dead.

They are cheering at my funeral.

After all is said,

I am done.

Too few mourners attend.

They have been forced to hide.

Even the Fourth Estate

has crumbled before my eyes,

its voices silenced, 

without enough pride nor ratings

to turn the tide of my demise.

Perhaps it is a Celebration of Life

which once was, but is no more.

Can you bring me back from the dead?

Can you resurrect what I stood for?

“Send these, the homeless,

tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp

beside the golden door.”

You can still speak these words.

you can still act on my behalf,

on behalf of liberty itself.

This. This. This! I sincerely implore.

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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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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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IT IS ALL TRANSACTIONAL

Photo by Guilherme Rossi on Pexels.com

I lifted the blind, closed against the heavy weight of darkness.

But, the darkness lingers still in a world where the ability to see

has become transactional instead of factual.

It is all about the money, we now see.

Truth is no longer able to set us free.

The heavy weight of lies shackles and chains us

and keeps us in our place, where lack of opportunity

now extends beyond those once enslaved.

Too many blindly bow to the oligarchs who stole a nation’s wealth

and put the blame not on themselves, but on everyone else.

It is the people of color, women and homosexuals;

the immigrant and refugee, asylum seekers, librarians,

historians, veterans, unions and universities…

the truth-tellers the upper 1 percent would hide

to save their greedy selves, and tame their shame

behind a white Christian nationalism’s false pride.

Resentment has been nurtured over decades of time,

hardened into stone and fossilized, with guns loaded and primed.

Do not shoot the messengers who only try to lift the blind

and tell the truth you need to hear, about those who put you in this bind.

The sun shouts in voices of students and grandmothers,

unionists and progressives who only want to remind

the leaders still in place, but powerless as institutions crumble,

that we the people will never give up the freedoms  so hard-won.

We will not allow the tyranny of the greedy few to rule 

over  the nation and world we love, never over me and you.

Have we become what we fear most ? A nation of cowards and bullies?

Are we strong enough to lift the blinds and see the truth, finally?

Are we asleep at the post, we guardians of freedom’s hope?

Has greed brought us all to our knees before those who wield wealth

as a cudgel, a chain saw and a weed whacker 

to root out those who seek equal opportunity to build wealth, and be free?

Are we willing to worship the new gods of control, corruption and greed?

It is always about the money; transactional, not factual; selfish, not loving.

Has our beloved community and country been brought to its knees?

Is our ability to love now simply and blindly transactional?

Is no one left to hear our heartfelt, truthful pleas?

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NOT QUITE SILENT

Photo by Karl Byron on Pexels.com

I listened for the voice today.

This is all it had to say. 

My teacup is filled only 1/3 of the way.

Too little water to boil in the pot.

I shall brew my tea and keep it very hot. 

Then add cooler water to the cup.

No harbor will see tea fill it up.

Not exactly as I had willed.

Seeing my beloved democracy killed.

But who am I your will to sway.

My cup does not “filleth over” this cold day.

The half-empty cup seems a blatant warning.

I refuse to name and bring to life

fearfully expected wounds and strife.

The sun blares and cuts the cold air,

melting frost gathered everywhere.

It lies on every surface it seems.

In schoolrooms, libraries, museums,

in corporation and university board rooms. Next,

on airwaves  and in chat rooms and texts. 

In law firms hallowed conference rooms,

and in SCOTUS decisions which seal our doom.

Hard to find a place where the cruelty of iced hearts 

has not settled in, stopping hopefulness at its start.

Hard to know how this day should begin.

Hard to see how we might win.

No birds gather in the yard to eat, drink and sing.

Worms like words stretch frozen on cement pathways.

Hard to stand and walk boldly, or to see our way.

May will bring flowers in graceful bouquets.

But, June, I think, will have the final say.

May summer be full of grace, I pray.

I listened longingly for the hopeful voice today.

But, this…this is all it had to say,

as I watch sunshine melt the frost away.

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SELF-CUTTING

Photo by Kelly on Pexels.com

It appears my country is bleeding out

from wounds cut both shallow and deep.

Blood flows from old wounds reopened.

Those hurt the worst, do not doubt.

We see patterns of hate where cuts scar.

MAGA rubs the body politic until it burns.

It wears long sleeves to clothe and hide

the wounds of Project 2025.

Our collective guilt has finally won out.

Cutters inhabit the White House

screaming fake rage and fake news

that makes great TV 

but leaves the world crying to see

the death of a once-great democracy.

Stop the bleeding we beg and plead.

Staunch the flow, lower those hands

cutting so eagerly 

to destroy the place we once felt safe,

if not perfectly, at least happily, free.

Cutters cannot stop themselves.

It is up to you and me.

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