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.
annarino writes 
FIGHTING WORDS
Poetry has fled.
Art hides in plain sight
behind clouds of flame,
beyond winds of change,
before plutocrats take the stage,
no longer waiting behind the scenes
which hide their rage.
Words have lost all meaning
when facts go unchecked
flung too fast to sustain truth
and belief in its power to right wrongs
for the weak and the poor,
tossed aside by courts which cower
fearing loss of wealth and power.
Which words are safe when lies procure
the party in power’s silent vote to score
total control of each life, each thought,
each breath threatened by dirty schemes
to pollute the earth, water and air?
Words cannot be spoken, claimed by death
of the rule of law.
No words exist to describe the depravity
some of us saw
as our words lay dying
first inside
then outside
where meaning can be lost.
Words remain frozen in heavy frost,
weighed down by cold hearts
and dead souls
seeking total control.
Freedom resides in words
which too often remain unsaid.
Words too softly spoken to wake
those asleep, escaping, all hopes dead.
Too few words of truth must compete
with an onslaught of unchecked lies.
I listen and watch, lost in thought.
I write and I plead against what we have wrought.
Poetry, I fear, carries too-little weight.
Poetry, perhaps, has waited too late
to escape the threat when so many lies
have buried the truth for power and greed.
Money has always been the creed
clothed in religion and faith
which grants God’s grace
to those who deserve to see His face
on dollar bills and hung on towers.
False gods seek our praise as they devour
a country whose best citizens
refuse to use their power to remain free,
and would rather lose their democracy.
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