The natural world continues to create beauty, even if only within my mind on cold wintry days with snow flurries slowing the garden’s awakening. This nation will awaken. The ranks of the woke will increase. Blue-bliss will overcome blood-red. Our nation will flourish again with diverse gardens to delight every sense, and remind us of the endless possibilities of a free people, One Nation out of Many. Let this painting give you hope and bring you a measure of peace today.
This blue earth,
this place of our birth,
grounds us against flight
from this tiny iron rock
hurtling through the dark.
And so, we hold on tight,
bathed in blue light,
sun reflected off ocean’s face,
keeping us in place.
We are cleansed by earth’s air,
a clear and free atmosphere.
We breathe in and then out,
Each breath removes any doubt
that we are of this world, in this place.
We hurtle through darkest space
on this earth, this hard rock
with all its hard knocks.
It is not our imagination.
The gravity of our situation
keeps us awake at night.
We are blue light
against a dark sky.
Help earth and its people survive.
Help keep freedom alive.
VOTE BLUE!
Better to wait at the gate?
The temptation is to lift the latch and enter.
It is, after all, a public space.
But women know guard dogs lie in wait
on the other side of the gate.
Thus, carefully, we negotiate
each step along the way,
fearful of unleashed dogs nipping at our heels,
ready to tear apart our bodies and our dreams.
And, when they hear our screams
they say, “I had no idea.”
Plausible deniability is their way.
Men, and women too weak to lift latches,
deny that sexism is at play.
They laugh and joke at our fright.
Then simply go on their way,
as they believe it is their sole right.
Anyone who is not Christian.
Anyone who is not white.
Anyone who would lift latches
and move beyond the gate;
only does so, when they can no longer wait
for justice and progress,
which lie beyond the gate,
and the only place
where their suffering can abate.
Are those who lift latches “the enemy within”?
Lift latches in the safest space.
Then, keep the gates open.
It is not yet too late!
Vote!
Families are strange.
At once a warm, firm embrace;
and, cold, hard shackles.
Families are more
than blood, bone and genetics.
They are countries, too.
Families argue.
Families may often fight;
then set things to right.
VOTE!
If not too early, perhaps too late
rain falls through parched skies,
in drizzles and drips only;
clouds’ moist linings absorbed
by dried out cells
of the hydrogen and oxygen
we need to survive.
The train’s whistle blows
in drowned out gasps.
Wet skies hold back
the usual click and clack
of dry wheels over steel track.
Iron wheels now slip and slide,
a smoother if more uneven ride.
Wet nights lead to wet mornings
drowning our the train whistle’s warning
of all that is to arrive
during this election drive.
Tom-toms beat quieter drums
to speed up hearts
and slow down minds
as the train approaches
the nations’s destination.
AI interrupts nature’s offer
to set things straight
without a factual bother,
as facts fall beneath
the slippery wheels,
and we are easily thrown off-track
unsure now what is fiction or fact.
We will all soon be mad as hatters.
Too soon, we wonder if anything matters.
After drought, roots unfold soundlessly
and it is hard to hear the truth’s refrain.
Our senses our dulled by falling rain.
Our restless sleep disrupts our days.
We are lulled by quieter chants,
but nothing has changed.
Courage now, lads and lasses.
The polls await the arriving train.
We must vote, in sunshine or rain.
Open sad and tired eyes.
Listen with too-numbed ears.
The sounds may be different,
but not the refrain.
Time to vote the danger away.
Time to learn to dance in the rain.
Vote!
Future refuses to talk.
She holds her cards close.
No expression crosses her face.
Her fierce calm holds us in place.
We gamble our fortunes, our lives,
within her unfathomable space.
Withholding breath we wait
to discover our curious fate.
“Play the cards you have,”
she says,“before it is too late.”
The game here now will last until
each card has been played.
Holding onto cards
means new presents are delayed.
The young know this better
than their elders do.
The young play with greater abandon,
unconscious of the heavy stakes
that keep my eyes open all night through,
awake, until light from a new day
through the closed blinds seeps through.
A new day.
A new game.
Time to play.
Future cuts the cards.
No time to waste.
Vote!
Filed under POETRY
The older I get
the harder it becomes to
carry heavy hearts.
Young hearts are heavy
these days of heatwaves, flooding
and fires of war.
My own heart has slowed,
unable to speed or race,
beating a steady pace.
The young run shouting,
fueled by alcohol and fun,
circling around me.
I try to tell them,
straighten your path toward the goal,
a race to be won.
I shout from the sidelines
loss of freedom is gaining
on you, as you play.
Age carries no weight.
My words tossed away as trash,
as victory fades fast.
Woke becomes useless
for the young who sleep too late.
Please, now, come awake!
How often we tell children
“Use your words.”
But, we forget too easily
that words have power
only if they are heard,
and not dismissed breezily.
Men decided long ago
not to listen to women.
So many lies are told
to quiet women’s voices.
Eve has never been forgiven
for opening men’s eyes
to painful truths.
Women’s voices are not more shrill.
Women’s screams are not made
to give men their thrills.
Women’s truths are too often
pushed aside to save male pride.
Doors are slammed shut
against voices women can trust.
“Use your words?”
How soon we forget.
Pain is the great motivator
of forgetfulness.
It deadens speech.
It silences words.
Bullies remind us of our pain
to shut our mouths
and drown truth out.
“Use your words!”
Do not forget their power
in the kitchen, in the bedroom,
in the schoolroom, in the boardroom.
“Use your words,” minute by minute,
hour after hour, until the day comes
you can vote your own power
to “use your words.”
Filed under POETRY
Saturday morning;
dawn rises on a new day.
Saturn’s history at play
beyond ancient Rome’s sway.
We wonder if he will be made to pay
for destroying Saturnalia’s gifts.
This is no Christian’s Christmas Day
created to hide his pagan ways.
This Saturnus is defective ,made of clay
which changes shape day after day.
Inside the gas giant on display
in the heavens worlds away
raging storms churn and flay
rallying followers
drawn by his magnetic field
into icy rings that circle and shield
this Titan who seeks to wield
total power over the field;
not of wheat and grass and grain,
but of institutions threatened again
by fear and hate and retribution.
That is this Titan’s contribution.
He threatens every man, woman and child.
He devours even his infant son
held in his own arms but seen as a threat
to his control and power
which he worries over hour after hour.
This defective Saturn’s trials have just begun.
We wonder if courts will justice deal
before the Titan destroys all we love
because he cannot love, but only fear.
November votes bring new beginnings.
We can choose decency with heart;
choose freedom and love, or our end is near.
No single note is discordant.
No single vote voiced is wrong.
How the songwriter
puts the notes together
determines the song.
Our brains fine-tune our ears
to listen for the meaning
of words carried on the notes.
Some songs lift our spirits
to reach a higher cause.
Some songs depress our spirits
and make our hearts pause
with the fear of the other
we hated all along.
Some songs get us on our feet
to dance together, smile and sing.
Some songs hold us in our seats
ready to shout out in defeat.
The songs which truly make us strong
Are those we can rely upon
to offer hope, and love, and peace.
How the notes are brought together means everything.
The music that is America
is hard to sing if notes
are not treasured,
So many notes over so many years
from so many places refugees fled in fear
of famine, crime and even war.
We have sung the song of safety and of freedom,
welcoming all to our shore.
Songs that open minds and hearts
are the best place to start
a journey to a better future;
unlike the songs meant to keep us apart.
So many discordant notes
strung together create chaos,
not a strong and lovely song.
Filed under POETRY
annarino writes 