Tag Archives: VOTE

AMERICA DANCING TO MAGA-TIME

Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.com

The ballerina pirouettes.

Round and round she goes.

Her satin slippers turn endlessly

as she balances on her toes.

Dizzying it would certainly be

to spin so unnecessarily.

But, she uses a trick she very well knows.

She picks a single point in sight

and holds her focus on that point, so tight.

She keeps her balance and dances on,

steady as the graceful dancer we all know.

And when the music ends

as every song must

she takes her bow and we all cheer.

America is well and still on her feet,

avoiding the fall we all feared.

America shall dance again

as soon as the new song begins.

Voters shall pick a tune they enjoy,

one that cares for every girl and boy,

for every color, race and creed,

for laborers and workers, rather than greed.

The Land of the free.The home of the brave.

The audience of those who refused to cave.

Ballerinas keep their eyes on the prize.

Focus and keep dancing: a word to the wise.

Keep dancing to your own true beat.

Stay focused and stay on your feet.

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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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FEEL THE BLUE

Acrylic on canvass by Louise Annarino, March 2025

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.

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VOTE BLUE

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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! 

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SEXISM 2024

Photo by Kaushal Moradiya on Pexels.com

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!

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A FAMILY HAIKU

Photo by Timur Weber on Pexels.com

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!

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DANCE IN THE RAIN

Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric on Pexels.com

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!

Photo by Stanislav Kondratiev on Pexels.com

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FUTURE WAITS

Photo by Cleyton Ewerton on Pexels.com

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!

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WAKE UP THE YOUNG

Photo by Mark Angelo Sampan on Pexels.com

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!

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USE YOUR WORDS

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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.”

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