Tag Archives: war

PAIN

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Pain changes all.

It puckers lips which can no longer speak.

It furrows brows and narrows the view.

It buckles the knees, threatens our fall.

There is so much pain everywhere,

enough to spare, too much to bear.

Pain always wants out,

it erupts in a shout,

“Make it stop!”

“Stop!”

“Just stop!”

Does anyone hear?

Too many continue

to pour salt in the wound.

Too few seem to care.

Too many press fingers on spots

that pulse too hot

until pain explodes and we drop

to our knees as we plead,

“Make it stop!”

“Stop!”

“Just stop!”

Human angels run by

and try not to cry

as they sound the alarm

and beg to succeed

in stopping the harm.

U.N. food trucks are bombed.

Opposition leaders are killed.

Weather tells stories

to gain our attention.

The earth pleads as do we,

“Make it stop!”

“Stop!”

“Just stop!”

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NO WORDS

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My words are in hiding.

They went south

on orders by an enemy

in a language unknown

on internet connections silenced

on phones which could not be charged

written on leaflets

dropped from the sky

with the dumb bombs

which destroyed the words

where I reside

in hopeless desires

for peace, at first;

now, simply, not to die.

My words and I moved south

to promised safety.

My words and I could not speak

of what we saw 

along the way

south,

leaning on false promises.

Still, my words must hide

in shelters bombed 

despite the promise

despite the effort

carrying my words

which are my children,

silent, on my back.

Trapped, my words and I

with nowhere to go.

Without hope.

No one speaks words;

Only the bombs may speak,

with a language of their own.

A language no one understands.

One no one ever wants to hear. 

My words hide here.

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BUILDING BLOCKS

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Whose power fills the vein,

courses through the body politic,

amidst the loosening strain

by seeking peace and unity

to replace the the fearful rage

wrought by endless war ?

Culture is not the same

as power playing games

to win at any cost

what some fear they have lost.

What they have lost they took in theft.

No need to now feel bereft

of what one never owned.

Thieves have no honor it is clear.

Nor hesitation to build fear

by bullying, intimidation and threats.

Lies cannot heal the wounds,

nor close veins opened in regret

of what we failed to acknowledge

in a past we chose to skew.

Structures fall in blocks of despair

as we stand in quaking dread

of what might lie ahead.

Disaster and opportunity are well met

in the rubble which now settles about

our feet, and all we doubt.

Thoughts and feelings drift down

in the dust settling all around

thoughts tossed and set askew.

We are left choking on what we cannot see.

A pause is not amiss.

But, we cannot afford to wait

to rebuild a globe and create anew our fate,

and heal the hurts from falling debris

from hidden, hate-filled, fearful history

disclosed as walls and nations tumble.

Gather those who grieve the loss of democracy.

Clear the rubble, dust and minds

with a truer view of history

Dedicate such memory to better buildings.

This is humanity’s strength.

Not the structures of banks and governments;

but the blood flowing in the veins

in powerful resiliency to those who would suppress

truth and honesty.

The muscle and sinew of strong minds and hearts

whose only thought as worlds break apart

is how to build anew

a better, fairer, stronger structure

to protect both me and you.

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REMEMBER THAT THOU ART DUST

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Revenge is a dish

best served cold.

forgiveness is a feast

meant to feed us all.

When fear replaces hope,

and impulse thoughtfulness,

death becomes 

the boon companion

of he who wields the sword

to decapitate infants,

shoots the gun

to annihilate a people,

or sets the fire

to decimate a place.

There is no saving grace.

There is no promise of immortality

to be fulfilled in hateful commonplace. 

There is only disgrace.

Personal value, human value,

no longer take the stage,

nor takes a bow, by those enraged.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

Forgiveness is a feast for all.

Where it can be found,

nor how,

I no longer know.

But search I must,

before we all turn to dust.

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CHARITY

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If I come to you in need

would you care for me?

Would you open your door?

Would you allow me in?

Would you lecture me on choices made?

Would you tell me I must not sin?

Would you point out the truth of my failures within?

Would you judge me or love me?

Is that even a choice?

Would you teach me or listen

to my oft’ silenced voice?

Human we both be;

Ill-mannered or worse occasionally.

At fault more often than we care to admit.

Would you invite me in and tell me just sit?

Would you open your door?

would you let me in?

Would fear turn your lock

and your heart harden to rock?

If I come to you in need

would you care for me?

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NIGHT SWEATS

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UKRAINIAN NIGHTS

Shattered dreams last night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

AMERICAN NIGHTS

Shattered dreams last night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

AFRICAN NIGHTS

Shattered dreams lat night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

ASIAN NIGHTS

Shattered dreams last night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

MID-EAST NIGHTS

Shattered dreams last night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

EUROPEAN NIGHTS

Shattered dreams last night.

Tossed and turned with all my might.

No safe space in sight.

War never ends now.

We don’t know how.

We hold on tight 

to what we do know.

Afraid to let go

during uncertain night

and awaken in hopeful daylight.

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PUBLISH OR PERISH

AVAILABLE ON AMAZON

Each morning, I awaken and write before my mind loses its irrationality and becomes reasonable, blocking out all creativity with the fear of not being perfect. I also face each new morning dreading what I will hear about Ukraine and its people. Recently, my niece has been pushing me to organize the stacks of poetry on the kitchen table and publish a book. She nags so well that I eventually agreed. Having no interest in, nor understanding of, how to format and upload a book I began exploring but was not self-motivated enough to accomplish much until I realized I could maybe help Ukrainians by publishing a book of poetry about the ongoing war with Russia. The photo above is of the book I recently published titled SLAVA UKRAINI, Poems forPeace. It is available for purchase on Amazon at $14.99. All profits from the sale of the book will go to World Food Kitchen Ukrainian effort.

My father and his 3 brothers operated a restaurant called The Center Cafe for 38 years. Returning home to small town Ohio after WWII, they realized no one would hire Italian immigrant men. So, like all immigrants and their children before them and after, they started their own business. Like any Italian worthy of the title they started a food business. The first and last thing visitors to our home had to do was “sit and eat.” So, I chose World Food Kitchen as the donee because I understand the healing power of food served with love and compassion.

I am now determined to improve my publishing skills and make more books. My niece is happy. And I hope I am able to help Ukrainians in my own small way. I hope it means fewer Ukrainians will perish under Russian onslaught. I encourage you to help Ukraine in whichever way you choose to do so. Slava Ukraini !

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VOTE

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We were assigned to write an essay on the theme

preserving democracy for the American Legion or VFW 

contest. I forget which group sponsored the contest, it seems.

I recall the solemn moment I realized the cost of loss of democracy

as I pondered the yet-to-be-written script of how it could be done.

Democracy could be lost and its greatest strength laid askew

across our inattentive road to future growth and glory,

an old and Founding-of-America story.

As if !

As if !

I scoffed at myself as I looked around and listened to 

the soldiers, sailors and airmen recently returned from WWII.

Those who fought against fascism and for democracy over there

would never permit freedom’s loss here. They would not !

And yet !

And yet !

I could clearly see all around me the powerful need

of individuals cowered by fear of others’ success.

“Keeping up with the Joneses” had become a litany,

a passion, a way of life, that had become de rigeur.

The challenge of battles now laid aside no longer sustained the pride.

Competing to win became a holy grail.

Leagues formed for bowlers and ballers;

their boys played Little League as parents hollered.

Trophies filled up cases with virtuous wins.

Still, this was not enough to satisfy anyone.

I heard the call and response to the world all around me,

“At least I am free, white and twenty-one.”

What ?

What ?

Free, I understood. That is what America stands for, right ?

But, white ? How is that a right and why does it matter ?

Where was that coming from? Where was that fight ?

On the movie screen with John Wayne and his troops

who pushed Native people aside and onto reservations

to avoid annihilation, hiding American’s need to claim

a false superiority, to be better than someone, anyone.

For if we are all equal, none of us can be better than another.

On the television screen we  saw burning crosses held aloft

by robed and hooded Southerners hiding their sense of inferiority.

In the North the inferiority hid secretly, under false pride

that claimed no true victory over the South’s perfidy

when it refused to stay within the nation, and hurt our surety

that our Union of States could survive as equal and free

despite the legacy of enslaving people who should be free.

Viet-Nam was aflame, bombed and napalmed in our name.

Those old enough to fight and die were too young

to buy a drink or vote. Most not yet twenty-one.

Ah, I see.

Ah, I see.

And so I did not write an essay; but, a play.

Two characters with Iron Curtain names to delay

the defensive need to deny the truth I would display.

A young nephew visited his uncle in jail,

conversing through the bars of his cell,

trying to understand how it came to be his uncle

was not, and never would be, free.

The 1st. Amendment had become distorted by media,

by political ads and an opposition party

who eschewed the growing power of those formerly subdued

to salve white supremacy, and simple jealousy.

The 2d. Amendment had become distorted by the NRA and KKK;

armed to the teeth they would say is the only way

to keep America white and free as it was meant to be.

“Be careful, young nephew,” his uncle warned.

There are those who would do you harm to silence you.

“Elections no longer count, when the count is misconstrued.”

Only in the final moment, of the final scene, we knew

freedom had been lost in the USA at some time hence.

Freedom is only as strong as me and you, equals

not better than one another, Americans all.

Vote now before America falls.

It took over 60 years to see the words I put on the page

that long ago day, become reality.

The wars fought long ago never ended.

Because human beings always need to know

they are enough, though never better than another, though flawed.

They are treasured and loved more than money and profit.

America need not fall; but, you must vote for those

who recognize who you are and what you could become.

For those who see the possibility of a future

where all men, women and children are the true treasure

of a nation where all are free to engage in democracy.

Vote now. Not for the past; but, for a future that can last.

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VOTE BLUE

Politics well-played avoids wars.

Games require referees not on-the-take,

and rules to establish guidelines

to mark the true scores.

Even Monopoly puts wrongdoers in jail,

and cheaters lose turns to correct

false places on the board.

Poker often leads by bluffs

But stacking the deck is deplored.

Republicans no longer play politics well.

They pay off the refs and announcer in the box,

Unilaterally re-design the track

and put burrs under saddles

To fix the race they brazenly run

with no thought to the damage done;

not only to their opponents,

but to the chance to keep the game fun.

Instead, they ruin any chance to avoid

the wars and disasters sure to come.

Vote Democratic, everyone!

It is the only way our republic can last

So we can all join in and play

fair and square another day.

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THE FROST OF WAR

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Brazen bronze seedbeds

accosted by frozen brown bombs,

following an early frost,

when flowers freeze before

leaves and people fall,

their lively colors trapped

still vibrant and glowing,

as if they are not dead after all.

Broken boards and barren stalls

line the barns left as fallow

as the fields where bombs have fallen.

Images so serene and spare

burn the sockets in despair

that life so precious

no longer has a place

among this not-so-human race.

The season of death and dying

has descended and too many dreams

have been up-ended.

Bursts of air throw up clods of dirt

upon the nations of the earth

burying every sound of mirth

amidst the screams of lasting horror.

And yet we know that Spring will come

after this winter of solemn sorrow.

The best we can do is hope

for a better tomorrow.

So it has ever been

and hopefully,

so it shall be

if only we

can survive

the winter

and war’s demise.

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