Another Year

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Another Year


Another year comes to an end, and I wonder how long I will continue to pen poetry.

I wonder how long I will think I have something to say, think my words matter.

I become more and more impatient with the trivial when immigrants are being deported.

I become more and more impatient with the trivial when polar bears are dying.

And those in power continue to subvert so much good that I had taken for granted.

And I keep waiting for a general outcry, for a scream heard across this nation.

I worry about the future of our planet, civilization, the world, our country.

Another year comes to an end, and I wonder how long I will continue to pen poetry.

I wonder how long I will think I have something to say, think my words matter.

I become more and more impatient with the trivial................

I wish I felt more optimism at the beginning of a new year.



For the last Poetry Pantry of the year.  I truly wish I could muster just a little bit of hope.

Not Too Late

From Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol

Not Too Late

This time of year
the darkest of days
memories and dreams
times of contemplation
not too late
meanings
look back look ahead

like
Ebenezer Scrooge who glimpses
ghosts of
Christmas past present future
reflects on his life
and

makes changes
not too late
because
today can transform future
and today is all
we are ever given

so while there is time
and while I still breathe
there is now and
I can act and hope
it is not too late
to make a difference.

This is for Poetry Pantry.
I wish each of you who celebrates a Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanukkah, a Happy New Year.

Let Us Celebrate!

Let us Celebrate

Let us celebrate simply

with two candles burning

folded hands

upturned eyes

and a prayerful heart

Wishing you all joy and peace!

Sometimes simplicity is best!
Shared with Poets United
Midweek Motif - celebration

No Poem

No Poem

No poem is capable of making a miracle
no poem is capable of ending this plight
no poem is capable of taking away fear
no poem can help one sleep at night.

Love and death dance around
war becomes closer by the day
power is held by evil men
what can one do but march or pray.

We have to try another angle
but we question what that should be
when pedophiles run for office
and good men are forced to flee.

We weep like babes torn from a mother
we cry for all that is being lost
question what it means to be great
wring our hands at truth's high cost.

See how simple it becomes?
follow the man and click the boots
as doors close on starlings
and we watch steely-eyed salutes.

No poem is capable of making a miracle
so make love as if death is ruffling your sheets
lock just a bit of hope in your heart
don't believe what you read in the tweets.

This poem is written for Poetry Pantry.  For inspiration I used lines from the poem "Afterthought" by Tony Foley that Rosemary featured in Friday's I Wish I'd Written This.  The italicized lines are from that poem. The theme of my poem has nothing to do with the theme of Foley's poem.  If you haven't read it, please take a look at it as well.

We are Ready

We are Ready

We are ready to dance
not the slow cheek to cheek dance
not the sensual melodic tango
but the we-will-fight-through-the-night dance
the we-won't-ever-give-up (take that!) waltz
where we clench teeth and raise our arms
we shake fists in the face of injustice.

We are ready to dance
not the sumptuous sexy samba
not the kick the heels kind of jive
but the don't-you-dare-mess-with-me dance
you can't fool us with your lies
we put no stock in your twisted words
we shake fists in the face of injustice.

We are ready to dance
not the hate and-racial-discrimination dance
not the stomp-on-gay-and-immigrant-rights dance
but the fight-for-life-and-do-it-now dance
you can't trample the ones we love
we will rise again before too long
we shake fists in the face of injustice.

We are ready to dance!


This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.   The idea came to me after I read Rosemary's feature of the poem "We Have Come to Be Danced" this week.  

Bittersweet

Bittersweet

Life moves forward
curses and blessings
not always in balance

I am sad today
think of the state of things
avoid thinking deeply
for self preservation

so

I read books
go to movies
keep my mind off
the state of things

life moves forward
curses and blessings

granddaughter turns 10
Thanksgiving with family
walk the ice age trail
Amazon Prime movies
cuddle with dogs

but yet

I follow twitter feed
am embarrassed for this country
feel fear
hopeless and helpless

life is bittersweet with
the state of things.

For Poets United Midweek Motif....Susan's theme "Bittersweet."

Contemplation (a haibun)

Contemplation (a haibun)

The ducks swim on the pond in autumn the same way they swam all summer.   They take no heed of yesterday or tomorrow.  If they find food, all is well.  They will fly south soon.  Their journey will be long and hard, but they do not worry.  Their life is today, only today. Tomorrow will bring what it will.

I think about future as if I have unlimited years ahead.  I think life will remain as it is today for years to come.  I will always be with people I love. Illness and death and sadness will not touch me. I will see my grandchildren grow up, go to college, begin a career, have lives of their own. But if I am realistic I realize this may not be true.  Tomorrow will bring what it will.

Life moves as it does

I hope for a long time to come

but life is in the now.

This is a haibun I wrote for Poets United Poetry Pantry.  We took a walk around a small pond today.  I never saw so many ducks in one place before.  I know they will fly south soon.  It got me thinking about life -- today and tomorrow.  

My granddaughter and grandson.  Today is
my granddaughter's 10th birthday.  My
grandson is 14 years old.

A Turkey Tale

A Turkey Tale

This time of year I think
it would be nice to read
about the Thanksgiving turkey
who escaped certain death
and became an aristocrat
who  began his own kingdom
where turkeys were the nobles
and men had to hide or run
to escape the sharp blade
wielded by the executioner
turning the tables so to speak

or should I say so to cluck!


Just a little playfulness. And happy Thanksgiving to all who are celebrating this week;
and may each of you escape the blade.  Smiles.  This is a repeat from 2014, but I read it again today....and I like its sentiments!!  For Poetry Pantry.

Meteor Shower

Meteor Shower

I have never seen a meteor shower
I think it would be magical to behold
but then again there are many things
I haven't seen in this world.

and some of the things I have seen,
not that I've witnessed them first hand,
I wish I had not....let's say these are
very difficult days for this world.

I do wish I would see a meteor shower
I think it would be magical to behold
I would like to be able to dream again
perhaps I just need to look up.

Written for Midweek Motif - "Meteor Showers."

At Flanders Field

At Flanders Field

I'm here but no one knows my name
God knows my life was not in vain
I died alone when evil held sway
I'll rest unnamed til Judgment Day.

I came with dreams to help the cause
but found the enemy would not pause
we forged ahead, made little gain
the prayers we prayed were all in vain.

I never thought it would be like this
I wanted to make a difference
but there was no relief from my nightmare
as screams of my comrades filled the air.

The smell of death was all around
trenches were wet, rats did abound
I realized early I may not survive
it was foolish to hope help would arrive.

There was no relief from lice or rain
I writhed in agony from mustard gas pain
And now I rest beneath foreign ground
my identity disk was never found.

I wrote this in 2014 after having visited Flanders Field Military Cemetery in Belgium.  It is the smallest American military cemetery.  411 American servicemen are buried or commemorated there.  Many of them fell at Spitaals, Bosschen, an action of the Ypres-Lys Campaign by the 91st Infantry Division in the closing days of World War I.  The photos above are mine.  

I am sharing it once again today in honor of Veterans' Day / Armistice Day.  World War I / The Great War was supposed to be the "war to end all wars."  Sadly, it was not.

Submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Micropoetry

Micropoetry

               I.

I wonder what they wait for
the spineless so speechless
as candles burn short
soon the world will be dark.

             II.

I hear boots marching
louder ever louder
was it only yesterday
we could dream?

            III.

The children play outside
such innocent bliss with hope
as a dragon breathes fire
just outside the gate.


Micro-poetry in the "naani" form for Poetry Pantry.

In Sumana's post for Poetry Pantry, she shared micropoetry written in the "naani" form.  This is what inspired me.  According to Sumana, a "naani" is a four-line poem containing 20 - 25 syllables.  For more information about this form, please visit Sumana's poem:  here.

Saints

Saints

We will look back
at some later time
as we read names of saints
yet undetermined

they will be recorded
in future history books

but for now saints wait
for the courage to rise
and do what they can
to save a nation's soul

we are not there yet
we are not yet there
for now they wait
when will they rise?

when will they rise?


For Midweek Motif theme - Saints

Dreams

Dreams

Dreams curl on tired grey clouds
bend with the breeze on tired elms
sing with the coyote in the stillness
dreams are there though distant.

Dreams hide in the rushing stream
rustle in the tall prairie grass
rock cradled in mother's arms
dreams are there though distant.

Dreams find a way of living on
are there to be found if we look
hope is oftentimes reclusive
dreams are there though silent.

Written for Poetry Pantry

Journey

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Journey

It becomes harder and harder to journey anywhere with more regulations and things to be checked.  Computers, smart phones, shoes, coins.  Questions to be answered...who packed your bags, who will you visit, how long will you be gone?  Scans to walk through.  Liquids to be accounted for. More cross-questioning.  I do wonder if this makes things safer or just so difficult that it acts as a deterrent to travel at all. Perhaps the goal is to keep everyone at home.

Taking a journey

isn't as it used to be

it used to be fun

Written for Sumana's Midweek Motif - Journey

Time is Almost Here

Time is Almost Here


Time is almost here for cuddling with dogs
in front of the fireplace as the wind whistles
ferociously with vengeance outside my door. 

Time is almost here for a hot cup of tea
warm sweatshirts and heavy blankets
to take away the chill of night.

Time is almost here for life to slow down
for television movies and good books
to help pass the time.

Time is almost here for me to reflect
on both the happy and sad times the past
and to hope and plan for what is yet to be.

Time is almost here, but not yet.
Time is almost here,
                                    but not yet.

This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.  We are having an unseasonably warm fall. It is beautiful, but I know it cannot last forever.  The dogs above are Tulip and Basil. They are good 'warmers' in cold weather. It is hard to get a photo of Violet, who is more of a loner. Sigh.

Dark Moon

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Dark Moon

Though the moon is dark
and not visible to the eye
we know it is still there
a faithful friend who
will appear again and again
like dreams
on a warm summer night
if only we wait
eyes turned skyward
and believe.

Written for Poets United Midweek Motif:  Dark Moon/New Moon

Two Short Autumn Poems

Two Short Poems of the Season

By Sue Ann, with Permisson

 Sunset

Sunrise and sunset

and all the hours in between

time passes so fast

I must capture  radiance

at the right moment

and snap the photograph

that will remind me of beauty

when I question

if life is good.

By Sue Ann, with permission

Autumn

So much of nature in fall is naked

stripped of  green garments of  life.

My heart takes its cue from nature,

 awaits something beyond sight

as I sing praises of nature's plan

and try to grasp the concept

that one must first die to be reborn.

Two autumn poems from 2012.  My feelings about then are the same as they are now.  Shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

I Sing

I Sing

I sing in the morning
and all the day long

I sing softly or loudly
I cannot stop my singing

I sing of my sadness
and of my delight

I sing of the memories
to brighten my day

I sing of the sadness
I cannot forget

I sing of my hopes
may they not be dashed

I sing of trees
and colorful autumn leaves

I sing of water
and the essence of life

I sing to my dogs
they always understand

I will sing to you too
when you need a song


I was uninspired this afternoon when I thought of what I might share in the Poets United Poetry Pantry.  So I took a look at the poems my PU friends were sharing.  Alas - I was inspired by Rosemary Nissen-Wade's poem "I Sing."  So I wrote my OWN "I Sing Poem."  If you have not yet read Rosemary's poem, please check it out!

Here is the Love

Here is the Love

Here is the love
that warms my heart
on this autumn day

When photos speak
poetry needs no words

One feels the love.


A baby giraffe was born in our zoo this past summer.  These photos were taken a few days ago.  I do think it is true that a picture is worth 1000 words.  

Written for Midweek Motif - "Animals."

Seasons

Seasons

He saunters with his dog along the woodsy trail blanketed with crisp brown leaves and pine cones. Some trees have green leaves yet, though many more are shades of yellow, red, or brown. Leaves drift to the ground as he walks beneath the rustling limbs. He hasn't seen a robin in a few weeks now. Could it be they have already gone? How could he not have noticed the last one? His dog barks, wishing for a chase, as a squirrel scampers ahead on the path. Nuts need to be gathered, and there is so little time. He empathizes with the squirrel.

Life changes quickly
so much is predictable
everything cycles.

His little dog tugs at the leash, urging him to walk faster. But he feels himself slowing, his mind reflecting back to spring when the world was beginning to green, when the crunchy leaves now under his feet were new. Then there was hope, rebirth, robins, sun. Warmer each day. It seems an epoch ago. Things were different. She was alive then. Still. He did not know what summer would bring. No one knows what each season will bring. The little dog does not understand his slowness. The little dog did not understand death, but does understand missing. The man understands both. And he understands seasons deeper than he wants to.

The wind blows stronger
more leaves flutter to the ground
soon trees will be bare.


A Haibun for Poets United Poetry Pantry.  I wrote this back in 2011.  It received few comments then, and most of those people are no longer around the blogosphere.  Truthfully, I really like this Haibun a lot & find it very timely.

I Find a Way to Rise

Tulip & Basil

I Find a Way to Rise

I find a way to rise above
in order to thrive
I focus my attention
on what I can control
attend to positives on Facebook
let a lot of negatives go

If you want to find me now
I post pictures of dogs
more rewarding less stress
I find a way to smile
see the sun in the sky
I find a way to rise above.

This is posted for Sumana's Midweek Motif: Rising Above.   Hope you all are finding a way to 'rise above.'

Autumn

Autumn (a haibun)

It seems strange to me to think that we are in autumn.  Wasn't it only yesterday that it turned to spring?  I remember when my grandchildren were born, and now one of them is taller than me. Springs turn to summers turn to autumns.  My car was once new, and now it is ten years old. Soon it will be winter.  My oldest dog who was a sweet puppy is now greying and spends way too much time sleeping.  Seasons change. We change.  The world around us changes.  I change in subtle ways I do not like to acknowledge.  Beginnings eventually have their endings.  We are born, we live, and we die.  The leaves on the trees are turning color now.  We are in the autumn of life.  Winter is not far behind.

I still dream of spring
though I enjoy fall  colors
red and yellow bliss.

This haibun is written for Poetry Pantry

Where is Peace?

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Where is Peace?

Where is peace
on this International Day of Peace
I fear it is but an illusion
a hopeful dream
worse    a cruel joke

where is peace
how can we not be cynical
when a 'leader' threatens
to destroy an entire country
and wants to view a military parade

Where is peace
as hurricanes rage
earthquakes devastate
and fires roar --
if only peace had such power

Where is peace
do we wait in vain
are our prayers for nothing
do you hear the boots marching
are our tears in vain?

For Susan's Midweek Motif - Peace.
Tomorrow is International Day of Peace

Powerless

Powerless

Powerless to act
resigned I feel I numb
are there good people left
who can turn it all around
or has it gone too far

I wonder about the future
it spins beyond my control
I can do nothing
to quell my fear
I wring my hands and wait

dark money abounds
fake news  and lies
fascists scheme and plot
I cry for our country
powerless to act.

For Poetry Pantry

Reunion

Reunion

A reunion won't happen
almost as if I never knew you
doesn't matter any more
I have moved on
I don't think of you
I didn't really know you
you are a stranger to me
almost as if I never knew you
a reunion won't happen.

This was written for Susan's Midweek Motif - Reunion.

Autumn Rain

Autumn Rain

Rainy autumn days deplete me
as I contemplate transition.
Summer, fall,
                 soon winter.

Time appears to race doubletime
green leaves turn orange, red,
dull brown,
               before limbs bare.

Ahead I face desolation, hibernation.
My weary yawns bore even me, as
active summer-fall body grinds,
               slows to winter's crawl.

Rain pelts down, snow to follow.
Ice bound world looms on the horizon.
Cycle repeats, nothing new,
               but each year harder.


For Poets United Poetry Pantry

Memories

Memories

They visit when I least expect them
vivid snippets of the past
sometimes they make me smile
make me think of good times had
sometimes they make me sad
and think of people who passed
they visit when I least expect them
vivid snippets of the past.

They visit when I least expect them
vivid snippets of the past
sometimes they awaken me during sleep
or appear as I drive past a familiar sight
they make me smile or make me frown
force me to review life's highs or lows
technicolor or black and white
they visit when I least expect them
vivid snippets of the past.

Written for Sumana's prompt - Memories -
for Midweek Motif

I Am

By U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (Department of Homeland Security) 

I Am

I am in every city, every state
I am your neighbor, the one behind you at the check out
I am trying on jeans next to you in the dressing room
I am the one sitting beside you on the bus
I live in fear

I am old, I am young, I am middle aged
I work, I am unemployed, I am trying to find a job
I want a future, I keep trying, I will not give up
I dream

I am a student, a mother, a father, a worker
I speak another language
I speak English.
I speak two languages
I am saving money for a better tomorrow
I must be silent

I pick your vegetables, I cook your food,
I clean your office, your hotel room, your home
I shovel your snow, I landscape your lawn
I work long hours, then work more.
I pay taxes
I receive no benefits
I live in fear

I cannot drive a car
I cannot get a social security number
I cannot get a scholarship to college
I cannot get financial aid
I dream

I cannot tell you about me
I must be silent
I live in fear
I dream

I am undocumented.


There are said to be 11.5 million undocumented residents in the United States.
If you have time, watch even a little bit of this 6 minute video about undocumented students.  I guarantee it will move you.






I wrote the above poem in January, 2016.   Undoubtedly some of you have seen it.  I share it again today in the Pantry - as on Tuesday the president who shall not be named is going to announce his decision on the DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals) young people in this country.  There are 800,000 young people sweating out this weekend not knowing whether they will be sent back to Mexico after this weekend.  Some are in college.  Some have jobs.  All have families.  They came to this country as children and have been protected by a program President Obama put into place.  Now on Tuesday the country waits.  I fear the worse, frankly.  He has not proved himself to be caring about people.  However, even Paul Ryan is suggesting that this program not be brutally ended. (News article) Tuesday we will all know.  Do you think he will get rid of DACA and send them back?  I do.

I am submitting this still-timely poem to Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Justice

Justice

Justice is only as good
as the judge.  

Justice depends on
facts revealed.

Justice can be too harsh
for a penitent person.

Justice can be too soft
for a mass murderer.

Justice does not chastise
those who are above the law.

Justice should be
impartial but isn’t.

Even terrorists
believe in justice.

In wars both sides
believe in justice.

Without laws would
justice exist?

Justice for all
means what?

For Poets United Poetry Pantry


I wrote this poem a couple years ago.  I think about it again tonight as I reflect on the fact that the President  pardoned Joe Arpaio - the Arizona sheriff who hunted down and detained illegal immigrants in his state & regularly violated the rights of Latinos.  Mr. trump said that Joe Arpaio kept Arizona safe.  I do wonder about the state of 'justice' in this country right now.   What I had thought was justice seems to be falling by the wayside.  And, as I wrote in one of the verses above, "Justices does not chastise those who are above the law.." or hasn't yet anyway.  I hope there will be a turn-around before it is too late.  I hope for real justice to prevail.

Grass Still Grows

Grass Still Grows

The grass still grows
 trees take root
birds warble
and dreams take hold

The wind still whistles
butterflies dance
coyotes howl
and spirits soar

The waterfall still tumbles
penguins dive
monkeys climb
and hearts sing

And life still continues
overcomes disregard
nature perseveres
despite human misdeed

Written for Poets United Midweek Motif:
Nature - her words.

Ways to Enjoy a Day

Ways to Enjoy A Day

Wake at dawn
Brew fresh coffee
drink it on the deck

savor the breeze
linger with cardinals
long as possible

list things you
need to do. Put
it in a safe place

List things you
want to do. Begin
with Number One.

and enjoy it as
long as you wish.
Then Number Two.

When dusk arrives
return to your deck
with a cool drink.

savor the breeze
linger with cardinals
long as possible

Breathe deeply
smile broadly. You
will sleep well.

For Poetry Pantry

I wrote this poem some years ago....when all was
more right with the world.  Time to put this philosophy
to use again, I think!

Flood

Flood

It's surreal
this flood of hatred
unleashed

virulent
dangerous
spreading

I phone congress
beg implore beseech
please impeach

this is not the world
I want for
my granchildren

we fought nazis once
on other shores
and won

and now
they sit
in the white house.

This is written for Susan's Poets United Midweek Motif:  Flood.

Missing Voices

Missing Voices

I do not hear voices of young people

they go blithely about their days

pay no attention as things change

check their Facebook and Twitter

post smiling photos on Instagram

go to work and then home

drink their Starbucks cold brews

the idiocy does not affect them yet

they live as if it will never

health insurance who needs it

medicaid and medicare for someone else

climate change why worry

environmental protection what's that

supreme court justices who cares

fascism is only something historical

where are North Korea and Guam anyway

never mind freedom of the press

time to stop at Burger King enroute

check Match.com or eHarmony 

someone else can take care of tomorrow

as they always do.

Submitted to Poets United Poetry Pantry.

I am struck by the fact that so many people under 35

do not seem to care much about the state of the world.

I remember the Vietnam protests in the 60's.  They were

led by the college crowd.  Where is the voice of the

college student or young adult now? I wonder what it 

will take to stir up the young here before it is too late.

Mending

Mending

My mending basket is getting fuller
so much to mend, it seems near impossible
more and more added to the basket each day
I am burdened by the weight of the world.

some nights I cannot sleep, some days I cannot work
so much mending to do, work overwhelmed with
things to worry about in the mending basket
I am burdened by the weight of the world.

my brain is drained from my mending
my fingers sore, mending never ending
there is no rest ever, there is no rest 'til death
I am burdened by the weight of the world.

This is written for Midweek Motif where the theme is Mending.

How Can They Sleep

How Can They Sleep

How can they sleep at night
those who plot what they can take away the next day
ban transgenders from the military now
gloating as people suffer to please his shrinking base
suddenly why this?  why now? And who will be next?
are you sure you are safe?  do you also live in fear?

why just why except out of pure evil intent
to make others suffer and to inflict pain
while holding rallies where people still yell
lock her up lock her up lock her up
and commend him for winning bigly
as he talks about making america great again
are you sure you are safe? do you also live in fear?

How can they sleep at night
the sneering white men in congress who are silent
blinded by a devil and the dark money
which hold them in chains as they sell their souls
I pray all will perish their money and power disarmed
are you sure you are safe? do you also live in fear?

How can they sleep at night
those who plot what they can take away the next day
are you sure you are safe? do you also live in fear?

Contributed to Poets United Poetry Pantry.


I am just appalled by the state of this country. Every day there is something more concerning.  And what concerns me even more is the silence of those who do have the power to change things.  And also all of the changes that are taking place under cover of darkness that we do not hear about. There are many articles on the subject of the first stanza of this poem.  Here is one of them:  Vanity Fair. People may think - oh well - this does not affect ME.  But....hmmm....with an administration like this, who is safe?  And what REALLY is humanity! And who is our neighbor?

We Are Pilgrims

We Are Pilgrims

We are all pilgrims praying
praying for normalcy to return
return to life with hopefulness
hopefulness mixed with security
security that when we sleep
sleep with faith in tomorrow
tomorrow an even brighter day
day filled with love and joy
joy an emotion we yearn for
for we are all pilgrims praying.

So often Sumana's poetry inspires me...if only in a tangential way.
Posting this for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Where is Sanctuary?

Where is sanctuary when
safety is but a remembered dream
where life was more predictable
moving in a logical way
and governing was by congress
not tweets.

Where is sanctuary when
life no longer flows predictably
and every day brings more to fear
and one never knows the next group
to be blamed or banned or chastised
by tweet.

Where is sanctuary when
human rights are trampled
legality is twisted
lies are the norm
and disloyalty is punished
by tweet.

Where is sanctuary when
there is new insanity each day
when chaos runs rampant
when one fears for tomorrow
the future so very bleak
with tweets.

This is written for Sumana's prompt for Midweek Motif - Finding Sanctuary.

Catch My Breath

Catch My Breath

I try to catch my breath
breathe in breathe out
each day it is harder

so I turn off television
pick up a book
don't look at twitter

the train moves on
is it possible that
evil will win

I make my calls
put down the phone
enough for today

how is it possible
for change to come
so quickly I ask

who is the white knight
where is god in this
who's in charge here

I fear for grandchildren
more than for me
can we resist

each day it is harder
breathe in breathe out
I try to catch my breath.

This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.
If you have not read Sherry's feature on my poetry, please
do give the feature a read:  Blog of the Week:  Mary's Thoughts in Troubled Times.
and if you make a comment be sure to check back as I will respond to you
there as well. 

Not Time Yet

Not Time Yet

I watched him shuffle the track
at the YMCA, slow, stooped
looking down, holding the rail,
and I said to myself Parkinson's,

and when he left the track
he brought coffee to his wife
who was sitting at a table
near the table I sit at now

with my laptop, and I see them
sit silently, read an old newspaper,
no glimmer of smile, and I know
their journey like the back of my hand,

but I will not speak to them,
will not interrupt, will not tell them
I noticed, as perhaps the man thinks
it is not obvious, but it is, and this

is the beginning or perhaps the middle,
and I watch him stand now, slowly,
with difficulty he rises from the chair,
to throw his Styrofoam cup away,

then follow his wife somewhere, and
I imagine he was one who once led,
one who arose quickly, set the pace
before the awful disease claimed

his body, dignity, grace, rendered
him invisible to many, ignored when
he began to speak, his voice softer now,
couldn't get anyone's attention, invisible,

weakened, a strong voice merely
an echo, see me, hear me, please,
his face a mask of former strength,
don't you know I was handsome once,

or does he still fool himself,
do they still fool themselves,
that this is as bad as it will get,
and would that be bad if they were,

but I won't tell them, not time yet,
as it is a difficult journey, individual,
that there is no way to beat
this dreaded life-stealing disease.

For Poets United - Midweek Motif - Masks

I wrote this poem six years ago, and it received few comments.
I don't think I can write a better "masks" poem than this one today.
Thus I am sharing it here. If any readers are familiar with symptoms 
of Parkinson's disease such as the Parkinson's
mask, they will understand this poem a bit better.

In Times of Hatred

In Times of Hatred 


I don't write poetry any more
my heart cries as I write pleas
my words flee in shame
I tremble in fear of tomorrow
as the beat of hatred goes on
with so many compliant
god help us all

but they say god is on his side
they bless him as they lay hands
these apocalyptic people
who consider calamities
signs of the end times
prophecies fulfilled
god help us all

what can change the tide
when evil becomes so powerful
manifests itself as destiny
the 'suffering servant' of Isaiah
fulfills predetermined plans
and they all shout amen
god help us all

I don't write poetry any more
my heart cries as I write pleas
my words flee in shame
I tremble in fear of tomorrow
my heart is so heavy
god help us all.

For Poets United Poetry Pantry.


Thank you, Sumana.  I used your title and the words 'my words flee in shame' from your poem In Times of Hatred.

If anyone wants to know some of what inspired me to write this,  read this article -- here.  Perhaps it will scare some of you as much as it does me.  

Oppressive Day

Oppressive Day

Oppressive day  
all is still
sun burns skin    
plants wilt
grass yellows
dog pants
life slows
we fan ourselves
as we dream
of the movement
of wind     and rain.

Written for Midweek Motif - where the prompt is 'movement.'

Do You Remember?

Do You Remember?

Do you remember

colors passing through me

don't get me started

words under the words

hidden inheritance

becoming light

steal away

upstream

this I believe --

Paris spring.

A poem written from book titles - just for fun - for Poets United Poetry Pantry

Independence

Independence

With a stiff upper lip I am strong
I am my own person
don't mess with me

I did not stand for the flag
in the Independence Day parade
I have my principles

World War II veterans passed by
and I clapped for them
they served for a good cause

Not one politician showed their face
not wanting to be booed in a parade
despicable cowards all of them

I dream of Canada and France
and Germany with good leaders
I cry for what my country has become.

I have lost pride in country
Independence Day a painful reminder
of all they strive to take away.

With a stiff upper lip I am strong
I am my own person
don't mess with me

     I will not back down.

Written for Susan's Midweek Motif - Independence.

I Must

I Must

I must find my way in these new times

not allow myself to be sucked into the abyss

of futility and helplessness 

I must find a way in these new times

protect myself from feeling hatred

for those who are most hateful

I must find a way in these new times

find joyful experiences in every day

not be stressed about uncertain future

I must find a way in these new times

I must find a way

I must.

For Poetry Pantry

                 

Oh Say Can You See?

my flag jeans

Oh Say Can You See?

Anyone who has known me since 9/11/2011 will remember that I loved to wear American flag clothing.   I own a flag jacket, flag blue jeans, flag sweater, flag shirts, and flag scarf.  Some friends even made for me a quilt which has a flag motif. One might say my personal trademark was a flag.  I had pride in my country.  (As we all should in our countries.)  But since the election the flag is tarnished.  I would be embarrassed to wear my flag clothing.  I do not take pride in what my country has become.  Soon it will Independence Day, our country's birthday.  It should be a day of celebration, but this year the day rings hollow.  It will be a day of mourning, a day to wear black as stars and stripes weep.

Oh say can you see
what our country has become
see the eagle cry.

A haibun for Poets United Poetry Pantry.  For non-Americans, our national anthem begins with the words "Oh say can you see...."  Thus the title.

Yoga

Yoga

I tried yoga but
it is hard to clear my mind
and I am too distracted to
concentrate on my breath.

I know it takes practice
and admire those willing
it is like they are in a club
and I don't quite belong.

I tried yoga but
it probably isn't for me
I can't relax on demand
but envy those who can.

For Sumana's prompt- 'yoga' - at Midweek Motif

Justice

Justice

Justice is only as good
as the judge.

Justice depends on
facts revealed.

Justice can be too harsh
for a penitent person.

Justice can be too soft
for a mass murderer.

Justice does not chastise
those who are above the law.

Justice should be
impartial but isn’t.

Even terrorists
believe in justice.

In wars both sides
believe in justice.

Without laws would
justice exist?

Justice for all
means what?

For Poetry Pantry

Yearning for Ordinary

Yearning for Ordinary

We take ordinary for granted
don't realize how extraordinary it is
until slowly methodically
it is being eaten away

Under cover of night
civil rights are rolled back
right wing agenda
moving into place

And everyone still smiles
as if life's the same
we dance with the devil
who waits with his chains

While environment is ruined
and big banks hold sway
and education is forsaken
and healthcare denied

We take ordinary for granted
don't realize how extraordinary it is
until slowly methodically
it is gone and too late.

I have written this for Midweek Motif - where the theme is Seeking the Extraordinary in the Ordinary.   I do wonder what it will take for people to be lulled out of their apathy and stop dancing with the devil.

The Party

The Party

She enters the house, greets
the hostess with warmth,
makes her way to the room
where a group has gathered,
sits near a few strangers
with friendly eyes, listens,
nods, makes eye contact,
asks a question during a lull,
listens, smiles, gives her own
answer, shares a humorous
happening, laughs at a joke,
empathizes with someone's
plight, drinks coffee, eats
snacks, laughs, talks, smiles.
What a great party!
Meanwhile in the silent spaces
between words and smiles
she floats home, relaxes in
silence, blue-jeaned, happy in
her own space with dogs.


I wrote this poem in 2009.  Ha, I realize
I still feel pretty much the same way. Shared
with Poetry Pantry.

Ocean

Ocean

Ocean is timeless
keeps confidences
speaks not a word
but cries in silence
beneath the full moon.

Ocean waves roll in
and waves roll out
as they always have
and always will.

Ocean holds
many things
not all of them
belong.

Ocean brings life
and connects us all.

A few thoughts for Midweek Motif.

Eagle

source

Eagle

Eagle soars spectacular

into sunset orange sky,

aims for the horizon.

I wonder if it contemplates

destination or merely enjoys

its journey riding the wind,

traveling higher ever higher,

its wings spread fully, its

eyes sharp in search of prey,

before it plummets earthwards

once more, pounces prey,

Gracefully fulfills destiny.

Life coexists with death,

joy with sadness. Life's circle.

Eagle soars because it must.

Written for Poetry Pantry

(because I must)

It Has Been a While

It Has Been a While

It has been a while since I have written a poem
and you might ask me if I missed it
and the answer is not so much because
right now democracy needs so much work
more work than that of writing a poem

We cannot sit back and let democracy die
be complacent or throw up our hands
we cannot be lulled by how futile it feels
we must keep jaws firm and arms crossed
and not give up no never give up ever

It has been a while since I have written a poem
there are so many other things to do.

Written for Poets United Poetry Pantry


(I had hip replacement surgery on May 1,  so
haven't been around a while. I am recuperating
well, but have 'hip precautions' to follow for 
3 months.  I think I am back...now!)

My Song for Today

My Song for Today

When I have no happiness,
the sunrise is my joy.
When I have no time,
I throw away my watch.

When I have no friends,
I walk with my dogs.
When I cannot sleep,
solitude is my rest.

When I lose my youth
I conjure myself sage.
When I have no voice,
poetry gives me words.

When I have no love, my
granddaughter gives a hug.
When I have no dreams
I learn to enjoy the dark.

When I have no faith
I act as if I do.
When I have no peace
I rest in my God.

I first wrote this in 2011.  I revised it a little to share in Sunday's Poetry Pantry.

Holy Days or.....

Source

Holy Days or.....

When did holy days
go out of fashion
and Easter break
become spring break

I do understand really
as many do not
celebrate the day
and I respect that

but still I remember
simpler times when
life was homogenized
we cannot go back.

Written for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motif -
Holiness/ Holy Day.

When I was a child and even long after,
schools always had "Easter vacation" this time
of year.  Never thought a thing about it.
It was just the way it was.  Then things
changed.  No more "Easter." Instead
spring break for our diverse society,
though the break generally does fall
around Easter.

Happy Easter

Happy Easter

Despite the world's craziness
despite the world's evil
despite the winds of war

the same old story of Easter
brings us new hope this year.

Happy Easter to all.

A short offering for Poetry Pantry.

When They Found Her

When They Found Her

When they found her late at night, she was alone on the
wooden park bench, blank expression on her face. She
sat motionless, grasped the handle of her well-worn
suitcase that shared the bench. And when authorities
discovered her, asked her to open her bag, she didn't resist.
She had nothing to hide, little to display.The contents are
as mundane as her life. One pair of jeans, two blouses,
two sweaters, underwear, an extra pair of shoes, colorful
socks, warm jacket, a teapot and different bags of exotic
teas, folder full of poetry written by hand, two pens, an
address book, a book of stamps, a flashlight, and a
beautiful china cup carefully wrapped in a red silk cloth
so it would not break, undoubtedly for her tea.

Sharing this with Sumana's prompt for Poets United
Midweek Motif  -- where the theme is 'books'

I Try

Recent Meal at a Local Restaurant

I Try

I try to smile more than frown
read books and take walks
visit current museum exhibits
enjoy menus of new restaurants.

I search out recent movies
take a country drive
check offerings on public television
ponder recipes in a new cookbook.

I try to think Easter lilies
jelly beans and chocolate bunnies
grass greening as robins chirp
as it should be the season of hope.

I try to appreciate each day
as if life was still normal.

This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

April

April

April is one of those months
that can go either way
sort of like life these days
but we always hope for
new life
rebirth of hope
a new dream
as we welcome green grass
we pray that the worst
is behind us for a time
and we can once again
dance in spring rain.

Written for Midweek Motif, where 
Susan's motif is, aptly, April!

Weeks Go By

Weeks go by

....and there is no good news
my voice echoes off walls
in my mind silent screams
as I do not feel heard

government for the people
the people of the swamp
no longer for me / or you
no more do I sleep well

I fight against fatigue
dark money hard to battle
when cards seem stacked
oligarchy creeps into place

I try to appreciate the sunrise
birth of yet another day
a walk on a cloudless morn
or movie night with friends

respite from fear and dread
relief from dire reflection
ways to escape the world
I search for ways to rise as

....weeks go by.


This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.