I Used to Have Hope

I Used to Have Hope

I used to have hope
think things would get better
that rough patches would be short

but somehow hope died
along with dreams of
a better future so now

I only live from day to day
try not to watch much news
have little faith things will change

because I had faith before
that something anything
would be too much to bear

but nothing makes a difference
as the lies continue and
evil multiplies and spreads

the sham just continues
I can't bear the news
and  fear the future more,


This is for Poets United Poetry Pantry.
I apologize for the depressing tone
and truly wish I could write some 
upbeat poetry.

If anyone has thoughts on how to
write upbeat poetry at times like this,
please feel free to leave your ideas
in comments.

Little Butterfly

Little Butterfly

Little butterfly
I am elated that you
settled on my foot. I must
appear as large to you as
you look small to me. What
a trusting spirit you are!
I will honor that trust.
Here, let me put you
somewhere safe. May
you lead a long life
always find safe havens.
when you fly.

Submitted for Poets United Poetry Pantry


I wrote this short poem some years ago.  I came
upon it again today and reflected a bit on it in a  broader way
than the way I had first intended it. It is nice when even the 
poet can find new meaning in their poem.

Sunday Morning

Source

Sunday Morning

As we wake up this Sunday morning
2000 families facing deportation orders
are set to be rounded up and sent away.

Detention camps exist on the southern border
children taken from parents never seen again
the face of evil gloats as humanity cries and screams

The puppetmaster and henchmen plot a war
to continue to keep the support of his base
who might need a war to keep his masses riled.

He wants to 'punish' China with tariffs and
perhaps put high tariffs on French wines
not caring that consumers will pay the price

He strikes down environmental protections
does not allow research that shows climate change
threatens freedom of the press with cries of 'fake news.'

Fearful immigrants are set to be rounded up
as moneyed sex offenders walk haughtily free
after a while we forget what normal feels like

As we wake up this Sunday morning
we will go about our lives with our blank faces
look the other way as immigrants are hauled away.

This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry on Sunday!
We will see what the day brings.  I doubt it will be good news.

Away From Home

Away from Home

I always consider that I have two homes:  the home that I live in at present and my childhood home.  The home of the present has changed over the years.  As an adult I lived in various cities, apartments, homes.  I was attached to each adult home in varying degrees.  I must say I love my present home and can't imagine I would love any home more. 

But there is another home that I have -- my childhood home — the home of my heart. That one never changed; and actually I can picture each room of this house in great detail.  I remember more small details about this home than I do about any other. I also remember the neighborhood and the neighbors.  I could still go up and down that block and tell who lived where.   

In summer my bedroom was hot; we had no air conditioning. Thus I could hear everything happening late at night outside.  Larry and Margaret lived next door,  had a noisy party once a year, and I could always spy on it from my upstairs bedroom.  That was fun.  Howie and Roseanne lived on the home on the other side.  He had a girlfriend, and I often heard him come home very late after having been out at the bar.  His wife sometimes had bruises.  That was not fun.

My mother typed late at night on her typewriter, writing to relatives and politicians.  The kitchen was her room.  My dad was not happy if he did had no car to work on or no baseball game to listen to.  My mother rose early and watered the garden and made rhubarb torte, and I woke up to the smell.  My dad pitched balls to me in the backyard.  We watched “I Love Lucy” on TV.   I remember well the ambience of THAT home though I am NOW far away.

This is written for Poets United - for Magaly's 5th Pantry of Prose.  The theme this week is "away from home."  This piece has exactly 313 words.