Time for a Change of Guard

Time for a Change of Guard


I suppose I should not be ageist or sexist,
but I think the old men of this world
have done enough damage to the planet,
and it is now time for a change of guard

Bring on the younger men women,
those who care about the future of our earth:
let them take charge and try to reverse  damage
unless it is already too late

Bring on those men and women
who care about people no matter their race,
religion, education, country of origin,
economics, sexual orientation, or age.

Bring on the bold, the fearless, determined
to make a difference, determined to save
what they can, reverse the damage they can,
and work tirelessly for the good of all.

I suppose I should not be ageist or sexist,
but, in this political regard, admittedly I am.

Written for Poets United Poetry Pantry

I think it is time for candidates in their 40's and 50's to take the helm of this sinking ship.  I do think this time around we would do well to consider strongly both women and candidates of color.  The old white men have screwed things up royally.

A Few Short Letters

Source

A Few Short Letters


Dear France:
How about you take back
the Statue of Liberty?
We are no longer interested in
sheltering the huddled masses and
homeless must seek refuge elsewhere.
The golden door is rusty from disuse,
is slammed shut and barred.


Dear Evangelical Church:
How about you revise
your teachings to reflect
the fact that you no longer
love your neighbor as yourself
nor believe that God's love
extends equally to people
from every nation?
Where is your hateful rhetoric
of rich white supremacy
included in God's word?

Dear Country:
How did it happen that
you now accept lies daily
and don't bat an eye
nor protest in the street?
Why do you remain silent
in the face of absolute evil?
Why do you continually
look the other way,
to pretend you don't see?

Dear Earth:
How did it happen that
our silence seems to condone
destruction of your air and water,
your habitats holding so much life?
Why do we not apologize to you
as we pollute and destroy
and terrorize all that  is yours?

Dear Children:
What kind of future will we leave you?
Why do we destroy what we were given
in the name of big money and corruption,
which will eventually obliterate good,
and instead present you with a rotten
inheritance as the stink of evil abounds?

Dear Self:
What legacy will you leave?
How do you wish to be remembered?
What did you do when you had a chance
to make a difference?
What do you see as you look in the mirror?
How about you think.......?

This is written for Poetry Pantry.

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.

Does the Earth Feel?

Does the Earth Feel?

Does the earth feel?
Does the earth cry?
Does the earth think?

I wonder sometime
but I cannot know
because it does not speak

except for the heat
except for the floods
will we heed its tears?

except for the pollution
except for the extinction
will we heed its tears?

except for the hurricanes
except for the warming
will we heed its tears?

except for the drilling
except for coal mining
will we heed its tears?

Does the earth feel?
Does the earth cry?
Do we care for the future at all?


Some thoughts written for Poets United Poetry Pantry

This is the New Normal

This is the New Normal

This is the new normal
nothing incriminating
nothing negative
keep silent, eyes open
watch your step
stay under the radar
don't attract attention
next time it could be you.

This is my poem for today
I had written another one
but then I began to fear
it will not see light of day
keep silent, watch your step
this is the new normal.

This Sunday morning 2000 families are facing deportation orders!

This is shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Death and Life

Death and Life - Gustav Klimt - 1916 - Wiki Paintings

Death and Life

Death and life
happiness and strife
uncomfortable intimacy
lunacy perhaps
that's how it goes flows
from birth to death
nobody knows
when the reaper will call
no one can forestall
what will be as
the progression is clear dear
fear not for
what you fear today
is nothing
compared to
tomorrow
sorrow.

I am a fan of Gustav Klimt's paintings.  This poem was written in response to Klimt's painting Death and Life.   It is one that I wrote in 2013, but I went to a funeral today; and I was reminded of this poem.  I am sharing it with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

HOPE

HOPE

Mike adopted a little turtle

that had a hole in her shell

right below the heart so

when one turned over the turtle

one could see the heart beat

and he named the turtle Hope

It has been seven months now

and Hope continues to thrive

once not much bigger than a quarter

now she fits in palm of Mike's hand

continues to grow and thrive

and her little heart beats on.

In these days of so much bad news,

fake news, I am thankful for Hope.

***

For Poets United Poetry Pantry!

I think we all need to find ways of keeping hope.

How do YOU keep hope?

I wish I could include a photo of Hope(the turtle), but she is on Instagram,

and I cannot find a way to share.  If you want to see her (the best way),

visit Aquamike23 & follow him.  If you want to see some

of Hope's earlier photos / videos, scroll back a bit on his Instagram.  Or check  out this article:

https://people.com/pets/baby-albino-turtle-born-heart-outside-body/

or you can check this YouTube video, but I think it was taken

before Aqua Mike adopted her:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOptCUfJnmA.

If I am feeling hopeless, I visit Hope, who keeps Hope alive.

Rain

RAIN

Warm gentle shower
bathes garden with tenderness
soothes and restores
flowers bloom in joy
robins twitter search for worms

but

torrential deluge
pounds flowers to the ground
devastates and soaks
seedlings flood away
even the robins hide.

and

umbrellas dance on sidewalks
shoppers splash from cars
farmers delight as crop grows
museums are crowded
no one plays in the park

as

road construction stops
baseball games are cancelled
taxicabs dart through the city
teachers bemoan an indoor recess
firefighters of wildfires rejoice

on a day of rain.


This poem is for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

The Way It Is

The Way It Is

The way leaves transition from green to to brown
The way old dog rests longer on a summer day
The way hair grays and the wrinkles form
The way strawberries rot after a while

The way seasons pass faster than before
The way the river flows faster and faster
The way birthdays would rather be ignored
The way each day of summer is savored

The way one time to good-bye is final
The way the coyote sings a mournful song
The way wild turkeys wander out of view
The way one hardly notices change.


This is written for Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Don't Worry!

Our Wonderful Israeli Guide who knew just EVERYTHING!

Don't Worry!

Our Israeli guide said, "Don't worry.  They are monitoring the situation."  We were told that if there was a siren we would have 40 seconds to get to a safe place.

"And where is a safe place?" we asked.

"The interior of a building, for example.  But most of the time the rockets do not get close to Tel Aviv.  But one has to be prepared."   He added, "And at the hotel, ask the desk clerk to show you where the safe spot is......so you know."

It seemed that Hamas was shooting off rockets.  Most of the time they landed closer to Gaza, but occasionally something changed. A house had been destroyed somewhere close to Tel Aviv the previous night.  The Israeli army (IDF) was retaliating. Our guide wanted to warn us.  He hoped the situation would cool. Of course, Israel had an 'iron dome' which was supposed to protect them.  It did...much of the time.

All of us on the bus were silent. And then someone asked, "How can people go about their lives when rockets are an ever-present danger?"

The guide answered that Israelis just go about their daily lives.  (And indeed we witnessed that.  Nothing changed.  People went to work, to school, shopped as usual.) He said that Israelis go about their lives in the same way that Americans do being surrounded by the constant possibility of gun violence.

And so we went about life too, but in the back of my mind was always the thought of 40 seconds.  I am home now, but still think about the 40 seconds.  I wonder if it would be easier to escape a Hamas rocket than a crazy person in this country with a loaded gun.

Written for Prose Pantry #3: Phobias and Fears 


The sound of sirens in Israel this morning - May 4   ---  in case you want to know what some people live with.  You can also see how protection by the 'iron dome' is supposed to work.

To Life

To Life

I find life hard sometimes
it often does not make sense
people are not always kind
nor am I, I must admit.

Things are not as perfect
as I would like them to be
and the flavors of ice cream
are not always what I'd choose

Things happen I do not like
there are no easy answers
and among the flowers that grow
there are also weeds.

I just keep moving on
pull out weeds when I can
enjoy flavors as they come
and try hard to be kind

I find life hard sometimes
it often does not make sense
yet I raise my glass and toast
L'Chaim, To Life.


This poem was written for this week's Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Each spring I listen for you

Each spring I listen for you

Spring was always your season and you waited patiently
for this time of rebirth so I know you are somewhere 
in my garden perhaps hiding behind the arbor vitae
overseeing and tending to the coming to life as you always did 
and sometimes when I stoop to tend plants in the greening earth
out of the corner of my eye I catch of glimpse of your smile 
between budding branches and hear your whisper in the warm breeze.


I wrote the above poem about my mother in 2007 before I thought of blogging at all.  And, in fact, it was this poem that inspired my blog title - In the Corner of My Eye.  I began blogging in 2008. It seems like only yesterday..........

I am sharing it once again today for the Poetry Pantry.

Stories

Stories

You share stories of your children
your grandchildren, your siblings,
your husband and his siblings.

last week's birthdays,
upcoming birthdays and
who shares birthdays with whom

happenings of early married life
for anything under the sun there is a story
often more than one

and I wonder if I am the only one
who wishes someone else might
have something to share

or if perhaps we could just have
a moment of simple and reflective
silence.

This poem is for Sunday's Poetry Pantry!  We all know
someone like this, don't we?

Autumn Ride

Autumn Ride

When he rode his bicycle down the street on a crisp October day his route took him high into the treetops from where he had a marvelous view.  He found himself looking down at the same street where he was riding his bicycle through the orange-yellow fallen leaves.  Viewing reflections the likes of which he’d never seen before.

What a delightful day for the boy, surrounded by the magnificence of nature above, then looking down at its beauty below.  And as he pedaled his bicycle faster and faster, his mind worked faster and faster as well, and  he contemplated all that autumn meant: The changing of seasons.  The cycle of life.  Varied colors of nature’s bounty.  The rich beauty of the entire glorious world.  Oh, if he could ride like this forever, breathe in the fresh crispness of all. Breathless, yet breathing deeply.  Time seemed to stand still for him.  Yet moved at an accelerated pace.  Faster, ever faster. Then slow.

But then, in the blink of an eye, it changed.  The boy woke up in a hospital bed, unable to move his casted, shattered leg. Pain stabbed each time he breathed.  In and out.  Sharp out, sharp in. He writhed. Strapped down. Unable to move. Broken ribs, collar bone, wrist. Drip, drip, drip went the pain killer.  His eyes could not stay open.    

The boy had been riding his bike, before being hit by an out-of-nowhere car.  Then siren and flashing red light.  Stretcher.  Carried into an ambulance.  He had felt every bump the ambulance went over before being  rushed into emergency. Then a blur, an IV, until……nothing.  Blissful pain-free nothing.  Sleep.  Drugged sleep. Until……

 …  Now here he was lying in bed, awake,  looking down at that street where he was riding his bicycle through the orange and yellow fallen leaves.  Alive, he smiled!

--------

This story was written for "Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero."  It has 313 words, including the title.  It was to include 'magical realism,' which I think it does.   It was inspired by a painting by Canadian artist Rob Gonsalves.  I will leave the painting up only a couple days, wanted to show my inspiration.

Robin

Robin

Early spring robin dreams of rain and ground teeming with worms;

robin does not analyze but enjoys the ordinary.

We can learn from the robin to savor life as it happens.

This poem is a Sijo, a Korean form.  It is shared with Poets United Poetry Pantry.

I saw my first robins this week.  Actually several of them were visible from my house.  It amazed me really, as the snow has just pretty much all melted here.  The robins didn't waste any time.  There really is something about robins that makes me feel happy.  They are a sign of spring -- rebirth, new life.  I welcome all the greening that will take place in the weeks ahead.  I wrote this poem some years ago, but I still feel the same.  We have to savor life as it happens, enjoy the ordinary in each day.   Spring and robins bring feelings of optimism, hopefulness, appreciation.

Spring

New Life Appearing in Germany This Spring

Spring

I know it is spring somewhere
a German friend shared flower photos
so I know it must be true -
but here there are still piles of snow.

No green yet to be seen
no buds yet on trees
no signs of new life
this has been a long winter.

So I will wait for our spring
faith there is life beneath the snow
I am excited now, optimistic
I love the longer days right now.

Each spring of my life is special
I really never know each autumn
when I know I must endure winter
If I will survive to see another spring.

And that is the crux of it for me
if I am being honest as I am now
as we approach the warming time:
I am confident I will see spring again.

So I will be patient for now
never mind the ice and snow
I have time to wait knowing
I will see greening once again.

I am  sharing this with Poets United Poetry Pantry.   I truly am waiting for spring.  I think the older one gets the more one appreciates spring, a season we cannot take for granted.  I never take it for granted.  When I go from autumn into winter, I always wonder.....will I see another spring?  Anyone else?

Kindness

Kindness

How often do I overlook

an opportunity to be kind

too busy to notice the other

too much in a hurry to care

I walk in my bubble, no time

to smile, I ignore rather than

return the glance of a stranger.

My heart is not hard

but often it is unobservant

until unexpected kindness touches me

and I am made aware once again

this is how kindness feels - yes, oh yes,

I must remember to pass it on 

to others along my path today.

Written for Poets United Midweek Motif - "kindness"