Tag Archives: peace

Goodness and Mercy

Goodness and Mercy

follow me every day,.

Their footfalls softly fall

As I make my way.

As darkness drops ahead

they lift their torches

to light my way,

comforting through nights

that threaten

To never go away.

I hear their voices

in children at play.

I feel their touch in hugs

from friends keeping loneliness at bay.

I share their laughs and smiles

with strangers on my way.

I am carried in their arms

by those who lift my fears away.

I accrue my many debts

but it is they who pay.

They carry me toward my fate

when I would wearily delay.

And, when it seems useless,

they remind me to pray:

“Thank you, Goodness and Mercy

for following me all my days.“

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THE WAY TO PEACE

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

Even if I could

give you peace

I am not certain I would.

Struggle breaks apart

and shreds the comfortable ways

we hold in our hearts.

Discomfort makes us let go

of ideas held taut by thick skins.

It make us eager to run to and fro

to shake off the pain and instead

become free to fly beyond

the old ideas lodged in our heads.

I would not have you wait for permission

to embrace the battle inside.

I would have you take over the mission

to set fear and pride aside.

True peace only arrives

when our hearts are torn asunder,

and we discover

what makes us truly alive.

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GAZA

Photo by SHAMIM HOSSAIN on Pexels.com

Shooting fish in a barrel

is not a noble act

No courage required.

No reasoned plan needed.

No applause sincerely given

to endorse fisherman’s creed

to take only what you need.

Fish have no ideology

written on their fins.

The fisherman cannot identify

which fish carries the tale

of Hamas attacks and hate.

Yet, all fish must share their fate?

Revenge, I understand,

in heated moments lost in pain.

But cold calculation

with no disassociation

between guilt and innocence

simply makes no sense.

But, when did war ever

protect the innocent ?

When did war ever set free

those who had no part

in hateful perfidy ?

Shooting fish is never pretty.

But, this ? This ?

Shooting fish in a barrel

with no chance of escape

can never be explained.

Find a way to peace

or take the gun away.

Photo by Luiz Fernando on Pexels.com

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SUNRISE

Photo by Louise Annarino

The sky alights as do I.

Sun fills the fibers from head to toe.

Sun awakens so I must go.

I must go follow the sun it seems

or languish within startling dreams.

I prefer reality to map my way out of night.

I prefer a mind and heart filled with light.

Shadows always fall behind me.

Darkness  no longer blinds me

though I am on unfamiliar paths

and the light will not last.

For a few hours, at least, 

I progress past the breach

where it would be easy to fall

onto hopes covered by a pall.

Light guides my way 

for another day.

It no longer matters if I know

exactly where I am meant to go.

I simply take delight

that it is not yet night.

This, then, is the destination

for each soul and every nation.

Be in the here. Be in the now.

Let this be our solemn vow.

As difficult as it is to follow the sun,

humanity’s journey has just begun.

There will always be another night.

Sunrise always returns to give us light.

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REMEMBER THAT THOU ART DUST

Photo by Ahmed akacha on Pexels.com

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.

Photo by Berke Araklu0131 on Pexels.com

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I’LL GIVE YOU THAT

Angelo Annarino, Sr. at age 18. Born 1920. Died 2002. (personal photos of Louise Annarino)

“I’ll give you that”

used to be a phrase

said in a way

to bring an argument 

to a close, 

not a win nor a loss.

Fractured relationships

considered too high a cost

to force a position 

one knows is lost.

My father was a master

of such admissions,

a diva of concessions

with hand flung in the air,

walking away in smiling disgust

by doing what he must

to repair every breach 

brought on by derision

saying without remorse,

“I’ll give you that.”

Building love and trust

his most precious position.

All else was mere dust,

too weak to stand upon.

“I’ll give you that”

is a way of bringing

an argument to a close,

a negotiation to a completion,

an invasion to a retreat,

a war to a peace.

Dad only gave away

what did not belong to him.

He was stubborn that way.

But what he could not claim

he simply gave away.

“I’ll give you that,”

we all should be willing to say.

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NIGHT SWEATS

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

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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WOMAN STRONG

Photo by Jill Wellington on Pexels.com

Women fret and stew because they feel

with blood and sinew, hands and heels.

Each breath they take is a timeless hold

on the history of family and friends so bold

it carries all aloft to a future filled with bliss.

The nesting instinct is nothing less

than continuation of species and best

embraced and supported as what it is;

our best hope for survival in peace,

in world fractured by power and greed.

Women seize their freedom in both hands.

Women march and take stands against tyranny.

Women need never ask for self-rule of their bodies.

They already hold their own agency.

Only blind men fail to see

powerful women could set them free.

WE ARE THE WORLD

Photo by fauxels on Pexels.com

While children here sing

“Rain, rain go away.

“Come again another day.”

China seeds the clouds above

and firefighters ask for aid

to battle flames that spread so wide

there is no place for lungs to hide.

Fragile systems bend and break

as I lie in my bed alert, awake

to all the trauma in the world;

clutching hands which hold out hope

to help heal damage beyond their scope.

All that seems real are nerves afray

and hands held in prayer for better days.

For days when birds again find their way

among the butterflies and bees.

When war engines fall into disrepair

and children frolic and play free

of worries that hide 

in thoughts of suicide.

We are the world. The world is us.

the world hangs in the balance

of hands held in trust.

Reach out your hands enjoined to others.

Earth’s survival truly depends on us.

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THE GLEN

The geese know the way

beyond the pond’s gaze

onto paths which cannot contain them

to stay within its bounds.

In formation they travel

stopping traffic in their wake;

Mom in front, goslings next,

and dad takes up the rear.

We all wait.

Then, wait longer.

No horns blare.

We have learned to live in peace

at the speed of geese,

patient with one another

in this small space,

in this neighborhood of grace.    

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