We own it,
we shrugged, we deferred,
we obfuscated, as we blamed
others who wore funny red hats,
we said little, we admitted our
weakness, and helplessness
of the alternatives to tyranny,
as we allowed the dirty secret of
otherism to live amongst us,
while many claimed they are the
worst of the worst, and deserve
their fate.

We own it,
for we outsourced tyranny
to those who are happy to carry
the orders quietly, secretly
to avoid due process, after all,
it’s not about us, as we are safe
until such time as we are not,
until such time we are expected to
wear the right hat, and learn
the right way, think the right
way, as we are fed their evil truths,
and it becomes our fate.

We own it,
we will know this oppression,
and the decline of the eagle,
and know the shame of colors
which run with pain and tears,
as we hear the cries of those
we’ve abandoned, as we are
pushed beyond freedom and
into the tenuous tendril holds
of power, a power which fades like fog
at sunrise when God’s light comes
for our fateful terrible judgement.

The truth dies first and quietly
and it dies massively,
long before liberty and morality
long before the rise of power
and before laws are averted
and before new laws are issued
by a dictator in a frenzy of fascist
action, offensive to those who have
challenged evil, and fought for liberal
representative democracy,
for free trade and commerce
for treating people with equality and
equanimity.  Justice doesn’t die, it
is just redefined to the injustice of the
powerful, of doctrine before reason,
of power over right.

Truth will only rise again when
all else fails!

We’re here, stuck in an irrational time
dredging history’s frightening rhyme.
Finding ourselves once again on a knife’s
edge, where freedom and our very lives
are risked in a gambit for absolute power
by those at home in a gilded mordor tower.

There is no one to come to the rescue.
There is no grand hero strong and true.
There are only the victims and the complicit.
And soon even these mere words will be illicit.
We need a people’s resistance of firm resolve
in defense of freedom, law and fairness.

For no government may govern without
the consent of the people for long.
And in this way, no dictator can rule,
without complicity of such rule.
And we are not, in our hearts, the cruel tools
of oppression their propaganda would advise.

We must decide!

Poem Invictus by William Ernest Henley
put into art of fire of red and black of the shadows by Peter Tunney as found at the Wynwood Art Museum, Miami

We are who we are. Tested by fire, by a history of challenges, and we will give in to no one, for we have earned our freedoms and will not give them up.   No matter what we have to do, no matter the obstacles we will have to  overcome.  We will face them without fear of retribution, revenge and unjust punishment… for we are masters of our fate, and captains of our souls.

Rum raisin ice-cream is the best… it originated in Sicily in the 1930’s … where raisins were soaked in a local wine and mixed then into gelato.  When it was brought to the United States the local wine was replaced with rum… what a great upgrade from the old to the new.

Rum Raisin

In the back, furthest from the door
is the special treat I came here for,
Beyond the chocolate and cookie dough
not the vanilla or strawberry of old
or the mint chocolate or rocky road
lies that special treat, yummy and cold.

Like heavenly angels would dream
sweet raisins and rum with cream,
overflowing with richness and icy cold
it tastes smooth and perfectly bold
from Sicily it came here to our shores
and found its way to our local stores.

At the small ice cream shop on main street
of every small town, you’ll find this cold treat.
Just give it a try, in a cup, or better, a waffle cone.
Others will want to try it and not leave you alone.
But, love is sharing its perfect smoothness and taste,
and returns you’re sure to make, with all do haste.

There is a crackling in the air
there something out there
that is reaching across all life
and it’s a cutting sharp knife.

It’s angry, it’s hard and telling.
It’s comes in ugly and yelling,
and it’s as unrelenting as gravity
pulling us down in its depravity.

Power is all that matters now.
Nations and peoples must bow
to devils of the East and West
at the time of their loyalty test.

Else, the four horsemen will rise
as they chase the phantom prize
of power, wealth and adulation
from all of you and every nation.

The end is just beginning
The world is now spinning
in a direction of great turmoil
in a battle for minerals and oil.

Evil must be stopped now
before fields feel the plow
before the seeds are in the ground
before the final trumpets do sound.

It is time to rise up, to resist,
to make arguments and persist
with values and courage unfettered
while reasoned people still matter.

Before the power of evil is too strong
and right is indistinguishable from wrong
in the apocalypse of the four horsemen
and the battles which precurses the end.

Rise up, while we still can
Rise up, and upend their plan
Rise up, with all the power of good
Rise up, let the future know we stood

bravely for them!

Around the age of four and a half it is natural for children to skip, despite it being relatively inefficient compared to walking and running.  There’s no evolutionary reason for it… except it is fun.

SKIPPING 

I’m skipping, just to see if I can
it comes as natural as breathing
as my mind travels back to childhood
as my happiness swells through the
exertion.  

A stick-in-the-mud, says you’ll 
wear out your shoes – is this what his
mother told him once long ago to
tamper his fun, or is it just being
old and grumpy? 

If you are happy, let it all out with
a smile and a skipping hop and slide,
and if not happy, you need it
even more, because you can’t skip
without happy! 

Remember hopscotch, or jump
rope, or wheelies on a bicycle, 
such meaningless, un-measured fun
now possibly beyond our reach, 
but for skipping. 

So when the world gets you down
when the press of life is upon you,
then take a moment for skipping 
and unwind and be a kid again, 
happy! 

Great Blue Heron

STILLNESS

Waiting for the world to turn,
slowing heart rate, muscles burn.
Stalking stillness, silent silky moves.
Waiting until the opportunity improves.

There will be one moment or another
when two worlds will come together 
for the strike of singular survival purpose
 changing lives on each side of the surface. 

Thus for a moment captured in time,
the grace of stillness finds a rhyme 
in the heart of a poet on a fine sunny day,
as a lesson in patience for what comes our way.