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Ronald Tirino Poem
message in a bottle
Message in a bottle
This poem is
this poem is
for the Silenced
voices that no one hears
drowned out by constructed distractions
of empty noises
This poem is
this poem is
a Witness
every child taken by night
imprisoned in fear
where innocence is stripped bare
of their humanity and dignity
taken in the name of good
the most vulnerable
ones with no one to speak for them
they that profit from them
use them up then
leave them to the streets
to fend for themselves
This poem
this poem is
a Hopeful Prayer
so all can be free from
want and free from fear
no hidden chains no hidden locks
no hidden walls
and blocked out gates
filled with grief and hate
free from harm and of blight
and closing doors
free to be that which they can be
within the light of day
a place of hope and empathy
with all the things one needs to grow
This poem
this poem is
an Anthem
to the dignity of man
an d that which brings out the best
the part of me that becomes the we
gives at it is free
the growing spirit
of life through living
when given the space that’s needed
free to think free to be
free to share
participate and work
This poem
this poem is
a Testament
of innocence condemned to solitary
forgotten tortured souls
behind the iron cage
dehumanized stripped of their
humanity
pipe lined shuffled out of sight
institutionalized brutality of the night
stifled within the shadows of their youth
testament to the recognition of what is there
This poem
this poem is
an Acknowledgement
to things hid from us to see
in the shadows of the day of night
in the name of this or that
behind the trenches of fearless souls
between bleeding wires and dripping
water in covered hooded robes
all the things were not told
within the silence put on hold
This poem
this poem
is for those with Courage
who found the strength
to speak and stand in the face of terror
who had their moral compass straight
to what was right and wrong
and willingness to set things straight
and go against the power
This poem
this poem
is a Shinning Light
to shine a light
on truth that’s in the making
for that which is and yet not seen
but is there just the same
to shine this light so we can see
and might be able to change
that which needs to change
dedicated to all those who fight against oppressio
Copyright © Ronald Tirino | Year Posted 2016
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Ronald Tirino Poem
The modern gleaners
Postmodern standardized cities
ubiquitous high rises of steel and glass
concrete jungles of commerce
of buying and selling
trading moving vibration
amidst the turmoil of the bustling day
are the invisible ones
The modern gleaners that make their way
in the shadows beyond displays
quiet slow moving stealth like
modern gypsies in tattered rags
pushing shopping carts through busy streets
overflowing mosaic of plastic bottles
Old men old women mothers with their young
bent over curbs of stacks of trash
these are our modern gleaners
from the rustic farms of yore
into our urban streets
The armies of the unemployed
the disabled and the weak
they that toil all the week
ten cents a bottle ten bucks
a day to get some food to eat
if it’s right or wrong I cannot say
lets forget about it for today
And look the other way
But in the misery of their despair
I see a beauty in their eyes
as they reach for their bottles and cans
the beauty I see is their inner strength
not in the condition there
It’s in their perseverance and their will to live
it’s where the midday sun streams
and bathes the withered skin and faces
in the golden sun
it’s in their cloths of quilted robes
that hide their worn down skin
it’s in the carts of plastic orbs of mystic shapes
it’s in the muscles of their backs
bent summer winter fall and spring
They work the streets juxtaposed
next to gourmet and high end shops
Where I imagine them looking in
do they dream of such fancy things
But it fades away and focuses
out in the night of day
to their thin worn out hands
I think of those that don’t or can not see
them when there walking by
Cause to see them will shake the conditioned reality
which would become undone
to bathe and eat in splender
Next to such plight and hunger
Copyright © Ronald Tirino | Year Posted 2015
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Ronald Tirino Poem
A few of my favorite things
A few of my favorite things
Looking at paintings of Cezanne Rembrandt Van Gogh and Rodin
thinking of their lives and of their times
of where and when they painted
of why and of who they where with
These are a few of my favorite things
Listening to music of Coplan’s Appalachian spring
Beethoven’s ninth symphony jazz of miles monk colt rain
songs of Dylan chimes of freedom and blowing in the wind
These are a few of my favorite things
Thinking of the past
when Robert Kennedy touched a small black Childs face with a tender
hand and asked if he had eaten that day
and of his speech when he told the crowd king had died and quoted the Greek poet
Aeschylus
even in our sleep pain which cannot forget
falls drop by drop upon the heart
until in our own despair
against our will comes wisdom
through the grace of god
When Joan Baez in Sarajevo during the surge in bullet proof vest
changed places with a street musician Vedran Smailovic who plays a cello in
the public square she takes his place and sings amazing grace
When jimmy carter befriends a little boy Mattie J.T. Stepanek who wrote poetry of just peace and a message of hope in his short time of life
Of the first responders who went fearless into the falling towers to save lives
These are a few of my favorite things
When in the wilderness and mountains peaks or lakes and rivers
seeing wildlife in their habitats amongst the swarms of morphing swallows and sunbeams and rainbows the quite springs and moving tides
and gulls in their nests
These are a few of my favorite things
Sitting in a café with a friend or a quiet walk along the shore
talking about books and ideas of the day
of feelings experiences and such things
of creating something of beauty to share with others
These are a few of my favorite things
Copyright © Ronald Tirino | Year Posted 2015
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Ronald Tirino Poem
Flint
Within its brilliance gleaming
Cool black in lacquered polished silver chrome
Cranked up pistons bleached in summer’s heat
Hot steam rising as gears thundering
Beyond the crystal liquid city lights
Highways built across the land
In hearts felt pride American dreams made real
Within its prime
Men in factories perfect their craft
Spit shined bright colored
Red white and blue
Wing tipped Chevy’s roll off
In the thousands
Sleek stream lined stamped
Made in the USA
Glistening in its iron steel
Pushed to the edge of the sea
Across the world they roamed
Hot off the presses
Home grown trade
Costumed culture of its day
Motown rhythm’s rock and roll
Hot rods slow driven mags
skid marked dragsters screech down
tar tracks left beyond the deserts
of the unreal made real within its memories
On the waterfronts crooners propagate
music of the soul through the
dark lit shadows within
the wisdom of the streets
to the people left stranded
beyond the hopes of change
Withered hands that work no more
glazed over eyes stare down as
Plumes of smog roll by their
post industrialized worlds
lightness lost to those without a trace
escaped by those that fled its coming end
the void of history left in its wake
despair in visions of what’s to come
Chemical wastelands left aside
Its rivers still run but filled with sludge
From the faucets to those so young
Language fails to fill the silence
Within its rage
no words left to describe
so divorced from reason
we turn our backs to
those who are our own
Alienated distractions
Signs of our times
Unwilling to wake
from our dreaming sleep
afraid of a truth
and responsibility it congers
we escape in denial of
our own despair
Back to the river we go
Carcinogens within its midst
Red rusted exposed in bending steel
To the river’s edge where mouths
Are quenched again
Waters dry as summer’s day
Turn to dust upon their
wanted lips
Corrupted cities that dwell in lies
Flint Michigan
Where they give pristine water
To corporations for free
To sell for profit fees
And toxic water for the people
This is how their money is made
Barren waste the waters run
Syphilis sewer stench while
Cities thirst
Neglected voices how will they rise
their brains are all but dead
Opiated by the poppies
Made them sleep
Turn on your faucets now
Brown rusted lead filled
Dry throats thirst
And told its fine
Back room deals
Behind closed doors
Decisions made
A race to the bottom within the
Bottom line
Reap the profits from our blood
That’s squeezed from every stone
Back to the river we go
Waters diverted in the dark night of day
Without people knowing
What’s the price they pay
Vended contracted monopolies
Sell the bottles while people are poisoned
And are taxed just the same
Flint is an analogy of who we are today
A smoldering kindle where flames are born
To rise again some day
There is now no escape
Nowhere to run
We must face and decide
Just the same
From its surplus to its debts
From production to its destruction
The wars come home at last
Lost within the flux of time
Its own abstractions hollowed
within the sun that shines no more
the stainless steel gears glisten
Recoil now in bending grace
steel dusted rust in cogs of wheels
stop to a screeching halt
Dreams of past animate
a thousand automations coming
behind in the barrenness of its bleakness
grey lots grey beyond its greyness
blank faceless faces distilled from city lights
back to the river we go
putrid scents rise oozing from
Deserted fields
the Flint River comes pouring through
Its city walls to all that’s living there
Senate stalling’s congressional delays
Blind indifference to their constituents
Cloak themselves within
The vulgar stench of city halls
Within mathematic calmness
Of controlled calculations
Representatives of the people so they say
Parasite’s for their own special interests
Rape what’s left to fill their pockets
Within the framing games they play
Hidden crimes of inhumanity
Charismatic smiles within their
Smirking grins
Criminal thugs in pin stripe suits
Behind the legitimacy of state authority
Leaders of our dying land
Reap their benefits from greasy palms
When exposed their fingers pointing
To all but where the cause is faulted
Back to the river we must go
Tenement houses cramped till bursting
Faceless children widowed moms
Toxic water from their faucets
Rancid refuge from their cities
That tumble like dominoes
Of falling sticks
upon our deafening ears
Back to the river we must go
Within the garbage of destruction
Twisted terror within twisted words
Bureaucratic mobsters behind the bench
And those who run their state
Through corridors of labyrinths
Deceptive orchestrations of their own
Orwellian language
That comes alive again
Drumming drumbeats submerged beneath our eyes
Indifferent to their crimes
Stagnated lessons above their laws
Boardrooms filled with worms
Which bleed the wire bare
In uncertain certainty of our times
Perched beyond the common lines
Of bitter lands and their scents
Or from the consequences of their demise
Images fade the eagle becomes the vulture
Talloned claws reach across the skies
Ravaged dripping
in blood of earth and man
privatized justice that has its price
Quid pro quo is its prize
decomposition within its construction
when masks come off at last
witness of our times
reset the kindles of its flames
the light restored
within the anger forged
we find the roots that’s been scorched
to find the cancer of its rot
to cut it out and make it whole
to what is there to see
decaying order of the day
from the factories of our past
back to the river we shall go
abandoned dogs in the call of their wild
howl in distant pastures
waste still spills at the river’s edge
drain pipe sludge in purple hues
fish lie belly up on their sides
oiled sanded shores amidst
the blackened stones
winged migrations pass it by
and children fish no more
the sun still rises there
crimson skies that leave unnamed voices find their voice
amidst the nameless names
in silences hiding within their risings
darkened rooms are lit again
descent from memories within
when delusions abandoned shadows awaken
initiation within these spaces now written
unwritten objectives toward
life’s creations are born again once more
Copyright © Ronald Tirino | Year Posted 2016
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Ronald Tirino Poem
To a gilded age
Within the gilded age
spirit of men oppressed and dead
compelled to order that which is not
Tyrannical power and wars that never end
defeat corrupting souls grow out
of treasured lust entrenched in rust
in end will be all but dust
Survived ourselves in rites of man
in sun lit days to those once lived no more
we sing their wanted praise
What words can change our paths today
the wounded soul that bears
of leading nations that bleeds creation in
cry of desperation
In radiant joy intelligent mind of earth
the calm and hope to leave their torches bare
where fallen flowers never return to spawn
but leave their seed in passing on
Copyright © Ronald Tirino | Year Posted 2016
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Ronald Tirino Poem
sea otters of the pacific coast
Sea otters
Of the dark green seas
In the kelp forests of fisco bay
On cold pacific shores
Sea otters come alive
Frolic play with jested vigor
Spontaneous games throughout the day
Rhapsodies of symphonic joy
Diving swirling swimming
Deep amidst the swaying kelp of the Frisco bay
Lying on their backs
Bellies to the open skies
On the surface of green blue seas
Clams in little hands
Crunching with such delight
Through briny long haired whiskers
Such bliss is hard to know
But for a selected few
- See more at: http://allpoetry.com/poem/10820589-sea-otters-of-the-pacific-coast-by-Ronald-Tirino#sthash.x6aMLezH.dpuf
Copyright © Ronald Tirino | Year Posted 2014
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Ronald Tirino Poem
Zest for life
Zest of living one discovers
Inspired by life’s demonstrations
Beyond the desolated wastelands
within wintered caverns frozen
oppressed body of its mind
outside prisoned visions
where gleams of hope are found
thresholds on new foundations
spark of life’s creations
sunshine in the distance appearing
peace and understanding bestowed
comes from knowing we belong
to life and its living
Hearts at rest deep in healing
within the time of now extending
un ended ever ending moments
you are given within its coming goings
On all our travels that we travel
the sky sublime as it is great
wide earth beneath its treaded feet
which mark the paths we tread
Copyright © Ronald Tirino | Year Posted 2015
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Ronald Tirino Poem
in the waving of the corn
In waves of corn maturing
Within the fields of wheat
Anguished crosses
of which we bare
to truth needs telling
before life’s alters comming
Silence broken before its dawn
freed its travelers in
well of thirsty burning
released anew in their callings
Destinations that are to come
still half dreaming yet still awake
hearts restored within
life’s beginnings
Distilled and pure
candles glowing shadows cast
wavering light gently flickers
peace unfolding within its past
Copyright © Ronald Tirino | Year Posted 2015
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Ronald Tirino Poem
In the red desert of the rising sun
In the surrealness of its silence
The sky turned grey and ominous
Amidst the blackened rain
As the suns fell into the morning sky
Beneath the trembling ground
In the deluge of blackened mass
Monster rises from the tides
Tsunami of the raging mind
In the quiet before the storm
Rumbling in the distance
Darkness in its murky mass
Converting shape shifting
Shorelines into water world
Of debris
Dark surging water
Encompasses all in its path
Scenes of children playing
Turned to terror of the day
Warning bell in the distance
People clinging to each other
To higher ground they seek
From the fishing villages
with nets still in hand
Near waters edge
All that changed in
a flash of day
levied gates that could not hold
crumble into the dust
concrete skeletons of landmarks
vanish into smoke
reactors in the distance
smoldering with the
creaking steel
sinks into the burning sea
as clouds of smoke rise
in the wind
towers of babel fall
in shock waves of its rage
open tanks explode
into vapor rising
people casted in mud
wounder aimlessly
looking for the ones they love
silence of the morning after
dreams of Hiroshima
invisible fallout
of death where people live no more
citizens of the concrete deserts
echo ghosts of children
within the history of its place
warnings went unheeded
without the logic of heart and mind
of faustian bargains laid to rest
on their future lives
bureaucratic walls erected
to silence those who spoke
withholding information
from those that need it most
behind their smiling grins
in the metropolis of its gollum's
moloch's idols do their bids
their machines of worship
of non living things
is their golden calf today
readjusting through normalities
of their routines
the walking sleepers
make their way
metaphors morph
Into urban landscapes
From nightmares of the
Unconscious
serene skies
of glittering moons within its
shifting planes
dream like exodus
where boundaries of self
melt without its center
individuality fades
into the stillness of its quiet
memories of their generations
wiped away with the tide
ravaged by their fate
community struggles
with the will they bare
lines of people on the shore
holding candles to a stary sky
tossing flowers to the sea
where harps sing to liquid moon
seasons breath fades away in the night
to voices of the dead and ghosts laid to rest
buddhas hand in whitened robes
ceremonial rituals and rites begin
to pass away their dead
sandals and walking sticks
in the wake of bones remained
wandering spirits
transmissions
to another world to
the place we all return
to open skies blue as waves
through the meadows
of autumn lives
flowers lie down
to transparency of early winds
souls set free amidst the clouds
within the shadows of kurosawa's dreams
prophecies for the living
to return to ones beginnings
and live life as its meant to be
simplicity in harmony with natures way
look within to rebuild again
to live within thier means
to put trust back to the land
and live in balance once again
Copyright © Ronald Tirino | Year Posted 2016
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Ronald Tirino Poem
Prisoner of the Matrix loaded
Prisoner of the matrix loaded
Cattle within the herd
cages within the slaughter
Profiteers prey upon the wounded
Branded comodified beings consumed
In consumption
Led to the plunder of themselves
Within the plotted grids of bondaged earth
Still between the ranting cheers
On the verge of winters coming
Man made structures of our makings
Chemical worlds implode upon themselves
Shadowed light distorted
With the DNA rekindled
Of the place we are found today
Cameras follow in the distance
In the cold mechanical establishment
Within the ministry of fears
Passive apathy of its loathing
Within the banality of our times
We become our own police
And become the servants of its master
Do its masters bidding without its knowing
Loss of self within the crowd
Alone within its distractions
Censored from their thinking beings
To express what’s needed
Established laws to rule the herds
Silenced voices amidst the waving grass
Gate keepers limit access to
Those denied to speak
Like foot prints upon the open mind
Moving toward the light we seek
Elders of the red skies clouded
Still they dream of pastures plenty
Caretakers and protectors of the land
Spirit walkers of mother earth
Witness to age were under
Ubiquitous standardized markets
Manufactured all the same
Conveyer belted tasteless products
Mechanized world all but dead
In Orwellian times today
Categorized labeled and distracted
Controlled within the mind itself
Isolated alienation from the nature of ourselves
Institutions of their orders
That mold the way we are
Reinforce and established rules they use
With the power of its authority one day
Shall come to rest
Within the machinery between the shadows on the walls
With in the world we tread
Beyond the facades of constructed systems
Beyond the status quos
Which validates its own existence
Empires expanded till they fall
Jails so filled which become our homes
Lands so plundered
Till all but bare
In the guises of doing good
Endless wars where wealth is made
Where church and state are one
Randian worlds of the abyss
Compulsive obsessions within its greed
To plunder all that bleeds
Through the status quo’s of its normality
Obeying laws with hands held high
Where cold steel of bullets fly
Amidst the children in the streets
Walk with me oh my brother
Heads held high and knees not bent
For which the calls of freedoms coming
Within the everywhere of nowhere
With all things one and no divisions
Within the center of its core
in the seeds that become the trees
where reality is one
in the non-doing of its doings
transcends the emptiness within its fullness
cries from the abyss that no one hears
with all its lies distilled
fractured men in fractured lands
sleep of the machine
wakes to greet the urban sun
shinning cities from afar gloss over
what lies within
amidst the streets at shadows edge
homeless by the score
migrant slaves that do its bid
prisoners of the matrix loaded
six of one before its other
in the village of nowhere standing
stands a man upon its shores
outstretched arms within its reaching’s
tries to climb beyond its gates
and escape for freedoms sake
declares his mantra for its calling
a freeman not a number
he will make no deals
his life his own
not be pushed or be filed
stamped indexed or be numbered
numbered six he seeks the one
which he finds is he himself
the enemy deep within
conflict between the individual of
its collective
amidst the social constructs that we build
ourselves
conformity within normality
its own instructions of mass destructions
within the mass extinctions of our day
standing still we feel alone
amidst the urban deserts of decay
authority of intimidations
Institutions of dehumizations
within the inquisition of the mind
mass distraction rituals
of the daily grind
mass consumption of entertainment
fill our brains beyond the
rapture of its pain
beyond the myths of their creations
within the prisons
though pawns within their game
break the chains is destined
within the dignity of resistance
Socratic dreams of realization
critical minds extending
calls forth in its freedoms coming
within the matrix
waking from its sleeping dream
knowing what is true and real
to feel the pulse of living being
unplugged outside of its inside
between the knowing and its walking
where hearts and mind embrace
as one
Copyright © Ronald Tirino | Year Posted 2016
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