tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84302546737878663792024-03-24T00:10:18.828-07:00Writing About Freedom.comThe Poetry of Russ Allison Loar
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<br>Russ Allison Loarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10757215252727321125noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430254673787866379.post-33018502952861079752024-03-23T17:08:00.000-07:002024-03-23T17:08:41.463-07:00Only Money<br />
Money matters<br />
So little,<br />
You have discovered<br />
At last,<br />
Now that you are older<br />
And have enough to get by,<br />
Forgetting how many die<br />
From want of a few things<br />
Only money can buy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://russallisonloar.com/"><span style="font-family:Comic Sans MS; font-size:90%;color:#0066CC;">~ Russ Allison Loar</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family:Comic Sans MS; font-size:90%;color:#0066CC;">© All Rights Reserved</span>Russ Allison Loarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10757215252727321125noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430254673787866379.post-66334473124991177662024-03-16T12:06:00.000-07:002024-03-16T12:06:53.714-07:00This Politician<br />
The solemn occasion,<br />
The honored dead,<br />
The grief of a nation assembled in memoriam.<br />
<br />
The earnest words,<br />
The inspired speech delivered by this politician,<br />
A showcase of compassion<br />
Cleverly constructed by his speechwriters<br />
To magnify his public image.<br />
<br />
O the tortured expressions of sorrow.<br />
Yes, he feels our pain,<br />
Yes, he casts his humanity out upon our weary nation,<br />
A nation so desperately in need of a leader.<br />
<br />
This politician presents himself,<br />
Offers himself,<br />
This humble servant of the people,<br />
This shepherd,<br />
Eager to employ the suffering of a nation<br />
To his own ends.<br />
<br />
Those skeptics among us,<br />
Aware of his grandiose disingenuousness,<br />
Can not,<br />
Will not forget how many lies he has spoken,<br />
Winning so many earnest hearts and minds<br />
With such sanctimonious deceit.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://russallisonloar.com/"><span style="font-family:Comic Sans MS; font-size:90%;color:#0066CC;">~ Russ Allison Loar</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family:Comic Sans MS; font-size:90%;color:#0066CC;">© All Rights Reserved</span><br />
Russ Allison Loarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10757215252727321125noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430254673787866379.post-61944787798187283252024-03-09T12:49:00.000-08:002024-03-09T12:49:25.227-08:00The Mystery<br /><br />When the temporal world turns against you<br />It’s hard to sustain faith in the eternal,<div>To embrace the mystery.<br />Some say our bodies create our minds,<br />That our sense of a soul,<br />A spirit,<br />Is but an illusion created by our physical existence.<br />But do we not struggle in this life<br />Between physical desire and spiritual aspiration?<br />Why would our minds invent such torment?<br /><br />The cruelties of existence so often extinguish hope,<br />The fuel of imagination and inspiration<br />That calls us to dream,<br />And to bring our dreams out of the ether,<br />Into our everyday lives.<br /><br />Some sophisticates reason away spiritual inclinations,<br />Blessed with fortune and purpose as they are.<br />But this too shall pass.<br />Each of us,<div>At last,</div><div>Entering the heart of the mystery.<div><br /><br /><a href="http://russallisonloar.com/"><span style="color: #0066cc; font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: 14.4px;">~ Russ Allison Loar</span></a><br /><span style="color: #0066cc; font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: 14.4px;">© All Rights Reserved</span></div></div></div>Russ Allison Loarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10757215252727321125noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8430254673787866379.post-29456333103334566662024-03-02T14:25:00.000-08:002024-03-02T14:25:41.140-08:00On Moonlit Freeway<br />
On moonlit freeway<br />
I see the weariness in your eyes,<br />
A few stray strands of hair<br />
Around your face<br />
Illuminated against the black<br />
Inside your car.<br />
<br />
It is late.<br />
<br />
We who work overtime are driving home<br />
In silent, anonymous autonomy.<br />
Though I’ve seen you a thousand times before<br />
In full fluorescent sun,<br />
Numbed by office decor and decorum,<br />
Tonight in my rearview mirror<br />
I see the phosphorescence of your truer self,<br />
Your innocence.<br />
<br />
It is the innocence of the oppressed<br />
Who, after overtime is through,<br />
Have nothing disingenuous left.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://russallisonloar.com/"><span style="font-family:Comic Sans MS; font-size:90%;color:#0066CC;">~ Russ Allison Loar</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family:Comic Sans MS; font-size:90%;color:#0066CC;">© All Rights Reserved</span>Russ Allison Loarhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10757215252727321125noreply@blogger.com