Pat Grieco
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Pat Grieco
@iampatg.bsky.social
200 followers 7 following 550 posts
Author, Poet, Philosopher, Songwriter

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Today’s Thought - #poetry #writingcommunity #author #philosophy

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The question By Pat Grieco The question will come, perhaps not today, perhaps not tomorrow, but it will come spurred by the smallest thing, a sound, a sight, a fragment of a memory ignited into a full-blown conflagration of remembrance, regret, and guilt. Why did I survive when they did not? I did nothing different. Others were equally worthy, had just as much to live for, had loved ones waiting for them, people praying for them, with the future depending upon their return. But they did not and everything that was theirs, dreams, hopes, destinies, is gone denied by fate, by chance, by cruelty, by hatred, and the endless vagaries of a world gone mad. Why was I saved when they were not? Why am I alive when they are dead? There are no answers. There cannot be. And that lack haunts, troubles, torments, despite no outward sign of the turmoil within. Was it as simple as being lucky when they were not? Does it all come down to an inch there, a hesitation in the moment, a chance taken, or not? Why? In the dark of night, in the light of day, the question will come. Some will make peace with it. Some never will.
November 15, 2025 at 8:23 PM
Today’s Thought - #poetry #writingcommunity #author #philosophy

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The one who believes they are infallible is mistaken. PG
November 14, 2025 at 10:09 PM
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The last rose By Pat Grieco The last rose of autumn is the most precious of all though it is no more beautiful than the year's first that gives us promise of the summer yet ahead. They both challenge us with bursts of color bright with hope and fragrance soft to touch the wayward breeze. They both cause our steps to pause, our gaze to linger, and our minds to ponder what lies ahead. One is no less vibrant than the other, no less a thing to be desired, no less lovely for its timing in the scheme of life. But this rose, this one is the last. And if winter should prevail, it will be the memory carried forth against the bitter chill. It was not expected. There was no thought of yet another bloom before the winter's snow. And yet, here it is bright with expectation for the fullness of its day beneath the waning sun. One more bloom before the snow. One surprise to make us linger and abandon thought of anything but this unexpected treasure as the leaves fall, the sky darkens, and winter beckons. The last rose of autumn is the most precious of all.
October 21, 2025 at 3:08 PM
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Never engage in a discussion with a vampire. They'll just suck the life out of the conversation. PG
October 20, 2025 at 7:27 PM
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What of Ozymandias? By Pat Grieco No matter where you lay your head or your long-held views on issues that seem simply huge, the sky is still deep blue. The wind still whispers to the birds who then sing out their songs though they may then take to the skies to soar there before long. The forest trees still gently sway to sweet nature's silent beat and sun still shines down on the Earth with all its light and heat. The oceans still rise up each day when meeting with the land and spend themselves in thunder on the rocks and on the sand. While underneath their surface the seas still hide their fish and whales who tell their stories. Oh what gossip they can dish. And lions prowl savannah. With pride there they do roam while up high in the mountains different creatures call it home. If there's any constant here, it surely isn't us who tremble at the ocean's roar and storm wind's mighty gusts. And so we try to tame them though it never can be so as long as huge waves tumble and storm fed winds do blow. Nature will not bow to us though we may see it bend to engineering marvels we shape to serve our ends. We may seek to shape the earth, changing what we find, ‘til it resembles what we see as perfect in our minds. But earth and seas and wind and sky reject our taming hand as we unwind nature's weave strand by vibrant strand to better serve our purpose, to better fit our views, but still we gaze into the sky into that deep, deep blue. Still we walk through forests and listen to the seas, watch birds winging through the sky, plant flowers for the bees. Even in our hubris, even in our pride, we need what nature gives us. In nature we abide. For even Ozymandias in all his glory found that nature in the end wins out and thus ambition bounds.
October 16, 2025 at 2:08 PM
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When you look back at the moments of your life, which ones will you treasure? Which ones will you embrace with fond affection? Which ones will fill you with regret? Reflect on this and then do more of the first, leaven with as much of the second as your heart can bear and in doing so, reduce the chances of the third. PG
October 15, 2025 at 4:29 PM
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The little things By Pat Grieco It is the little things that bring us to our selves, that touch us to our innermost places, that give us comfort in the storm and solace in the times of sorrow. It is those little things that bring us joy, that give us strength to bear what must be borne when we are most alone. They are our touchstone and our guide to peace when all else is chaos and they show us that the world is, despite all else, a known place where comfort and delight can be found in the little things.
October 14, 2025 at 4:03 PM
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Absolute freedom is anarchy. No freedom is tyranny. Democracy is the sweet spot in the middle. PG
October 12, 2025 at 3:45 PM
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Here and Now By Pat Grieco The sun warm upon our face; The breeze against our skin; The blue sky to soothe our soul; These, these are the essence of our lives despite the draw to other things, despite the dangers of the day, despite the pulling pressures of our needs and dreams. We may lose them in our rush to be upon our way, to be upon the business of living, of carving out our place in the world, but they are always there waiting to be found when we have need of them, when we need respite from the terrors of our trials, the crush of present cares, or the ending of the path. Head back, arms outstretched, breathing deeply as eyes delve depths beyond our ken and gentle touch of air restores our troubled self. It is in these moments that we are most ourselves, when brightest sun does end the solemn rain within our soul and cause our heart to surge with the joy of being here and now with future and the past forgot and now the only moment left in which to dwell.
October 11, 2025 at 8:18 PM
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The question of human existence has always been: Are we in a peace broken by periodic instances of war or in a war broken by periodic instances of peace? PG
October 9, 2025 at 1:24 PM
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Here’s a reimagining of Poe’s “The Raven” in honor of Edgar Allen Poe day.
Eleanor By Pat Grieco I was in my office, weary, awash in light both bright and cheery, when the single office window blew open wide once more. It was another midnight dreary and I approached the window leery for I had thought I'd latched it and would need to nevermore. For this was site of apparition and I, with hesitant contrition, did cautiously approach it whilst walking 'cross the floor to stop the window's ceaseless banging as its useless latch lay hanging and the wind through window harshly on me bore. But drawing near, I did then pause for there outside the window soared a solitary raven and. despite myself, I swore. The raven flew as wind did blow to land on windowsill just so and there did croak the name I dreaded, "Eleanor." "That's not her name!" I cried to it yet raven there did proudly sit until it hopped and fluttered to land upon the floor. "Begone! You foul unnatural beast and visitation now do cease!" Yet raven simply stood there and croaked that name once more. "Leave me. Leave me. Leave me be!" Yet still that raven would not flee. It was clear it had no urge to move from off the floor. And then I heard a gentle tapping, on the door insistent rapping, ‘til I, beside myself, could simply stand no more. And so, I rushed to open it to find a figure dimly lit by sconce, just there, upon the wall beyond the opened door. Then I swear that raven danced and gathered itself into a stance from which it leapt straight to my love from off the office floor. And as I watched with some alarm it landed into waiting arms while never stopping croaking of that name, "Eleanor." "That's not her name." again I said while my beloved, raven fed as through the open window the wind did howl and roar. "There you are, you naughty bird." She spoke in tones I found absurd though it was clear, at last to me, the raven, she adored. "Close the window" spake my dear, "or you"ll catch a chill I fear." and then with bird did turn to leave and pass back through the door. And then I heard, I swear I did, as I went to do as bid, once more that cursed croaking, by the raven, "Eleanor." "That's not her name." I muttered as I then turned round to go. My anger at the raven quite useless I did know as I followed where she traveled, there beyond the door, with raven nestled in the arms of my belovéd, sweet Lenore. I should have latched that window. I should have closed it tight. I should have closed the shutters to keep in all the light. I should have made the latch secure with fastenings by the score and then that vile raven could enter nevermore.
October 7, 2025 at 9:51 PM
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The end By Pat Grieco I had reached the end of myself. I did not know it at the time. I'd never been there before. Always before there was more, more to find, more to explore, more to share, more of me to go around and for me to hunker down in, to settle in against the world and all it carries with it. I didn't recognize it at the time, the end of myself. But when I looked, when I examined it more closely I found that there was nothing left, that all I had, had been given, that all I was, had been shared, and that if I ventured to do so one more time I would be lost, somewhere beyond myself, with no path back to me. And in that moment, in that instant when I realized that I had reached the end, I stared into the abyss to find it staring back at me.
October 2, 2025 at 1:41 PM
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If you give meat to a wolf, you must kill it, otherwise, you have merely taught it where to feed. PG
October 1, 2025 at 2:53 PM
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All or nothing By Pat Grieco There is a kind of immortality in having your words read and mused by those yet unborn. There is a joy in knowing that your words will live long after you are dust. There is hope that you will live in the hearts and minds of those who follow and make your words their own, and pass your thoughts across the generations to help shape the unseen world. There is peace in having written, in having put the words to rest so that others may have their day in thought, speech, and on paper where committed they will stay to be discovered as they lay awaiting one to give them meaning and renewed vitality. There is freedom in writing so, giving no thought to other cares. The words compel and I must follow. They prompt and I must write. They call and I must reach beyond myself to answer 'til an ending comes and all or nothing is revealed.
September 29, 2025 at 4:38 PM
@morningjoe-msnbc.bsky.social
When one thinks of 800+ GOs in a meeting at Quantico, one has to wonder how many will be civilians on the day after. Of course, there is also the fact that with the SECDEF, POTUS, & the GOs all in one place, that makes the meeting a critical U.S. center of gravity.
U.center
September 29, 2025 at 4:25 PM
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If you keep your eye on the ball, you'll miss the rest of the game. PG
September 27, 2025 at 1:46 PM
@morningjoe-msnbc.bsky.social
Today’s Thought -
September 26, 2025 at 4:11 PM
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Winged Victory By Pat Grieco Victory has no face of her own. The ones she bears are fleeting shifting and changing with each moment in time. She champions no one, extends no aid, provides no advantage, and confers no lasting benefit. She may wear one face today and yet another tomorrow. She may bless and curse and which is given only proven when the dust settles, wounds are bound, and true cost revealed. She has no smile. She does not share the joy that others feel when they think they know her, when they believe she has gathered them in her warm embrace even as she leaves them for another, even as she searches for another's face to wear for the nonce. There is no knowing her. You cannot capture her moods. She is inconstant and fickle and will not linger long with those who desire her. You may not possess her. You may only have her company for a short time. Rejoice that she is here. Sing her praises in the moment her wings enfold you. For she may favor another tomorrow.
September 26, 2025 at 4:07 PM
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One does not conquer the desert. One endures it. One survives it and counts oneself lucky to reach the other side PG
September 25, 2025 at 7:43 PM
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Footprints By Pat Grieco I saw footprints in the sand and stopped to take a pause unplanned to find if l could perhaps see the one who was here before me. But there was no one, no one there, leaving me to stand and stare. For I had thought myself alone upon this stretch of sand unknown. Yet prints were there in front of me where I had thought no one could be. Someone, it seems, had come this way to leave these prints behind this day. I found myself with deepest need to follow where these prints might lead. Would they remain distinct and clear or would they simply disappear? I cannot tell, but I must know who here along this sand did go. Did they seek solace by the waves, their mind to ease, their soul to save? What burden did they carry here to leave to wind and sea so near? Why did they come here? Why did I to stand beneath these troubled skies? Perhaps to leave the past behind and search for future yet to find. For somewhere out there, there might be a way for me to yet be free of all I carry where I stand before the footprints in the sand.
September 23, 2025 at 4:46 PM
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She's gotten a bad rap throughout history, through stories and tales, myths and legends, but in the end Cassandra was right... PG
September 22, 2025 at 1:47 PM
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Within the temple By Pat Grieco I stood within the temple and I prayed thanking God for each and every day within this world of wonders where man and nature plays. I had no need of buildings. Thad no need for folks to gather round and join me as I stood beneath the oaks. I gazed at sky above me and touched the earth beneath and thanked the power all around for the forest and the heath, for the blessing of this moment, for the joy I felt inside at all the creatures great and small as onward I did stride. And then the wind did whisper such words I never knew until I stopped and listened midst the flowers and the dew. And when the wind had told me, nay, instructed me anew, it left me with new knowledge of all that I should do. It came to me quite clearly, there within the bright new day, as I stood within the temple of creation and I prayed.
September 21, 2025 at 3:19 PM
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Don't believe that you are safe because it happened to someone else and not you today. Remember, whenever someone has their vote suppressed, their rights ignored, their liberty removed, or their life taken if it can be done to one it can be done to all. PG
September 20, 2025 at 4:26 PM
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Twittle de dum. Twittle de dee. I value your viewpoint, between you and me. For all speech is equal. All speech is free unless, of course, we disagree. Then you must be quiet. You must be still while I just say whatever I will. Yes, you must be quiet because, don't you see, everyone must agree with me. So, forget your opinions. They're not safe, though free, bad things just might happen you see. Twittle de dum. Twittle de dee. You must, simply must agree with me.
September 18, 2025 at 4:03 PM
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In servitude By Pat Grieco One can be true to oneself, or to a master, but not both. One can serve another but to do so one must subjugate their feelings, their desires. their needs, to ensure the welfare of what is served. Compromise is the name of the game. Compromise of principles, compromise of hopes, compromise of self to serve the greater good or ill represented by the master. All wish to be their own person, to chart their own fate, to be ruled by their own dictates and not another's. But in the end, most must choose to live well or un, to eat or starve, to protect their own against the night chill and the savage beast. And so they choose and prosper or not on the whims of fate, the kindness of their master, and the vagaries of the world without. For it is a rare master that will sacrifice their own good for that of those who serve, who toil in the shadows so that the master may flourish while they eke out a meager existence or prosper based on the master served, the task chosen, and idle chance. And so, in the end, when the mirror is faced, the question is asked, and the choice confronted, will one be true to mirrored self or choose a path less rocky, less fraught with immediate peril but no less certain in the dangers faced, tasks shouldered, and the loss of self. Choose and face a certain doom or do not and face one imposed by others perhaps at a more unfavorable time and place. Both perhaps beyond control, but each shaped by this one question, this one choice, this one decision, "Who do I serve?"
September 17, 2025 at 2:40 PM