Another Poem For The Citizen Heroes Of Minnesota

 

Poems In Honor Of A Murdered American Citizen

 

A Poem

Found on the website of Robert Reich.

Last night it rained Biblical torrents,
and the trees dropped all their leaves at once.

Today, red and orange leaves, like little hands,
lie all over the sidewalks in mounds. Their cellulose skin

so much like ours but without meat or bones.
Meanwhile the neighbors are out in force,

raking and binning the storm’s detritus.
It’s what we humans do, after a tempest;

we clean up what’s left, while dogs prance
through swept piles, and the general

mayhem we call living spangles the air.
This almost-past year was a long skid, no brakes,

on the kind of ICE that hardens around the heart
of a nation. There are neighbors who aren’t here

but should be, and so much has been destroyed
that can never be put right again, at least not

in this brief lifetime. Where’s the bottom and how
will we know when we’ve reached it

is the question not even the black-clad astrologer
can answer, but I do know my friends are down

at Home Despot as I speak, clanging pots and pans
and fighting the kidnappers who come for the men

who only want work, and others
blocked the intersections around ICE offices

in San Francisco just last week and got arrested.
I’m braced--we all are--for whatever comes next,

for the wheels to come completely off the bus.
Meanwhile we’re between storms and the air is soft,

the neighbors have an improbable inflated Santa still
presiding over their yard, plastic reindeer flapping in the wind,

and fake snow, with a big ¡Feliz Navidad!
¡Próspero Año Nuevo! in green and red glitter on their window. 

I Love This Poem

This beautiful poem is from robertreich.substack.com and rattle.com :

PRAISE THE BROKEN PROMISE OF AMERICA

Alison Luterman

Praise deep mineral veins under rich dirt,

and fossilized remains of dinosaurs turning themselves into gas

for our benefit. Praise the exhausted earth,

miles and miles of subsidized corn

and cattle lowing from their hell-holes

in automated milking barns.

Praise farmworkers rising before dawn,

their sore backs and aching knees. Praise the myths

that drew them here, stories eagerly consumed

when there is nothing to eat but faith.

Praise the courage of the reverend to look

the dragon in the eye and preach mercy;

praise whatever hidden waterways are still pristine.

Praise music that refused to play at the funeral of democracy.

and the killing cold that swept through Washington

when the fake Pope took power.

Praise drag queens and lipstick lesbians, boys who are girls

and girls who are lions, butch women wearing tool belts,

and all the music theater nerds

who are even now building new passageways

mapping the next underground railroad

and suiting up to be conductors—oh, everybody,

get on board! This train will chug quietly

across the great plains and over rocky Sierras,

into the desert where people still leave bottles of water

and packets of food for the desperate

who have always been the lifeblood

of this nation. It will stop in obscure hamlets

to pick up fugitives with tears tattooed on their cheeks

and fraying backpacks overspilling with contraband books.

Praise the weirdos because if anyone can save us

it will be us. And praise all the glittering illusions

we gawked at, ignoring our own neighbors

in favor of a 24-hour peep show on the internet.

Praise the convict fire fighters on the front lines in L.A.,

battling the insurmountable for ten dollars a day. We gambled

our future for a hot air balloon with a hole in it. Praise

our reckless hubris, and the infinite distractions

of the hall of mirrors we find ourselves in now, and bless

our overwhelmed brains, scurrying like mice for shelter.

Bless our collective rage, and protect

the officers who stood up on January 6th and now see their attackers

roaming the streets like rabid dogs, ah, bless the animals

we have always been, in our coats and shoes

and clumsy language, bless our willful ignorance,

so enormous, so world-altering, that, like the great wall of China,

it can be seen from outer space,

where the gods are shaking their heads even now,                                                              in pity and in awe.

Fighting For Peace - A Poem

The following is a poem by my friend, Brian McLaughlin:

Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity ~ George Carlin

Fighting for peace

is folly for sure

all that it gets us

is another damn war

More soldiers do die

innocents as well

so many lives

having days spent in hell

Men use your heads

you're able to think

how is it your decisions

so often do stink

Greedy for power

hungry for land

taking what you want

from another mans hand

Then hiding that greed

and shifting the blame

you try to convince us

it's done in Gods name

Do we really look stupid

do you think that we're blind

can you not see that war

does not bring peace of mind

It only brings heartache

to all of mankind

as death and dismemberment

is what's left behind

Peace will not come

through your fighting and wars

not from your armies

not from your corps

It will come from the hearts

overflowing with love

and who knows, with a little help

from that man up above 

Amanda Gorman's Inauguration Poem - "The Hill We Climb"

One of the highlights of the presidential inauguration was the poem written and recited by Amanda Gorman (pictured).

Here is the transcript (from rev.com) of her recitation:

Mr. President, Dr. Biden, Madam Vice President, Mr. Emhoff, Americans and the world, when day comes we ask ourselves where can we find light in this never-ending shade? The loss we carry asea we must wade. We’ve braved the belly of the beast. We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace. In the norms and notions of what just is isn’t always justice. And yet, the dawn is ours before we knew it. Somehow we do it. Somehow we’ve weathered and witnessed a nation that isn’t broken, but simply unfinished. We, the successors of a country and a time where a skinny black girl descended from slaves and raised by a single mother can dream of becoming president only to find herself reciting for one.

And yes, we are far from polished, far from pristine, but that doesn’t mean we are striving to form a union that is perfect. We are striving to forge our union with purpose. To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters, and conditions of man. And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us, but what stands before us. We close the divide because we know to put our future first, we must first put our differences aside. We lay down our arms so we can reach out our arms to one another. We seek harm to none and harmony for all. Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true. That even as we grieved, we grew. That even as we hurt, we hoped. That even as we tired, we tried that will forever be tied together victorious. Not because we will never again know defeat, but because we will never again sow division.

Scripture tells us to envision that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree and no one shall make them afraid. If we’re to live up to her own time, then victory won’t lie in the blade, but in all the bridges we’ve made. That is the promise to glade, the hill we climb if only we dare. It’s because being American is more than a pride we inherit. It’s the past we step into and how we repair it. We’ve seen a forest that would shatter our nation rather than share it. Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy. This effort very nearly succeeded.

But while democracy can be periodically delayed, it can never be permanently defeated. In this truth, in this faith we trust for while we have our eyes on the future, history has its eyes on us. This is the era of just redemption. We feared it at its inception. We did not feel prepared to be the heirs of such a terrifying hour, but within it, we found the power to author a new chapter, to offer hope and laughter to ourselves so while once we asked, how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe? Now we assert, how could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was, but move to what shall be a country that is bruised, but whole, benevolent, but bold, fierce, and free. We will not be turned around or interrupted by intimidation because we know our inaction and inertia will be the inheritance of the next generation. Our blunders become their burdens. But one thing is certain, if we merge mercy with might and might with right, then love becomes our legacy and change our children’s birthright.

So let us leave behind a country better than one we were left with. Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one. We will rise from the [gold-limbed 00:04:49] hills of the West. We will rise from the wind-swept Northeast where our forefathers first realized revolution. We will rise from the Lake Rim cities of the Midwestern states. We will rise from the sun-baked South. We will rebuild, reconcile and recover in every known nook of our nation, in every corner called our country our people diverse and beautiful will emerge battered and beautiful. When day comes, we step out of the shade aflame and unafraid. The new dawn blooms as we free it. For there is always light. If only we’re brave enough to see it. If only we’re brave enough to be it.

We Keep Walking (A Poem)

As we honor our fallen soldiers today, I was reminded on this poem by my friend Brian McLaughlin at Beej's Poetry Corner. As we keep walking, I wish we could finally take a different path -- a path leading to peace.

A Sad Poetic View Of America

I found this poem on Facebook, and sadly, I think it is too true. We have become defined by our politicians, whose love of guns (and the money provided by the gun lobby) exceeds their love of people.

We used to be defined by our democracy, our generosity, and our support for human rights. That is no longer true.

Some Poetry For This Sunday

I bring you a poem from my friend Brian (at Beej's Poetry Corner). I like this one a lot.

WE HAVE BECOME ROME

what does it matter

whether they come for your money

or they come for your blood

the fact that they come

speaks of a dark heart

they are the takers

they've no wish to share with us

only leaving enough seed behind

to ensure another harvest

our money and blood

the sweat of our brow

they depend on it

they demand our loyalty to their cash cow

while seeing us as fodder for their cannons

they thirst ever for more

never satisfied with the hoard 

they've already amassed 

those who stand in their way 

they're expendable

the rich get richer by the day

our cost to live 

continually endangered

oh how the plutocrat loves to hold his third world ransom

that is what we are becoming

we are their stepping stones 

and once we are used to cross a river

bringing the takers to greener pastures

we are no longer needed

there will always be more stones

that they can throw into the waters

we are no more than bridge material to their next fortune 

once crossed to be thrown away

they'll not need our bridge a second time

they never look back and care not

for the rubble they leave behind

An Alternative Christmas Carol

(This image of Tim Minchin is from YouTube.)

This "alternative" christmas carol in by Australian comedian Tim Minchin. You can hear him sing it at Daily Kos. The lyrics are below.

WHITE WINE IN THE SUN

I really like Christmas
It's sentimental, I know, but I just really like it
I am hardly religious
I'd rather break bread with Dawkins than Desmond Tutu, to be honest

And yes, I have all of the usual objections
To consumerism, the commercialization of an ancient religion
To the westernization of a dead Palestinian
Press-ganged into selling Playstations and beer
But I still really like it

I'm looking forward to Christmas
Though I'm not expecting a visit from Jesus

I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun
I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun

I don't go in for ancient wisdom
I don't believe just 'cos ideas are tenacious it means they're worthy
I get freaked out by churches
Some of the hymns that they sing have nice chords but the lyrics are spooky dodgy

And yes I have all of the usual objections
To the miseducation of children who, in tax-exempt institutions,
Are taught to externalize blame
And to feel ashamed and to judge things as plain right and wrong
But I quite like the songs

I'm not expecting big presents
The old combination of socks, jocks and chocolates is just fine by me

Cos I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun
I'll be seeing my dad
My brother and sisters, my gran and my mum
They'll be drinking white wine in the sun

And you, my baby girl
My jet-lagged infant daughter
You'll be handed round the room
Like a puppy at a primary school
And you won't understand
But you will learn someday
That wherever you are and whatever you face
These are the people who'll make you feel safe in this world
My sweet blue-eyed girl

And if my baby girl
When you're twenty-one or thirty-one
And Christmas comes around
And you find yourself nine thousand miles from home
You'll know what ever comes

Your brothers and sisters and me and your Mum
Will be waiting for you in the sun
Whenever you come
Your brothers and sisters, your aunts and your uncles
Your grandparents, cousins and me and your mum
We'll be waiting for you in the sun
Drinking white wine in the sun
Darling, when Christmas comes
We'll be waiting for you in the sun
Drinking white wine in the sun
Waiting for you in the sun
Waiting for you...
Waiting...

I really like Christmas
It's sentimental, I know...

Boxed (A Poem)

(This image is by Frits Ahlefeldt at hikingartist.com.)

The following is another poem by my friend Brian McLaughlin.

Within the Box

Man, placed in a box of rules.

Tolerated as long as he behaves

and doesn't wander outside.

His growth limited by its walls

with no room to add anything that might be new.

Is the world afraid

to have a new dessert,

one that may tickle the tastes

of those who see themselves as inmates?

Bound within this box,

their faith and beliefs are squashed.

The box dwellers are deprived

of their choice and preference of their own

likes, dislikes and that which makes them who they are.

Their individualism stolen.

Their personal freedom denied.

Their voices silenced by a sound proofing

created by the approval or disapproval of the elder.

There is no freedom within the box

when forced to live by another mans creed.

Polite (A Poem)

(This cartoon image is by Jim Morin in The Miami Herald.)

The following is a poem by my friend Brian McLaughlin.

a polite society

violence on the rise

the more we are armed

more meet their demise

they want open carry

claim it's a right

what it really does

is bring the public more fright

how can we tell

if they're a good guy or bad

more death on the streets

more families grow sad

but we're told

it ain't the guns

it's just fools

havin' fun

then they fight regulation

that the constitution has called for

making the streets that more dangerous

and blood runs up the score

but it's really not about guns

it is stupid people

and there's no cure for stupid

when the NRA is their steeple

Freedom ?

Cartoon image is by Pat Bagley in the Salt Lake Tribune.

Poem is by Brian McLaughlin:

Sitting amongst his friends
alone in his bunker
beans and rice
cases of water
a geneator and cans of gas
shotguns, hand guns
assault weapons
all with ammo to fit
prepared for the worst
not realizing
he is living
in a self made prison 
one brought on by unwarrented fear
he's exercized his second amendment rights
but his freedom has disappeared

A Poem In Support Of Hillary Clinton For President

(Photo of Hillary Clinton and Geneva Reed-Veal is from hillaryclinton.com.)

The following is a poem written by Geneva Reed-Veal, the mother of Sandra Bland (who died in a Texas jail after being arrested for a minor traffic offense -- failure to signal a lane change). She used the poem to introduce Hillary Clinton at a campaign event in Chicago. She writes:

Now is the time, this is the place,
Now we are ready. Hillary is the face. 
Why am I endorsing this woman to my right? 
Because she has for years continuously put up the fight. 

She seeks to make equal pay for equal work a priority. 
I don’t know about you, but that sure works for me! 
Here’s a woman who has shown time and time again, 
She has the skill, experience and staying power more than 20 years in. 

Yes, there was Benghazi and the infamous email situation. 
While both were stressful, she maintained her poise and dedication. 
Dedicated to seeing mothers who singlehandedly raise babies 
Finally get compensated equal pay in this world that has gone crazy. 

Selfless in sitting down with a room of mourning mothers, 
Who have violently lost their children—both sons and daughters. 
Now this I know to be absolutely true; 
I am one of those who met with her and was able to make it through. 

She has a plan on gun laws that’s like none other. 
Unapologetically she speaks out about the NRA and issues of color. 
Her plan for immigration is to keep families together. 
She’ll end family detention and close private immigration shelters. 

She supports the bipartisan U.S.A. Freedom Act. 
President Obama signed it into law, and she has his back! 
She has fought for quality affordable health care her entire career. 
So she’ll defend the Affordable Care Act and build on the successes of it here. 

She’ll cut taxes for the middle class, raise the minimum wage, and ensure the wealthiest pay their fair share. 
She’ll invest in infrastructure and education. This woman really cares. 
I’ve watched and followed her career, and saw her take hits. 
Yet she still manages to stand here decades later as if it didn’t bother her one bit! 

As Sandra Bland’s mother, I know a little about frustration. 
You have to stand and push through it, even when you want a vacation. 
Like me, she misses the counsel of her late father, who told her always “carry a shovel,” 
So at any given time she could dig herself out of trouble. 

Like me, she lost her dad in 1993. 
His wisdom played a big part in the strength she shows you and me. 
I’ve shared with you just some of Hillary’s views, 
Now it’s up to you to do your research—and vote when you’re through. 

People, we are expecting a new president in nine months. Hillary is that new baby. 
From now until November let’s fiercely support this lady! 

I present to you, Secretary Hillary Rodham Clinton.

America The Beautiful ?

(This image is from sodahead.com.)

As we prepare to enter a new year, my friend Brian provides us with a thought-provoking bit of poetry from his website -- Beej's Poetry Corner.

The Song No Longer Rings True

The sky still blue and spacious

our fields grow golden grains

snow capped mountains 

are still viewed in placid reflecting pools

fruits and nuts are upon our trees

but as for brotherhood between the seas

the good has become harder to find

our light has dimmed

They came seeking relief from religious oppression

only to convert and pervert what they found

their freedom meant 

the abolishment of the ways of

the new world they had come to

with violence and death 

taking more land

there was no self control

no liberty

no real law other than 

might made right

for the new people did not honor their god

and were deserving of death

These were not heroes

they did not liberate the peoples of this new land

they showed no mercy

there was nothing noble or divine in their treatment

not of the peoples 

nor of the lands that they found

They had a dream 

of great alabaster cities

built them

but today

these are filled with empty dilapidated buildings

the homeless

and the violence that built them 

tears run down the cheeks 

of mothers and fathers losing their sons and daughters

tears are shed by the victims

of the religious extremism that was seeded in those early times

How can we continue to sing America The Beautiful?