Tag Archives: protest

WHAT WE’VE GOT

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Kent State taught us that white deaths matter more

than Black students shot at Jackson State the week before.

Will protests-to-come under attack by armed and masked militia

teach us that Brown and Black people under attack is indicia,

within the borders of a nation dedicated to the proposition

that all men are created equal to the oppression,

of rich men of ill will in hiding from congressional oversight

and protected by the US Supreme Court’s judicial might?

I see the writing on the wall, not graffiti, after all,

but executive orders illegal and ill-tended to destroy

the hoped-for dreams of every American girl and boy

not born into wealth, in no need of human labor

to offer enough cash to create a way to savor

all that life could offer a middle-class caste

now turned in serfdom, as in decades long past.

We are not in a culture war.

We are in a class war.

We are in war we thought civil war had ended.

Yet, we continue to watch the republic untended

by leaders who did not see the need to fight

and believed compromise with bullies was right.

Workers sold out over and over again.

Blocked in every effort to build strong unions.

Students sold out over and over again.

Blocked in every effort to get a sound education.

Children sold out over and over again.

Blocked in every effort to find safe protection.

None of us now treated with human affection.

None of us now safe in our streets or our beds.

None of able to take a breath without dread.

Whether you voted for this, or not.

This is what you wrought.

Now, this is what we’ve got.

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THE DAWN OF DISCONTENT

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Darkness has not yet lifted

from the night of a waning moon.

This is the time of discontent

when one feels most alone, but soon,

the sun shall rise.

Others choose to sleep through darkness.

I cannot. Like a lone wolf,

I choose to stay awake, woke to wonder

hidden in all I yet may discover

in people and places I have never known.

I plant seeds of yearning in my soul

that love may take root and grow

beyond my own cultural limits,

beyond the bounds of all I know.

I try to stay awake, though weary,

to watch the new day dawn.

As it surely will.

As it surely will.

As it surely will.

Turn three times and make a wish.

I wish to fearlessly face the heat of these days

with cool calm and laughter so strong

it awakens the entire world.

Will the new dawn reveal 

that which was destroyed

while an entire nation slept?

This question is what makes some people

sleep the whole day long.

Their eyes appear open, but they sleepwalk;

perhaps hoping they are dreaming

and the day is a mere nightmare

from which they will soon awake.

I cannot pretend. Not I.

Even in the dark my eyes open wide.

I must see what darkness has wrought.

I tend to the garden I have created,

to the life of growth I have sought,

as the sun rises over roots sorely stressed.

I cannot allow the plants, nor my self, to die

even though they can no longer thrive.

I am awake in the dark, but not alone.

So long as I see clearly, if not cheerily,

the life of other living things all around me

resisting the threat in the day ahead and hanging on.

Sensing our togetherness is what makes us strong.

I watch the discontented dawn.

The sun continues to rise.

As will you. As shall I.

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SHARED SHAME

Do you see the military

roaming city streets?

It is not my imagination

we are a threatened nation

about to lose our liberty.

The military which was once

our department of defense

against outside enemies

has turned its face within.

Now, it is the department of war

against those it would once defend.

We saw this coming.

We raised the alarm.

You answered with smarmy charm

that both sides do it.

What “it”? I ask. 

I do not make war against you.

I build no fence to enclose you

in concentration camps 

and jail cells with no chance of bond,

nor due process, nor rule of law.

You do all this and more.

You call me names to intimidate

and threaten my peace, my livelihood.

You take away my safety net, my health,

my happiness, my freedom to speak

and resist you. You call me your enemy

to justify your willingness

to let the constitution be tossed aside.

you no longer have integrity nor pride.

You can only feel shame if you have pride.

And you have no shame.

But, I…

I have enough pride for two;

enough to be ashamed of you.

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SILENCE

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The walk around the neighborhood is strangely silent.

Cicadas have ceased their songs of warning.

Birds flock south on gentle winds 

leaving the yard yearning for music.

Butterflies still sing with quiet wings 

few can hear.

Gnats and flies loosely lie low 

as caterpillars hold on tight

to leaves of flowers seeding through colder nights.

The angle of the sun has moved us

as we turn around a sun now calmed.

Its bright displays over too-hot days are over-done.

The silence grows as the cold days come on.

Longer shadows of neglect disclose

the weeds who hid in too-bright light.

We now face ever-longer nights.

Is this the calm before winter’s storms?

Are we watching the loss of every norm?

Or have we become so compliant

we fail to even notice the silence?

The neighborhood is strangely silent

as I keep vigil, and hold fast against violence.

Silence, silence. So much uneasy silence

one wants to scream and shout so loud

windows open wide in surprise 

to see what all the fuss is about.

Footsteps march around the block.

Even they are too silent to unlock

the energy sapped by summer’s too-hot heat.

We are just too tired to compete

with the silence, silence. So much silence.

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DEMORALIZED

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Newscasters used to tell it like it is.

Now, they are opinionated forecasters.

They still tell us who.

They tell us who said why.

They no longer tell us 

what, when or how.

That would expose the lie.

No wonder we are demoralized

within both its meanings, 

no surprise.

First losses began long ago:

No more manners as a guide.

No more conscience to lower pride.

No respect for others.

No authority recognized.

Second losses are less discreet:

No longer safe in thoughts nor words.

No longer safe on our own streets.

No more hopeful for the best

when every known fact is put to the test.

No more law and order.

Due process now out the door.

Demoralized beyond repair?

The people rise, at last, at last?

Not in anger and outrage.

Peacefully assembling on marching feet.

Nuns, priests, ministers, imams and rabbis

offer a morality well-intentioned if incomplete.

But this is how our story goes.

We are not perfect, heaven knows.

Our moral code is soft and flexible.

Our democratic republic makes it workable.

It offers a way to respect ourselves and one another;

to recognize all as sister or brother.

Immorality is what we see, and vote for?

Approve of, and laugh about too obviously?

See where  we have led ourselves and our country,

fueled by wantoness and greed.

Demoralized we may be.

Still a people willing to fight to remain free.”

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“NOLITE TE BASTARDES CARBORUNDORUM.” – Handmaid’s Tale

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NO!

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The strongest word in any language is “NO”.

It is every child’s first word for a reason.

To a toddler’s parent it is treason.

It carries more weight than cuddles or cudgels

used to reprimand, remand and reform.

Its power can overturn threats and intimidation.

Its shout can garner attention and create  doubt.

Its momentum can move mountains about.

Its clarity quickens response to its shame.

It calls attention to errors or cheats in any game.

It works where no other method succeeds

to enforce self-interest’s vitality and need.

Its surprise increases the ability to annoy.

“NO!” can be weakened if too late employed

Authoritarian rule is under attack

every time the word “NO!” is shouted back.

“No!” used in concert create symphonic dissent,

until the whole world rises to up-end

intimidation by armed and masked men

who invade our streets and use force to bend

our knees and our minds and our very lives.

When will such madness end ?

When more “NO” is heard than “yes”.

On such “NO!” does one’s freedom depend.

Every child knows this to be true.

Speak your “NO!” now before freedom is lost

to me, to all of us, even to you.

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MONARCHS

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The monarchs are back

after an arduous journey

from, of all places, Mexico.

Monarchs will leave, eventually.

We now have a monarch in D.C.

who also road in over Mexico.

Unlike the butterfly

which sips nectar and gathers pollen

to leave the garden better and intact,

the D.C. monarch calls flowers weeds

in his obstinate refusal to face facts

and cuts every bloom in the garden back.

He leaves the soil once rich and black

lie fallow so the garden cannot grow back.

This monarch guards his new wasteland

that those who come to take his place

can plant their own seeds

of power and greed.

The monarch will leave as all men must

beneath the weight of soil, and those who lust

for power will take his place in the dead of winter,

and amidst the death of democracy inter

our constitutional republic.

Gardens need much more than monarchs to thrive.

It takes great effort to keep freedom alive.

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THE DEEP SLEEP

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Words fail to awaken on the page

when words fail.

Words dreamlike fight rage

in nightmarish schemes

when words fail.

Before Liberty shut her eyes,

and with despairing cries,

fell into freedom’s now-unsafe harbor

words gave us wings to fly

and above all troubles soar.

Now, words shut down

as they are shot down

as all around us words are bound

with hateful cruelty

demanding fealty

to lying thieves

upending beliefs

in a common humanity.

It is sheer insanity

and words fail to do it justice.

Lower courts words fall before SCOTUS’s lust 

for false security, the only surety

that this is how nations fall into the dustbin of history.

Words are buried so deep

they too soon fall asleep

to escape the pain of obscurity.

That the people rise

is no surprise.

Whose words will act as guide

to peaceful resolution

and a safe conclusion

to those shoveling dirt into our eyes

and blinding us to truths that must not subside

into a deep sleep

to avoid seeing those who weep?

Who will speak now?

Is anyone still awake, still woke?

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MY MOTHERS TAKE TO THE STREETS

Angela Abbruzzi (Abbruzzese) Annarino, age 16, at her high school graduation from Curtis High School, Staten Island, NY, 1940.

“Her money is just as green as mine,”

my mother told the clerk who passed over

the African-American woman waiting

at the counter before we arrived.

“She was here before us, after all.”

The clerk then moved beyond us 

to a white woman who had just arrived.

My mother went to her side 

and told her politely,

“You must wait your turn,” 

to the woman’s surprise.

All commerce stopped 

at that counter

on that day.

And my mother taught me 

what I think of today.

Always speak up at injustice.

Always seek fairness for all.

Always let your voice be heard.

Always ask for others to join your cause.

Never leave anyone standing aside.

Never be afraid to act with pride.

Today, hundreds of thousand of women

such as my mother are on our streets

in thousands of protests 

for justice

for fairness

for democracy

for our pride

as Americans

whose strength resides

not in military strength

but in the Bill of Rights

threatened openly by a fool

who like all fools

thinks he is king

This fool says

Anyone who protests

his $45 million birthday parade

will face “very heavy force.”

He never met my mother !

He will today.

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