Poetry
The gross and global injustice and always the lies, damn lies…
To write a poem is to indulge myself --
My pain my sorrow? -- it's just not right.
A man in Iraq becomes hysterical,
His three babies lie in tattered rags,
Their small bodies fit into one crude coffin.
A beatiful teenage girl lies battered, shocked and aching with pain.
One eye gouged with shrapnel, her entire family dead
In Palestine, a preganant woman is crushed when bulldozers
knock down the walls
Her husband hears her calling for help, but he can't pull her out
There's no phone, no ambulance
Her little daughter curls up next to her and cries
Then husband and daughter watch her die….
A sensitive and loving girl vows to help
To stop the bulldozing of houses.
Her friends are watching Britney videos while she flies
around the world
To stop the bulldozing of houses
She calls out to the driver. "I'm standing here as an observer
I beg you, for the love of God, to stop. No one here is hurting you,
in the wind above them
They rarely see it
they are shut in
many cannot walk
others are blind
They spend many hours in bed
alone, un-cared for
They are the mangled
the helpless
They play cards
watch television
but mostly they wait
Most wars are little more than
footnotes to history
obscure conflicts with obscure reasons
started by quiet men in quiet rooms
carefully and methodically
And when the bodies are beautiful
the patriots cheer
But when those bodies get mangled
the patriots are no where to be found
Because when the body gets mangled
it is ugly
and does not fit into the American
ideal
of
health
youth
and vigor
into some dark place
Where no war can touch me
No person can harm me
Somewhere so I can't
see the face
of those who blame
and judge
And stare at me with
their eyes
Daggers of truth cutting
Dabbing blood with only lies
Where timing isn't necessary
Statues of stone representing self
Emotions carelessly stacked
A place to mourn
A place to shelf
away my fears
A place where I am praised
to show tears
I can dive into
my own sadness
madness
and mourn
my innocence lost
and rediscover the meaning
of yet another
lost year
A place where babies are safe
to be born
Safe to bare
Where I could be a mother
and not have to care
or spend my time
Waiting
Anticipating
and hating
myself for being weak
For choosing the abortionist's chair
Strapped myself in
I gave away the part of me
that may just have had
a chance
Sacrificed my baby
so that in this youth
I could continue to dance
A place
far away from criticism
and I get one word, one rat, one care,
and an angry and ignorant old-world glare,
a smile here, bewilderment there —
And it seems there is nothingness everywhere.
*
What compels one to erase signs of peace everywhere?
What once blared out is no longer there.
A sigh for the next lost soul that’s to come,
and a sign that will be erased, but that might
reach some.
My voice, it will echo and the image linger on,
for this image isn’t mine, for my words will not end,
for Hell is war, and this war
can’t be won.
-- Melanie Gnosa, poetforhumanity@yahoo.com
commuter buses no where to go
when the squad cars
roll into the square
dozens on 28 just ain’t fair
shivering on the station floor
i’m gonna be late for my date
the rain is running down the door
louisville is farther from baltimore then you think
the storm outside is pouring again
baltimore’s finest outside
trying to force their way in
national alliance street thugs
racist lies spread thin
shivering on the station floor
i’m gonna be late for my date
the rain is running down the door
louisville is father from baltimore then you think
there’s a trampled flag in the gutter
red and black cuts and bruises
inconsequential evidence of state abuses
washed clean with moral absolution
silence is approval
28 reasons to
demand justice now
I saw a man kicking a rock in despair,-
As he awaited his chariot of situation, battled with
plight-
A sign read: Bus 319 troubles to bare-
A women with hair of colored rosary, carried bags as
her man followed-
In a parking lot of the grocery-
On the concrete world of a sleepy hollow-
The wind spoke not of shivery-
I found a book on the ground, next to a homeless man-
Pages torn by years from life's jail-
The great escape, Angola bound-
No P.O. Box, no place for mail-
Under the street light around a quarter pass one-
Sounds of children, having fun-
Whos in charge of their day to day-
Showing them the way, of how the life of tomorrow
could be won-
In my fathers house I see many people-
Shapes, colors, and shades, heads bowed, looking down-
Waiting for the strike of the clock-
To adjourn to their other life, somewhere back on the
block-
Away from the face of a religious frown-
For this daily false happiness they earn and
yearn- Naive they are, to think they can allude-
I am Jewish because I grew up on the south side of Chicago where even my public school was Jewish.
I am Jewish because my grandfather was oh so Jewish and I felt it then and feel it now.
I am Jewish because of the angry Irish boys who could feel my Jewish nose at the end of their Catholic fist.
I am Jewish because we are commanded to remember when we were slaves in the land of Egypt and I do.
I am Jewish because we are commanded to seek justice and because I believed my teachers who said we must do so.
I am Jewish because I have never felt any other way.
I am Jewish because dissent is my faith.
I am Jewish because I learned Hebrew and then forgot nearly every word of it.
I am Jewish because in my grandmother's kitchen nothing would rise, but of everything there was plenty.
I am Jewish because the South Shore Country Club was founded by people who wouldn't let us in.
I am Jewish because my Dad once slugged a guy at Comiskey Park who cussed a Jewish pitcher for the White Sox.
Nuclear Annihilation
Atomic Radiation
Eroding Nation
Sighing in relief
As it welcomes Armageddon
Holy Night
No-Fly Zone
Somalian Bones
Palestinians Stoned
Indians Alone
And hear the cries of the Natives
As they perish in the hive of the WASP
All is Calm
L.A. Riot
Jury Quiet
Media Diet
Suicidal Pilot
That ignites the blazing inferno
destroying everything in its path
All is Bright
Unfathomed Illiteracy
Racial Bigamy
Sexual Indiscriminancy
Government Secrecy
Obscuring the views of its toy soldiers
As they ride off into the darkness of the dawn
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Duke of Sales
Mendacious Tales
Polluted Wells
Permeating Smells
Choke the smiles of innocent consumers
Who unsuspectedly greet the silent killers
Holy Infant so Tender and Mild
Menacing AIDS
Asexual Plays
Incestual Gaze
Abortive Phase
Choosing the rights of another
Oooh Oooh -
Is it Eugene or just Gene
Watts your name?
Oooh Oooh -
Why’s your legislation so obscene?
I have always been aghast
At legislators like you
Who wrap up in the flag
And bad-mouth the
public schools
Watts your name?
Was it at the capitol?
(Senate or house?)
Or was it at your home in Galloway?
Or was it on the day you were born
That your good sense was taken away ?
Oh - Oh
Watts your name?
Oooh Oooh -
Is it Eugene or just Gene
Watts your name?
Oooh Oooh -
You’re so smug and so serene,
But you’re the kind of guy we love to hate
Because you are so mean.
Watts your name?
Doetn doetn doetn doetn doe oh ohhhhhhhhh!!!
-- Ukulele Man, P. Thomas Harker