You are herePoetry
By Sherwood Ross
I write to you in my last hour
In the last hour of the night
The hour of fear before the light
The hour of persecution and execution
Of the headsman’s bloody institution
Of prisoners dragged from their cells
Hearts pounding, legs trembling
Piss-soaked with fright.
I write to you from the land of discredited dreams
Of delicate white petals spilled upon the floor
Like semen wasted in the fingers of a whore
Of American dreams twisted into nightmares
Of a president’s lying schemes
For which Christ has no parable, no metaphor.
I write to you when poets are beaten in the streets
When students are shot dead for protesting war
When men earn their bread making killing machines
And never question what their work is for.
I will show you the land of the dying cities
Where the many see little hope to get ahead
LOWKEY - OBAMA NATION (OFFICIAL VIDEO)
THIS TRACK is not an attack upon the American people
It is an attack upon the system within which they live
Since 1945 the United States has attempted to
Overthrow more than 50 foreign governments
In the process the us has caused the end of life
For several million people, and condemned many millions
More to a live of agony and despair
And the War goes on…
In dregs and druthers
Band of brothers and sisters
Are the chosen few
To go and do
What we dread to tread
And still they have to do….
This thing this aweful terrible….
They wing it
Un-responsive detachment unbearable
Cause that’s what they are ordered to do
To do this thing
And the beat throbs and sings
Calls the fist to jawline stings…
1-2 punch in endless fling
with pain... Read more.
"Daybreak: Undoing the Imperial Presidency and Forming a More Perfect Union," by David Swanson is due in stores September 1st, but the publisher has it now and you can get it straight from Seven Stories Press.
By Gary Corseri
I am sick of the voices of heroes!
They cry from maniacal graves:
“Why do you hurry and turn away—
You who are warmed by the sun?
“Once a year, on a ‘solemn occasion,’
You come for public mourning.
Officers offer orisons.
Politicians ply for votes.
We have our ways
On the ship of State
To win your praise
While pushing fate
For the detainee
That is so unlucky
To be positioned
And then to drown
While we clown
I can no longer remain silent on the false debate on torture.
May 2: A Saturday in Spring
By Richard C. Cook | www.RichardCCook.com
Today, amidst the flowers of springtime, all I really want is to be able to listen to the Silence.
Silence is the place from which every created thing originates.
Silence is the source of “the peace that passeth all understanding.”
Silence is the space between thoughts.
Being in Silence is the greatest of all freedoms.
Life and death are the coming out of Silence and the returning into it.
Listen to Big Money (v2).
listen up my friends it's time we paid attention
an age old specter knocks upon our door
phantom financiers hell bent on domination
they are closer than they've ever been before
it's Big Money's plan to own us for their pleasure
it's Big Money's plague that blackens all our dreams
where Big Money meets lies hidden from all measure
what Big Money says is never what they mean
Hurricane on the horizon
Judgment getting closer all the time
I can't find tomorrow
Bring peace to this troubled land...
The eyes of heaven are upon you
But so is the soul from down below
They'll cut off your fingers
To bring peace to this troubled land
Well you can stand up and holler
You can lay down and die
Bring peace to this troubled land
By Huck Gutman
It has been exciting and nerve-wracking, both, to think about what poem to begin with. I’ve considered poems by William Carlos Williams, Baudelaire, Melville, Dickinson, Eugenio Montale, Zbigniew Herbert….
I have chosen a poem by the Polish poet Zbigniew Herbert because it seems to follow so naturally from what I wrote in my introductory message: Why should we read poems?