New poetry collection!

I very rarely write political poems – it may be other poets voice and genre, it’s not my voice. Or so I thought; I write of passion, the human experience. sometimes irony. Yes, politics – while a passion & “duty” of mine for years – has not been my poetic forte until …

Until Jan 20, 2017. While the political climate has been getting more polarized and needing to be policing – it wasn’t until inaugeration day my Muse decided she must act and do so loudly and actively.

Since that day I have moved to write something about the current USA political landscape almost every day.

Samples below

  • inauguration
  • day after inauguration
  • Sunday
  • dystopia
  • containment
  • executive order
  • fissures
  • white bread

inauguration

i didn’t watch the ceremony
the pageantry, the staged pomp
i didn’t need to play the political roue
they are contracted words from a liar who nullifies contracts
but only values nelson ratings
i watched the people,
the protests, those pulled to the streets
because what happening isn’t reasonable,
shouldn’t have happened; his seating was thoughtless,
spiteful, a knee jerk into the groin of our being –
a decaying apple placed into our stores –
a deliberate return to darker intentions.
and with pride, i watched our protests
our collective scream into the night
denouncing ignorance, spite and lies
a protest that, indeed, we are all equal
and must remain so.
and so,
when don the con raised his hand
onto a book he never read,
we overturned trash onto tuxedos
we ran the streets past riot gear
we faced down militarized police
we torched a limo like a flare;
every man, any man – a loud voice saying
“we won’t go backwards!”
tomorrow, i take to the streets, to the capitol –
every woman, any woman –
and add my voice “don’t touch!”
to the collective denunciation
“not my president. not my america”
our community is standing shoulder to shoulder
men and women, all diverse people
saying “no more!”


written at the2017  Woman’s March …

day after inauguration

i am nasty
in Trump’s America
simply because i am a woman;

i am nasty
because i am still fertile
and bleed;

i am nasty
because cyclic bleeding does not kill me –
it reenergizes me, it renews me;

i am nasty
because I can give birth
and nurture from my body;

i am nasty
because the youth of America
is reared by women;

i am nasty
in Trump’s America
because i know this.

i am nasty
because i think for myself
and i teach children to think.

i am nasty
because i have a voice
and i use it.

I am nasty
because when i march
men and children march with me

i am “nasty”
as described by men
in power;

i am “nasty”
they say … what they mean is
they fear me –

the “nasty woman”.


I am a long-term reader of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaiden and, to be honest, I have watched the Rebublican politician’s rhetoric inching towards such a “Gilead” …

sunday

and in churches today
they are demanding what
a good woman must do,
how i must submit and be obedient

i am not there
i am bathing, scouring their semen and piss
out of my hair, off my skin
and planning what needs to be done this week
for i am not ruled by their agenda

i’ve an agenda and demands of my own
for them – foremost equality
for me, for you, our people;
raping me did not silence me,
still won’t silence me,
despite their attempts to legalize it

their god is not my god,
         more the personification of feared devil
i am not their Handmaiden.
         my soul is my own;

there is a reason i never changed my name


dystopia

in trump’s america
there are two women-
the one you buy,  the one you don’t value.

i would be the latter
for even abstinence
is better than forced prostitution.


And with the first travel ban AKA muslim ban sucessfully blocked and twitter full of #NoWallNoBan, I found I kinda agreed with the Trumpanezes – but for a entirely different reason …

containment

perhaps we need that tall wall.
perhaps we need to contain this wanton hate, our wrecked violence in.
like a delinquent weaned on jealousy –
toss ourself into a cell behind barbed wire

perhaps this regressive insistence for barbaric practices needs to be quarantined –
this throwback to paint our bodies with mud and brush our teeth with urine,
to burn others as ash and then to use it to tan our hides.

perhaps we are too dangerous for the world –
we false pagan gods demanding
blood sacrifice of unwary innocents.
other countries can rationalize, govern themselves. we refuse to.


On March 31, Don the Con had a Executive Order signing ceremont – but walked off before the actual signing. If The Con reminds me of a spoiled child, the GOP leadership this past year reminds me strongly of the Harkonnen Line in Frank Hubert’s Dune.

executive order

he doesn’t like being questioned
that’s why he ran away

left the room, closed the doors
took his toys with him

so he wouldn’t have to answer;
he doesn’t like being pressed for details

or actual facts, reluctant to reveal he doesn’t know
he’ll keep it vague, like any con man

repeat the same salesman script
toss in multi-syllable words to make it sound

almost like he knows what he’s doing.
but he misapplies them, he doesn’t know their meaning –

a puppet trying to appear puppet-master
this was his moment as “leading man”

too bad he doesn’t know how to lead, to be a hero
who knew he would be expected to do things,

know things, be honest
(his wife didn’t), he didn’t as a figurehead.

when i watch him, i think of “dune”, of “beast rabben”
and next to him – republicans’ appointed “feyd”

the power hungry don’t realize we’ve been watching
anticipating that bait and switch when pence is placed

christian sharia and law installed
perhaps the beast is now realizing the player got played

his lackeys weren’t comrades in arms
but hold his strings, move his mouth.

this child who walked out of ceremony.
i’m disappointed – not in him

he’s always been a bad actor, broadcasting every move,
screaming every tell – no, it’s americans

not seeing feyd rabben placed on the board, waiting
his cruelty will seem a kindness, thanks to the beast


This piece is in response to an interview with a family in Trumbull; they are big 45-Supporters yet will be losing their house due to his administration.  They still support him …

fissures

the nation is showing fissures
there is cracks in the ceilings
bathrooms walls are crumbling from dryrot
mold and mildew grow in our childrens’ rooms –
thats okay – djt has a plan
in usa, we cannot afford to live in houses anymore
so give up, let your home fall
be homeless
be desparate
work at a job you may lose a hand at
lose your lung to
your fertility too.
get paid a dollar to poison your children’s water,
your children’s food –
spend it at the company store
with company currency
who knew you being so poor
could be so lucretive
but under this plan trumbull works –
man, woman, child,
your grandfather who raised you;
there’s room for all on the factory floor.
just dont expect to walk away with
money in your pocket.
no meals on wheels,
no programmed hope
in this third world nation
falling apart – called america.


This relates an actual conversation. The young man was trying to explain how man-splaining annoys him …

white bread

as you deny doing so,
your words place me in a breadbox
with “dear” “sweetheart” “miss”
and a hand that cuts up in the air signaling me to quiet
as you over-talk my attempts
so you can talk, inform, educate me

forget for the moment you are only half my age
and living in my house,
forget for the moment, as you talk about a women’s experience
that i am a woman … and you are not
forget that you never asked about my studies, my experiences
as you insist yours is twice in size and scope as mine
do not let any of these factors dissuade you
in man-splaining the world out there
as you inform me what a feminist you crafted yourself to be;
do not let any of these power-plays stop you
from proving what a compassionate ally you are,
how worldly … an advanced citizen!

because they won’t dissuade you.

you are too busy talking – having others hear you – to hear;
too busy posturing to realize people do not fit in a grocery cart
the thing about putting people in a breadbox
is they are larger than a loaf of processed, pre-sliced bread.

Advertisements