Don’t Be Stupid

Stars are out there, many, everywhere, all the time.
Try not to think about this all the time.

Those stars, they’re everywhere, even in us, all the time.
Don’t be stupid about this. Try not to think about this all the time.

If it’s important to you where Space ends, you may not
Be picking up the clothes you always drop on the floor,
For someone else to pick up. Learn to pick up, all the time.

Mountains change, rivers change, weather changes,
Volcanoes are still erupting, it’s colder some days.
Why is this so hard to understand? Don’t think about it.

We can’t remember everything that’s happened. That’s
Why we always mess things up. That’s not hard, is it?

Don’t be stupid. Another person is a person to appreciate.
You can’t appreciate only those who look and act like you.
This isn’t hard, but don’t be so afraid. Take a deep breath.

Stop doing that. Whatever it is you are doing, stop that.
Why are you this old and you are still acting like that.
This isn’t hard, it just takes practice. Don’t think about it.

Of course, we are water. It goes in every day. We wash up.
We wash what’s dirty. We are in awe of its beauty.
If you don’t know that, wade in, go under, hold your breath.

Stop asking for applause. Do what you need to do well.
What’s hard to understand about that? Are you still that needy?

The best line of that movie was Will it help? So stop worrying.
When has worrying ever helped you to get things straight?

We are all here, standing line. You can’t make us go away
Like that. Stop blathering so. You look silly doing that.

Are you a busy person? Nothing to admire there.
Everything else in the cosmos is not busy, but it’s there.
Staying busy will tire you out. Take a 2-minute time out.

Are you feeling any better? You know, there are no truths.
I know that’s hard, but get used to it. Don’t think about it
Ever again, just try doing everything you’ve done, better, that’s all.

© 2019, DeWitt Clinton

Rising Up, You Poets

 “I knew—had long known—how poetry can break open locked chambers of possibility, restore numbed zones to feeling, recharge desire. And, in spite of conditions at large, it seemed to me that poetry in the United States had never been more various and rich in its promise and its realized offerings. But I had, more than I wanted to acknowledge, internalized the idea, so common in this country, so strange in most other places, that poetry is powerless, or that it can have nothing to do with the kinds of power that organize us as a society, as relationships within communities.  If asked, I would have said that I did not accept this idea. Yet it haunted me.” —Adrienne Rich in preface to her book What Is Found There, Notebooks on Poetry and Politics (W.W.Norton and Company, 1993)



You bare witness to the spirit of the times,
recording the minutes, building monuments
with your soft technology of healing, elevating
consciousness, What joy you feel in rising up!

Rising up, you Poets, from silence and solitude,
from ear to the ground, observation is your
spiritual practice, you’ve all been oppressors and
oppressed, now use words to change the world.

© 2019, Jamie Dedes

One Dark Stand

One dark stand against the world
Can light up & ignite the universe.
The voice of change for justice
Is fierce, unafraid it can’t be-coerced
It strikes fear in evil men’s stomachs.

One dark stand against the world
Can lead the enslaved to freedom
Break the chains that bind the unbeaten
And lead us all to a midnight vigil
And all it takes is “one individual.”

© 2019, Mark Heathcote

request…

i’m not certain
which
deity
is going
to
respond
and
i
honestly
don’t
care
i’d just
like
for once
to
have
a
response
so
here we go
dear
what’s your name
i
would like
to
request
an
end
to the senseless slaughter
of
children
if
grownups
want
to wipe each other
off
the face
of
the plane
then
let it be
but
raping the life breath
from
children
should be
banned
by
you
dear
fill-in-the-blank deity
a
gender
neutral
title
and
honorific
implied
you
needn’t
respond
directly to me
i’m
not
a priest
or
particularly wise man
just
a concerned
citizen

 

© 2019, Charles W. Martin

The Long Dark Night

stuff bottled inside
about to shatter
world going crazy
does it matter?
so much violence
so much strife
desensitizing human sensibility
help!!!
turn up the music
let harmonic sound abound
oldies but goodies
sooth harm and hurt
“ride Sally ride”
ride throughout the earth
“unchain my heart set me free”
free the words inside of me
free calming words
free soothing words
free encouraging words
let them ride with mustang sally
speeding in space
emitting messages of tranquility
that reverberate throughout the cosmos
let the balm of Gilead perfume the atmosphere
soothing all fear
ride sally ride
ride through the USA
declaring this a day of harmony and serenity
ride sally ride
ride through Africa and Asia
declaring this a day of a peace to release all animosity
ride sally ride
ride through Europe and Australia
declaring this a day of communication and restoration
ride sally ride
ride through South America, North America, and Antarctica
ride throughout the world
ride on the road of time
eradicating eons
filled with hatred
filled with wars
filled with a power-hungry lust
that never trusts the source of light
that invites mankind into a relationship of love
a love that shines from above encompassing all
who choose to be stars through this long dark night

© 2019, Tamam Tracy Moncur



 

Ju$t d1$$1m1l@r

 

Dedicated to Swami Vivekananda

Jump out of your well, little frog.
Jump out of it, to see the world.
Your well isn’t the only place of existence.
There are many wells—
bigger and prosperous wells.
Wells with diverse cultures.
Just different—not good or bad.
How can you judge your well to be the best?
When you haven’t seen any other well, dear frog.

Don’t mock others frogs from different well
or berate them for being dissimilar
to the frogs from your well.
Learn from others for each has a reason
and a habit for being them.

Don’t let the well—define you either
or become your only identity.
Remember, you are a frog first.
Just as unique as all other frogs.

There is a world out there
Waiting to be explored.
Waiting to enchant and delight you

Jump out of your well dear frog
Leap out of your well, now!

© 2019, Sunayna Pal

Don’t Hang the Poets

Raanana, January 23, 2018

By the time you read this
I’ll be long gone,
Not in a sad sense
But in a hit the road sense.
Did you think I’d stick around forever?
I’ve got universes to create
And people to make.
Besides, I’m infinite and you are finite.
Do the math.
You can’t count up to me
And I can’t subtract myself to get to you.
Everything you do or say is finite.
I do nothing, yet it is done.
I can’t know or care about every hair on your heads,
Nor every cell or atom in your bodies.
There are so many worlds and galaxies,
Yet they are finite.
Yes, my prototypes,
I knew them well enough.
No, I wasn’t angry when she bit the fruit of knowledge
And offered him a bite.
What parent would?
And I didn’t kick them out of Eden.
They just took up responsibilities
And fended for themselves.
Eden was their childhood
But then they were adults.
These books you so revere,
The Bible, Quran, and others like them,
You should know I had no part,
Men forged My name and that is all.
They quoted what they wrote for
Ungodly purposes I assure you.
Don’t let them lead you
For they know not more than what you know.
There have been wise men
But you seldom had the wisdom to follow.
I didn’t make you master over My creation,
You are just a part of a wondrous whole
Where every part is necessary
Or the whole is diminished.
One more thing before I close:
The poets, please don’t hang the poets
For I was one once, my words were worlds,
From them will come your soul’s salvation.

© 2019, Mike Stone

Social Justice

“It may well be that we will have to repent in this generation. Not merely for the vitriolic words and the violent actions of the bad people, but for the appalling silence and indifference of the good people who sit around and say, ‘Wait on time.'”

Martin Luther King, Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches

© 2019, artwork, Anjum Wasim Dar

In solidarity, documentary photographs

~~~~~~~

“Let him who has not a single speck of migration to blot his family escutcheon cast the first stone…if you didn’t migrate then your father did, and if your father didn’t need to move from place to place, then it was only because your grandfather before him had no choice but to go, put his old life behind him in search of the bread that his own land denied him…”  José Saramago, The Notebook

© 2019, Christopher Woods

Using Social Interactions to Create Change

When we think of social justice and activism, most people would think of things like petitions, protests, lawsuits, calls to representatives, empowering speeches, conferences, research, legislation, publicity stunts—because these are the current conventional forms of activism. We owe much of our societal progress to the activists that have used these tools for decades to affect change. 

These tools also have something in common: They target financial and institutional positions of power to enable a large range of impact. A single piece of legislation can impact the lives of millions of people for years to come, so it’s logical to focus on influencing the people who have enough financial and institutional power to bring such legislation into fruition. One action from an elected official will have far more effect on the systems that make up our society than ten actions by an individual citizen will.  

But I have found that whenever I attempt these traditional forms of activism, all I can think about is how far away I am from the center of it all, how little control I have over what happens. There are plenty of activists that do get to the center, but in order to be “in the room where it happens” many of these activists risk their lives or safety, travel frequently so they can be wherever they are needed most, work 60-hour weeks, forego food/rest, and rely on other forms of physical stamina, all for their cause. Their endeavors are incredibly noble, and my chronically ill and disabled body was not built to fill that role. 

What, then, should you do if being too far away incites helplessness, and being too close is costly to your livelihood to an untenable degree?

My solution is to focus on the “social” half of “social justice.” Let’s run through SJW 101 real fast.

Putting the Social in Social Justice 

If you take five samples at the deli counter and the deli worker glares at you, to avoid that awful feeling of judgment, you’re likely to only take one sample next time. If you bring home a report card of all A’s and your parents are ecstatic, you’re more likely to continue prioritizing the acquisition of high grades so that you can feel that excitement about your achievement again. If wearing a shirt with a loud color scheme in public makes you nervous but you receive no discernible reaction from other people when you leave the house, you’re likely to feel assured that your color-choices for clothing are not worthy of any anxiety.

Do you have a weird habit that you picked up from your parents? Are you ashamed to cry in public because of how someone reacted to you doing that when you were little? Did you leave a toxic job situation but then found that anytime your new boss called your name, you were filled with dread? We already know that how you interact with other people, how you behave in public, even how you respond to your own needs and desires, is heavily influenced by how other people have reacted to these behaviors. This phenomenon is called socialization: the process of learning ideas about how a person like you should or shouldn’t behave, act, dress, think, feel, and aspire to be, through social interactions.  

Our strongest influencers are often the people in our lives who have more power than we do; teachers, parents, employers, role models etc, but power doesn’t just come from authority or fame, and that’s where social justice comes in. How much relative power we have is closely tied to our gender, race, religion, sexual orientation, gender identity, financial status, physical and cognitive ability, and body type. It shouldn’t be, but it is. 

The traits I listed above are used as focal points for oppression if we happen to be anything other than what society considers “default”: male, white, christian, heterosexual, cisgender, financially stable, physically healthy, able, and thin. We can see the consequences of these societal expectations in high homelessness and suicide rates in LGBTQ teens, disproportionate incarceration rates and more severe sentencing for people of color, severe poverty among disabled populations, and heartbreakingly high frequency of sexual harassment, assault, and physical abuse of women. Our culture teaches us that these tragedies are a result of personal weakness or a lack of effort towards resolving their own struggles but they are actually signs of people who have had their power stolen from them.

If, however, you are among the default, your increased power not only means you’re likely to avoid the obstacles listed above entirely but it also comes with an increased number of choices available to you, less resistance to getting what you want, a greater ability to bounce back from consequences, more connections to other people with power, and a higher likelihood that your word will be trusted over a person with less power. This, in very brief terms, is a summary of what it means to have privilege

Change Starts With You

The exciting news about privilege, power, and socialization is that just as there have been thousands of people that have shaped you through social responses to your actions, you are also shaping and influencing the people in your life. 

The actions you choose to perform are an indicator of what kind of world you want to normalize. You can lead by example, speak up in the face of injustice, disconnect from toxic influences, encourage and celebrate progression, resist regression. You can validate, reject, inspire, undermine, or uplift. Humans are by and large social creatures. We are motivated to attain connection and acceptance from other people and as a result, just a simple smile or frown is enough to influence someone else’s actions down the road. 

It is this superpower that I use as my primary “weapon” against social injustice. The practice of being intentional about what behaviors I socially reward or reject according to the change that I want to see is a power that I have at my fingertips every day.

Each person has a complicated blend of privileges and sources of oppression. The complex manner in which those benefits and obstacles interact and compound on one another in your life is known as intersectionality. But no matter what your line up is, you can identify the aspects of your life that afford you more choice, more flexibility, more recourse, and use your increased power to give your influence over others, greater impact. 

Add social media to the mix and an action that previously could only be seen by a dozen people at most can now be broadcast to thousands of people, if not millions. Every time you comment, share, like, you aren’t just sharing your thoughts with your friends, you are shouting your message into a megaphone. The more power you have, the louder that megaphone will be, the more people will hear you. 

Identify and Utilize Existing Social Patterns 

Most of the time, our involvement in the socialization of other people is unconscious. Just as our level of power is determined by traits like gender and race that are outside of our control, how we are socialized is influenced by these traits too. Without the intention of doing so, we socialize women to be emotionally accessible and caring, while we encourage men to be assertive and stoic. Our culture teaches people of color to be obedient, LGBTQ people to hide their true selves, poor people to deny themselves basic pleasures, mentally ill people to suffer silently, and disabled people to ignore their own basic needs. If you’re not sure where to point your socialization powers, pushing back on the default roles we’re all squished into arbitrarily, and celebrating behaviors that defy those roles, is a great place to start.

But, keep in mind that a side effect of privilege is that you’re less likely to be aware of the depth and nuance of oppression- based problems if you’re even aware of them at all, which can put you at a disadvantage when trying to support marginalized groups you’re not part of. I’m white, cisgender, financially stable, and relatively thin, but the fact that I’m also a woman, bisexual, disabled, mentally ill, and used to be poor, means that I’m in an excellent position to both understand the needs of marginalized groupsand use the resources I have to effectively support them. I use my experience associated with my marginalization to help me understand other sources of marginalization I don’t face. 

What Change Will You Spark in Others?

The catch to using this magic tool is that the majority of the time, you won’t know exactly what kind of impact you had on people. While a hundred people will notice your actions, only one will tell you. I devoted months to my work as a blogger, feeling as if I were shouting into the void, but then people that I rarely interacted with began approaching me in person to thank me for my work and express the degree to which my writing had influenced them, and I was surprised every time. 

Do you remember a time when you were a child and an adult in your life changed something in you for the rest of your life? Maybe they were the only person who believed in your ability to achieve your dreams. Maybe they taught you kindness and compassion towards the people you found difficult to forgive. Maybe they saw you for who you were and reflected you as good and valuable when no one else had before. Even just a small word of encouragement can be important enough to us at that age that we remember it for decades. That person that helped you probably has no idea that they affected you so much, even if that impact lasted a lifetime. What if you could be that person for someone else? 

What if you could be that person for dozens of people? Or hundreds? Imagine the reverberations of your actions throughout the world as each of those people carry that change with them through life.  

Our boots-on-the-ground activists know that leaders and authorities have infinitely more power over institutional change than we do as citizens and so they seek to change the course for our country and our planet by finding the steering wheel. A leader’s decision can impact the lives of millions of people, but with your socialization powers, you can participate in the slow evolution of large scale change, enabling a society that collectively makes the kind of change you want to see, creating the activists and leaders and innovators that we need in order to achieve our goals for the planet. Your superpower is available to you whenever you choose to use it.

© 2019, Kella Hanna-Wayne

Sounding Bugles

Tonight’s moon will be heat-throttled;
my father’s slow-turning eye watches
the rising reformation of our country’s
people—the ones with more bread less than
equal to the ones that learn they can survive
hunger with a special kind of tobacco
pressed between the teeth and cheek,
the kind that acclimates with blood. Grief is
malleable in skilled hands; soon children
for whom school is a visit either to a future
or a means to learn, furthermore, the way
to escape the need for alternate food, mining
the grounds of their minds with comic strips,
become the intellectual whose arms are
muted under grinding a balance between
logical escape and patriotic leisure. But the heat
is rising; the bated night is luminous, bands
of clouds invisible, like homes of dreams
lacing fragile exteriors. Our voice is ground for
debt, that is like delayed prayer shot from
a freshly oiled barrel; tonight the moon will watch
fireworks going off on a rich man’s terrace
resembling broken dawns. Opinion is didactic
in skilled hands. My father shall recognise
the sounds through his impaired hearing,
drink enough water to fill to the brim of
his stomach, turn off the touting reforms
and wait in his sleep for the next prayer.

© 2019, Sheikha A.

Silent Courage

 

Santiago Atitlán

Three o’clock
The Catholic bells begin ringing
Women in their red huipiles
& ribbon-wrapped hair
wound ‘round their heads
enter the church

I quietly slip in & see
Father Stanley Rother’s heart
buried in the right wall
This Maya village wished it so
after his assassination in 1981
Variously colored crosses surround it,
each one with a name, a date

I reenter the sunlit afternoon
& aimlessly wander the market streets

Five o’clock
The village echoes with the
hand-clapping & tambourines
the singing & hallelujahs
from the seven or more evangelical temples

I am haunted by the horror of that memorial
I am haunted by the testimony of a volunteer
who investigated a massacre in this village
just over a year ago

As dusk falls
I once more climb those round steps
& enter the white-washed church

I sit in a pew near the priest’s heart
meditating upon those lives embracing him

Green paper crosses for the 209 killed here
22 yellow ones for the wounded
68 pink, the kidnapped

I walk back into the twilight
thinking of that December night massacre
not so very long ago
& how these villagers marched to the
military base & ordered them
to leave, to end the murderings
of their pueblo that had gone on
for too, too many years

The two nearest volcanoes are capped
by towering grey clouds
Thunder rumbles the empty streets

©2019, Lorraine Caputo

“Nights with Ghosts,” a poem from a child in Zimbabwe

 

“Poets Against War continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression.” Mission Statement for Poets Against War.



Back around 2008 when I started blogging, Poets Against War, founded in 2003 by American poet Sam Hamill (1943-2018) in response to the war with Iraq, was still going strong and some of my poems were accepted for online publication. This was my baptism into socially engaged poetry. The thousands of poems that were contributed to the database from poets around the world are archived at a university, the name of which I’ve long forgotten. There were some other great efforts including Poetry of Solidarity, which made use of the easy and economical outreach the Internet offers. These two sites have gone the way of all things. The links I saved for them now get a 404 error code. Today we have 100,000 Poets (and friends) for Change, founded in 2011 by Michael Rothenberg and Terri Carrion.

Fortunately, I did keep notes on some of the poetry and activities I encountered in those early blogging days. What follows is a translation of a poem written by a child in Zimbabwe after the government made war on its own people in June 2005—200,000 people became homeless.  This poem was included in an article by American poet Karen Margolis in the now defunct Poetry of Solidarity.

nights with ghosts
.
dear samueri, my friend
i will never see you again;
maybe i will.
but i shall not know
until father finds us a new address
,
addresses!
we have none anymore.
we are of no address.
.
now that i have written this letter,
where do i post it to?
shall i say, samueri,
care of the next rubble
harare?

—child’s poem

“I dream of giving birth to a child who will ask, ‘Mother, what was war?’” American poet, Eve Merriam

— Jamie Dedes

Change

 

“If you want change, let me throw it at you
as hard as I can at your dirty face…”
—Homeless read mean tweets (YouTube, now private)

Let me throw justice at you, let it hit your face
and wake us up. Let me throw opportunity at you,
let it hit your face and give us a chance.

Let me throw change at you, change in the world,
change creating justice and freedom,
change creating opportunity, real change
for all. Let me throw democracy at you, let it
hit us in the face so hard that it cracks open
and spills out into the land, everywhere, change—
real democracy, real hope, real opportunity.

Let me throw change and the stinking, rotten
carcass of consumer capitalism and greed at
those so privileged and shallow as to think white
teeth are more important than your humanity.

And then, god help me, let me find love
and compassion to throw as hard as I can
into our faces, into our lives, into the hearts
of us all, of us all standing here watching
in voyeuristic pleasures of despair.

© 2019, Michael Dickel

After the 2016 Election

We share this common irritant: the smoke of distant fires.
It scalded the morning and evening sun
ember red, then hung a net of haze over the city.
After two days, friends are confined indoors, wheezing.
My throat is raw, sinuses ache.
Now dark clouds rise from the mountain.

The day after the election, police in Alton Park
stop black residents up and down the Boulevard,
as if it is Apartheid, or a new Jim Crow.

My son is driving, stopped in traffic, radio blaring.
A cop on a motorcycle passes, hangs a U, comes back,
tickets him for going 50 in a 35 mile zone.
“Yes sir,” is the drill we instilled
when we had the Talk all parents have
with their sons of color.

Five miles over the state line in Georgia,
a white boy walks the high school parking lot,
a Confederate flag tied at his neck like a cape.
Later, black students yank it from his backpack,
stomp on it, igniting threats of a race war.

My eyes are burning. Smoke threads through
the indoors air in the gym and large commons.
We choke on the fire of distant words.

Not again.

© 2019, Rachel Landrum Crumble

The Poor

In the sky, it’s raining backwards,
always backwards. From where we stand,
it is a nightmare—our tears are the sprinkler system
of heaven. The clouds grow lush and green.
They tantalize beyond our ability
to desire. We stand, poor,
with sand in our shoes,  and
dust in our mouths, holding buckets
upside down to catch the rain.

© 2019, Rachel Landrum Crumble

Substituting Life

Lost, yet nowhere to go,
I wade through this journey
by finding substitutes for life
and the living that follows
the desires of what is expected
by the standards of society
Which I thought was
democratically formed
by people like me
but even the grand normal
daily strives for
and gets buried under
the illusion of perfection.

© 2019, Sunayna Pal

Flow Gathering Springs

	     with thanks to Aaron

flow gathering springs
transitive   to flow up down
always through around and ever

Mid-river, the current
unforgiving, a construction crew
Is doing what it’s paid for.
One of them is a flinger of hoses.
First snake to spit out the mud,
second to calm it back level.
Clamber here, there,
somehow they’ve convinced the river
to flow slowly around them

rattle it down,
	dance like a clown,
who knows when the water will crest

Old Firehouse Park, grassy ground,
tree roots just touching the side currents,
smack dab hallelujah in the middle of downtown
Janesville, glory of the old firehouse painted
on a nearby wall. We huddle
in the shade, careful to keep the workers 	
in sight, wait for a few stragglers to join us.
Then we begin to sing,

“join us, join us
 may the river always join us
	don’t risk The Rock
 don’t risk The Rock”

As if we could hinder the mud’s
setting up, hardening,
soften this merciless bridge building, 
hold back the machines, if only for a day,
these semi’s born of Budweiser,
this crane head spiking the sky red.

flood stage, 15.5
may it ripple,
rage our feet home

Next an Ojibway holy man 
leads our wave line in chanting 
and dance. Current stronger now,
drum, drum, a commanding pressure. 
Four times we circle a small rise

small rise, small rise
open your eyes

Spring by spring, rain over,
rain under, legs find the feel 
of cresting. Then lose it, stumble,
find it again.

Too soon I begin to weaken, broken hip
three months before, bones newly
healed, flesh flabby.

Die chant, rage gone,
never quite song.

Flood stage 15.5 feet,
flow up, pray over,
river springs, put out the fire.

©2019, Lynn Shoemaker