Volume 8 Social Justice Issue 3
Project Type: Volume 8 | Issue 3 | Social Justice
Contents V8N3
The BeZine
Volume 8 September 15, 2021 Issue 3

Social Justice
and
Hunger
Cover art: Exchange 1900–2021
Digital Landscape from Photos (Winona, MN, USA, and Jerusalem, Israel)
©2021 Michael Dickel
Introduction
The theme for the fall issue of 2021 is Social Justice and Hunger. The divide between those who have too much and those who don’t have enough widens daily, linked to social justice, climate change, and war, hunger remains one of the largest causes of death globally. It has been with us for untold centuries—Biblical commandments include feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, caring for orphans. Many times, the causes my derive from beyond our activities.
However, most of the time, human activity causes hunger. And when hunger comes from other causes, human activity can help alleviate hunger. At the root of all economies, people need to be able to access food and protection from the elements. All of our systems leave too many people on the streets with inadequate clothing and shelter, and not enough to eat.
In these pages, we address this issue from a variety of perspectives, while calling for social justice for all.
May peace prevail on earth.
—Michael Dickel, Editor
Table of Contents
Poetry
Fiction
Music & Video
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Essays
The BeZine
Be Inspired…Be Creative…Be Peace…Be
Spiritual Practice
- Beguine Again, a community of Like-Minded People
- The Bardo Group Beguines, Page
- The BeZine 100TPC, Group – Featuring Best Practices
- The BeZine Arts and Humanities, Group – not just for poetry
Submissions
Art: Peace, Kat Patton ©2021
Poetry
Thousand and Millions | John Anstie
One hundred thousand
Poets for change,
so many voices and
carefully chosen words, seem
to be decaying into the void
of the anechoic chamber.
Earthly Fathers praying
for the Establishment,
that sets the stage
and casts its values
in concrete, steel,
plastic … and carbon.
Leaders of the World,
whose balance sheets and
rational, numerate intellect
measure only a notion
of success. What is that?
What is success?
For aren’t we just that,
a wealth of rich and
creative intelligence
that is the only hope
for our universe
to understand itself?
Heavenly Mothers ask us:
why digitise and monetise
and worship at the alter
of the great god, Thworg,
when we are imbued with
richness beyond measure?
Escape to the stars, if you must,
but answers will be found not
in the vanity of space-time travel,
but here, with unaided vision
they lie in the green and blue,
right before your disbelieving eyes.
Permit your heart to rule
even if only one day a week, when
the visceral, and the common sense
can overrule logic and intellect, and
that subliminal noise in our head
will slowly awaken the conscience.
Maybe, one day we’ll be more than
Seven Thousand Million Poets for Change!
No more sleepwalking through life
The time will come. Greatness beckons.
It’s in the wind, this beating heart,
a movement beyond the gaze of mortals …
©2017 John Anstie
All rights reserved
Homeless Ain’t Home | Gayle Bell
In our journeys, we have met people with amazing talents. Many have computer or skilled trades; but are unable to get employment. Businesses are leery to hire them. Because of cultural differences, or individuals who identify as GLBTQY are not always welcome or safe inside of intuitions. Some have beloved pets they do not want to put away. Some have difficulty finding work because of previous jail time. One woman; former military has a degree in psychology; giving up the bottle has been challenging. Our church tries to help with obtaining ids, shelters, recovery houses, but because of the challenges of the individual, the cycle continues. Our church feeds over 440 people a month. We provide bagged food for them as well. Our weekly brunch continues to have new faces at our door. We implore our church members to make casseroles, beans, soup and other hot items for them. We distribute clothes from our thrift store. We rarely have hygiene items for them. Even if we did, we cannot provide a place for them to clean up. Our local grocery store will not allow them to use the restroom. We are not able to open ours to them because of previous drug use, or sexual abuse in our church bathroom. Betty was homeless on the streets of Portland and Dallas for 5 years. She was following her former partner whose alcohol abuse kept them out of shelters. Portland had coffee houses and other places for the homeless to obtain a meal, provide recreations and showers so they did not have to be on the streets. People who had food stamps could barter for other goods and services. She advised there was a place every block that would serve 3 meals a day to the individuals. Betty created a cookbook there; the proceeds went directly to the food pantry. That is what we are trying to do with ours My family and I moved to San Francisco to escape an abusive marriage. Me and my 2 kids were lucky, there was Raphael House; they had a door you could close and call your own. I was fighting crack and alcohol abuse. With my kids love, I got clean and sober when we came back to Dallas.
From Cookbook, Pending Publication benefiting St Matthews Food Pantry
©2021 Gayle Bell
All rights reserved
Ms. V | Gayle Bell
Hope can surprise you, it can survive the odds against it… The soul is nothing more than love, limitless, endless…. —Amy Tan, The Hundred Secret Senses
I offer her cho chos but she never accepts even when I beg She has a teacher’s enunciation when she does talk The street residents call her mom The church outreach workers tell me she’s been out here a long time I slipped a bogo burger in her bag when she went to the fast-food restroom to freshen up She hugged me and wished me blessings This, I said is my church tithe I felt it was better placed She favors my mamma Transitioned these 4 years before Mother’s Day She is a coloring mix of Aztec and afro always has a pixie smile Some inner joke perhaps about those who think they have better Some punch line who will inherit the earth
©2021 Gayle Bell
All rights reserved
R & J & the Loaves & Fishes | Gayle Bell
R yells to God and the angels that revolve in his head He’s on that rock That hard place J likes the bottle they watch each other’s back B talks to the unseen eloquent when he touches Earth Clothes torn dusty funk smelling doesn’t want your help no thank you No medicine, no white coats Ms. V mother to the streets Soft spoken and clean Wont stay in a shelter wont stay in any where Compassionate hearts have tried She’ll sometimes click and cuss you out hug you tight the next day BR is a hustler to his soul born from too little and way to late Once knew soft arms and a home that’s the way that is My partner was tough enough on the streets of Portland Following dreams and a piece of tail
M & R got that boulder on their back he makes her walk the streets S was running from spirits pissed herself sometimes laying under a tree Sometimes we roam the park Give out cans of franks and beans crackers anything we have in our pantry Her and I Go to church and feed them casseroles beans whatever people bring 100 plus hungry mouths come through my line I smile say God Bless You Be Safe I am supposed to say something wise or meaningful How the streets keep some let some go But I don’t have it to give
©2021 Gayle Bell
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All my life inside politics— | Linda Chown
Other girls remember baking cookies— I remember Joseph Stalin dying and the holocaust with McCarthy. My Raggedy Ann doll had charcoal eyes hot with a black cold light All my years I've tried to choose a way out but my heart is two-fold:I'm with the people and with the fires in my first by myself sight
©2021 Linda Chown
All rights reserved
In This, Dying | Linda Chown
In This, Dying And we wake to a slue of death Every day now come the morning. Someone’s blood gets blown dead And i can’t stop seeing those tribes, Long woven beards and fields of opium Waving and thickening in Afghan sun Charlie Watts a panacea of balance And substance, he was a golden child gone. Don Everly widening in the time of his dying. Such a classical hillbilly he was. Susie wake up. It’s that we’ve shot our loads. In deliberate. In our wicked lust to have more of more
©2021 Linda Chown
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Hold onto it Now | Linda Chown
And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be Are full of trees and changing leaves, Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse
Soft bird, as though we’ve only just begun, The way our arms reach upwards as though Hanging in a William Blake painting In which closeness is everything The spiritual become all physical A radiant yellow cloud of pulsing light In spite of all the bad light around This beauty only makes a luscious sound Soft bird, you and I continue to soar Onward and upwards forever more.
©2021 Linda Chown
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Inauguration 2021 | Linda Chown
This natural national revolution has taken my breath away and given me my heart back in a democratic moment when sharing is the name of the game all these different people becoming one in the winter Washington sun where we’ll make new rules new ways to give more that many an authentic say.
©2021 Linda Chown
All rights reserved
little girl and the sailing moon | Linda Chown
How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world. Anne Frank
It is like how to explain the paucity of beauty On a hillside, how to hold silence stiller Clumps of marjoram, Greek symbol of happiness, make a plenty. Forthwith in this troubled land where the President of France Was face cuffed, where thousands of sick boys Play murderous games and sing aloud to blood. How to hold silence stiller to make a plenty, When I was then her she held life in this staring. In the city she saw the moon sail and marjoram Grew while she stood trying to understand Anne Frank Who was too a little girl staring like she was and going To feel her roots and her eyes pulverized all dying We must hold silence riper and green the marjoram.
©2021 Linda Chown
All rights reserved
to heal the world | Michael Dickel
I don’t much like reading any more as I’ve read more than enough explanations accusations rationalizations incarnations of old disputations empty words for empty stomachs nothing to sink teeth into for many while exorbitant feasts for a few yes, I’m even tired of these words writing reading listening while wild fires forage famines feast diseases prevail over results of my every action reactions to human infestation rushing toward entropy crisis the turning teshuva the return to healing requires movement (re)direction turning inertia toward tikkun olam
teshuva — to return, usually used in the sense of returning to (the Jewish) faith, from Hosea 14:2–3: “Return, O Israel, to the Lord your God, for you have stumbled in your iniquity. Take words with yourselves and return to the Lord. Say, "You shall forgive all iniquity and teach us good, and let us render bulls our lips.” ——— tikkun olam — the healing (or repair) of the world (or creation), according to Kabbalah, this is our purpose as humans.
Winona, MN, US September 2021 Mercantile Bank, Winona, MN, US September 2021 Empty Barge, Mississippi River, Winona, MN, US September 2021 Exchange 1900–2021 (Created September 2021) Wildfire Smoke over Jerusalem, Israel, August 2021
©2021 Michael Dickel
All rights reserved
Cost Differential | John Maurer
The price of everything goes up when you're unemployed It's not a slight shift in a continuance of shifting incomes and outcomes It's a weighted hook sinking endlessly into a bottomless unexplored part of the ocean Unimportance is a concept for the man who hasn't conversed with his consequences in the crepuscular hours I'm at a point where I can't even afford sleep for dinner Time is of the essence and sleeping allows its capture to escape I have a pillow but can't figure out how to use it I unscrewed the armrests from my desk chair because my arms shouldn't rest Motion is existence, work is the reward I'd rather be starving as a poet than rich as anything else I care too much about the process I have entirely stopped caring about its yield
©2021 John Maurer
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Pathetic and Pointless | John Maurer
The universe was the first Rube Goldberg machine The first overly complicated boondoggle of a way to get nothing at all done What would be the purpose of having a purpose if you did have one? Would you still think it's comforting once you realized you couldn't fulfill your fate? I'm not depressed, I'm fundamentally unhappy, and there's a difference I'm not incapable of appreciation; I just can see that there isn't a thing to appreciate Even god committed suicide, my parents sent me to a school to teach me only that You aren't bad at math, it just doesn't add up; don't blame the equation, it's the variables In order for the universe to love you, it had to hate all of your ancestors Not to say they were much better than you, but they probably were They may have eaten dirt, but at least they did it honestly While you eat off of the tasting menu and still have bulimia while almost everyone starves
©2021 John Maurer
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Well Kept Secret | John Maurer
You can die of consumption the same as starvation The equinox is not without solstice in the same way Too far in any direction is too far, that is clear Yet turning around testifies to a waste of time This is a fallacy; an error does not make a solution moot The noctambulist wishes it did I will rest when I have no questions left So when my tongue gets cut out This is Hammurabi’s code For how many have I sliced with my own serrated voice This is truly the meaning of Socratic Following laws you don’t believe in For reasons you can’t or at very least won’t reveal
©2021 John Maurer
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Consumer Temple | F.I. Goldhaber
Welcome to the warehouse, temple of consumer excess. Fill your carts with ten-pound boxes of sugar cereal, hundred-pound bags of flour. Batteries by the dozens; soap in ten-gallon jugs too big to lift. Enough food fills the shelves to feed a small country, but it parades out the doors for the SUVs to swallow while shoppers waddle through the exit sucking in pizza, ice cream, and hot dogs too big for their buns.
First published in 2008 in Pairs of Poems and on protestpoems.org
©2008 F. I. Goldhaber
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The Hypocrite’s Creed | F.I. Goldhaber
All life is sacred and begins at conception, but we must deny life-saving medical care to the poor; deprive needy children of food, shelter, clothing; beat, bomb, shoot, hang to death men, women, children. Deeply held religious beliefs require tax exemptions, and forbid paying for women's reproductive health; deny funds for science education/research; allow financing of civilian-killing drones. Children are a gift from god, a reward from him, but we must rip children from their mother's breasts, their father's arms; warehouse them in tent cities despite extreme heat; cage, torment, and traumatize them while they're alone. Religious freedom must always be protected, but we must ignore Muslims', Jews', Sikhs', Pagans', Hindus' rights; reject religions that conflict with our beliefs; obligate others to observe our holy days. The bible is god's word, taken literally, but we must claim verses we disagree with are old fashioned; invent prohibitions never mentioned in text; judge harshly those who follow actual scripture. States retain sovereignty and powers not assigned, but must not be allowed to legalize cannabis; can't protect the Internet from telecom greed; can't pass sanctuary laws to protect migrants. We must save sex workers from human trafficking, but we must eliminate safe ways for them to find clients; force them onto the street, vulnerable to pimps; allow police to rape, rob, arrest, murder them. The homeless crisis is a city emergency, but we must criminalize public camping, sitting, sleeping; protest attempts to open neighborhood shelters; fight rent control and minimum-wage increases. Congress must cut taxes and frivolous spending, but must slash payments only for the rich, adding trillions to the debt; spend more on defense than seven countries combined; take food away from babies, seniors to compensate. The hoax pandemic became an emergency that requires huge corporate bailouts, no strings attached; loans to small businesses, with myriad conditions; pittance pay outs that won't cover rent to minimum-wage slaves. All life is sacred and begins at conception, but we must only make testing available to the rich and celebrated; sacrifice seniors and children to save the stock market; prevent "prioritizing human life over economic stability".
©2021 F.I. Goldhaber
All rights reserved