Lawrence Ferlinghetti once said that “The state of the world calls out for poetry to save it!” It couldn’t be more true as we transition from an administration of inclusion to one of exclusion, from hope, in all its ugly, forward moving jerks and stops, to dope, in all its backsliding reversals of progress.


For the next 100 days, this blog will feature a new poem of protest, by my own hand and by others. They will be polished gems, or rough cut drafts of rage, or in process pieces searching for peace. They may be haiku or tanka, limericks or lyrics, verses free or fettered. If you would like to submit to this endeavor, please send an email, with poem saved as a word document (.docx) to waxyandpoetic AT gmail DOT com. All rights remain with the author, Please address any formatting preferences in your email. I will post submissions time permitting, with at least one per day. Editing will be limited to obvious errors of spelling and the like.


This marks a return in a blaze of glory. Please share it with #100Days100Poems . Tweet it! Share it on Facebook! Rock it on Reddit! Use the media to make our voices heard!


With that, in solidarity, I present to you the first poem.




Election Hangover Blues

And so then I woke on 11/9

        which really was 9/11 for the rest of the world

                and the skyscraper gambler

                        had won the biggest pot of all

                        his great gray bluff never called


And Manhattan’s metal and glass menagerie

        wasn’t as gray as that sky’s November mourn


And in Main Street America crosses were burning

        swastikas blooming

                kindergarten classrooms echoing “Build that wall!”

        neither legos nor Lincoln logs in sight


                hijabs left on dressers, sexuality re-closeted

        whole families now fearing piecemeal meals

                moms & dads soon to be deported, kids & kaboodles

        soon to be deposited at some charitable shelter


And Lady Liberty, old gift of France, on her Liberty Island

        torch long lain down

                holds instead another cadeau de la France:

                                chrysanthemums, white, bunched in fisted bouquet

                        tear drops plop on petal after petal after petal

        the “she loves me /

        she loves me not”

                replaced by

                                in memoriam

                        repose en paix

                                in memoriam

                        repose en paix

                                in memoriam

                        repose en paix


And then on 1/20, being 20/1 to the rest of the world

        (and not 21, that legal drinking

                age for those puritanical Americans)

        all those new voters who can’t drown their sorrows in

                Kentucky’s Best Bourbon

and all those old voters who’ll be passing the bottle and the buck and the bullshit

all corralled near K Street for the

                        Napoleonic Coronation (did he hold the Bible himself?)


the world held its breath

        the climate’s climes climbed a little higher

                and the protestors protested

                        tired people burning trash cans & tires

                        stuck people throwing rocks from their hard places

                        Starbucks & car windows struck with bricks & braggadocio

                as there were parties & galas & lunches to disrupt


And on the mall at Lincoln’s feet

                                rain rain rain

                        rain is “the Earth crying about the climate denial president”*


But it wasn’t just the earth crying

                                & crying out

the real America filling the streets of the real capital

        signs & slogans, posters & chants




                                                “Not Our President”

“Putin’s Orange Puppet”

Russia’s Nesting Doll

                                                “Not Our President”



                                                “Not Our President”

but our rapist in chief, conman & thief

                                        Not Our President


& “When our communities are under attack

        we are going to fight back.”**

                                the poetry of protest

“Rage Rage Against the Dying of our Rights”

                        long long into this dark night in democracy


rage & rage & rage & rage

        Not Our President

        Not Our President

        Not Our President








*E. Huttner & ** R. Kudaimi — quotes taken from NY Times news updates covering the inauguration

Author: David Siller. All rights reserved.


One thought on “#100Days100 Poems, the Inaugural Post

  1. My Beloved David( Pappa Top Shelf),

    Thank you for existing— YOU are exclusive and magnificent….amongst much more. I have read and will share this delightful poem with many more. Perhaps, Wednesday 1/25 you can come to the shop for something special. Your attendance will truly adhere love in the hearts of everyone/everything: David inspires, David empowers, David you are a labyrinth who connects our soul to ‘our true’ soul— I💚U.

    Also, you will tap into my ‘childhood theory’, and David will be David. Please let me know if you will be able to visit on Wednesday 1/25 by Sunday 1/22. Keep shining and let your radiance touch everyone and everything.

    Mamma Top Shelf,

    Ruth Ramirez Bronx, New York “Be the change you wish to see in the world.”––Mahatma Gandhi



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