Posted on by waxyandpoetic

#100Days100Poems Day 13

It seems that we’ve been fighting the good fight forever, though we’ve only been at it a couple of weeks. Would that we could take the cheerleaders from the sports world and have them cheer us on! But we don’t need them, we have each other, and this Rah! Rah! Rah! of a poem.

 

Where Are You, America?

there you are, you
        scientists & park rangers & women & men & immigrants & 
        green card holders & teachers & stay-at-home dads & 
        stay-at-home moms & christians & muslims & atheists & 
        agnostics & taxi drivers & people 
`                with open hearts and open minds and open eyes


there you are

 
wandering
        on the National Mall at the feet of Lincoln
            ferrying the Hudson, led by Lady LIberty’s light
                navigating under the Golden Gate
                    gliding into the Port of Galveston

 


marching
       in Lafayette Park & Battery Park
       in Copley Square & Herman Square

 
       on Market Street & Lavaca Street
       on Fifth Ave & Congress Ave

 

landing and waiting and protesting
        @ JFK & SFO & DFW
        @ LAX & PDX & PHX
        @ PHL & STL & SAN & SEA
        @ IAH & DEN & RDU & ORD

 


speaking out
        from Lexington to Little Rock to Philadelphia
        from Sacramento to Albany
        from Cape Cod to Corpus Christi
        from Memphis to Milwaukee to Kalamazoo


speaking truth to propaganda
        in the Badlands
        in Yosemite & Yellowstone
echoing through the Rocky mountains and the Great Smoky Mountains

 

fist pumping at city halls and veterans halls
        in Houston & Honolulu
        in Burlington & Buffalo & Baton Rouge


America you are everywhere
        and soon you will be back
                in the White House
                                to put right
                                        the alt-right wrong
                                        the poisonous pencer
                                        the burnt orange trump card
                                        the fascist catastrophe


the World will be rooting for you
the World will be waiting for you
                                the true America
                                        the just America
                                                the free America

 

© David Siller – 2017

.

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, 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. VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!
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.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

Posted on by waxyandpoetic

#100Days100Poems Day 12

In light of recent developments that challenge the very essence of that with which Liberty is Enlightening the World, I present to you, from the Mad Sonneteer, a sonnet.

What Would Jesus Say?

For the tired, the poor, the huddled masses.


What would Jesus say if he knew those with
Abundance refuse souls truly in need?
When their ignorance serves to feed a myth
Rather than a mouth, would He call that greed?
Should His pride unfurl when hatred is hurled
At women and children by those who claim
To believe in One who made the whole World;
Or, will His judgment serve to kindle shame?
He commands, “Suffer the little children
To come unto me.” Yet, blessed with plenty,
Many fail His word, condemning millions
Of innocents to life in poverty.
   It is human weakness which makes gold’s worth
   Seem higher than our brothers on this Earth.

© Bud Koenemund – The Mad Sonneteer – 2015

.
You can find The Mad Sonneteer on Twitter at @TheMadSonneteer.
His blog is located at  MadSonneteer.blogspot.com

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, 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. VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!
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.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

Posted on by waxyandpoetic

#100Days100Poems Day 11

Sometimes you get so angry that you can’t find the words. Sometimes you get so angry that you can’t see straight. Vivian Wagner’s found poem encapsulates those very emotional moments.

Messed-up Pence

messed-up-pence

© Vivian Wagner – 2017

Vivian Wagner is an associate professor of English at Muskingum University in New Concord, Ohio. She’s the author of a memoir, Fiddle; One Woman, Four Strings, and 8,000 Miles of Music (Citadel), and a poetry chapbook, The Village (forthcoming from Aldrich Press). She can be found on the web at www.vivianwagner.net and tweeting from @vwagner. 

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, 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. VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!
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.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

 

 

Posted on by waxyandpoetic

#100Days100Poems Day 10

One of the joys of this country is its diversity. Except for a few, we are all immigrants, whether newly arrived, or in families long established. We have countless languages and cultures, cuisines and customs, that come together in what should be glorious harmony. Sadly, some among us choose to divide and exclude. In honor of our diversity, today’s poem, by María José Zubieta, appears in English translation, followed by its Spanish original. All our voices, in whatever language, will be heard in these #100Days100Poems.

 

The Angel

 
I walked down Fifth Avenue
in this raucous city
full of tourists that incessantly come and go.
Street lamps were on.
Holiday decorations became more noticeable
as night fell.

 
I was surrounded by people walking in the same direction
absorbed, amazed at so much luxury.
The light around us made their faces look ghostly.

 
These people surely believed -and still believe- 
in this land's hospitality.
They know nothing.

 
I'm not a tourist here and I know well
how cruel the Big Apple can be.
This apple is a triangle
like the Bermuda Triangle where
we inadvertently lose our identity.

 
Then I saw her smiling peacefully 
as I imagine angels smile.
Completely alone in her determination.
Her sign a powerful instrument.

 
I was struck by an arrow of joy
startled out of my stupor.
I read her sign out loud:
"Not My President"
and started to chant with her.

 
We looked at each other and smiled
united in the chant
united in the condemnation
of the dirty trick of which we are victims
of this fallacy they call democracy.

 

El ángel

 

Caminaba por la Quinta Avenida
de esta ciudad estrepitosa
llena de turistas que vienen y van incesantemente.
Las farolas prendidas
las decoraciones navideñas se hacían más notorias
al caer la noche.

 
Estaba rodeada de personas que caminaban en la misma dirección
ensimismadas, asombradas con tanto lujo.
La luz que nos rodeaba hacía que sus rotros se vieran fantasmagóricos.

 
Esta gente seguro creía –y sigue creyendo-
en la hospitalidad de estas tierras.
Nada saben.

 
Yo no soy turista y sé bien
cuán cruel puede ser la Gran Manzana.
Esta manzana es un triángulo
como el Triángulo de las Bermudas donde
perdemos nuestra identidad involuntariamente.

 
Entonces la vi sonriendo, pacífica
como imagino a los ángeles.
Completamente sola en su determinación.
Su cartel un instrumento poderoso.

 
Una flecha de alegría me atravesó
me despertó del estupor.
Leí su cartel en voz alta:
“Not My President”
Y comencé a cantar con ella.

 
Nos miramos y sonreímos
unidas en el canto
unidas en el repudio
de la artimaña de la que somos víctimas
de esta falacia que llaman democracia.

© María José Zubieta – 2017

You can find María on Twitter: @majozub

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, 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. VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!
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.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

 

Posted on by waxyandpoetic

#100Days100Poems Day 9 – The Return of #TrumptyDumpty

In light of some executive orders (you know, the ones Republicans used to deride), it seems appropriate to update this little children’s rhyme.

 

Trumpty Dumpty wants a wall
But he hates the guys
He wants to hire to build it

Trumpty Dumpty wants a ban
But swore to defend
the Constitution that should kill it.

Trumpty Dumpty wants
To make America great
But doesn’t want to include all those fill it.

Trumpty Dumpty built a big tower
& fell on his hair
& people were like
“Aww, fuck it. I really don’t care. ”
& America was great again.

© David Siller – 2017

 

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, 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. VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!
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.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

Posted on by waxyandpoetic

#100Days100Poems Day 8

Only 92 more to go I suppose, but we’re humming along over here. In just a week we’ve already gotten a submission inspired by a previous #100Days100Poems post. With that, I present to you, from the Mad Sonneteer, an offering that, in this instance, is not a sonnet. There’s probably a Magritte reference in there, somewhere.

 

One Step Back

A Haiku for Inauguration Day 2017
Inspired by Catherine Harren Barufaldi
& Melania Trump

One step back, is all;
the world only spins forward
because love trumps hate!

.
© Bud Koenemund – The Mad Sonneteer – 2017

.
You can find The Mad Sonneteer on Twitter at @TheMadSonneteer.
His blog is located at  MadSonneteer.blogspot.com

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, 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. VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!
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.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

Posted on by waxyandpoetic · 2 Comments

#100Days100Poems Day 6

 

Much things to say about this poem from Leslie Speikes, but the poem really speaks for itself, out loud. We are all its “I” and we are all most certainly its “We.”

 

 

 

Just like poor Paula Alquist in that old black and white film,

They keep telling me that my capacity is limited

that social media and the media media

Have turned my pretty little head and my ability to comprehend has diminished

But no matter how far back into the dark I am pushed, i can still feel the shift and shimmy

Of the earth.

Even though I can’t see and i can’t hear

i can sense that

The world is tilting so far to the right that all our hopes have poor’d right on out

And we’re left sitting in the dark afraid. believing we are alone

My senses ache

We’ve been fucked in the dark for so long that a flash of artificial light causes us to rely on

Their lies and forsake our hearts, but this light?

It is only Gaslight

they will use these old scars to convince me i have done this to myself

We are so screwed down that you look crazy if you stand up


I am not crazy. I AM NOT CRAZY.

The lights have been turned on in another part of this White house

Someone is looking for jewels and they are using my fuel to do it

I am NOT crazy . I hear sounds. People are thumping just on the other side of this glass roof, but, but, I am told that I am not scared. While I stand here with my hands up and my father bleeding at my feet. I am told that there is nothing to be scared of now that the monster is slain . The blood of our sons and daughters cools and congeals on club house floors, but There is nothing to fear. I am being raped behind the dumpster in the alley and I am more guilty than my brutalizer, but I am told there is nothing to fear. And, if I don’t carry this baby to term, you tell me I’ll go to hell, but if I go home unmarried and pregnant, I’ll live in hell, but there is nothing to fear, and if there is nothing to fear, there is nothing to fight, and if there is nothing to fight then there is no reason to prepare.


My People, we must prepare!

 I am told that I am not scared,  but that I am crazy

I am not crazy

I am being slowly, systemically,  and institutionally driven out of my mind

I am lost because i have been misled

My teachers taught me that the good fight the evil…and win

That down is bad and up is good.

Leave behind the dark and  and walk in the light

That if I root for the underdog eventually we all get on down the high road to Paradise.

But sometimes?

        right now,

     today, pulling our mothers back from graves and  talking our brothers down from ledges,

 i feel these lessons returning void.

You can smell my fear.

 it smells like

cities burning and

people consuming each other

It feels like everyone above is tap dancing in the bones and ashes.

 they keep shouting down to me that

I am the crazy one.

Perhaps they’re right.

I’ve heard you go insane when you spend too long awake without dreaming.

So i will pick up the power of a dream and a mountain top.

I will believe again in the strength of this heart and that heart….and that heart.

And that heart

I will duck slings, twirl past arrows, and i will not return their fear with fists or bullets

I will pray, I will shout, I will cook dinners and have you over to eat at my table

I will read, I will listen and I will watch, I will sing, I will write, and i will vote

I will raise my fist in power and open my arms to love

 i will march as far as I can

And I will cheer you on as you march further.

We are not crazy.

We were broken

But now we knit bone back together with spirit and hold hands as we walk out of this

 long dark night together

© Leslie Speikes 1/25/2017
 

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, 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. VISUAL ARTISTS ! Do you have something visually poetic that you’d like to submit? GO FOR IT!
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.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

 

 

 

Posted on by waxyandpoetic

#100Days100Poems Day 5

Today’s untitled submission comes from Samantha Jean Soper of Austin, Texas.  It’s a chilling snapshot of the ironies of having voted for a con man.

 

“Live to work!” they yelled as their golden God, served life on a platter, took his seat.
“Don’t protest!” they screamed as they clung to their arsenal, stockpiled just in case.
“Do something about the immigrants!” they insisted as their jobs were replaced by AI automation and robotic assembly.
“Down with welfare!” they preached, right before they needed it most.
“How did we get here?!” they cried as their golden God stripped their rights and bank accounts for his own corporate interests.

 

 

© Samantha Jean Soper 1/24/2017

 

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, 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.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

Posted on by waxyandpoetic

#100Days100Poems Day 4

Just a few days in and it already feels like the world around us is pretty heavy. At times like these, it often helps that we have limericks to keep it light and make us laugh.

 

There once was a president named Trumpet
who liked to have pee with his strumpets.
He would set down a cup,
ask Russian harlots to fill it up,
then lean his hair down and dunk it!

 

© David Siller 1/23/2017

 

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, 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.

Read, follow, share, re-tweet, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****

Posted on by waxyandpoetic

#100Days100Poems Day 3

A sharp, smart jab from Margo Berdeshevsky. Poets past join her in her maddened and maddening rage.

NO PEACE IN OUR TIME, IF HE CONTINUES HIS DAYS…

                 “When reason fails, the devil helps!”― Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

 


A tweeter who conned to be Prez

in inaugural blitz, spat the SS’s America First

This time his baby-man voice, heard,  

his fist and the darkest of clouds merged

 

Apt portrait of liberty’s soul—fouled,

What gods are his red-hatted audience now?

 

Our nests breaking open, our world —  

watching the stage —

 

We ready the march —

mourners of courage mourners of rage

 

Not my President sung with no chorus of praise

No peace in our time, if he continues his days…

 

A tweeter who tweets like a twit

Tried taming his mockers, to wit

Mad as shit said his mockers to mocked Mr. Drumpf,

If you’d taken a jump we might yet untwist — narcissist,

might have saved our dumbed brain for a democracy, chump.

       

A tweeter who tweets in a snit 

tried taming America’s  wit,  

said his mockers, sir Drumpf undiscerning,

Yeats’s gyre is turning…

Oscar Wilde’s in the wings — live,

“The world is a stage, but the play’s badly

cast”: he’d ram your short intellect

out of your virtual rump…

 

Yet our nests breaking open, our world—  

watching the stage —

 

We ready the march—

mourners of courage mourners of rage

 

Not my President sung with no chorus of praise

No peace in our time, if he continues his days…

 

                                         © Margo Berdeshevsky 1/21/2017

                                                         http://margoberdeshevsky.blogspot.com

 

margo_e-mail

 

 

*****

For the first 100 days of the Trumpet administration, 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.

Read, follow, share, submit, live, love, spread light! Don’t forget to use #100Days100Poems !

*****