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

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*****

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 !

*****

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 !

*****