Author: poetryfest

I met a traveler from an antique land,
Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of gold
Stand in the desert…Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a nasty visage lies, whose sneer,
And fake-tanned face, and poof of orange hair,
Tell that its sculptor well those admonitions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless
things,
The hand that beat them, and the greed that fed,
And on the pedestal these words appear:
My name is Donald Trump, King of Things,
Look on my words, ye Mighty, and declare!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of National Parks, plundered and bare,
Barren derricks stretch far away.

The river does not ask permission
when it carves a valley into the earth,
nor does it wait for us to remember
the names we once gave it.

It sings in the voices of silt and minnows,
its vowels smooth as skipping stones.
Somewhere, an otter presses its belly to the current,
a heron angles its beak toward sky,
and a tree lets go of its leaves,
not in grief, but in trust.

We dip our hands into the cold and call it home.
Even now, even after dams and droughts,
it hums through the fault lines of our bones,
reminding us we are never separate.
The river moves, and we move with it.

“I do believe the poets are our modern amazons — riders, defenders, explorers of the loneliest outposts of our kingdoms”
– Audre lorde

“I held eyes with one cop that night/Could taste their fear against my famine/The bloodlust of my silence./Them not knowing/If I was one of those who had nothing to lose or live for”
~Alao Olama-Ya

That blue beast under your body will not save you
in its slaughter, look at him fear
tearful, body weaponed and armored but still
weak under the weight of you in this storm
of rioting bodies. Look
closer, at your reflection in his eye

rioting

Look at the big, beautiful Moon tonight.
See the little red spot that is called Mars.
See the almighty Elon Musk take flight.
Launched from the earth through its cosmos and stars.

But lo, it’s only his robot doppelganger
on a mission to plant the American flag.
Oh wait, that’s not our wonderful doppelbanner.
Do you really believe we had it in the bag?

Just because he bought his way into credence
and has an office in the ivory tower,
just because he used his wealth to gain power,
over our flag he’s held sway, not allegiance.

Look closer, you’ll not see any blue or white stars
just an “X” marks the little red spot that is Mars.

Storm the school, burn the page,
Call it safety, call it sage.
Fear wrapped tight in whispered lies,
Erasing stories, dimming skies.

They sift through shelves with hateful hands,
Searching spines for contraband.
As if a book could twist a mind,
As if the truth should stay confined.

But love is not a secret shame,
Nor something small enough to tame.
No ink, no voice, no life is wrong.
We’ve all been here, we all belong.

No more silence, no more fear,
You can’t erase what’s standing here.
For every book you torch and toss,
Ten thousand voices bear the cost.

Let echoes shake these hallowed halls,
Let the tower begin to fall.
Love will rise from ash and ember,
Burning bright so you remember.

So light your flames, go on and burn,
For every story, we return.
We are the whispers in the walls,
The voices in the winds that call.

Truth is a thread you cannot unwind,
Strength stitched deep, a power divine.
You cannot bury what won’t be chained,
For love will rise, unbowed, untamed.

We are the spark that lights the dark,
The beating heart, the lasting mark.
You cannot erase what you can’t claim.
This love will burn just all the same.

woke up on a Friday morning,
and was greeted with the news
that America truly hates women.
They have hated us
for raising our voices,
for getting out of the kitchen,
for trying to make our own choices.

Not even 50 years
have we been able
to make the choice of abortion.
And you don’t need to know
exactly why – it’s none of your
God damn business – but you know
that we’ve been raped,
abused, fucked by our fathers and brothers,
or we had the child we so
desperately wanted, but it wasn’t viable.
So why would you let us
relive our cruelest dreams
through the act of giving birth
to something we never wanted
in the first place?

Have you thought of Becky?
Fucked by a stranger
on her way home from work,
and will be forced to give birth
to her rapist’s baby.
An abortion would have
saved them both from the trauma
that life continues to push.
What about adoption?
What about the 400,000
kids in this broken system?
They cry themselves to sleep,
and some may even wish
they were aborted in the first place –
I know I’ve been there.
What about all the abuse
these children face in the system?
You’re forcing us to keep a child
that no one will ever love,
but they’ll love taking advantage
of a child that thinks that this
is supposed to happen.

What about my own mother?
Some preacher just had to take advantage
of a young girl, devoted to a religion
that’s supposed to love,
supposed to forgive,
supposed to take care of their people.
Fuck your fuckin religion,
riddled with pedophiles and rapists
who abuse their power
to spread her legs instead of their words.
Let’s not forget her mother;
what would she have done
if her baby girl was carrying, at 12-years-old,
the offspring of her mother’s own boyfriend,
the preacher?
No, she refuses to help her daughter
with her own mistake
of even letting that happen in the first place;
she must have led him on anyway.

She must have led him on.
That’s what you all say,
yet you weren’t there to see it all happen –
how no consent was given,
how it was and a condom was used,
how she almost killed herself along the way.
I only wish you would hear
the trauma you have caused
by letting this be overturned.

We’re not welcoming
this handmaid’s tale.
We’ll take to the streets,
create an earthquake to shake
the thrones they think
they sit upon.
These people already have
one foot in the grave,
let’s push them off these thrones
and bury them in our pride.
Let’s throw all we have
at this church we call a Supreme Court
who made us realize that
they don’t hate women;
3
they fear us.

The fire burned all night, an infernal symbol of dark intention, defend the forest wailed the blackened skeleton of the bulldozer. Do I know anything about this supposed crime? The motivations, to stop the rape of the planet, to protect nature from the desperately grasping claws of capitalistic automatons. I was nowhere near the scene when the
bulldozer lit up. If I were to plan it . . . a weakness in the perimeter fence, easily pried apart for access, ready accelerant for thirsty equipment, rags and flames, and a party like the Fourth of July. Call me Washington. A display of action, the minutemen defending their land from outside domination. Call me Jefferson. A manifesto written in flame, the smoking puddles of melted rubber, a bonfire for a midnight tea party. The red lights are coming, the red lights are coming, scatter through the fence and vanish into the trees, the sound of cannons in the dark, the smell of defiance drifting through the grateful colonies of pine and aspen, hiding their protectors, revolutionary compatriots. Call me guilty if I was there.

Mom hello!
How are you? Simple question, right?
I hear they began to give out sugar
in a limited way
and the medicines are unavailable.
Bought some, hey?
What about dad?
Is he gloomy as always?
He’ll never say that it’s scary,
he’ll be silent until the end.
I know, you don’t sleep at night because of all worries.
You have hundreds of them —
I am the reason as well.
Since fifteen I was always at war
(not the best word today, I know).
I did not have enough peace,
nor cozy sofas
nor relatives at the family dinner
nor books
nor new travels and countries and people
nor lack of problems in this nervous life
I am short of air, but most importantly,
I am short of justice.
You raised me as a very brave girl,
and told me to take care of a good name and truth.
I take care.
But it is not easy. And I run away.
I could not take the barricades — I am short of power.
Could not win evil — misfire.
Unsuccessful were attempts to escape,
so far so good, but that’s ok.
I failed, but I want to try again — that’s my truth.
I’m not ashamed to want freedom, mom,
you taught me this – to be a good person.
Be proud of me, please
at least
because
I don’t settle for less
I do not pretend.
Mom, please
be proud of me.
I won’t lie, I won’t betray,
I’ll help, I’ll give everything away,
I will do what I must
to have what is needed.
This is the meaning of all cartoons
and fairytales of my childhood,
all stories, examples from life,
all our tiniest conversations.
If a stray cat was bullied,
I ran to save her. Do you remember?
I want it to be the same everywhere on our wonderful planet –
and so I will write,
I will build, change cities and countries,
take blame for all the mistakes
but it will be fair.
Be proud of me, Mom.
I want to open the news feeds
and see how the rockets are launched,
and not to kill people, but into the space,
and this is the main difference.
I want to discuss how humanity beats cancer,
how they build the fastest planes in the world,
to tell how we saw a zebra in Africa,
how artists make planes of paper sheets,
how people dance in the streets,
and how some letters disappear from our news — v, i, o, l, e, n, c, e.
But now they don’t,
do you see?
I’m sad they call me a traitor for wanting other news.
They call me a gnat and they want to spit me out.
I’m weak in conflicts.
I’m completely lost,
and even more scared.
I’m not a gnat,
I’m a human.
And I will not allow them to spit me out.
Good name and justice, do you remember?
Everything will be fine, the world is waiting for us ahead.
It’s big and open — I still believe in it.
Please believe with dad in all this too,
and wish the same
because that’s how I turned out
only because, in fact,
I copy you.
We will see each other soon,
but nobody knows the dates.
I don’t have any plans,
just for tonight.
But when we see each other again
we all be a little bit better
and it will be our warmest hug
ever

I saw it on the news,
A man deflated with cap in hand,
His last resort was the circus clan,
But to be a clown, you need a costume.

It’s more ridiculous than a cartoon
A bunch of clowns glaring at a man
For not spraying his face with a pail of tan
And wearing a matching suit.

“How dare you”,
Sulked the clown with the most tan,
“Not even do cartwheels and handstands.
You want a war to start, don’t you?”

“Aren’t you grateful for what we do?
Can you not at least do a little dance?”,
Snapped another clown on a rant.
I couldn’t believe this was the news.

“Next time, I will wear a suit
With more frills and sparkles than any of yours have.
First, step outside the circus, where I am”, said the man,
“Then you will see why I don’t wear costumes”.

Twice a day,
every day the whole sky
becomes a rainbow.

When the sun is close to the earth

whether it’s rising
or setting

anyway
when sunshine
hello,
to us

our sunlight welcomes us to the land,

Every time the sun gets closer
it turns the whole sky into a rainbow.

Red sunlight and
the blue darkness

become countless colours

How can we say that we are not welcomed by the world.

To those who are based on the rainbow,
we are welcome.

To those who despise the rainbow,
but we are welcome.

To foolish ones who do not recognise us,

what do you expect us to do?
The light of sky loves us so much!