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Text of Poems - Politics and Other Outrages
Arrogance (2003)
Breaking the Silence (2003)
The Destruction of Weapons in Baghdad (2003)
Doves (2003)
God Has a Plan B (2004)
Hands (2003)
The Last Liberal in Utah (2003)
Party to the Madness (2003)
The Patriots Have Acted (2006)
This President (2005)
Voices of Change (2003)
Winds From the East (2003)
WE pretend to appeal to the court of the world,
To seek consensus, to work through channels
And then ride roughshod with arrogance
Positioning our pieces in a game of Go
Not even thinly veiling
Our disregard for common cause or common sense.
WE preach about the evil of militaristic regimes
The dangers of domination
Blind that we are describing ourselves
We boast that so many of our enemies
“Won’t bother US anymore”
Dispatched in silence and in secret.
WE have appointed ourselves protectors of the world
Paternalistic guardians against
Rogue regimes with dangerous weapons
Oblivious that WE are the biggest bullies on the block
Who will protect US from ourselves,
And the world from US?
Ordinary citizens have for too long
Feared to question; failed to react
With silence as assent,
Allowed arrogant men to speak for us
Whitewashing our confusion as unity,
Painting a continental target under the name of WE.
This piece and Winds From the East were first performed at a Vigil in front of the Bennett Federal Building in Salt Lake City on a vigil to commemmorate the 2nd anniversary of 9/11. I wore the Prayer Shirt for Peace, which made its first appearance at the Art of Anti-War in 2003.
The grounded aircraft left a deafening silence.
For three days
the only sound was the sighing
of the chicory and the sunflowers
as we waited to exhale.
And on the third day
the sky was rent
by a single olive drab cargo plane
lumbering resolutely north to the Air Force base.
I filled the bunker under the porch
with bottled water and batteries
and other futile things,
and keened for innocence lost.
I wrapped myself in a red, white and blue shroud
And gathered my children to me,
Waiting for death.
Martin Savage
described the destruction of weapons caches
as carrying armloads of rifles
like bundles of firewood
described caliber and bore
in round pear-shaped tones
as if reciting the Rubaiyat to a lover
before dousing her with gasoline and setting her ablaze.
We’re shooting doves now
and the soot stained feathers fall
weeping on deaf ears.
God Has a Plan B
I have figured out why
Bush, Ashcroft, Rove and Falwell
fear the woman with choice –
Because her god can beat their god
with one arm tied behind her back
Her god, my god has a Plan B.
My god is not foiled
by the knitting needle, the coat hanger
the pennyroyal, periwinkle, RU-486
or the compassionate physician.
My god does not stand helplessly by
wringing her hands and
whining to the next
Ghandi, Mother Teresa
Albert Einstein or Margaret Sanger
why they’ll never be born.
She just fills out a new boarding card
pats them on the head
and sends them on their way.
I have always known my limitations.
It is not for me to decide
which spirits will grace this earth.
But it is for me to decide
whether to invite them
into my body and into my life.
When the Great Mother comes knocking –
The answer can be no.
So to patriarchs everywhere –
Have a little faith in the powers that be.
Render unto God what is God’s -
But render unto Woman what is Woman’s.
Once
frightened young men
not even old enough to vote
bore rifles and their country’s shame
on bloodied hands.
Now
we have high-tech
low-risk weapons
for remote control war -
antiseptic, absent,
live video games
with joysticks and
play-by-play commentary.
It is easier
to support aggression
when your hands are clean -
easier to flip switches
in control rooms
and voting booths.
It is soothingly deceptive
to believe you are not responsible for death
when the gun in your hand
is not smoking.
Inspired by a cartoon by Pat Bagley
I chafe at my exile in the holy city,
but I am not afraid to fight.
I will ignore the propaganda on sidewalk placards -
enrichment by invitation,
creativity by appointment
and offer richer, rockier paths
I will ignore the foghorn whispers
of Big Brother and pulpit politics -
a social politburo of conformity
and live a life of diversity
I will forgive but not forget the constant trespasses
on my front porch and on my patience
of dark-suited young men in bicycle helmets
and offer debate to faith.
I will protest idiocy by elected officials
though it seems I am shouting at the rain,
and offer solutions rather than shields
I will homeschool my children in civil disobedience
to defy theocracy and narrow-mindedness
and create dialogue
One day I will stand frozen in time
arm upstretched like Socrates
in my glass case.
Will young girls in blond braids and modest jumpers
clutch their mother’s hands in confusion
staring up at my contorted caricature;
as unfamiliar a breed as
the Sacagawea or the Susan B Anthony
on their brothers’ coins?
The last liberal in Utah.
I am young enough
that I remember Vietnam
mainly as the acute sadness of adults
of body counts blandly announced on the evening news
of uncles who came home broken
of a priest in a white dress uniform.
I felt hostility and tension;
that there was widespread division,
revulsion towards those who survived
and relief when it was finally over.
I never felt a sense of resolution or justice
just shame and remorse.
I am old enough
that I remember too many times
when I could not fathom the logic of our leaders
couldn’t find places on maps
couldn’t understand why
my friends and family were in harm’s way.
I wanted to trust, as a child does -
that our leaders were smarter than me,
with infallible sources,
pronouncing righteous decisions,
that the world supported us,
that the media was unbiased and complete.
I didn’t want the responsibility
of being party to the madness.
The barbarians have moved beyond the gate
with shackles and muzzles and leashes.
These patriots who claim to defend liberty
are forging ther bars of our cages.
Two to one, two to one
These thieves of imagination
these voyeurs of conscience
smugly bartered our freedoms away to fear.
We cannot sit down and be quiet;
we can not sit by and allow
the Bill of Rights to be sold on the cheap.
Come November,
we will burn down that House.
This piece was performed at the Counter Inauguration in Salt Lake City January 20, 2005. People for Peace and Justice posted a photo here.
Over the past weeks, we have truly seen a glimpse of what the next four years hold for the United States.
This President, rather than seeking consensus on critical issues, plans on using “political capital” to ram through a divisive ideological agenda.
This President is seeking to dismantle Social Security, the most efficient and effective social program of this century, in favor of the Wall Street largesse of privatization.
This President has nominated for Attorney General, a man who has said that the Geneva Conventions were quaint, and who splits verbal hairs about the definition of torture.
This President has nominated for Secretary of State, a woman who has consistently deferred to ideology, and has shown a questionable regard for truth.
This President has retained the services of a Secretary of Defense whose disregard for troop welfare has caused even members of his own party to call for his resignation.
This President refuses to acknowledge even the possibility of mistakes in his prosecution of the War in Iraq, and in so doing is prolonging it, resulting in the loss of even more American and Iraqi lives.
This President has refused to hold accountable any but the few low ranking “bad apples” responsible for the torture, and cruel and inhumane treatment of detainees.
This President is now suspected of authorizing covert military operations in 10 other countries, to scout possible targets in future wars.
This President has said that the accountability moment has passed; that because he was re-elected, any perceived shortcomings or misconduct by his administration in the war on terrorism are now beyond questioning.
Some of my CodePINK colleagues are in Washington as we speak, and some of them are carrying signs that say "Not my President." I have to disagree with them. As emotionally satisfying as this sentiment is, it seems to absolve us of our duties as citizens. I will not allow myself this self-indulgence. Whether I like it or not, this president IS my President. His re-election is not my fault, but his tenure WILL be my responsibility.
I will not hide for the next four years, I will not sit down and be quiet, I will not sit by and allow the great promise of liberty and democracy to be destroyed in the name of international adventurism, and global hegemony.
Today, this President took the oath of office. But it remains to be seen whether he WILL preserve, protect and defend our constitution. His whitewashing of the conduct of administration officials, the encroachments on civil liberties, and the blatant disregard for human rights suggest otherwise.
Today, I am taking an oath of office, as an activist and resistor, and I invite you to take it with me.
I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute
the Office of Citizen of the United States,
and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend
the constitution of the United States.
The Quaking Aspens grow here in the valley;
I see them in careful, furtive
hursts of two or three;
awkward, cut off from kin,
stifled by suspicious suburbanites
who admire and fear
their beauty and their clear voices.
They encircle them in concrete,
severing their secret proliferation
and controlling their sustenance.
In the high country
away from fear
out of bounds
multitudes send forth runners
rising up through all adversity
persistent as a rule
pernicious if necessary
through soil and glade
stone and slope
a single communal organism
some scarred and gnarled with effort
others with smooth clear skin and lithe straight limbs
spreading
seeking
growing
gathering.
In their time,
in their season
tapping deep into the wellspring
raising up
stretching singing arms
trembling floral cascades
shimmering green leaflets
waving exuberant arms as one
bending, swaying
resilient to winds of change
rabble rousing leaves of gold
raining down golden treasure
bending
learning
reaping
sustaining.
Now silent, now vigilant
sentinels in the snow
waiting
thinking
knowing
whispering
sap rising again in the spring.
I am sitting on the front porch
watching the reflections of the sunset
tinge the Wasatch Front with flame.
The air traffic is from the southeast,
and I watch the twinkling pattern,
like fireflies through wine.
There are wildfires in the canyons;
I can almost smell the sweet wood smoke.
Nearly two years ago
I sat on this same porch,
but I did not ponder the sunset.
I watched the empty sky,
braced for the impact of a whisper,
drunken with silence.
I waited for the smoke cloud to appear over the canyons,
and held my breath, fearing its wretched scent.
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