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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)
George Carlin Said (2008) **
strong language
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)
Arrogance
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.
Breaking the Silence
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.
Destruction of
Weapons in Baghdad
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.
Doves
We’re shooting doves now
and the soot stained feathers
fall
weeping on deaf ears.
George Carlin Said (** strong
language)
Fuck Hope?
Fuck no, George!
You gave me more hope
than
any holy trinity of bloviating talking heads.
Hope and ranting rage
against Nixon, Reagan, Catholic
dogma and injustice.
Hope and the courage to be despised and
taunted
and alone in the support of principle.
Hope and
forgiveness to commit trespass
and sit in lockup under guard
of gas masks and attack dogs.
Hope in the knowledge that wordy
crowns of thorns
can cross boundaries and open hearts.
Hope isn’t the milk and cookies before bedtime
that
lures you into a false sense of security.
Hope is the
rudderless, whiskey-barrel boat
that sails on a windy wing and
a prayer for guidance.
Hope lies not in feel-good speeches and
on-line petitions
but in feather boas and bombast, human
shields and barricades.
Hope is that itching, fist pumping
irritation
that upthrusts middle finger and taunts you into
action.
We used to shout at Nixon, “Make Love not War!”
Let
us joyfully copulate with hope;
make lots of little
hopes
little black, brown, red, yellow
pink, blue and white
hopes
who will go and fuck more hopes
till we breed away
lethargy and despair.
As you go ungently into that good night*
rest in hope,
George, and rest in peace -
as if that were possible.
Fuck.
* Dylan Thomas (without the”un”
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.
Hands
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.
The Last Liberal in Utah
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.
Party to the Madness
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 Patriots Have Acted
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 President
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.
Voices of Change
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.
Winds From the East
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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