Chad Parenteau

Chomsky Flinched

It’s just like 

“The Emperor’s

New Clothes”

except that

you can’t tell

if The Emperor

knows whether

he’s naked or not

but his legion

of followers

know he is

but get mad

if you point

that out

or that 

their pants

are down

halfway as 

each one

masturbates

to thoughts

of his bare

unwashed foot

on their face.

J Martin Strangeweather

𝗔 𝗣𝗼𝗲𝗺 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗠𝗶𝗱𝗻𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝗿

It’s only a poem

hastily written 

before the demons creep back,

and I wish it were better, 

stronger, 

healthier, 

wiser, 

kinder, 

more patient, 

more forgiving.

I wish it could take all your pain 

and turn it to inspiration.

I wish it could take all your doubt 

and turn it to hope.

But it’s only a poem.

And I am just a poet 

in a world of mad god-kings.

𝗤𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀

We poke the sleeping bear

But it’s not really us who pokes the bear

We’re just a branch, broken off and brittle

In the hands of a suicidal history

What’s the use of the hammer

If we can’t see any point for the nail

Or any human endeavor, or humanity itself

The future only promises extinction

We can’t take off the mask

We can only switch it for another

We aren’t wearing the mask

We are the mask, but why

We clearly know why an eye needs light

But why does light need an eye

𝗔𝗻𝘀𝘄𝗲𝗿𝘀

 

Light made the eye

To capture its fleeting splendor

Otherwise what’s the use

It’s never been about answers

All of our answers are mansions aflame

The whole world is burning in slow motion

It’s always been about creation—

About art and its appreciation

Let the chaos be your forge

Consider the difference 

Between a solution and an answer

Jennifer Rudick Zunikoff

THE ELECTION CONTINUES 

I'll admit it

I vote early -

And I vote often

I vote late too

I vote whenever I can

Why only vote once?

I vote for nutritious delicious food 

I vote for meadows 

I vote for clean water 

I vote for the bees 

I always vote for the trees 

I vote for all neighborhoods to know 

they are good neighborhoods and 

all neighbors to be kind neighbors 

I vote for community 

I vote for twelve hugs

and one-hundred blessings

every day

I vote early 

I vote often 

I vote even past midnight 

I vote for every single star 

*dedicated to Lynnie, Judith and Mitch who I wrote and shared with this morning, and to all my "Prayer and Peace" Wednesday morning friends

Lynne Bronstein

Resistance

Hannah Senesh,

Violette Szabo,

Say their names.

They were among others

Who are remembered now 

But not when they fought.

They did not fight

To be remembered

But rather, to enable

Others to live.

They gave their lives and

All that they had to look forward to,

Not knowing if they would have

Any more pleasure.

Hannah Senesh

Under captivity,

Kept a diary.

She wrote toward the end:

“I loved the warm sunlight.”

 She refused to reveal

 The secret codes the Nazis wanted.

Violette Szabo

Had a young daughter

Whom she never saw again.

Starving in a prison camp,

She kept up her spirits,

Almost to the end.

Both women died at age 23,

From a torrent of bullets.

Not knowing if

Anything they did would count.

I don’t know if I could be

A Resistance fighter.

I want to be remembered.

I don’t want to fight in the dark.

I have the needs

Of someone who has lived in the sunlight

And refuses to give it up.

Some say just living

Under pressure is resisting.

In that case, I resist.

To the enemy, I don’t remember codes.

Remember me, remember us,

Remember freedom

And those who resist.

R A Ruadh

Oh, say can we see

It is my turn now

Sitting far from my homeland

Watching the shouting mobs

Burning breaking and killing

The lies competing for the highest rung

Of insanity oh they are so shocked

As if it sprang from nowhere

Somehow is from elsewhere

This is not our country they say

How so not?

Born bred and raised to hate

Following a Jesus I never met

And a constitution never written

Hugging a mythical freedom to rage and riot

At everyone else’s expense while

Seeking a war that will never slake this fury

Devouring life itself

While I watch the excuses

Pour from traitors’ lips

I see the tattoos on the arms

Of survivors I knew who told me

How it started

How it could have been stopped

But hey white boys will be white boys

You know what I mean

When you are so privileged

That nothing is denied to you

It is easy to twist trip turn be tricked

Falling prey to a nagging fear that everyone

Wants to strip you of what you take for granted

For all your bluff and bluster you

Suspect it is undeserved unearned unfulfilling

And only yours by theft

 

Yes, this is our country

Built on taking

Treachery and never enough

It runs in our veins and

Throttles our souls with

Mind bending weight only sated by

I can’t breathe

So long as it is another gasping

The science you would deny can tell you

That such deep sepsis can only be healed

By lancing the festering boils to drain

The wounds and expose them to the

Light

Air

Truth

We must learn and teach our children

The body politic requires

Every limb and organ

Left hand and right

Both eyes and ears

Every gender every age

Just as we cannot survive eating one plant alone

We must grow and be the entire forest field and stream

None is greater or lesser or useless

And plunder yields no sustenance

This we must know at last

It is my turn now to watch and wait

Wondering if my country

Will repeat history’s bitter lessons

Which our schools hollowed out by ignorance

Have ceased to teach

While furious white boys seeking darkness and death

Explode our legacy of infamy in plain sight

Oh, say what will we see

Steve Cohen

A poem.

There is no meaning to life. it is just a thought or maybe a smile, maybe a hug or maybe a dream. Just open your eyes, look around, tell a lover and look at the past and caress the sky. See the future, lick an ice cream cone. Eat something bitter and watch a baby smile and when the time comes remove your hate and leave something behind so the future can see the past. So, caress yourself and live for the humility of death.

jf giraffe

SONG OF JANUARY 6, 2021 

Many criticized. 

Then hypocrites changed their tune.

Evil melody.