Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poem. Show all posts

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Tension

From Twitter: “The vibe at Union Square is calm, not like the tension this morning”

Protesting is intense.

(except when they take our tents. Then it is with/out-tense)

Then the tension is

Between the warm tomato spinach bread I baked the protestors for their breakfast, that I passed over the police barricade snug in Ziploc bags because I was scared to walk between the nameless men in dark uniforms and day-glo vests who guarded the only entrance to Liberty…

…and the cold water I squirted into the throats of the protestors, whose arms were linked in a human chain, backs pressed against each other, facing the future in both directions. Surprisingly cheerful.

The tension in our bodies, responding to shouting and shoving men in dark uniforms. The tension between what we have been told is true and important and what we perceive is true and we feel is important.

The tension between what we have been told democracy looks like, and what we have shown it to be.

Warm bread, cool water. They are important.

 Democracy, freedom, they are important.


Tension in the bowstring, before it is let loose. That is important.

An arrow into the belly of the beast. A thousand arrows let fly.

Ten thousand more to follow.

Sink their teeth into the doughy mass that protects the selfish and the greedy from the natural consequences of their actions.

That is history

Being chewed and swallowed.

The ripping open of history to plunge new words into our mouths so we can speak

Truth.


…then, without any protection…
We are out of tents, out of shelter
Out of bounds and out of breath
From running to catch up with the truth that
Will always be just out of reach—

And we are surprisingly cheerful.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

Fearless


I am afraid of my shadow
                When it disappears into someone else’s darkness
                And leaves me alone
I am afraid of change
                When it doesn’t come with a power point presentation
                And familiar narrative framework
I am afraid of resistance
                When it doesn’t belong to anyone I know
                And doesn’t care
I am afraid of the police
                When I can’t tell what side of the broken law
                I am on
I am afraid you fearless marchers won’t have room for me in your revolution
                When I open my door
                And put my foot in it.

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Poems from the first ten days

I wrote these during the first ten days of the occupation, back when it sounded like we were all looking for demands and not, as it turned out, for each other.

The last one in the series was my favorite, and what I wrote after four Occupiers came to my kitchen and cooked a meal for 200. I brought it to Amy Kitchen Lady, and she read it at the General Assembly the second Thursday of the Occupation. (I was pretty chuffed that my sentiments were echoed in the first Occupied Wall Street Journal, I must say... I wonder if that writer heard my poem, or we just all found the same words for our shared transformation.)



My one demand
Is for a happy ending
Right here, right now.
Allow compassion to surprise
Cops and robber barons both.
Live with it, the staggering heart-ache of
Ever after.




My one demand
Is not to force me to choose between
Dreams and America or between
Death and Taxes.
Let me just breathe a little bit.
Each grateful breath a love letter to the future. My
Child’s birthright is
Liberty, love
And
Solidarity. I will
Shout myself hoarse over and over.  I would rather lose my voice than my freedom.



My one demand is to back
Off. Stop
Telling me what I must pay and what I must sacrifice.
Here is the truth: I am a mommy. I
Eat lies for breakfast and sit patiently until the truth comes.
Resistance is childish.
Sit in time-out until you learn to share properly.



I have
Made my demands in
All the ways they told me to:
Give this candidate money.
Invest your own time: AmeriCorps, phone banks, sign petitions, write letters. VOTE.
No one listened.
Enough with my demands.

This time, I am trying something different.
Helping, marching, shouting, feeding.
At Liberty Square, the 99% are trying something different.
This time, we are listening to each other.