Sabbath Dawn

I remember
There was a short sermon
On a small hill
In a little country

I believe the fishes were quite real
The soup was not thin
And the bread went a long way

I believe the skeptical women made the fine soup
After the wisest old woman gave a memorable blessing

And the men showed reluctant appreciation
Watching over the children
With few complaints
After the wisest old man
Reminded them of their own boyhood
And their love for mother who they couldn’t confuse
Their respect for father who they couldn’t trick

We listened to her without fear
She was one of us
We spoke to him without shaking
He did not judge us
We found words for our confusion
She did not shame us
We knew the value of our simple lives
Sitting with the elders

We sat then
With our own children
Quietly eating fish and broth and bread
Feeling equal to the hope of the children
We remembered how we had netted a few fish in the morning
We remembered pounding out a few flat loaves

We sat there
Husbands and wives
As the drummers matched heartbeats
As the smallest feet began slapping the powdery dust
As the elders
Got to their feet and in one long movement
Danced

To the fish and the soup and the bread and the goats and the wheat and the wine
All round and around the well until
They had given thanks to the sunset the sunrise the constant star and the southern stars
And then when all of this was accomplished
The elders were tired
We guided them home at Sabbath dawn

One Percent
(For John & Jane Doe)

The bloody brown
Tide of fascism
Will forever flow in
Now to ebb no more
With swastika for sun
Corporation for moon
And church for comfort

Tugging at Earth, Sea
Man and Woman
Using every public dollar
Every civil inch
Every pension fund
Every medical need
Every appetite
Every retirement anxiety
For the gain of the few

Corporate fiduciary child of Supreme Chicanery
Sucking at the public tit
Now legally and more efficiently
Than human child, elder or needy ever could

Working men and women in the middle
Vote away their vote
Nervous of another blow
Not knowing the final blow
Is already struck
We are comforted and distracted by clergy to forget…

Everything created
Belongs to One Percent
Every idea
Belongs to One Percent
Everything yearning
Belongs to One Percent

Until there is
No more public
No more civic
No more commons

Every hour of labor
We will ever do
Belongs to One Percent

With swastika for sun
With corporation for moon
The tide around the world
Now in perpetual flow
A relentless brown surge into every low land and high

We have all been sold the secret
Now kept only from our selves
By our selves
But how can self deception ever make us more than
Slaves?

Truth At Tahrir
(Winter 2011)

I live along a river
Settled by a civilization
More ancient than Egypt

Mine tried to murder theirs
Despot pharaohs destroying ancient walking libraries
Trying to take away their children
Trying to take away their language

Ago and away
In the home of my father
Truth was illegal in my own language
The library and the commons were condemned
Martial law was brutal but brief

Here
Today as yet there is no curfew
Today as yet there is no martial law

Today it is hard for me to remember
All the ways I may speak
Instantly publishing whatever occurs to me

Read or not
I have my SAY
In the language of my fathers

As long as I don’t offend pharaoh

Away and now
In ancient cities
At the steps of ancient libraries
Men and women with their children in arms

Come to the commons
To defy pharaoh’s gagging curfew
Speaking truth in the language of their fathers

Come to the commons day after day
To defy pharaoh’s gagging punishment
Witnessing the silent generations with their bodies

Come to the commons week after week
To defy pharaoh’s murderous attack
Saying the truth now in the language of their own lost bodies

May they hold the commons forever
In every city
In every hamlet
At the steps of every ancient library
At the foot of every walking library

For the unsaid truth of old women
For the unsaid truth of old men
For the voices and the language of each child
For the original people in every original land along every original river
For the heroic chants of the men, women and children of Tahrir
For my parents who sometimes spoke only for pharaoh

For us all

Good Enough To Eat Your Love?
December 1, 2009 / December 1, 2010

It is not legal to shed this armor

I must swaller these sweets
And chaw these meats
And gnaw these endless piles of carbs

And die this early death

I live on a plain where everyone sees me
But no one can know my way out

I stand here naked
I stand here alone
I stand here with food in my mouth

I can hear you outside becon
Wanting nothing but to be with me

I strain at the gravity straps
I would take them off and die in the wind
If I could be that disloyal

Even now when
Life is great with love and
Bounty all around

How can I receive your love
When my mouth is chock full
Of calorous obligation

Can I be bad enough
To refuse their food

And good enough
To eat your love?

Ideology Time

Were we lost at the beginning
With our lawyers courts and parties?

Washington saw it come
Lincoln suffered for it
The Roosevelts mastered it

Today’s ideas die
Un-nurtured by discussion
Suffocated by side picking

Invention’s technologies rules this day
Fed by lawyer’s patents

Bulled by giant green votes
Held by corporate mega-persons
With world sized megaphones

Company owned government
Populated with “three fifth”- persons
Voiceless voter-consumers
Slaved to speaking skulls

Moral courage to hear both sides
Nay three or four or multitudinous
Now nothing but old theory for old times

There is no time for speaking ideas
There is no time for hearing ideas
There is no time for reading ideas
We pass our time

Watching
Mouths wag polemics

Then watching
Mouths wag advertisements

Then we die

Video by David Crigger

Wars For The Numb
(01-21-91)

War is entertainment
We watch fake wars when there is no real war
When the real war starts we are riveted
Hypnotized…. “The real thing”

We send our children to die
To fill our emptiness with their bodies
To fill our empty TV evenings
To keep our newscasters heroic

We start a new war every twenty years
In case we run out of war stories
We must not run out of war stories
We must keep the numbness quiet

Oh War please entertain us
Keep us numb, we pray
If you abandon us
Our pain will be upon us

We must be entertained
We have a right to be entertained
Or the real war
Will rage un-numbed within us

Down To The Salish Sea
(For Connie 10-24-2010)
(This day in 1998)

When
Gravity and centrifugal forces
Finally balanced

I met her by plan
By chance
In the old river town

Where Salish speakers once
Polled past standing
In their canoes up and then down
The river

This night
Candles in cups sailed down with them and

Women prayed
In thanks not requests
Knowing answers come
In whatever happens and

One man will imagine
Himself mastering
The art of polling canoes
And speaking languages
Unknown to him

Just to impress

She appeared on the bridge
With all the equipment
Knowing how to say NO then
Walking and talking and thinking
In grace

Then I stopped imagining and said:
I am ready now
I am ready now
I am ready now

For grace

In Forgetting To

There is meaning in
Planting the garden

There is meaning in
Harvesting the garden

There I meaning
In forgetting to plant the garden again

There is meaning
In having the child

There is meaning
In hurting the child

There is meaning
In forgetting to heal the child again

There is meaning
In being a person

There is meaning
In being defined by others

There is meaning
In forgetting to define myself again

There is meaning
In employing the person

There is meaning
In destroying the job

There is meaning
In forgetting to employ the people again

There is meaning
In building the family

There is meaning
In destroying the family

There is meaning in
Forgetting to build the family again

There is meaning
In building the building

There is meaning
In destroying the building

There is meaning
In forgetting to build the building again

There is meaning
In creating the language

There is meaning
In destroying the language

There is meaning
In forgetting to build the language again

There is meaning
In finding Paradise

There is meaning
In destroying Paradise

There is meaning
In forgetting to

Successful Predators
(02-18-08)

PLAY THE TUNE: Successful Predators

It is sunrise and I can tell the white thread from the black.

I don’t have to prove this.

I know it and you know it.

Modern human culture goes all the way around the world covering and polluting earth, air, and sea. Van Nuys and Istanbul look the same as Seattle, Tokyo, Haifa and Hebron. CNN is everywhere. The culture of coercion and consumption is everywhere in me and in you. We feel justified in our consumption and our conflicts. We want billions of things that no one has ever needed. We cringe at the wolf and the shark and the lion but they are endangered by us. We are THE predator. The world’s most successful predator.

They will have to go along…
You have to…
You need too…
How can I get you to???
I have a right to make you…
What ever it takes…

It is sunrise and I can tell the white thread from the black.

I don’t have to prove this.

I know it and you know it.

The Madras and the Humvee advertisement, the church and the public school, the drug advertisement and the McDonalds advertisement, the Oil Company advertisement and the political advertisement and the all volunteer army. ALL invite us to consume against our self-interest, enlist against our self interest, vote against our self-interest, accept all manner of violation against our self-interest and violate others against our self interest. We are invited to forget about consequences.

The environment doesn’t matter…
Animals don’t matter…
Children don’t matter…
Women don’t matter…
No other human matters

It is sunrise and I can tell the white thread from the black.

I don’t have to prove this.

I know it and you know it.

People can not be un-violated. Some people refuse to be violated some more. When you continue violating people many will become extremely efficient destroyers. Some will come from Ohio, some from Kolkata, some from Timbuktu some from Haifa, some from Pittsburg, some from Shanghai and some from Hebron. They did last week. They will next week, except there will be more next week. All over the world the violated are becoming the PREDATOR.

It is sunrise and I can tell the white thread from the black.

I don’t have to prove this.

I know it and you know it.

Victims who become PREDITORS often express themselves through the medium of terror. Sometimes they say they have a great cause and sometimes they leave no note. It always hurt the innocent.

It is sunrise and I can tell the white thread from the black.

I don’t have to prove this.

I know it and you know it.

There was once a time for war and a time for peace. Now it is permanent war. Permanent famine. Permanent suffering. All over the world the human response to violation is rising in a crescendo none of us can measure. It will be a tsunami coming suddenly from any direction. It will be from an earthquake that has already occurred somewhere submerged.

It is sunrise and I can tell the white thread from the black.

I don’t have to prove this.

I know it and you know it.

Mark these words.
We keep choosing to have more children as we continue to create more and more suffering. We set loose the rage-voice of the violated, we lie to them and rape them and starve them then we buy them explosives. We destroy the forest, the field, the rivers, the oceans and the air we breathe.

As humans continue to violate each other and the planet, the planet will find a way to heal from our folly. Human folly will cleanse the planet of humans. Human beings are of the dust, we have stirred up the dust and now we will all return to the dust. The planet has expressed itself through us. Soon…when we are gone… the planet will throw up another.

We will not be here to notice.

It is sunrise and I can tell the white thread from the black.

I don’t have to prove this.

I know it and you know it.

photo-John Lai

photo-John Lai

photo-Connie Bonner-Britt

© 2013 POET'S MOUTH Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha