Regardless of belief or cause,
Be it Anti-War or Unjust Laws,
Free Enterprise or Communist,
Today’s the day to raise a fist!
And help improve our situation,
With some old school demonstration.
It likely will not help or harm,
If nothing else, just raise alarm.
So rouse the rabble! Make ’em care,
About what’s happening out there.
Category Archives: Politics
Down with Stuff!
It’s the First of May!
The day when we say
Down with Stuff
That’s not okay!
Down with oppression!
With harsh regimes.
And down with
Stupid internet memes.
Down with recession!
With the one percents,
Add software
License agreements.
Down with repression!
With economic squeeze,
And down with…
Actually,
Down With Trees!
(No, not all the trees.
Just the ones
That make me sneeze.)
one day won’t do
i’ve got a womb
so it’s asssumed
i need a day
though i must say
one day won’t do
neither will two
what i really need
is a good deed
i need a fight
for equal rights
so keep your day
give us equal pay
and keep your cards
instead work hard
make them aware
just get out there
make it less grim
for international women
Mr. Moonbase
Perhaps we should do the best we can,
To implement Newt Gingrich’s plan.
After all, a permenant moon base,
Would be a great place,
For his smug round face.
Though, one should honestly say,
The Moon isn’t far enough away.
SICK
The New York Times Headline catches my eye,
“Chefs, Butlers, Marble Baths: Hospitals Vie for the Affluent”,
Something here seems quite incongruent,
When many can’t afford healthcare,
The elite receive more than their share,
There is no logic there to follow,
It’s a very bitter pill to swallow,
Capitalism truly put to the test,
Survival of the fittest and then screw the rest?
What’s at the heart, what makes this system tick?
It’s an odd thing when a healthcare system is sick.
(written in response to the Poetry Picnic Challenge to write something after a NYT headline)
Gabrielle Giffords Says She’s Leaving the House
That day when you were shot,
Is a day we’ll forget not,
And of course neither will you,
Nor your husband, the astronaut.
Meeting people, shaking hands.
Taking questions and demands,
Making time to act upon them.
But that man had other plans.
Approached you like a passerby,
Intending there and then you’d die.
With many others, he succeeded,
Not with you, though he did try.
Assassin’s bullet could not kill.
You did not die through luck or will.
And right back work you went,
Still climbing that recovery hill.
Dear lady, take more time.
All the time you need, resign.
And come back fully healed.
And feeling at your peak and prime.
You took a bullet in the head,
It’s a miracle you’re not dead.
You’re the luckiest woman alive,
Or the first immortal instead.
Inspired by this piece in today’s New York Times, in response to the New York Times Headline Poetry Picnic Challenge.
TWISTED PANTIES
Are you stepping on eggshells?
Saying what is expected?
Avoiding waves and swells,
Politically corrected?
Are you afraid that it’s crude,
To put a nose out of joint?
Feel like you’re being rude,
Trying to make your own point?
Don’t worry so much,
Just learn to speak free,
Don’t use “nice” as a crutch,
We’re not supposed to agree,
We’re supposed to be true,
Express ourselves clearly,
Just speak for you,
Hang onto that dearly,
Step on a few toes,
Every fence can be mended,
And no one’s died as that goes,
From just being offended,
So let down your charade,
Stop your resisting,
I’m sure panties were made
To stand knotting and twisting.
To: Anders Behring Breivik
Why, Mr. Breivik,
Why, oh, why,
Why did all of those,
Children have to die?
I know that you hate us,
Us immigrant scum.
Despise and berate us,
Since we continue to try,
To threaten your culture,
And your way of life.
We’re vultures and also,
Blood-sucking parasites.
I’m not Norwegian,
So therefore I’m scum,
Who must live in a filthy
Disgusting old slum.
I get it. It’s cool.
Go right on believing,
We’re sucking you dry,
If it makes you feel good,
And your hate justified.
It’s okay to hate us.
Not against any rules,
But, why, Mr. Breivik,
Why so needlessly cruel?
They were children,
Who only just,
Started high school.
So, why, Mr. Breivik,
Why, oh, why?
Why did all of those,
Children have to die?
CUBAN MUSINGS
Dancing crabs, lizards, foliage unreal,
Mind numbing heat, so that sweat is all you feel,
Water and wind lending brief relief to steal,
Workers smiling wide; on the side they cut a deal,
Trying to improve their own situation,
Hunting for a peso, or any contribution,
From the many tourists soaked,
In rum-drenched absolution,
Is this the vision Ché sought,
When he fought The Revolution?
Thoughts on Norway: the children of Utøya
Like most Americans, my ancestors came from many different countries. There’s a little German here and a little Welsh there, but I happen to be more Norwegian than anything else. Until recently I’ve never really identified in any particular way with that country. However, since yesterday afternoon I’ve felt more Norwegian than I’ve ever felt before. My Norwegian great-grandfather, uncles, aunts and cousins, all of whom are a part of me, must be in mourning. Of the nearly 100 people killed in yesterday’s attacks in and around Oslo, at least 84 of them were teenagers at a summer camp on the island of Utøya.
It’s so hard to think about those kids without breaking down and crying. What must it have been like for them? Nearly 700 of them were gathered together and huddled around television sets and radios, listening for news of the bomb attacks that had just taken place in Oslo, about 20 miles away from where they were on the island. A tall, blonde, blue-eyed man dressed as a policeman approached them and asked them to come over to him. He said he was there as part of the investigation of the bomb attacks and probably had news of their families back home. Naturally they trusted him without question. Why shouldn’t they? He was a policeman come to help them, so of course they eagerly went over to him.
He then produced several weapons, including a machine gun and shotgun, and opened fire on them. The teenagers ran in terror for their lives and some even jumped into the water in an attempt to swim to the mainland, but he continued to mow them down, randomly, and indiscriminately. Eventually he was caught, but not before he had managed to kill dozens of people, some of whom were as young as sixteen years old. At the time of writing the search continues for more victims, but the current body count is 91. This includes the 84 found at the summer camp, and seven from the bombings in Oslo.
Now everyone is trying to figure out who is responsible and why it happened. Was this the act of Muslim extremists? At this point it does not seem very likely. Did the gunman act alone or is he a member of an anti-Jihadist group? Again this does not seem to be the case. For my part I find it hard to speculate on the motives behind the attacks. I cannot identify on any level with someone who would commit such atrocious acts of carnage. The typically Norwegian-looking gunman Anders Behring Breivik, has been described by the media as a right wing Christian fundamentalist, based on his own description of his religious and political beliefs on Facebook: “Christian” and “Conservative.”
So what, though. He’s a Christian and a Conservative, but so are millions of other people, none of whom are capable of the committing the atrocities that took place yesterday afternoon. I’ve been asking myself over and over why this happened. How could anyone do this? What would lead someone to commit these atrocities? It’s so frustrating because there are no answers to these questions and the violence seems so pointless.
If he had any kind of agenda then how on earth would committing these acts gain any sympathy or support for it?

