The Puritans were persecuted for expressing their belief
These Dissenters in the New World worshiped, such divinely blessed relief
For the largesse of Native Peoples, on pheasant, squash, corn and beans they dined
As we fondly recall the first Thanksgiving, warmth and generosity come to mind
Yet these Pilgrims allowed no religious dissent
voice disagreement and poof! off you went
They erected their churches with iconic white steeples
As they turned on their new friends as savage peoples
But I shall file this unsavory history away
And thank my lucky stars for this most pleasant day
I am also thankful for kind folks I’ve known, both passed and living
As I wish all of you a genuinely happy Thanksgiving
It is not hard to slip away
From generalizations
They put on you in case you stay
Within their observations
They are the ones who hold the truth
Which we supposedly deserve
In truth they tell I see no use
Cause I’m behind the curve
Dissenters, silencers like me
Are many, more than they
Would ever count, just to see
How falsly we obey
We’re hypocritical and cold
Ambassadors of fun
We never think what we are told
We’re always on the run
Escaping is a job I do
For each and every day
And I can swear you do it too
Although you wouldn’t say.
Breaking ground, well trodden path,
boiling cauldron of troubles past.
Injecting theories, humanities veins,
cryptic messages to dispatch.
Puzzling pieces, testing fit,
exploit emotions, effects are best.
Impel the masses, blind ignorance,
dismiss dissenters from public view,
construct the stories, elected few.
Orchestrate, a mind control,
obedient throngs, the unstated goal.
In times of politics, where power unfolds,
A bump in the polls through executions told,
A dance of ambition, a ruthless endeavor,
Where souls are discarded, like leaves in the winter.
With ink-stained hands, they plot and they scheme,
Silencing dissenters, crushing each dream,
Lives laid bare, sacrificed on the stage,
For political gain, a darkened outrage.
Promises broken, morals forsaken,
The pursuit of dominance, a path deeply taken,
In the pursuit of power, hearts turn to stone,
Leaving behind a nation, fractured and alone.
Executions of hope, casting shadows long,
The masses left questioning where they went wrong,
The system corroded, corroded and stained,
As justice and truth, they wither and wane.
Yet amidst the darkness, a flicker of light,
Courageous voices rise, fearless in the fight,
They rally the weary, ignite a spark,
To reclaim what's lost, and mend the torn arc.
For a bump in the polls through executions grim,
Cannot silence the spirit that resides within,
United we stand, against the tides of disdain,
To rebuild a future where justice shall reign.
The bus is full
except for a seat at the back
designated for minority dissenters,
free thinkers and libertarians.
A youth demands my seat,
I stare straight ahead.
The bus grinds through its gears
as passengers glare or sneer.
The execution
The basement, where cars are parked
in neat little boxes in a row, is cold and creepy.
It looks like a place where the fascists can
execute dissenters those who go on about
liberty for the masses.
There are bloodstains on the wall and cars
are silent witnesses to the massacre.
From the roof of the garage, blood drips of
the tortured on the first floor.
A black and white western on another wall
drown the screams of those who finally realize
there is no escape.
I sit in my car; it is ten years old and is not
forgotten in this horrid time. I sleep a little.
Wake up, start, the vehicle and take it out for a spin.
Frisson Moments
(free-sawn)
By: Miracle Man
7/12/2020
Early life was filled with frisson times,
lately, it resembles a basket of peach centers.
Analyzing the two, it’s been two distinct lifetimes,
anxiety has made me one of life’s dissenters.
I’ve heard that “early to bed and early to rise”,
and I’ve often wondered, if true, this be.
Will it “make a man healthy, wealthy, and wise”?
thus far I’m batting 000 for three.
Dissenters dominate the streets,
The public dominion of demonstrations.
This POTUS threatens military domination.
Just forget the pesky First Amendment.
Sowing seeds of civil war
The best path to reelection.
Yet remonstrations rally relentless,
One man’s terminal chokehold
A symbol of structural racism.
A metaphor for the socioeconomic suffocation,
The clamor and commotion
torn and tormenting in every town.
Protestors street hue and cry,
voices of the marginalized and forgotten .
A human chain of disputant dissentients,
Occupiers striking for a new order.
Rebels demanding
a new systemic justice.
History is what it was
By: Miracle Man
10/9/2018
History is the recording of our past events,
But now there are those with desire to change.
When we allow this we’re setting precedents,
By misrepresenting facts that they rearrange;
We can’t omit things from the printed page,
Just because it was bad or we don’t agree.
It still happened though dissenters disengage,
Some things in history were indeed beastly.
By tearing down statues or changing a name,
Or renaming a holiday doesn’t make us sage.
Filling young minds with falsehoods is the game,
Each time history’s changed on the printed page;
Not Regulated
Mind of maniac Trump has become miniscule;
He decided that to all dissenters will be cruel;
Not regulated;
Is constipated;
S0 hard to believe that our President is a fool.
Jim Horn
Israel the Failed state
It pains me to say this once I loved Israel
When she was declared a state, we`re jubilant
And as Zionist said on radio the Palestinians
Can go and live in Jordan
There were few dissenting voices back then
We called them communists we call dissenters now
Then pictures of Jewish brutal repression of
The Palestine population and slowly it dawned
On us, they too needed a homeland Israel has
Denied them and thousands have been killed
resisting this illegal occupying force.
The world is not naïve we see what is happening
this was not the survivor's dream to become oppressors.
To augment the population Israel let in Russian of
dubious Semitic origin, but they are useful in the army
killing is their second name.
Mind there are many Jews in Ethiopia, but they are black.
Poor Israel they stole a state they could live in without
insisting on Judaism as the only faith
It is all too sad it could have been a place of olive trees
and goats with the sun in their eyes.
Never, Always, Sometimes
Stretched across the years of time,
memory plays hide and seek.
In the foggy daydreams, shadows find
early life rarely has a voice to speak.
Hidden in the quiet corners
low profile is an easy escape.
Never stepping boldly forth, always the loner,
and in hanging back it is best to hesitate.
Sometimes though, some inner spirit rises
and takes the dramatic leap forward
Voices shout speaking what the world despises
of life, liberty, justice is not just words.
Never do the masses speak in unison
always there are protesters an dissenters.
Deep in the thoughts of freedom lies the fusion
sometimes we only see the adventure.
Never is such a negative aspersion
drowning hope and dreams of life.
Always is too much an elaborate excursion
holding back for fear of the daily strife.
Sometimes, now there’s thought and possibility
that success can reveal it’s way
Sometimes then, there is less futility
in being self and loving every day.
They say they know the point of life,
That it’s different from just love,
They say they’re only fishers of men,
That they’re de Principa and gov.
Their fish symbol annoyed me so,
In the back seat of the car,
When I was young and really keen,
On self-achievement and going far.
There it goes, and there it was again,
I spotted a fish symbol so often,
On the rear window of the car in front,
But eventually ignored them and didn’t soften.
I didn’t need their tract, still don’t,
Because they have no line of argument,
No pleasant garden or solid ground,
To falsify the gloom which can foment.
The many to them are lost and futile,
In an ocean of sinking dissenters,
But science and medicine are the many’s saviours,
And different technologies are their identifiers.
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 25
Followers are made from day one in the womb
Not gods but by men in the full-length skirt
Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb
Do not men in frocks drive terror promise doom
Those who heed not words they stuff into gods first
Followers are made from day one in the womb
Can honourable men raise gods from the tomb
Invite them back to earth slake believers’ thirst
Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb
Who split their gods’ words plunge followers in gloom
Make dissenters fight staunch believers first
Followers are made from day one in the womb
Sexless men tear each other under own dome
Then order robot men to give up the ghost
Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb
Who forbids men from praying under one dome
Don’t middle-men stoked by sybarite Sophist
Followers are made from day one in the womb
Pavlov mice all salivate stunned stark in tomb
- End of Part One –
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Through the mist ...
vision blurred by the bias of our views
clouding our reason
unable to walk in another men's shoes.
Blinded by the fog ...
thoughts offered by signs in hand
daring others to cross
convinced we are right, our dissenters lost.
War is declared ...
the air thick with opinion.
Battles commence ...
destruction of all that is held dear.
Guns blowing smoke
Swords red hot metal forged
Wrapped in the rising haze of heat
Voices raised dirty the streets.
Nowhere in sight ... clear rationale
no time to hear; no effort to see.
Air, a toxic mist, release the inner pain that i feel
eyes blinded by tears - no more chances, my friend.
Through the mist ...
no one hears.
This our reality when ideas supersede our fellow beings.
Through the mist ...
I see no love - hate guised as ideas.
Oh if they could see through the mist...
That is us on both sides of the street.
18~12~2014
Maurice Yvonne
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