In this country
Politicians line their pockets from back-door deals
Sports figures kneel with raised fist, and protest our flag
Hollywood celebrities exclaim they will leave our country
Silicon Valley tramples on free-speech norms
Corporate elites rig systems to transfer wealth
and live more royally than kings of yore, while
Children hunger
for food
for love
for protection from abuse
Where are the marchers,
the protesters with cardboard placards
funded by big money,
Declaring that these,
the youngest of us
have a right to a life?
That simply being born
is not enough?
Where are those God-fearing pickets?
To that shadowed city round
Come those that are sorrow bound
In their multitudes alas
Through a Terminus so vast
For a city grim enabling
Their eternal laboring
From the parapets looking down
Cold and timid souls abound
To shed their tears in torment rife
That shed they not for all their life
And from the masses on the wall
Does that gentle misery fall
It stains the heights in colors woe
And settles heavily on those below
Who join the marchers in their toil
Redemption seekers one and all
They wail and walk an endless path
Divined here by no mortal wrath
Their tribute to a city sown
By their tears and ghastly moans
For they seek in the hereafter
What risk rewards and all its laughter
For they in life with trouble severe
Found not the will to persevere
And made a choice by many before
To embrace a simple life and ignore
The treasures offered and wisdom attained
That adversity's teaching hand ordained
Another day, another protest; who can count them all
This one in Vicenza, Italy, near a jewelry mall
Where Israeli exhibitors dared to show their faces
Trying to attract buyers in public, of all places…
Pro-Palestine marchers turned aggressive, then violent
But amazingly, Vicenza’s mayor did not remain silent
He stated that ‘It is a contradiction in terms to demonstrate
for a cease-fire and peace through means that are violent.’
I say, unequivocally, after weighing the evidence
We’ve discovered a mayor who exhibits common sense
Over 50% of high school marchers
cannot identify the 'river'
and think it's the 'Carribean Sea'
Why pay the kids to march, Mr. Soros
their meaningless chants bore us
Pay them instead to take geography classes
so they don't appear be such dumb asses
The marchers are 'useful idiots'
chanting 'Palestine, from sea to shining sea'
Their apologists say they don't support Hamas
but the words in their chants betray them en masse
Be they Palestinian Arabs themselves
or thoroughly brainwashed students
The marchers' intent is crystal-clear
a one-state solution
run by Hamas reappears
This is no time for talk of 'Peace in the Middle East'
The hour has come to slay the Hamas-Palestinian beast
For Zoila
on Her 80th Birthday
What a Special Day for Birthdays
They are like mile stones in flight,
Marchers along the highways of life.
Baby, child, teenager, young adult
Never stationary, ever on the go
With decisions made, futures
yet to know.
Dating, courtship, love and marriage.,
every step a monumental overture on fire
full of possibilities, hopes, desires.
Time progresses, ever moving forward
full of joy, laughter, happiness, sadness and tears
with aching loss and memory that elude the years.
We never truly know what is to be,
there is no looking glass in which to see
just the thoughts of love and memory.
We age, turning more slowly life’s page,
We reminisce and ponder what we might have missed
Of all the blessings, good and sadly kissed.
Children now grown, slipping into lives on their own,
Daughters, granddaughter and grandsons,
As we look back satisfied, content with our run.
We live, we love
With all the trials and the blessings from above
May you be at peace as those days are done
Accepting with gratitude the days to come.
A Cinderella chariot,
Eight horses in the lead;
Two heavy looking crowns that seemed
Uncomfortable, indeed.
A scepter and an ermine robe,
An orchestra and choir,
With all that pomp and heraldry
Intended to inspire.
The royal family on board,
Except the ones estranged;
The military marchers
And the guests, just-so arranged.
Amazing to bear witness to
The history, the bling.
I joined the world to watch
The coronation of a king.
Funny how
Eco-warrior's , marchers and so
called peaceful protestors
Love nothing more than when
one of their marches descends
Into fighting mindless thuggery and
random violence
So they can then be viewed being
dragged away battered black and blue
Crying foul whilst shouting slogans
out loud with such emotive slurs
As Fascist , Sexiest , Racist and Nazi
By any means necessary at all so long
as it tugs at one's heartstrings
Because if they so believe the cause to
be just then they can justify the means
to the ends
And if they have to bend or don't play
by the official rule's of engagement
then so be it
To me that time and energy would
be far better spent both educating and
imparting knowledge
Via rational engagement , conscience
and considerate debate
That creating conflict and just another
thing to fight about
Try to imagine being owned;
purchased and sold as property.
Ravaged by dogs for amusement;
and denied all your human rights.
Before banning racial protests,
try to imagine being owned.
And the added degradation
of rape and appalling beatings.
It's hard to forgive slavery
when you believe you're still enslaved.
Try to imagine being owned;
and your children sold at auction.
Black-Lives-Matter marchers tend to
be in your face and demanding.
But before you admonish them;
try to imagine being owned.
My friend and I walked across the Pettus
Unthreatened like marchers decades ago,
The peaceful river below hummed for us
A freedom song; we aren't free, although
The span is shorter than it used to be.
We see progress written on the girders
Or did we mere imagine what we see,
Gentle waters ebb and flow like herders
Coming and going without disturbing melee
A time when peace will rain supreme,
The placid waters still rolling on are free
As is the famous bridge crossing the stream.
Written August 30, 2021
crickle crackle stamp stamp stamp
tiny corpulent marchers track up the sand
crickle crackle wow wow wow
I stand back, watching them come
pincher alert
Speak gently of me in the twilight hour of grace
With kind words and thoughts, think of a better way
When I shall reach the finishing line of life’s race.
No stifled cries or keening when you see my face
Remember the joys and triumphs of fond yesterday
Speak softly of me in the twilight hour of grace.
Strange we oft forget that all must forfeit space
No mortal shall forever here in permanency stay
When I shall reach the finishing line of life’s race
Into the eternal gates of some ethereal place
Consider it right and proper that I should stray
Speak gently of me in the twilight hour of grace.
No somber music, please; marchers keep the pace
Bright-colored shirts; no suits of somber gray
When I shall reach the finishing line of life’s race.
Do not my "flawless" record at my wake deface
Yes, laugh, be happy that here on earth you play
Speak gently of me in the twilight hour of grace
When I shall reach the finishing line of life’s race.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Brian Strand's Poetry Contest
written May 27, 2021
HONORABLE MENTION
"Should I Cry or Laugh" Poetry Contest
All Poetry - September 19, 2021
Though they filed in one by one and marching to the music
The decree was silence yet those devils kept marching
The Day of Judgement has been coming for a long time
Praying for solace , and waiting for the rain
Refreshing rain to wash the parade of inequity but the marching
The rain doesn’t condemn ,it renews and refreshes and remembers
Remembers the past and nurtures the future and the tide
Don’t forget the tide , it brings one in and takes it back
Those rubberneckers keep me alert for the Sun
They get inside of me waiting for me to make just one mistake
But the sun waits for me as well as does the rain but the marchers
They plod on and on but God found me free and gave me ablution
Let the bells toll, the children sing and the sun shine on all of me
If the thought doesn’t fit you must acquit
For All who suffer Depression
Another summer of black bullet and white heat rhetoric.
The tally is in and once again, black tears outpacing death.
Fiery marchers adding another link to Martin Luther's chain.
Bull horns blowing out poison balls of rubber room insane.
The innocent are forever gifted to the cool uncaring earth.
With hanging head we ponder, what's a poor life really worth.
Enter the smoke and cracked mirror of onion paper blame.
Water colored common sense, sent bleeding down the drain.
Time tosses a mint of forgiveness into the mouth of death.
'til the dove inherits another black bullet to the breast.
They told marchers they shouldn’t march;
screamed at sitters in busses and diners;
blocked the doors to the public schools,
“whites only” signs were clear reminders.
They hated when black fists were raised,
or when folks joined peaceful protests;
they couldn’t stand their sins broadcast,
were frightened by the freedom fests.
While things are better, injustice still lives,
and now they say that kneeling’s wrong,
they want to squelch the dissident voice,
But we’ve all heard this familiar song.
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