Party Like It’s 1773

Evolved with hair-trigger war yearning
Crush other
Fight back
Own all
Yet
Some learned how to
Share
Love
Support
One another

You still loved the struggle
Desire to dominate
Subjugate
Oppress
We thought we left you behind

Cities they began to call them
Short, nasty, and brutish without
We had come so far!
Language, hygiene
Weapons
We still raped
Still clawed with blood dry
Underneath fingernails from past battles

Perhaps
It was a continent thing
Africa
Asia
Europe

The “settlers”
Spread their compassion around
Smallpox on blankets
Stolen slaves and dehumanized possessions
Some
Were opposed
But you could always hear the rally cry
“Slavery must be allowed!”
“Protect the union!”
You heard their protests
Their screams
Their hatred

In the end
They lost
But the spirit of their hatred
Lived on in many hearts
Instead of chains
Just rubber bullets
Dogs perverted to be bloodthirsty
Flags made to inspire fear

Guess what
It did not work
Progress was made
Never perfection
Never
But progress nevertheless

Today
You hold your hate high
Shrouded in tea parties
And news channels
Masked behind klansmen
Like Ron Paul
Like the ghost of Strom Thurman
You can protest all you want
Pretend your hatred of a black president
Your xenophobic demands of birth certificates
Your antichrist fear-mongering
They are just rational concerns
But we see what they are
We remember the plains of Africa
We recall the first cities
The first “settlers”
The slave owners and the
Segregationists
Dress up hatred
Hide it
But we see it

And you know what?
You will lose
In the end
You always do

Little Birds (Or: In My World, There is No Hate)

Little girl daydreams

are full of birthday parties,

strawberry popsicles

that drip in the sun.

Piñatas and candy,

Mami cooks tamales,

and Papá sings mañanitas

to rouse her in the morning. 

Little girl realities

are full of stares.

People look at her face

(but don't really look),

look at Mami's beautiful brown face,

hear Mami habla en español,

and wonder

without asking;

their disapproving silences 

say just enough.

Little girl nightmares

are full of flashes--

red and blue--

in the dark.

Guns and badges thrust in her face,

Mami screaming 

and clutching her hand

to stop the world from going...

going...

from going to pieces.

Papá in handcuffs,

mouthing the words 

"Te amo, be brave"

through the windshield.

Some kids at school

call her things she's only heard 

on TV, where angry people 

wave fingers in brown faces.

But some kids are quiet,

scared for their own papás

working in the fruit fields

or driving down the streets.

Her poor little heart 

is torn 

in two pieces.

One piece still sings,

"Despierta, mi bien, despierta,

mira que ya amaneci.

Ya los pajarillos cantan,

la luna ya se meti."*

The other cries herself to sleep

somewhere in Mexico. 

*Awaken, my dear, awaken,

and see that the day has dawned.

Now the little birds are singing,

and the moon has set.

Another bad "Justice Is" Poem, because I am perpetually in fifth grade

Justice is being with
Who you want
When you want
Without having to question
What you are doing
When it happens or when the next step
Will take place or
Why you are with that person.

Justice is...

What is Justice?
Can it be quantified?
Justice is intangible and
Out of control.

Justice is catching a lunch thief in the act
And a pretty cool name of a kid I know
Justice is fairness
And we all know that life ain't fair.

We try to pursue justice
All our lives
But the pursuit is fruitless
Judgmental, even

For the 23-year-old single mother of two
Justice means alimony and child support
Maybe even a night off
And a chance at castration for the bastard that did this to her.

I will tell you one thing
My thin skin can't
fight for justice anymore
I need to find something else I'm passionate about.

Justice is
"It's my turn" followed by a
"You got it yesterday" and "She always gets to sit in the front" followed by a
"If you don't let me have it I don't love you anymore."

Justice is
Finding your daughter's rapist and murderer has been given
Two life sentences in maximum security
Instead of the death penalty

Justice is
Meeting your birth mother
For the first time
After 35 years

Justice is
Conceiving a baby
After being told
Your husband is sterile

Justice is adoption

Justice is
"It's not fair" and
"It has no boundaries"
We march for justice but what does that mean?

I find myself tonight
Surrounded by a sea of protesters
In the pursuit
Of fairness

Justice is
Purely the precise
Banging of a gavel at the right moment
Bringing the jury to a verdict

Because justice is subjective
Maybe we need to alter our viewpoints
Slightly
But I don't want to get in too deep over my head

Justice can be peace and olive branches
Justice lies in a warm meal
After a long, cold, hard day
Justice is a privilege, not a right.

Justice is earned, not given out
As a freebie
Justice can be
Overdone

Justice is
A warm blanket
And a place
To lay your head

Peter, Paul, and Mary
Sing about justice
In the form of a hammer, a bell, and
A song

But I still don't know precisely
What justice is.
Any thoughts?
Feel free to add on...

Yes, I Went There.

Judge Judy knows justice
Judge Judy also knows
How to make me feel better
About my life situation

Who's with me there?
Oh come on.
You know you can't resist
Watching the slumlords

Swindle the morons
Out of their hard-earned dope cash
And live to tell about it
On national TV.

But there is more to justice, I fear,
Than morons
Making fools of themselves
In front of ten million viewers.

It's Not Fair

It's not fair
I have lived a charmed life
While the world crumbles

It's not fair
The country of Iceland is under clouds
While I haven't ever seen a volcano

It's not fair
That Judy Blume can be brilliant
And I can't pen this poem

New Month, New Theme

And the theme of the month is: JUSTICE. Go forth and create.

Some last haikus of the season!

Where have all the grateful gone?

Why me! she repeats
Employed, healthy and engaged
Please! do keep whining


The forgetting

You were a poem
I wrote into memory
Now, even that fades


And this one is from a favorite poet of mine Charles Simic

Watermelons

Green Buddhas
On the fruit stand.
We eat the smile
And spit out the teeth.