nonabrasive…

you nod
your head
when
we speak
but
you don’t hear us
that
painful look
of
understanding
on
your face
won’t
be
your saving grace
it
just shows
that
how
we speak
makes you
believe
you know
something about us
fictitious facts
drawn
from all those
historical
stereotypes
but
you
don’t know
us
the subdued sounds
of
our voices
conceal much
and
only
reveal
what
we wish
to be seen
verbal
camouflage
masking out
the sound
of
a fuse
that’s
already
been
lit

ground zero…

 

once again the streets
will become the battlegrounds
unabated greed
blinds rich from consequences
but shields no one from anger

 

climate change too…

 

if the venom
from
their mouths
sends
spirals
of
hateful spray
into
the face
of
your day
honey
just
live with it
live with it
as
they have lived
with
the degradation
of
just being
born
born
to
live out
that
prayerful motto
there
for
the grace
of
god
go i
they’re
the folks
on
the world’s
lowest
social rungs
called
by
many names
but
each name
is
anchored
in
fear
the fear
that
one day
they’ll
say
no more
and
just
leave
leaving
you
on
the
lowest rung

 

don’t give a damn if it’s televised…

this revolution
ain’t about
you
or
some
fat man’s taxes
it’s about
children
born
and
unborn
those
with pale
white skin
and
those
with satin
black skin
and
every color
in between
as well as
those
with
full plates
and
those
with empty plates
those
with clothes
with logos
and
those
with cloths
with ragged holes
so
don’t go
tossing about words
of
freedom of
the press
or
the oppression
of
this
or that
right
what i’m talking about
are
lives
lives of children
that we
all
owe
a debt
of
hope
to
so get up off your ass
and
do
something

programme du bal…

you came
to the dance
cheerfully
singing the songs
of dead men
as if
your chants
could place
flesh
upon
earthen
bleached bones
and
breathe
new life
into lungs
long emptied
but
you’ve longed
to dance
with them
and
to smell
the sweet perfume
of their dreams
that
aphrodisiac
of unlimited freedom
dreams
buried beneath
layers of compromise
like leaves
decaying
beneath years
of neglect
but still
you long
to dance
and so
i sign
your dance card
a card
decorated
with faded words
of revolution

pedagogy…

all revolutions
start like windmills caught in storms
but the winds die down

401k dust bin blues…

standing on a box
near the campus green
the brown bag prophet
said
this new revolution
ain’t about
your
corporate shares
nor
how damn dry
your martini
is going to be
this
revolution
is about
people like me
the faces
you see
out of the corner
of your eyes
as you spread
suzy creamcheese
on your morning bagel
this revolution
is about
interrupting
your endless coffee high
at your favorite shop
serving
an imported brew
of oppressed sweat
and hopelessness
this revolution
will be ’bout
keeping you from
overdosing
on the society pages
that have preoccupied
your fictional existence
but
this revolution
will
not
offer you
some damn 10-step program
to save you from
post traumatic humanity disorder
this time
you’ll be all
on your own
so
sit back
and
watch
the untouchables
drink from your
favorite cup
tasting for the first time
the social lies
embedded in history
and
refusing to add
the sugary hemlock
of distorted education
an education
where a slave trader
has been immortalized
as the father
of two continents
this revolution
is about
erasing such names
leaving them
lying naked
for all to see
like the women
they gave away
as door prizes
to their crew
and baby
this revolution
will not be
the night
you planned
not
a one nightstand
but
a marriage
with
consequences

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at the cock’s crow…

rise
reach up
and grasp
what has been denied
listen no longer
to the voices
and
words
of those
who would
mire you
in the soft mud
of tradition
tradition
that always dries
into the concrete
of human bondage
binding your feet
and soul
into a harsh world
that should have died
long ago
but has endured
because of ignorance
and
brutality
rise now
reach up
and grasp
the knowledge
long denied
and defy
the carnage
of men
and hold tight
to the hand
of
saraswati

revolution…

digital decoupage cwmartin

like words
on an old t-shirt
the promises
you made
have faded
bleached out
by life’s allures
torn by the trials
of time
leaving only
the ragged edges
of dreams

the revolution has been postponed…

there is no need to move
     from the city’s concrete cages
          to well-tended terrariums
          on the west end of town
the revolution has been posponed

posters bearing harsh language
     can be found beneath a mound of credit cards
           and vote for me signs written with magic markers
           by one time revolutionaries in pinstriped suits
the revolution has been postponed

black entertainers hug the president
       with step-and-fetch-it passion
            bowing and smiling to all before them
            as if on a mississippi showboat
and the revolution has been postponed

television commercials demonstrate
      how black noses can be relieved
            by jamming it up your nose
            instead of someplace else i guess
and the revolution
       has been postponed

black power signs are given
     but usually below the belt
           like the punches we take from the man
           and as for the revolution
well man
       it’s been postponed