The Poetic Political
Fumings of a Feisty Feminist
Making waves of change, one poem at a time.
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“I can’t breathe” George gasps and pleads His life begins to fade. The policeman kneels Upon his neck Refusing any aid. Nine minutes pass Nine minutes too long Because of 20 bucks. What’s a life worth Depends on your color ‘Cuz some don’t give two fucks. Photo by Josh Hild @ unsplash.
https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2020/05/30/video-timeline-george-floyd-death/?arc404=true
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If it weren’t for the videos
Would we know the truth How black people Are murdered daily In America At the hands of white men? How many deaths Have gone unknown Misled Hidden From the truth? How much have we missed Because there wasn’t a camera To record the beatings And their last breath? Yet some still refuse to see What is right before them Too frightened by the sight Of their own racist thoughts. Ignorance is bliss When hiding ones secrets In the shadows Of supposed superiority. It’s time we take precautions
During this global mass pandemic As we see American ignorance Becoming quite systemic. Refusing to wear masks To protect us from this virus As they scream of pride and freedom Uninformed political bias. Spreading deadly germs and hate No one must dare oppose them Because their “patriotic pride” And the stupidity of some. So let’s wash our hands of idiots Who refuse to trust in science Disinfect our country of this purge A bleach and light alliance. The President suggested it Let’s give him what he wants See how great it kills Corona A wise leadership response. He’s such a brilliant man He says so all the time Don’t question his authority He’s a leader who’s sublime. There’s a Covidiot in the House
He’s making quite a mess His incessant foolish rambles Are causing great distress. Injecting bleach and UV Lights His suggestions are absurd Our country is in shambles With every uttered word. Amidst a global mass pandemic This virus is contagious And if it doesn’t kill us His words are just as dangerous. How do we save America From the Covidiot in the House? It’s time for a deep cleaning To eliminate the louse. https://www.cbsnews.com/video/trump-suggests-injecting-disinfectant-to-fight-coronavirus/ We refuse your tired and poor,
And those who yearn to be free. Discard your wretched refuse, And hopeful wannabes The homeless won’t find a home. Our lamp has lost its glow. The golden door is locked, With a sign that says, "We're closed." Her words have been forsaken, And ideals have now been lost. Suspicion, fear, and hatred, Transcend the tempest-tossed. Recently, Ken Cuccinelli, a top Trump immigration officer remarked, “Give me your tired and your poor who can stand on their own two feet, and who will not become a public charge." That evening, he said the Statue of Liberty poem referred to “people coming from Europe.” Fierce flames consume the trees.
Smoke billows in the sky. Engulfed by fire, animals try to flee. Farmers setting forests aflame, Making way for pastures. Our desire to eat meat, Is choking the “lungs” of our planet. But cattle are of little concern, When we are gasping for air. It’s such a challenge
Every day Being straight In a world that’s gay Fired because You want to be you Marry your love And say “I do” Beaten and murdered Lives ripped apart Simply because You loved with your heart A man shouldn’t die For loving his wife Or be imprisoned For the rest of his life Love is love No matter with who Especially when You find love that’s true Wait, say what? I was mistaken? It’s gays not straights Who are forsaken. Oops, my bad I was smoking a joint. But maybe, just maybe I’ve made my point. https://www.cnn.com/2019/04/03/world/same-sex-laws-map-intl/index.html I wish I knew what to say,
But how does one express Sorrow Anger Frustration Pain Fear And love? It’s a jumbled mess of emotions Weighing heavily on my heart. So potent, I feel it on the hairs of my skin I taste it’s bitterness in my mouth A constant reminder ringing in my ears And tormenting my soul In anguish, I cry beside you. Feeling… Helpless, Hopeless. In less than 13 hrs, America suffered at the hands of two mass shootings, taking the lives of 29 people and injuring far more. As I struggle to put into words my emotions, I found myself writing this poem trying to find a way to connect with those who grieve with me. Goddammit
Fuck this shit Turn on the t.v. 20 dead. Wake up 9 dead. Fuck your guns Fuck your extremism Fuck you. We are better than this We give a damn Even if you don’t. I was numb after hearing of the third mass shooting in a week in the United States. My emotions were overloaded between the fear, frustration, anger, intense sorrow, and disbelief...my body went numb. I decided to focus on one feeling, the strongest feeling: anger. For those who know me, they know I rarely swear. Their jaws would be dropping to know that I wrote this. Poetry is art. Art is emotion. This poem is as raw as it gets. I can't describe it any other way. The news is devastating
Victims evacuating Police investigating Media disseminating We’re left speculating President understating Politicians refuse legislating On gun laws regulating Intensely Infuriating Bullets annihilating. As we’re left waiting Three mass shootings in a week. Countries around the world are warning their citizens not to travel in the U.S. because it is not safe. And yet, our Republican politicians continue to blame everything from Obama, abortion, and drag queens. This poem is a continuation of "Waiting". Standing at the podium
He stood so tall and proud His smile spread across his face And his voice boomed bold and loud The jets flew ‘cross the sky The rain began to pour He started to tell stories Of the Revolutionary War. But there was something new I’d never heard before History now revised Of long gone days of yore. Fort McHenry’s rockets Were from a different war And “our Army manned the air”? Oh wait, but there is more! “It took over the airports” But planes had yet to be. It seems our brilliant President Should retake History. At a recent rally, Trump began to reflect upon the Revolutionary War and how we "took over the airports" as well as referencing Fort McHenry's rockets, which were from a different war. (Revolutionary war was in 1775....airplanes invented in 1903). https://time.com/5620936/donald-trump-revolutionary-war-airports/ Ah,
It is here We find ourselves. We are but a tiny twig On the immense tree of life And yet our minuscule branch Has been the cause of so much Invasion Pollution Demolition Annihilation Destruction Eradication Desecration Subjugation Extermination Contamination. Ignorance is dangerous.
Stupidity is septic. Idiocy illuminated From which it is reflected. Political pundit Proudly bold proclaims From his purity pulpit Barry Hovis is his name. Nothing about rape Can be consensual This oxymoron moron Is no intellectual. Recently, while discussing a bill that would ban abortions after 8 weeks, Republican Missouri state lawmaker, Barry Hovis, referred to some rapes as being "consensual rapes." https://thehill.com/homenews/state-watch/444351-gop-lawmaker-says-he-misspoke-when-he-talked-of-consensual-rape A billion pounds of fishing net
Abandoned in our oceans. Creating Tainted tides of trash Waves of wretched waste Entangling, Entrapping Ensnaring Endangering Life. Defenseless Destablizing Deteriorating Destroying Death. https://www.sfgate.com/news/science/article/Crew-fishes-40-tons-of-plastic-trash-out-of-14058773.php?utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=socialflow&utm_source=facebook.com&fbclid=IwAR0sEkji4yHY8eLVCRXOIuzskdwyaal5hfswuu1QJfgC3g7FAf1IpjPqyWM “Blessed be the fruit”
That bears the joyful child. “Blessed be the fruit" Of woman meek and mild. Forced to be a mother Her choices are forsaken. “Blessed be the fruit” Morality mistaken. “Blessed be the fruit” is a phrase from the book, “The Handmaid’s Tale”. This poem plays on that phrase as a concept of the Forced Birth movement happening in the United States which views women as simply hosts for childbirth. |
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Poetry by: AsherahAlthough she was selectively edited out of the Bible two thousand years ago, she raises her voice for women today in hopes of a better tomorrow, as she makes waves of change, one poem at a time. Archives
May 2020
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