A Political and Social Montage chosen and arranged (and photos) by Brooke Palmer
When Democrats rush up to me at
events and insist that we live in the worst of political times, that a creeping
fascism is closing its grip around our throats, I may mention the internment of
Japanese Americans under FDR, the Alien and Sedition Acts under John Adams, or
a hundred years of lynching under several dozen administrations as having been
possibly worse, and suggest we all take a deep breath. When people at dinner
parties ask me how I can possibly operate in the current political environment,
with all the negative campaigning and personal attacks, I may mention Nelson
Mandela, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, or some guy in a Chinese or Egyptian prison
somewhere. In truth, being called names is not such a bad deal.
---Barack
Obama, The Audacity of Hope
Love and War
---Patrick Cullinan, NEW
LETTERS, WRITING FROM THE NEW SOUTH AFRICA; Volume 65 Number 1
And to my
friends I send
A blessing:
The shock of
second sight.
But to enemies I
reserve
Truth absolute,
Implacable
light.
In love and war
You have to be
fair:
Serve both
right.
Enough For Me
---Fadwa Tuqan, A Mountainous Journey; A Poet’s
Autobiography
Enough for me to die on her earth
be buried in her
to melt and vanish into her soil
then sprout forth as a flower
played with by a child from my
country
Enough for me to remain
in my country’s embrace
to be in her close as a handful of
dust
a sprig of grass
a flower
Main Street
---Brooke Palmer, Now and Then
Moon floods her blood,
beer disappears below the mud.
And the neighborhood evening smoke
grabs your soul by the throat.
Trash bin spirits flow through the heat,
and fill our nostrils of the street.
You never thought such a place could be
so sweet, as daytime sanity tries to compete.
But shed the clothing and skin melts together.
All souls like to mingle amidst moonlight
weather.
Our native Earth creates one power from
humanity,
you might see subconsciously.
The Main Street whispers
I can’t be late,
as rush hour footsteps evaporate.
The city-bordered suburban fear
disintegrates under flight jacket hoods
and moonlight fate.
Re-dispose
of the Monster
---Angelo Moore (of Fishbone), THE MISSIN’ LINK
PRESENTS Doctor Mad Vibe’s COMPREHENSIVE Linkology
Another one of Mr. Lucifer’s
attempts
to create separation and
retaliation from
the UnderWorld through the
fragile egg
shell minds of MANKIND.
Racism is even a part
of
the Webster’s Dictionary
….would ya believe it!
Before a child is socially aware
to comprehend
the evils and goods, yings and
yangs of the Universe,
World, or Society it stands in
the middle of the road
of life knowing no Left or Right
or so called Good or
Bad or Color.
Then
it is sent to school to learn the meanings and
definitions of words they need
to know in order to communicate
in this society written and
invented by a WHITE MAN
for
ALL COLORS of people to
learn.
EXAMPLE!?
OK: I’ve picked
two words that are
Basic.
WHITE: The color of pure snow,
or of having light skin of pallid or pale color.
Morally pure, without MALICE,
politically ultra-conservative, of European descent.
BLACK: Lacking Hue and
Brightness. Of or belonging to an ethnic group of African
Descent characterized by dark
skin pigmentation, Evil, Wicked, Sullen, or Hostile.
Indicating disgrace. The color
opposite of White, absorbent incident upon it.
TRUTH LIE or to DOMINATE in a
SUBLIMINAL fasion.
Don’t be BrainWashed by these
words of Racial Dissention which have escalated into
the Monster we call……RACISM……….
That has gone BERSERK…..And out
of CONTROL!
Coming to a Reality
near you.
And don't forget
to look up the
word MALICE.
ha ha
BOTTLE
---Philip Miller, PHILIP
MILLER’S GEORGE GRAND
He holds the
sea-green bottle of white port
close to his
belly
in the line at
Safeway.
The checker chats
brightly with her customer,
who lifts slowly
from her cart:
polished peppers,
bunches of wine-red grapes,
fresh eggs, a box
of Cheerios,
throwing little
glances behind her back,
exchanging
giggles with the checker.
He squeezes two
bills inside his fist
and stares at
nothing, his face radish red.
When his turn
comes he must
hand the bottle
over,
watch it rise
high in the checker’s hand
while she looks
for a price,
then sticks it
into a bag.
She takes the
money,
her look as cold
as the gray afternoon
where he’ll be
walking soon, his face ablaze,
gripped the
bagged bottle
like a prize.
Underwater in
the Fountain
---Rumi, THE GLANCE,
RUMI translated by COLEMAN BARKS
When you die into
the soul, you lift
the lid on the
cooking pot. You see
the truth of what
you’ve been doing.
It looks sad and
terrible before the
crossover move
that lets nine levels
of ascension turn
into ordinary ground:
silence,
conversation with Khidr, blind
and deaf,
underwater in the fountain.
Bitter
Earth, part II
---Blas Manuel De Luna, the minesota review; the
academics of publishing, ns 48-49
