Pages

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

This is the Year (2017)

after Martín Espada, and all visionaries

This is in fact the year that squatters evict landlords,
as we occupy all streets,
ending the silence, singing in harmony,
shutting down malls and boards of trade,

This is the year of reckless democracy:
Freedom Squares and tent cities
outside their torture sites and banks,
homeless sleeping on the steps of city hall,
ciphers and bagpipes echoing among the throngs,
millions of lights going out all at once
and guerrilla radio blasting
like Sandburg's mob at last awakening

praise you people, water of life protectors,
bless you truth-speakers, bless all your tents,
come drummers, come sousaphones, 

come hordes of screamers,

praise this Music of your loud rage

that is your hungry Love

This is the year the white house is decked out with graffiti,
televisions are used as box drums and churches as house clubs
for the after-parties of the revolution

This is the year the bubble bursts for Koch and Goldman-Sachs
and billionaires wash the dishes of their servants

This is the year that prisons are filled not with boys who sold pot,
but warlords who ordered the bombs to be dropped
            and stole the wealth of countries for Coca Cola & Walmart
            and raped the earth and its waters for Exxon Mobil & BP

This is the year a law is passed

prohibiting police officers from gathering

in groups larger than two

enforced by mobs of brown-skinned teenagers
armed with tanks and poetry

This is the year the ghosts of the murdered haunt the halls of power
till the suits and blue uniforms flee to the streets

This is the year Dred Scott resurrects
from the Calvary Cemetery in St. Louis
to appeal his case
This is the year Monsanto goes bankrupt
in lawsuits lost to farmers in India

This is the year factory workers, bus drivers,
nurses, waitresses and busboys
run the factories, buses,
hospitals and restaurants

This is the year kids go to school

and teachers ask “What do you want to learn?”

and whatever they say

whether it's how to build a bike or how to make a pizza
how to play the drums or how to write a poem,
how to save the earth or the history of their people,
Chinese, farming, or what stars are made of

the teachers have to learn it with them

Éste es el año que la educación de “English-Only” está prohibido
y el bilingüismo es un requisito de la ciudadanía

This is the year bicycles swarm the streets
with car lanes squeezed to the margins

This is the year marijuana is legal, cheap and ubiquitous,
and fast food is banned as dangerous and addictive!

This is the year the whole justice system is indicted.

This is the year the presidents of Mount Rushmore

morph into the faces of Crazy Horse,

Sitting Bull, Black Elk, and Fools Crow,

This is the year banners unravel,
barbed-wire fences crumble,

guards set capitves free
and prisons topple

and the last are first
and the first are last

and we give what we can
& take what we need

This is the year food and water are free
and gas is too expensive for everyone

in fact, this is the year money is worthless
and land is priceless


this is the year we remember

that we cannot buy or sell the earth
because   we  
are  
        Her.


If Occupy began

as a vision
of people
            having the debts that kept us slaves cleared,
then This is the year



If #BlackLivesMatter began
as a vision
of people
            walking the streets without fear,
            then This is the year


If every protest begins
as a vision
of people
empowered in body & spirit
Then this is the year it is so


if eyes are eyes...


so may every silent mouth,
dry as thirsty dirt,

open
with the music
of Justice.



Featured Poetry in Caravel Journal

I was hugely honored to be one of the first poets featured by Caravel Journal, a new online poetry journal with a definite vision for social transformation: http://www.caraveljournal.org/adam-gottlieb Thank you to my friend Eric Allen Yankee for putting the journal together!

Dred Scott

Dred Scott’s buried up the road from Ferguson
Pennies on the headstone / roses for a murdered son
Lincoln past & present / Civil War / we just heard a gun
History repeats, but at least I hope we’re learning some

This is for the slave ships / This is for the fifty schools
This is for the bullets in the body & the blood that pools
This is for 2008 / This is for 2012
This is for 2017 / What once was is something else

I am not the only one
who thought the name “Obama”
would usher in a brand new day
& had their naiveté bombed

& I am not the only one
who sees the system’s dying.
This fascist shit is capitalism’s
last breath / what crazy timing –

to be born in 1989,  
right into revolution
children of God /  & all we got
are pens to write solutions

but what a wasted life I’d live
unless I joined the struggle
to win the world for our kids
I’ll risk getting in trouble

cuz trouble’s getting into me
a thousand Michael Browns
have fallen in this battle
in just two years in my town

& I am not the only one
who knows what is enough
are we not human, after all,
and made of the same stuff?

Cuz Dred Scott’s buried up the road from Ferguson
Pennies on his headstone like roses for a murdered son
Linkin’ past & future / this is war / we keep hearing guns

History repeats, but at least I hope we’re learning some…