Freedom, poetry, Politics, Revolution, Spain, Uncategorized

Black Mass

I sense no soul in this rabble

just fearful alchemy

a hum of devilish trouble

ghoulish ignonminy

’tis no people’s celebration

this fascist akelarre

just a rueful abnegation

of what we’re fighting for

and, lo,

a ghastly chill is in the air—

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anarchism, Atheism, Catholicism, Death, poetry, Religion, Socialism, Spain, Uncategorized

Heretic’s Benediction

Priests bless the perversions of the fascists

While condemning the sharing of the land

but no foul curate will thwart our demand

we have no fear of holy chauvinists

 

Mass is held with the flesh of socialists

While Fathers absolve the barbarous bands

The sign of the cross made with bloody hands

Having sold their souls to Nationalists

 

We drink the pure water of righteousness

Boorish Priests are drunk on the holy blood

We sup as one on the bread of blitheness

While like cows with their host they chew the cud

they make a desert of faith with their weakness

Lo, and heed; after us will come the flood

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Feminism, Freedom, poetry, Politics, Spain, Uncategorized, War, We The People

The Partisan

Her smile inspires her fellow partisans and her community

She throws caution to the wind

so as to watch their spirits soar

When Fascists questioned her commitment

she let her carbine counterclaim

She looks out over Barcelona

her city

From the top of the highest tower

survaying a land riven by

passions and politics

But beyond this tumultuous horizon

there is a glint of light

beginning to peak through

the gathered clouds

and so she smiles

and goes about her revolution

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anarchism, art, Europe, poetry, Rights, Spain, We The People, Writing

The Land Is Yours

Workers,  artists, the land is yours

Fascists have no claim on it

Farmers, mothers, the land is yours

Stalinists have no stake in it

 

The land feeds you, it shelters you

Capitalists will pillage it

The land conceived you, it birthed you

Priests will diseffect you from it

 

Swains, partisans, the land is yours

Fatalists have no love for it

Songstresses, bards, the land is yours

Puritans will sanitize it

 

The land inspires you, delights you

The abject will denigrate it

The land endows you, renews you

The callous will despoil it

 

The land is yours

Will you fight for it?

 

 

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Activism, poetry

This Flag

ragflag

This flag

it is a rag

it ain’t my bag

to salute this piece of cloth

signaling defeat

and deceit

in the eyes of those

unfortunate enough

to be “liberated”

in its name

This flag

is just a rag

a blood one at that

used to mop up the

trail of tears

and 500 years

of genocide

red as the blood that stains the great plains

white as the skin of the conquerors

blue as the blood of those who profited

and who profit still

on the tyranny

and calumny

that reigns

under

that

flag

that

rag

to me

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poetry

Do Not Wait (the Moon)

moon

Do not wait for me to fly

I will be there, by and by

To sooth your fears

And dry your tears

A breeze will deliver me

Your sighs and your nocturn pleas

Listen closely

Quite remotely

You can hear my eager tramp

Do not yet put out your lamp

For soon you see

With you I’ll be

Your sorrows will be ended

Your shattered heart well mended

I’ll be with you very soon

‘til then take cheer from the moon

Up in our shared twilight sky

I will be there, by and by

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poetry

A Lark

Columnes_-_Gran_Mesquita_de_Kairuan

Hark! I am a Lark

A blessed spark

of inspiration on a dullard’s own

canvas

his eyes jacinths

his teeth

dancing dalliances with

unipeds

grinning three-eared coney

peace and violet and aquamarine fractals

Alhambra

the ides of Spain

Submission kef

in smoke of pleasure

a red paparchy

spilt like silk

onto Iberian plains

gadroon guilt saucers

and porcelain cups

from Cathay

passionate blue

dragons in common with the

gonfalon on the stone wall

Hail! I am a Nightingale

body ooidal

though still taking flight

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