Painting / Luisa Berne
My daughter sits head bent deep
in thought as she paints her whole
body is focused.
Her beauty is starting to show
beneath the roundness of childhood
a glimpse of what she will look like
when she grown.
I want to keep her this way forever,
little, joyful, expecting that the world
will be fair and being indignant when it is
not. I want her to keep the stubborn
unwillingness to accept injustice.
This year she got her first taste of cruelty
a sour drink of teasing,
a tonic of bullying.
But I have no antidote to this,
only my arms to hold her,
hands to brush her tears away.
That’s Not Marine One, Asshat / Scott Burnam
can you hear us now from your oval of hate
in your fortress of lies as we’re sealing your fate
we kneel to no king and bend to no tyrant
our chorus is swelling with the rage of defiance
we won’t heel for you, tyrant, or your army of trolls
but within these next lines is your future’s foretold
we shed a king once in our first revolution
we’ll do it again if no other solution
back then there was distance – a great violent sea
between George’s whims and our colonies
but you aren’t so lucky and will never escape
the great sea of our voices as our protests take shape
you shit on our nation and we’re all out of tolerance
we won’t be silenced with threats of prison or violence
so here is the ending We The People are drafting
it involves you and yours getting a dry, long shafting
because justice looks different from when you’re not on the bench
picture you: in Guantanamo with your sphincter all clenched
unless maybe you don’t even make it to jail
the more chaos you brew the more systems will fail
it only takes one of the people you’ve broken
with the stroke of your pen or some falsehood spoken
a normal Joe you pushed to the lunatic fringe
taking one for the team for our nation unhinged
you’ve erased progress that was never yours
that true patriots died for on enemy shores
while you nursed bone spurs on greedy Wall Street
cuz daddy made sure you’d have it so easy
now you trample the Constitution and ignore all its checks
when you used to just pay for silence after sex
but we promise you we ain’t taking that kind of fucking
you can’t pay us off to save yourself from what’s coming
we are a people proud and a nation free
and we’ll never bend to your tyranny
pack a bag, Donnie Boy, a big helo is landing
though it’s not Marine One and your cellmate is waiting
braided / Catherine Forest
Braided banyan tree
A century of balance
Between earth and sky
ustedes son angeles (you are angels) / Erika Seshadri
drenched in tear gas,
blood feathers singed
from the fire walk,
you are angels
familia
vecinos
amigos
democracy dies
in times like these,
white-washed
washed white
viva los angeles
When Poem of the Day Features One I Love / Arthur Turfa
A refuge from strife is something we need.
Yeats had Innisfree, and Wagner Wahnfried
When his sunny skies were shrouded in gloom,
Brian Wilson’s haven was in his room.
The woods always provided me a place
where woes and turmoil were left behind.
Even after a brief hike I could face
them again with a resolute mind.
Ah, some places no longer are nearby,
some succumbed to developer’s design.
When needed, I merely can close my eye
to see the hardwoods and the pines.
