Words of Freedom
Started Aug. 26, 2008
Replied Feb. 25, 2008
Started this discussion. Last reply by JANAJ-YANAY Feb. 26, 2008.
Posted on January 7, 2009 at 3:04am —
Posted on August 26, 2008 at 7:22pm — 1 Comment
Posted on August 26, 2008 at 6:36pm — 1 Comment
Posted on February 25, 2008 at 6:08am — 3 Comments
I LIKE HOW YOU DON'T CALL IT RACISM
I like how you don't call it racism, because your mouth doesn't scowl when you speak the word “Mexican”- it just bends- ever so slightly.
Like a dirty secret.
As if you were saying “colored” in the 1960's.
When you go home and call yourself- “enlight
… ContinuePosted on February 5, 2008 at 6:04am —
PIECES
ISSUE JANUARY 2008
“Silence Me” -an Ode to Heath Ledger
(With love, to one of the most talented actors ever placed on
… ContinuePosted on February 3, 2008 at 4:55pm —
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By Paul Lobo Portugés
I cry a psalm a river of prayers
at the cemetery of shadows
when bombs make tombs of the enemy
asleep in their Gods after first rains
birth gold grasses over Darfur’s oil
break winter dead earth as jagged blood
rivers bear witness to whirlwinds of death
these devils shimmering on horseback cleansing
the land of Blacks taking the war weary
girls in the middle of starry night
by three in Wadi Tima three times three
in Kailek because of their ebony skin
“to change the color of your babies” they rape
them and with machetes cut the young breasts
kick the moving fetuses with gov’t.
issue boots one hundred thousand dishonored
daughters cast from the land of Genesis
widowed mothers wandering nowhere
to cry forever one hundred thousand
boys slaughtered bleaching bones in the scorched wind
hungry flies delight in the hot shade
as a bent over wanderer cries “God is great”
remembering the sounds of her dead children
she draws bloodlines in the blowing sand
three for her daughters: teacher dancer seer
heaped into the howling village afire
three for her sons: farmer herdsman poet
feet slit from toes to ankles testicles bulging
from their fly covered mouths their god fearing
eyes open to heaven weeping no more
sincere speeches are made a poem written
Dali Lama blesses the forsaken
as bullets fly each into the other
ignored daily by headlines of oil
as flesh girls lick tv for pretty
and spice boys practice viral games of death
until forgiving earth brings forth fire and flood
that God willing gives birth to black lovers
waiting for the blood of the living ground
with aboriginal mind for love’s song
peace
arno!do
c/s
salud
arnoldo
Great poem you posted here. Sad and true. I agree about the need for artists to speak up. How many times can you write about the beautiful river, without mentioning the bodies floating there? I am starting to think everyone needs to speak up.
was Silent
“When they came for the communists, I was silent, because I was not a communist;
When they came for the socialists, I was silent, because I was not a socialist;
When they came for the trade unionists, I did not protest, because I was not a trade unionist;
When they came for the Jews, I did not protest, because I was not a Jew;
When they came for me, there was no one left to protest on my behalf.”
Martin Niemoeller (1892-1984)
Abrazos
You can't stop the vein from bleeding
Unless you keep my heart from beating
What I feel and what I see
My human rights belong to me.
Love and Hope, Megan
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