We The Poets.

        As someone who tries now and again to write poetry, I have always seen the “poet” as somebody with an obligation. To seek out and shine a light on injustice, and where suffering occurs, call out the perpetrators. Of course not everybody sees it that way, it is a simply a personal view.

We The Poets.
We the poets
must rise to hold the mirror,
not at romantic moon
dressing tress in silver web
but, at sadness in a child’s eyes
helpless face festooned with flies,
the listless look of hunger.
We the writers
must rise to hold the mirror,
not at hopes of superstars
pandering to an ego of selfish greed
but, at misery of the world’s maimed
duty done by smart bombs, computer aimed;
peoples crushed by pityless power.
We the artists
must rise to hold the mirror
not at views from penthouse windows
of meadows green and lush
but, at peoples broken by starvation,
at war, its brother deprivation,
capitalism’s bastard twins.
If across the planet as a whole
if we don’t stand up and play our role,
poet; heart of compassion,
writer: voice of conscience,
artist; eyes of justice,
we’ve cheated tomorrow’s generation,
hurried the planet to extinction.

 

       I have always seen words as powerful tools, they can be used to inspire for good or for bad. Our “lords and masters” use them with great skill in an attempt to keep the population submissive to their woven illusion, that we live in a democracy. Those who know different, surely have an obligation to dispel that woven illusion. Words can go a long way in bringing about the destruction of that dangerous and debilitating illusion.

The American poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti wrote:

     “If you would be a poet, create works capable of answering the challenge of apocalyptic times, even if this meaning sounds apocalyptic.

       You are Whitman, you are Poe, you are Mark Twain, you are Emily Dickinson and Edna St. Vincent Millay, you are Neruda and Mayakovsky and Pasolini, you are an American or a non-American, you can conquer the conquerors with words. ... “

From Poetry as Insurgent Art [I am signaling you through the flames].

Pity The Nation.

“Pity the nation whose people are sheep

And whose shepherds mislead them

Pity the nation whose leaders are liars

Whose sages are silenced

And whose bigots haunt the airwaves

Pity the nation that raises not its voice

Except to praise conquerors

And acclaim the bully as hero

And aims to rule the world

By force and by torture…

Pity the nation oh pity the people

who allow their rights to erode

and their freedoms to be washed away…”

Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Visit ann arky's home at radicalglasgow.me.uk