Anathema.

       The latest edition of Anathema, Volume 7, issue 3, is now available, to read on line or to download for free. As usual it makes for excellent reading, over a wide range of topics, all of interest to those who struggle for that better world for all. You also get a Margaret Atwood poem, Crow Song, thrown in, what more could you ask for. 

From Act For Freedom Now, Anathema:

Volume 7 Issue 3 (PDF for reading 8.5 x 11)
Volume 7 Issue 3 (PDF for printing 11 x 17)
 

In this issue:

Advances In State Repression
What Went Down
Local Repression Updates
Housing Struggle Questions
Dark Clothes Attract Heat
More Than A Three-Way Fight
Philthadelphia
To Attack Is Among My Instincts
325 Communique

“Crow Song”

In the arid sun, over the field
where the corn has rotted and then
dried up, you flock and squabble.
Not much here for you, my people,
but there would be
if
if

In my austere black uniform
I raised the banner
which decreed Hope
and which did not succeed
and which is not allowed.
Now I must confront the angel
who says Win,
who tells me to wave any banner
that you will follow

for you ignore me, my
baffled people, you have been through
too many theories
too many stray bullets
your eyes are gravel, skeptical,
in this hard field
you pay attention only
to the rhetoric of seed
fruit stomach elbow.

You have too many leaders
you have too many wars,
all of them pompous and small,
you resist only when you feel
like dressing up,
you forget the sane corpses…

I know you would like a god
to come down and feed you
and punish you. That overcoat
on sticks is not alive
there are no angels,
but the angels of hunger,
prehensile and soft as gullets
Watching you
my people, I become cynical,
you have defrauded me of hope
and left me alone with politics…

Margaret Atwood.

 

Visit ann arky's home at https://radicalglasgow.me.uk   

Song Of The Worms.

       A lot has been said and written about the result of the recent Crooks and Liars competition, the so called general election. All I can say is that I find it strange that the abused south of the border have picked the most brutal of abusers to be their new lord and master. However, I suppose it is all just a matter of degree, since they all dance to the same tune, played by the financial Mafia.

       I'll let Canadian poet Margaret Atwood voice my thoughts.

Song Of The Worms.

We have been underground too long,

we have done our work,

we are many and one,

we remember when we were human

We have lived among roots and stones,

we have sung but no one has listened,

we come into the open air

at night only to love

which disgusts the soles of boots,

their leather strict religion.

We know what a boot looks like

when seen from underneath,

we know the philosophy of boots,

their metaphysic of kicks and ladders.

We are afraid of boots

but contemptuous of the foot that needs them.

Soon we will invade like weeds,

everywhere but slowly;

the captive plants will rebel

with us, fences will topple,

brick walls ripple and fall,

there will be no more boots.

Meanwhile we eat dirt

and sleep; we are waiting

under your feet.

When we say Attack

you will hear nothing

at first.

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