Category Archives: Political

A Study of the Hypocrisy of Hatred, Sanctimony, Self-Delusion, Blind Followers and Other Tools of Political Belief and Activism

As supposedly self aware beings, it is somewhat disturbing how we find comfort in the lies spewing from the mouths of the politicians we support. All while feeling smugly justified in our hatred of the lies erupting from the politician we oppose, somehow firmly believing that ‘our side’s’ lies are morally superior to ‘their’ lies.

I am not sure which scares me more: blind faith in a politician by their followers, or the fiery hate and outrage of their detractors. Neither of which has based their perception on much more than what their favored media outlet has chosen to propagate. Facts now being subjective and manipulated. 

Political ‘success’ has come to be measured by who can ‘take control’ of government, and who can better turn neighbor against neighbor. We all proclaim ‘I am bombarded, yet I stand.’ But at what cost, and what prize?

So…..my reading of the prompt instructions hit a nerve
and led to a rant….sorta sorry, but not.
I am sure my words will probably hit a few nerves too.
https://dversepoets.com/2021/11/08/prosery-bombarded/

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Filed under Creative writing, essay, Free Write, Political, Politics, Short Story

Post Election Haiku – Working Title: Get Over It Already

The sun rose again,
odds are it will tomorrow.
Our lives have not changed.

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Filed under Haiku, Poetry, Political, Politics

Fall/Election Haiku

The leaves swirl and prance,

moved by the force of the wind;

no will of their own.

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Filed under Haiku, Poetry, Political

Do Not Speak For Me

Waves crash upon the shore,
clouds chase the horizon,
carrion birds circle,
colors bleed upon the canvas,
one unto another.

Ink spills, sweat pours,
the brown, delta waters flow.
A man in a white robe
spews ancient hate from the land
of my forebears.
Another in a Baltimore,
with raised fist,
shouts more of the same in opposite.
Neither speak for me.

Oil dilutes the water,
black gold drives the economy,
holds sway over policy.
The executive orders, the roughneck drills,
wheels turn.
I do not blame them for exploiting
needs/wants/desires but
slick liquids and slick suits do not speak for me.

Waves crash upon the shore,
clouds chase the horizon,
carrion birds circle,
colors bleed upon the canvas,
one unto another.

Blood oozes from the wound,
the gutters of Chicago congeal.
Mothers cry,
a plastic talking head blames a tool,
refuses to address a cause.
More useless laws, freedom suppressed,
the fist clenches tighter,
death seeps out between the fingers.
The titillated teeth on TV do not speak for me.

A man behind a pulpit
preaches out of context morality,
teaches exclusion, judgment
and damnation. He seems to forget
love and healing and caring.
He raises his voice and pounds the podium,
claims he speaks for God,
but he does not speak for me.

Waves crash upon the shore,
clouds chase the horizon,
carrion birds circle,
colors bleed upon the canvas,
one unto another.

The politicians are already drunk
on their potential power,
convinced of the absolute necessity
of their convictions, their change, their control.
They take up the mantle of left and right,
claim righteous titles of conservative, progressive;
none of them speak for me.

You. You do not speak for me,
nor do I for you,
But, I hear you. I hear your plea
for simple understanding,
empathy perhaps, peace perchance.
Do you hear me my brother?
For I swear,
I swear I am trying to hear you.
I am trying.

Waves crash upon the shore,
clouds chase the horizon,
carrion birds circle,
colors bleed upon the canvas,
one unto another.

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Filed under Poetry, Political

They Still Kill Poets

We live in a world where poets
are still executed for their words.

There is not much to be found
in the way of details —
we do not know
if the sun was shining and kissed
his face before he died,

or if it was done indoors
where he could see no light,

or if he was defiant to the end,
reciting verse with his last breath,
or if he cried and begged for mercy,

we do not know if there was a sympathetic witness,
or only stoic (or perhaps mocking) guards and executioner —

no, all we know for sure was that he was hanged.
If this was expertly done he would have fallen
a sufficient distance to cause the cervical vertebrae to fracture,
somewhat lessening the discomfort of the experience.

A less proficient, or perhaps sadistic, hangman could have
created a situation where he strangled to death,
dangling, aware, for twenty seconds to a minute,
waiting for the blood flow from his carotid arteries
to his brain to be cut off and consciousness to cease…

Twenty seconds does not seem so very long.
Have you ever held you breath for 20 seconds, or more?

We do know, with a degree of certainty, that his death
was ordered by an Iranian Mullah, found guilty
of waging war on God, spreading corruption on earth,
and questioning the principle of walayat al-faqih.

He is not the first Iranian poet to die at the hands
of his government and the mullahs, not by far…some were shot,
others hanged, one had his veins cut and was left
to bleed in his cell. More than eighty, intellectuals and poets,
were executed from 1997 – 2005.

But, we are not to speak of this, not to judge
those who ordered these acts of justice.
This is their way, and we are to be tolerant of that which
we do not understand.
The mantra of the politically correct.

Do we speak out? Do we march? Do we write ’till our fingers bleed
with the passion of our convictions and the right of any human being
to raise his voice in verse and protest?

Or do we hang our heads and shake them sadly,
mourning the loss of another voice
while being thankful it could never happen to us.
Such an atrocity would never be allowed in the land of the free…

Then one day…an all Muslim city council is elected,
and Sharia law comes to your neighborhood.

But we are not to speak of that, it would be insensitive,
and intolerant, and ridiculously conspiratorial. 

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Filed under Commentary and Ramblings, Poetry, Political

Speech – American Sentences

A politician speaks, everyone hears what they set out to hear.
A politician speaks, his country aches with the weight of promises.
A politician speaks to a body who shares in his duplicity.
A politician speaks, tomorrow we will rehash every last word.
A politician speaks, a soldier dies, a mother cries, rinse, repeat.

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Filed under Poetry, Political, Politics

Comments on the Sunday News – American Sentences

Yes, mourn the senseless death, but do not pretend he was no criminal.

They release Christian blood into the sea, and we refuse to name them.

Is there no alternative to the hypocrisy of politics?

A wife burns in a Pakistani honor killing; the world ignores.

Political correctness will be the weapon of the final blow.

The soldier mourns his fallen comrades, the veteran mourns his country.

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Filed under Poetry, Political

Shall We Have Coffee First?

It happened once,
several times,
a Jew, a Muslim and a Christian
came together over
a beverage — no, this is not the beginning
of a joke looking for a punchline, and no,
the choice of beverage is not important,
let’s say it was coffee — as friends…

Conversation outlasts the heat
from the cups, smiles and companionship
overcome any differences — which never
come up.

A couple of friends join each: the talk
remains amiable, but there are polite debates,
both religious and philosophical.

The crowd grows, and becomes segregated,
each choosing to associate with their own,
glances are exchanged, disbelief at the
other’s ignorance is mumbled just loud
enough to be overheard.

When the numbers swell the groups
separate into different establishments,
refusing to drink what the others
are drinking, refusing to allow any
of the ‘others’ into their place.

Lines are drawn when the animosity
and populations are of sufficient size,
rocks and insults frequently being
hurled across.

At some point one, or another depending
on the century, decides they have
endured enough of rocks, or insults.

Puzzling, is it not, how a cup
of coffee can lead to war.

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Filed under Commentary and Ramblings, Poetry, Poetry - Prompts, Political, Politics

Skeptical

I hope there is a threshold
to the amount
of control and deceit we
are willing to accept,

but I am skeptical,

how often we bow
to the bold, those
of pretend might
and slight morals.

We try to unwind in the evening;
a drink, news stories saturated
with symptoms — “the ninth shooting
downtown this month””hundreds
of live-birth abortions performed” —
so we sigh, change the channel
and hide from truth,

and because we hide,
politicians become more
powerful, the elite stronger
and all others weaker.
Each day another well-intentioned
lie takes takes away
another freedom, another right,
another choice.

Some hold out hope,
some pray,
for a worthy leader
with real solutions,
but the sword stays
in the stone.

.

.

For the Sunday Whirl

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Filed under Poetry, Political, Politics

Where Dreams Are Made

Once again, I feel I will end up being a voice of dissent in this weeks Wednesday Wake Up Prompt from New World Creative Union. Natasha provided a trailer of the film Zeitgeist, a movie I have not seen. Check it out and form your own opinion. At first appearance, it seems to be a condemnation twentieth century warfare and human rights abuses, most likely heavily slanted towards hatred of western governments. What little I have read about it (admittedly, from Wikipedia which is of questionable reliability) indicates that it is loaded with conspiracy theories (just because you are paranoid does not mean that everyone is not out to get you) and anti-religious rhetoric. Research it and form your own opinion. Mine comes from an admitted right-wing, conservative, capitalist bias. Can you look past yours?

Where Dreams Are Made

In the place
where dreams are made
a marionette with no strings
dances with an unwounded soldier.

Tables are set each day
with feast for the dirty and clean
of every belief,
and each do their share
for the right to partake.

Weapons are a thing of history,
an oddity of no conceivable use,
evil defeated,
all rights respected,
no women or children abused.

Sadly…
this is not that place.

Some tables are destined
to be empty,
because the takers
never produce.

Guns are still needed,
lest we all suffer abuse.
Soldiers die
because some things
are worth fighting for.
Yes,
sometimes,
it is the only way.

There is always a
puppet master
pulling the strings,
only the truly naive
believe
their side exempt.

There is evil in this world; plain and simple.
It is not interested in talking to you.
It does not want to be your friend.
It does not respond to negotiation.
It does not respect a position of weakness.
It does not play by your rules.
Its only interest is power and domination.
Its only acceptable outcome is your complete and total submission.

You have two basic decisions to make:

1) Choose who you think is evil
(this one could be a matter of degrees. I do not pretend that there are not elements of evil on all sides)

2) Will you submit? Or defend yourself?

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Filed under Commentary and Ramblings, Poetry, Political, Politics