political poetry
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First they came for the hungry; I said nothing, for I had meat. Then they came for the thirsty; I said nothing, for I had drink. Then they came for the stranger; I said nothing, for we didn’t meet. Then they came for the sick and imprisoned; I said nothing, for I walked free. I
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They gave out bread and circuses As Rome was burning down. Now Nero’s in the White House Wearing a gilded crown. They gave us tariffs and TikTok Instead of jobs and eggs. Now Nero’s out playing golf And freezing federal aide. They’ll serve us dreams and promises, As they put the country up for sale.
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Saving pennies will add up If given enough time, But hard earned penies don’t bring luck When 2 cents cost a dime. While we’re all pinching pennies In order to survive, Billionaires spend millions To buy and sell our lives.
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I’ve become a political poet. If the last few months have been good for anything, it’s inspiration. I’ve been spitting out poems about current events on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis. While most of those rough drafts don’t see the light of day, I deemed several decent enough to share on TikTok and this blog.
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Ignorance is violence Silence is a crime. When there’s injustice in the streets It’s cruel to close your eyes. Ignorance is violence When information’s free. And silence is complicity While we still have free speech. Ignorance is violence And silence is a choice. Speak out against oppression now Before it steals your voice.
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Wake up in the morning, Pour a cup of coffee, Sip it while you calculate The price of your eggs. Return to office mandate, An 8-to-5 in corporate, Got to grin and bear it, You’ve got bills to pay. Work hard, show some muscle. Pick up a side-hustle. No rest for the wicked. No use
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History doesn’t repeat But it does rhyme. What’s happened before Will echo in time. If you don’t study history You may fail to take Important lessons away from the past’s mistakes. But I don’t need to know history To see, the familiar road where this path leads Into another great tragedy.
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No savior No messiah No king of mine. No praising No praying No bowing to thine. I cannot, I should not, I will not resign My humanity for his glory. Your god-king is not my lord.
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The morning of the death of democracy, Fresh snow glowed on the mountain tops. The sun rose bright in a pastel sky As birds and geese flew peacefully by, The beautiful day was a cruelly-felt lie– A mockery of our mourning. On the morning of the death of democracy, Heaven and Earth kept on turning.
Bringing Mae Flowers 