From the editor
Cassandra Dallett
Pamela Gemme
Howie Good
Kristin LaTour
David Michael Joseph
Jack Peachum
JP Reese
Martin Willits, Jr
Bänoo Zan
From the editor
.
.
We don't make a habit of editorialising, here at protestpoems. It is warranted on this one occasion, though, I feel.
The world's very foundations are shaking in this time, and all of us are busy preserving what we have left of our lives, always conscious that we are here but for the grace of whatever gods or faiths we follow.
I wanted to apologise for protestpoems becoming, to all intents and purposes, an irregular publication. That's because I also am exercising self-preservation in view of the state of the nations.
Thanks to all of you who keep reading protestpoems, and thanks to all our contributors. Please don't ever give up on us.
Richard Pierce-Saunderson
.
We don't make a habit of editorialising, here at protestpoems. It is warranted on this one occasion, though, I feel.
The world's very foundations are shaking in this time, and all of us are busy preserving what we have left of our lives, always conscious that we are here but for the grace of whatever gods or faiths we follow.
I wanted to apologise for protestpoems becoming, to all intents and purposes, an irregular publication. That's because I also am exercising self-preservation in view of the state of the nations.
Thanks to all of you who keep reading protestpoems, and thanks to all our contributors. Please don't ever give up on us.
Richard Pierce-Saunderson
Return
Cassandra Dallett
.
.
Fleet Week
A destroyer by our side
lined with jets
war is so distant from here
we can comfortably clap and scream
our applause at fighter jets
A helicopter plane hovers over the bay
spraying water
making us part of some Hollywood version
of the destruction
we visit on foreign lands
ingraining death so deeply in them
they weave rugs
of tanks and automatic weapons
gone are the plants and animals you might expect
in the weaving of hand died threads.
Gone is everything
but dust
it seems to us
the entire middle east some bombed out
orange powder
blowing in the wind
the cradle of the world
just sand?
we are green and blue burning the petro
in smart little Hondas
waving flags
like fascists but not coming off like fanatics
they are the flag burners
the lighters of effigies
we are the sane
in cubicles of recycled paper
moving numbers across computer screens
calling them debts and investments
green zeros disappear off those screens
like a hand held calculator when you hit the Big C
it’s just gone
and they try to explain tax brackets, dividends,
bonuses and Nasdeq
we nod our head so as not to appear ignorant
clap after the flying toys
with exhausts of red white and blue
we nod and clap
and make excuses for filling up our tanks
throwing plastic in the ocean
torturing taxi drivers accused of terrorism
we tell our kids these big missiles
are cool
even after crying through Vietnam films
“We just do it”
another generation eaten limbless
and witless
with the craziness of fighting
for their country.
Bio:
Cassandra Dallett lives in Oakland, CA. Cassandra is in need of a job and a vacation, but writes poetry and has published at Hip Mama, The Chiron Review, Bleed Me A River, Ascent Aspirations, Criminal Class Review, Nibble, and The Milvia Street Journal among others. Look for more links on cassandradallett.com
(author retains copyright)
.
Fleet Week
A destroyer by our side
lined with jets
war is so distant from here
we can comfortably clap and scream
our applause at fighter jets
A helicopter plane hovers over the bay
spraying water
making us part of some Hollywood version
of the destruction
we visit on foreign lands
ingraining death so deeply in them
they weave rugs
of tanks and automatic weapons
gone are the plants and animals you might expect
in the weaving of hand died threads.
Gone is everything
but dust
it seems to us
the entire middle east some bombed out
orange powder
blowing in the wind
the cradle of the world
just sand?
we are green and blue burning the petro
in smart little Hondas
waving flags
like fascists but not coming off like fanatics
they are the flag burners
the lighters of effigies
we are the sane
in cubicles of recycled paper
moving numbers across computer screens
calling them debts and investments
green zeros disappear off those screens
like a hand held calculator when you hit the Big C
it’s just gone
and they try to explain tax brackets, dividends,
bonuses and Nasdeq
we nod our head so as not to appear ignorant
clap after the flying toys
with exhausts of red white and blue
we nod and clap
and make excuses for filling up our tanks
throwing plastic in the ocean
torturing taxi drivers accused of terrorism
we tell our kids these big missiles
are cool
even after crying through Vietnam films
“We just do it”
another generation eaten limbless
and witless
with the craziness of fighting
for their country.
Bio:
Cassandra Dallett lives in Oakland, CA. Cassandra is in need of a job and a vacation, but writes poetry and has published at Hip Mama, The Chiron Review, Bleed Me A River, Ascent Aspirations, Criminal Class Review, Nibble, and The Milvia Street Journal among others. Look for more links on cassandradallett.com
(author retains copyright)
Return
Pamela Gemme
.
.
Disaster in the Gulf
Yellow slickers glint like lit
matches on the water.
Salt rises frozen on the cruel rust bleed.
The working walk the inkwell girders.
The answer to everything is to dig
up the blow-out- preventer.
On their pedestal, they gather the belted
bodies labeled BP.
Menhaden belly up in buttered foam.
On this blue/green fallacy, the tide
affirms the consequences,
the question is begged:
Why blame God for any of this?
The earth insurmountable turns the wake.
Bio:
Pamela Gemme lives in Leicester, Massachusetts. She has several online and print publications.
(author retains copyright)
.
Disaster in the Gulf
Yellow slickers glint like lit
matches on the water.
Salt rises frozen on the cruel rust bleed.
The working walk the inkwell girders.
The answer to everything is to dig
up the blow-out- preventer.
On their pedestal, they gather the belted
bodies labeled BP.
Menhaden belly up in buttered foam.
On this blue/green fallacy, the tide
affirms the consequences,
the question is begged:
Why blame God for any of this?
The earth insurmountable turns the wake.
Bio:
Pamela Gemme lives in Leicester, Massachusetts. She has several online and print publications.
(author retains copyright)
Return
Howie Good
.
.
Occupy Poetry
If nobody
tells anybody,
how would
anybody
ever know?
My words
long to be
as bees
making honey
in a lion’s
head.
Bio:
Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of the full-length poetry collections Lovesick (Press Americana, 2009), Heart With a Dirty Windshield (BeWrite Books, 2010), and Everything Reminds Me of Me (Desperanto, 2011), as well as numerous print and digital poetry chapbooks, including most recently Love Dagger from Right Hand Pointing, To Shadowy Blue from Gold Wake Press, and Love in a Time of Paranoia from Diamond Point Press.
(author retains copyright)
.
Occupy Poetry
If nobody
tells anybody,
how would
anybody
ever know?
My words
long to be
as bees
making honey
in a lion’s
head.
Bio:
Howie Good, a journalism professor at SUNY New Paltz, is the author of the full-length poetry collections Lovesick (Press Americana, 2009), Heart With a Dirty Windshield (BeWrite Books, 2010), and Everything Reminds Me of Me (Desperanto, 2011), as well as numerous print and digital poetry chapbooks, including most recently Love Dagger from Right Hand Pointing, To Shadowy Blue from Gold Wake Press, and Love in a Time of Paranoia from Diamond Point Press.
(author retains copyright)
Return
Kristin LaTour
.
.
A Letter to a Daughter
I do not know where you went
after the man with the gentle face
and large brown eyes took your
hand. Your father was given
money, and I was given tears
and later, a branch on my back
for not stopping them.
Soon you will be ten, be taller
than when I last saw you.
The grass grows as high as my shoulder
but you were already beyond that
seeing far into the distance.
What do you see
in the land where you are?
I eat but nothing has taste.
I wish for sweetness where you are
and good meat. Soon you’ll be 16
and be wanting to know what I have
to tell you about children and marriage
the things I did not think of when you were
eight and in my arms.
I send my message on monsoon clouds
to blow through your hair
and on the beaks of small birds
to tweet into your windows.
There is more to life than what is given to us.
There is more in what is taken away.
Bio:
I'm still teaching at a community college outside Chicago where my stated job is to teach writing, and my real job is to get people to think about the world around them. I have a poem about immigration issues in the US forthcoming in Dirtcakes. My website is www.kristinlatour.com.
(author retains copyright)
.
A Letter to a Daughter
I do not know where you went
after the man with the gentle face
and large brown eyes took your
hand. Your father was given
money, and I was given tears
and later, a branch on my back
for not stopping them.
Soon you will be ten, be taller
than when I last saw you.
The grass grows as high as my shoulder
but you were already beyond that
seeing far into the distance.
What do you see
in the land where you are?
I eat but nothing has taste.
I wish for sweetness where you are
and good meat. Soon you’ll be 16
and be wanting to know what I have
to tell you about children and marriage
the things I did not think of when you were
eight and in my arms.
I send my message on monsoon clouds
to blow through your hair
and on the beaks of small birds
to tweet into your windows.
There is more to life than what is given to us.
There is more in what is taken away.
Bio:
I'm still teaching at a community college outside Chicago where my stated job is to teach writing, and my real job is to get people to think about the world around them. I have a poem about immigration issues in the US forthcoming in Dirtcakes. My website is www.kristinlatour.com.
(author retains copyright)
Return
David Michael Joseph
.
.
Standing Still in Palos Verdes
I followed the leader
But he was following someone else.
I asked the wise man for answers.
He said he had to think about it.
I asked the strong man to give me to give me a hand.
He said he had to ask the stronger man for help.
I asked the captain to take me across the channel.
He said he had to ask the first mate to take the wheel.
I tried to read the dictionary backward.
I tried to run a mile but found I was running in place.
I prayed to God for help.
He was in Palos Verdes playing golf.
With Donald Trump and John Elway.
Bio:
I'm a Filmmaker, Poetry/Short story author and Screenwriter from New Jersey living in Los Angeles. I have a passion and love for poetry. I always include poetic prose in my filmmaking. I have created four short films. Shadows of Sepulveda and C.A.k.E, the most recent.
(author retains copyright)
.
Standing Still in Palos Verdes
I followed the leader
But he was following someone else.
I asked the wise man for answers.
He said he had to think about it.
I asked the strong man to give me to give me a hand.
He said he had to ask the stronger man for help.
I asked the captain to take me across the channel.
He said he had to ask the first mate to take the wheel.
I tried to read the dictionary backward.
I tried to run a mile but found I was running in place.
I prayed to God for help.
He was in Palos Verdes playing golf.
With Donald Trump and John Elway.
Bio:
I'm a Filmmaker, Poetry/Short story author and Screenwriter from New Jersey living in Los Angeles. I have a passion and love for poetry. I always include poetic prose in my filmmaking. I have created four short films. Shadows of Sepulveda and C.A.k.E, the most recent.
(author retains copyright)
Return
Jack Peachum
.
.
The Conservative Candidate
Behold– the candidate speaks–
feet firmly anchored in the past!
See– what a miracle– it stands upright–
almost like a creature with a spine!
Flashes of human intellect, small wit, small empathy-
brews here a stew of human viciousness–
darkness where a heart should beat–
and a conscience the size of a mustard seed.
Bio:
Jack Peachum is a poet/ author who has published widely on the internet & in print journals in the last few years. He is shy & somewhat reclusive & resides in a small town in southern Virginia with a bulldog named Eleanor. He's the author of one chapbook, Polyamory, and a novel, Tempest.
(author retains copyright)
.
The Conservative Candidate
Behold– the candidate speaks–
feet firmly anchored in the past!
See– what a miracle– it stands upright–
almost like a creature with a spine!
Flashes of human intellect, small wit, small empathy-
brews here a stew of human viciousness–
darkness where a heart should beat–
and a conscience the size of a mustard seed.
Bio:
Jack Peachum is a poet/ author who has published widely on the internet & in print journals in the last few years. He is shy & somewhat reclusive & resides in a small town in southern Virginia with a bulldog named Eleanor. He's the author of one chapbook, Polyamory, and a novel, Tempest.
(author retains copyright)
Return
JP Reese
.
.
Leviathan
The act did not begin here in this room. No. It did not
start with this rendition, this hooded man stumbling over cement.
It began instead in an airport in Boston, in a lawyer's precision,
in a president's fear that history would not be with him.
Bones lifted by a shirtfront, the man rises, then lies tilted, neck
arched, his world narrowed to a damp cloth that smells of dead men.
His musk lets go, dripping shamefully beneath the board
to mix with water that erases air. His breath, no breath.
His terror, all terror. Callused hands hold the ropes as he strains,
his heels kick at heaven, tendons snake along each trussed arm.
Outside, twilight falls, a desert darkens, and every belief chokes
on swirls of blood and doctrine in a place beyond a law,
without a name.
Bio:
JP Reese has creative nonfiction, poetry, and fiction published or forthcoming in many online and print journals. She teaches English at a small college in Texas and is a poetry editor for THIS Literary Magazine, thiszine.org, and Connotation Press: An Online Artifact., connotationpress.com. Her work can be read at Entropy: A Measure of Uncertainty jpreese.tumblr.com.
(author retains copyright)
.
Leviathan
The act did not begin here in this room. No. It did not
start with this rendition, this hooded man stumbling over cement.
It began instead in an airport in Boston, in a lawyer's precision,
in a president's fear that history would not be with him.
Bones lifted by a shirtfront, the man rises, then lies tilted, neck
arched, his world narrowed to a damp cloth that smells of dead men.
His musk lets go, dripping shamefully beneath the board
to mix with water that erases air. His breath, no breath.
His terror, all terror. Callused hands hold the ropes as he strains,
his heels kick at heaven, tendons snake along each trussed arm.
Outside, twilight falls, a desert darkens, and every belief chokes
on swirls of blood and doctrine in a place beyond a law,
without a name.
Bio:
JP Reese has creative nonfiction, poetry, and fiction published or forthcoming in many online and print journals. She teaches English at a small college in Texas and is a poetry editor for THIS Literary Magazine, thiszine.org, and Connotation Press: An Online Artifact., connotationpress.com. Her work can be read at Entropy: A Measure of Uncertainty jpreese.tumblr.com.
(author retains copyright)
Return
Martin Willitts, Jr
.
.
What About This Is Not Clear
Based on Occupy Wall Street
We do not need a handout; we need a hand up.
We do not want to destroy the financial system;
we just do not want the financial system to destroy us.
We do not special favors;
we realize that special favors belong only to
the big corporations and banks
that send away our jobs,
waste our money, and demand a bail-out,
then use the bailout money to give bonus
for poor manager performances
and to executives, who created the financial mess,
and furthermore used taxpayer money
to lobby against the taxpayers
in order to get more preferential treatment.
What part of this is wrong? What part of this is not clear?
Many of us want to work, at a decent job,
and be treated decently.
We are not ‘hippies’. That ended in the 1960’s.
We are not radicals, communists,
or any other negative term given to us.
We ARE the PEOPLE.
We are an 87 year old grandmother
worried about her grandchildren’s future;
we are the hard hat who cannot find construction work;
we are the teacher, the nurse, the shop keeper;
we are the recent graduate
with over $50,000 of loans
and no clue who will hire them;
we are the union member who was laid off
as a connivance to limited budgets;
we are the Maine Sergeant that faced off thirty police,
telling them that we do have First Amendment Rights
and this is not a police state yet;
we are the Vietnam Veteran
who was shot in the head with a rubber bullet;
we are the former bank manager,
one of 30,000 laid off after Wall Street downsizing;
in other words,
we ARE the People; not the enemy.
We are the ones who elect politicians
who are supposed to speak for us; not against us,
not to work against us, not to make things work against us.
What part of this is wrong? What part of this is not clear?
The Republicans praised the Tea Party
although their stand against TARPS
is the same as the Wall Street Protesters.
They praised Arab Spring
whose complaints are the same as the Wall Street Protesters.
The situation is too close to home,
too uncomfortable for their real support’s tastes,
so they accuse the protesters as being lazy,
ungrateful, and greedy. Yet they welcome the Tea Party
because it supported them into office.
If one was not true, then the other would not be true.
What part of this is wrong? What part of this is not clear?
Vote the real terrorists out of office.
Change the rules.
Do not let corporations spend endless amounts of money
supporting certain politicians
and paying for lobbyist to promote certain dangerous bills,
when they could be hiring people.
What part of this is wrong? What part of this is not clear?
If certain politicians had to take pay cuts,
lose their benefits,
not be able to include their pay towards retirement,
and have to get their own insurance
while having pre-existing conditions,
then they might consider more carefully
how it effects the voters, instead of their enablers.
What part of this is wrong?
What part of this is not clear?
Pass it on.
Bio:
Martin Willitts Jr was nominated for two Best of The Net awards and his 5th Pushcart award. . He has had seven poetry chapbooks accepted this year including “True Simplicity” (Poets Wear Prada Press, 2011), “My Heart Is Seven Wild Swans Lifting” (Slow Trains, 2011), “Why Women Are A Ribbon Around A Bomb” (Last Automat, 2011), “Art Is Always an Impression of What an Artist Sees” (Muse Café, 2011), “Protest, Petition, Write, Speak: Matilda Joslyn Gage Poems” (Matilda Joslyn Gage Foundation, 2011), How To Find Peace” (Kattywumpus Press, 2011), and “Secrets No One Wants To Talk About” (Dos Madres Press, 2011). He is a Quaker and they are used to protesting things they feel are just plain wrong.
(author retains copyright)
.
What About This Is Not Clear
Based on Occupy Wall Street
We do not need a handout; we need a hand up.
We do not want to destroy the financial system;
we just do not want the financial system to destroy us.
We do not special favors;
we realize that special favors belong only to
the big corporations and banks
that send away our jobs,
waste our money, and demand a bail-out,
then use the bailout money to give bonus
for poor manager performances
and to executives, who created the financial mess,
and furthermore used taxpayer money
to lobby against the taxpayers
in order to get more preferential treatment.
What part of this is wrong? What part of this is not clear?
Many of us want to work, at a decent job,
and be treated decently.
We are not ‘hippies’. That ended in the 1960’s.
We are not radicals, communists,
or any other negative term given to us.
We ARE the PEOPLE.
We are an 87 year old grandmother
worried about her grandchildren’s future;
we are the hard hat who cannot find construction work;
we are the teacher, the nurse, the shop keeper;
we are the recent graduate
with over $50,000 of loans
and no clue who will hire them;
we are the union member who was laid off
as a connivance to limited budgets;
we are the Maine Sergeant that faced off thirty police,
telling them that we do have First Amendment Rights
and this is not a police state yet;
we are the Vietnam Veteran
who was shot in the head with a rubber bullet;
we are the former bank manager,
one of 30,000 laid off after Wall Street downsizing;
in other words,
we ARE the People; not the enemy.
We are the ones who elect politicians
who are supposed to speak for us; not against us,
not to work against us, not to make things work against us.
What part of this is wrong? What part of this is not clear?
The Republicans praised the Tea Party
although their stand against TARPS
is the same as the Wall Street Protesters.
They praised Arab Spring
whose complaints are the same as the Wall Street Protesters.
The situation is too close to home,
too uncomfortable for their real support’s tastes,
so they accuse the protesters as being lazy,
ungrateful, and greedy. Yet they welcome the Tea Party
because it supported them into office.
If one was not true, then the other would not be true.
What part of this is wrong? What part of this is not clear?
Vote the real terrorists out of office.
Change the rules.
Do not let corporations spend endless amounts of money
supporting certain politicians
and paying for lobbyist to promote certain dangerous bills,
when they could be hiring people.
What part of this is wrong? What part of this is not clear?
If certain politicians had to take pay cuts,
lose their benefits,
not be able to include their pay towards retirement,
and have to get their own insurance
while having pre-existing conditions,
then they might consider more carefully
how it effects the voters, instead of their enablers.
What part of this is wrong?
What part of this is not clear?
Pass it on.
Bio:
Martin Willitts Jr was nominated for two Best of The Net awards and his 5th Pushcart award. . He has had seven poetry chapbooks accepted this year including “True Simplicity” (Poets Wear Prada Press, 2011), “My Heart Is Seven Wild Swans Lifting” (Slow Trains, 2011), “Why Women Are A Ribbon Around A Bomb” (Last Automat, 2011), “Art Is Always an Impression of What an Artist Sees” (Muse Café, 2011), “Protest, Petition, Write, Speak: Matilda Joslyn Gage Poems” (Matilda Joslyn Gage Foundation, 2011), How To Find Peace” (Kattywumpus Press, 2011), and “Secrets No One Wants To Talk About” (Dos Madres Press, 2011). He is a Quaker and they are used to protesting things they feel are just plain wrong.
(author retains copyright)
Return
Bänoo Zan
.
.
Iran (1)
I am forced—
stripped down
to a handful of dust
The waves of my hair
shorn
hands and feet
tied down
to procrustean
borders of subjection
my vagina bleeding
in explosions of testosterone
I am the witness
to my archetypal nightmare
My sons lusting after me
in incestuous copulations of power
My daughters offering me
to rapists
as their scapegoat
I am alluring to invaders
who demand
a fake orgasmic pleasure
in denial of pain—
a prostitute smile
I cannot afford
thirsting after my dark juices
to keep their industrious
phalluses going
No-one hears me
in the middle of
the gang-rape
And when mock-trials
are staged
I am called to testify
against myself:
I am a terrorist—
to colonialists—
I terrify ugliness
by my independent beauty
Accused of profanity—
I dance lifeless
hanging from sacred gallows
Like Tahmina.................................... (2)
I have bedded “heroes”
who have slain the young
Like Jocasta
I have bedded “heroes”
who have slain the old
And this is not
my first time:
I am the woman
with a history
You
who stand in line
waiting for your turn:
You
cannot maintain
that erection
forever
Notes
(1) Iran, is not only the name of the country, but also a feminine first name in Iran.
(2) In the Persian epic, The Shahnameh, Tahmina is the wife to Rostam, the epic hero who leaves her not knowing she is pregnant. Their son, Sohrab, gets killed by his renowned father while he is on a quest to find him.
Bio:
Bänoo Zan landed in Canada in 2010. In her country of origin (Iran) she taught English literature at universities. She has been writing poetry since the age of ten, and has published poetry, criticism, biography, translations and a book , The Song of Phoenix: Life and Works of Sylvia Plath, reprinted in 2010. She writes in Persian and English.
(author retains copyright)
.
Iran (1)
I am forced—
stripped down
to a handful of dust
The waves of my hair
shorn
hands and feet
tied down
to procrustean
borders of subjection
my vagina bleeding
in explosions of testosterone
I am the witness
to my archetypal nightmare
My sons lusting after me
in incestuous copulations of power
My daughters offering me
to rapists
as their scapegoat
I am alluring to invaders
who demand
a fake orgasmic pleasure
in denial of pain—
a prostitute smile
I cannot afford
thirsting after my dark juices
to keep their industrious
phalluses going
No-one hears me
in the middle of
the gang-rape
And when mock-trials
are staged
I am called to testify
against myself:
I am a terrorist—
to colonialists—
I terrify ugliness
by my independent beauty
Accused of profanity—
I dance lifeless
hanging from sacred gallows
Like Tahmina.................................... (2)
I have bedded “heroes”
who have slain the young
Like Jocasta
I have bedded “heroes”
who have slain the old
And this is not
my first time:
I am the woman
with a history
You
who stand in line
waiting for your turn:
You
cannot maintain
that erection
forever
Notes
(1) Iran, is not only the name of the country, but also a feminine first name in Iran.
(2) In the Persian epic, The Shahnameh, Tahmina is the wife to Rostam, the epic hero who leaves her not knowing she is pregnant. Their son, Sohrab, gets killed by his renowned father while he is on a quest to find him.
Bio:
Bänoo Zan landed in Canada in 2010. In her country of origin (Iran) she taught English literature at universities. She has been writing poetry since the age of ten, and has published poetry, criticism, biography, translations and a book , The Song of Phoenix: Life and Works of Sylvia Plath, reprinted in 2010. She writes in Persian and English.
(author retains copyright)
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