Wednesday, August 17, 2016

August 17

This month we're writing "After Poems."

2 comments:

  1. August 17 “America” by Allen Ginsberg
    A silent quiet land is America. Is the America I know.
    The social construct has left me. The internet took over.
    Any sort of collective experience happens there in a way
    And place that makes me cringe. My idea of America is
    The memory of a Friday night that I haven’t had in a long,
    Long time. I’m not even sure it’s there, that type of Pop Culture.
    The pop culture cycle being a necktie caught in a paper shredder.
    A place for good guys and bad guys and things that happen
    To people. I have stopped thinking about America, the part
    About the people that are always found in the same places
    And the natural land away from buildings and roads this is
    The America about which I’m thinking. It’s a place without people
    A place where you and observe the passing of the day.
    Think about it any other way and you’ll have poison in your bowels.

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  2. After Allen Ginsberg
    "America"
    The Great Experiment

    Ever wonder what has gone wrong?
    The faith of many in this
    Institution called America
    Today justice for all is for
    just a few who choose to vote
    With their greenbacks
    And win freedom that blacks
    Are apt to revolt
    We no longer are doves
    Since we fly drones
    as they are home
    to killing in the chilling
    factor abroad
    Just across the border
    there is disorder and lawlessness
    is odd to the skeptical
    The cynical, the
    political power
    ridiculed at best
    Who is a President that leads
    with the elements of corruption
    and greed with unrest
    The New World Order has a view
    for the older
    Try to imagine
    Being without
    Home or food and hunger
    homelessness is the number
    of people equaling a shout
    In the street to the heat
    Shooting the feet as we lay
    flat on our backs
    The number of causes are
    numb to the losses and pauses
    to see the land split in two
    Republican and Democrat
    The political epitaph of the race
    for power and the pull
    Towards democracy
    What kind of hypocrisy
    has a mandate where little to none
    have the soul
    to take action
    When dissatisfaction
    is all that is left beautiful
    My God the country
    is nothing like
    something the Forefathers
    ever envisioned
    The shootings keep rolling
    Global warming controlling
    the landscape we can't escape
    from
    The passionate to change the politics
    strange saying things we cannot bear
    The real is to heal
    from the feeling to conceal
    the truth as proof
    the world lives
    on the brink
    As America thinks the poor
    are for war declared
    When the rich only get richer
    And the bitch is we all shiver
    at the bombs we deliver
    over there
    When it comes back to bite
    the hand despite the land
    where
    we can stand
    for repair

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