Monday, November 29, 2021

Poem: Fatale




god had built beauty to harbor evil--

that was the Big Why.


even love

had to lurch to the cruel parody of an erratic clown.


there were two nails

that both constructed and crucified the way of all things:


serenity and cataclysm.

and the Earth,


like a forgiving

abundant magnificent executioner




Friday, November 26, 2021

Poems: Weeds




when you hug a flower

and get cornered by the petals

some of them speak of heaven,

others of fussy ruckus,

or even lawnmower blades. 


in the florets,

seizures of mandalas;

prototypes for archaic feathers;

pollinic atoms that prop the world

with their sexual feats.


deeper still,

spores become complex.

botany develops moods.

secret eggs of never-seen insects

mutter like old men bitten by december.


protocols start to jump around.

they haggle with beehives,

banter with knotholes.

all agog, the stalks root and leap,

while birth and death just complain.


Thursday, November 25, 2021

We all have things to be grateful for--But...


There should be a day for all of us to give thanks for what we have.  But it shouldn’t be linked to the myth of the ‘happy, joyous’ get-together between the Wampanoag and the Pilgrims in 1621.  There was a feast, but the Indians weren’t invited.  Adult male Indians showed up when they heard gunfire, ready for war.  The Wampanoag had lost two-thirds of their people from disease in The Great Dying.  And so on ... 


Even less should Thanksgiving be tied to ‘happy, joyous’ unity between Indigenous People and European and American settlers.  This is a tale of treachery, genocide, slavery and cultural annihilation.


Here is some audio:


Here is a newspaper article with interviews:


Thanksgiving, as it is, continues to gaslight the reality of what happened -- and who we are.




Monday, November 22, 2021

Poem: Face



plastic silk,

how it caters to docile daily games,


a relative of leather

yet less dead, a rigor-mortis preface


with a volatile, pert smile reflex,

and yet


the battle is lost

when dreams intrude,


such candid pain,

till cheeks pillow to mask


the starved pleading.


Friday, November 19, 2021

Poem: Devolve




ooze cloyed, soil sloshed,

germ to rex, sex mixers mixing,

swizzled chromosomes, dopey chaos,

hag-ridden gusts, ballets of flakes,

pegasus then fiend, see-thru seizures,

snippets of spliced jump ropes,

pleached plasmid protohounds,

algal dogfights, fungal freak outs,

emerald offshoots, trees varicose,


polyps, trilobites, monsters, sharks,

hydras of fanged furry blood

branch branch branch branch

branch branch branch branch

hackles far too aroused, uppity,

kind wise sad happy cruel,

sex sex sex sex

fear fear fear fear

fear to craft fearsome tools,

laughter, song, impalement, war,

god = love, slavery,

heaven, crucifixion, hell, war,

drawn and quartered,


slavery, sweatshops,

wipe out whole peoples,

suppress women, slay difference,

deceive deceive deceive,

war war war

despots, dictators, fascists,

avarice makes billions,

trillions, quadrillions, more,

exploit, extinct, consume,

cars, guns, drones, bots,

orgasms in algorithms,

orgasms in modified gene pools,

computerized molecules,

quantum = love,

deathless robot weapons,




Wednesday, November 17, 2021

Poem: Grey Sky


Grey Sky


tufted and eroded,

no tells in the old face of this long neutral sleeper

waiting waiting waiting

for the prick of dreams to decide.


such lofty mist,

it couches passion or tripe,

jubilant rain

or the terse dissonance of long-lost windsong sobbed.


what is that solar signet

dim on an envelope of ancient grey and

what what what why why why?

maybe shy stars within?

a poem urgent to be read?


 who knows … these …


frozen billows of endless ivory 

meditate meditate meditate--

is that what they do?

wait for thought to erupt, pure of hover?

gods from a soft-knitted, grey-silked chrysalis?


Sunday, November 14, 2021

Fight For A New Better Freedom


As the American people and their leaders navigate this dangerous period of crisis, interregnum and paradigm shift, they will need to resist seductive illusions and refuse easy answers offered by hucksters who assure them there is an easy way out. To defeat and survive the rising fascist tide, there is only one solution: Accept that the old world is gone, and fight to create a better one.

                                                 Chauncey DeVega

Wednesday, November 10, 2021

Poem: Jawbone On The Beach


Jawbone On The Beach


it emanates brute,

askance atop a cracked whelk,

with thistle-mean molars that leer,

and the cuspid gleam of white scythes.


force stole it from a skeleton

as easily as wind snaps a branch off a tree,

now a bit of aimless barracuda

on wet-sand gray.


maybe a beachcomber  

will need a backscratcher,

or an artist might mistake it

for a fanged eighth moon--


or perhaps it will rise up again,

haggard as a raptor wing,

ecstatic in the palm of a dancer.


Sunday, November 7, 2021

Poem: Graveyard




i slunk into an ignorable place,

where all-White names

clung to history on buoys of gray stone--

such poor choices for lifting hearts:

gnawed by lichen, tottering and heavy,

barely able to sneer

from eroded, chiselled pores.


why was an extinct pigeon 

perched over a child of a hundred and fifty-three?

no breeze soothed as i knelt

and peered at the final figment

of someone who had impregnated

my great grandmother’s aunt.


after a tussle with manners, i laughed,

laughed at this heavy pimple of sanctimony,

something that only pretended

to hoard truth in its fleshless throat.

swooping like a lark, i leapt to run

until runty hovels and stern crosses gave way

to balsam steeples.   


The passenger pigeon wasn't in trouble prior to Europeans arrival in North America. Nothing suggests that the species was struggling in any way.

Perhaps this isn't that surprising. In the 19th century passenger pigeons were so numerous that there were contests to shoot as many of them as possible during a certain period of time. In one competition, the winner had shot 30 000 birds.

Thursday, November 4, 2021

Call Trumpism What It Is.

From A History of the World in the Twentieth Century, by J.A.S Grenville: 

 [Pre-WWII] fascism was a movement designed to secure the support of the masses for a leader without the intermediary of a democratically elected parliament.  It was a substitute for democracy, giving the masses the illusion of power without the reality.  Thus, though violently anti-communist, fascism appeared to support the existing social and economic hierarchy of society and so appealed to the right.  Fascism made a virtue of destroying the powers of parties and divisions in the state.  It stood for 'strength through unity' at the expense of civil liberties.  The cult of the leader was fostered by the leader above all and his principal lieutenants.  Fascism was a chauvinist male-oriented movement assigning women to the role of child-bearing and raising a family.  It was stridently nationalist.  The leader, with virtually unlimited powers, stood at the apex of a party, a private army and a bureaucracy.  Violence against opponents cowed possible opposition.  The fascist army and bureaucracy of course ensured that tens of thousands would have a vested interest in preserving the fascist state.  Here loyalty to the movement, not social standing, provided an avenue to advancement to the unscrupulous and the ambitious.  (ch.18, p.152)

Why can't we stop calling the Republicans "conservative" and call them what they really are, authoritarians?  Why must the Democrats be so cowardly?