Photo by Ryan Morrill and provided courtesy of The SandPaper Back to the time of kings, Where the lower classes were told, “Let them eat cake!” But our cakes have become, Strangely composed Twinkies and Little Debs. And between our plowing the fields (and selling imported goods) And asking, “Who will buy my sweet red roses?” We have […]
In stunned silence, How could this be? How could a thing like this happen to me? I am… Not a child. I am… Not a female. And I am strong. And yet it happened, To me. I, want to scream, I, want to cry, I, want to be angry. And yet I sit here… In
Santa requested that I, Santa’s Official Poet, put his thank you thoughts into a poem: All of the milk, cookies and treats were really quite grand, Thank you for lending Santa a very helpful hand. It helps me feel jolly, As I ride through the snow. And the treats for Rudolph, Helps his nose glow.
As if I was never a child, People glare at me, Hoping my existence will disappear. As if I was never a child, People tell me to scoot, Seeing me, As if I was an urban rat. As if I was never a child, As if I was never had dreams, As if I still
An old woman, Wheeled into the room, Dying. But she has one thing, She must do. Her last wish, Her dying wish, To caucus, For Bernie Sanders. Her caregiver, By her side, Too weak to raise her own hand, Her caregiver raises it for her, Holding her hand up, So her vote, Can be
The debate squelched, Our free speech stifled, As moderators try to stop the voice of the people, Preferring the voice of corporate welfare, Networks trying to crown the next US president, While people stop listening to the corporate propaganda, And start planning how to get our voices heard, The people’s choice as president elected, We
As the sun is setting,
And the flags are flying at half mast,
Shrouding the tears from the twelve who can cry no longer,
I have to ask,
Which pill did he take?
Was it red?
Was it blue?
Any pill at all,
To cover his pain,
Until his pain became rage,
Mixed with chemically induced mania, psychosis,*
Stuffed inside one man,
Until it shot out of him,
In the form of bullets.
And pill pushers reaped the profits.
While the victims paid the price.
And so I must ask again,
Which pill did he take?
Was it red?
Was it blue?
But in the media there is silence….
And more silence…
And more silence…
Until these drugs,
Create murders once more.
The sun will begin to set,
And the flags will be lowered to half mast,
Shrouding the tears from the those who can cry no longer,
I will have to ask,
Which pill did they take?
And when will they tell us the truth?
I wrote this poem because I wanted to ask the question about James Holmes, the batman shooter, that the media is not asking. Why is no one questioning
I had a shocking experience this weekend after I ate exactly seven “Pringles Light Sour Cream and Onion” chips. After waking up in the middle of the night with severe cramps, diarrhea and extreme nauseous, I decided to research why I felt so horrible. I discovered that the chips I had eaten contained Olestra.
I never expected that a substance that used to have a warning label: “…Olestra may cause abdominal cramping and loose stools. Olestra inhibits the absorption of some vitamins and other nutrients…” A substance that the FDA “…received more than 20,000 such reports—more than for any other food additive in history” * would still be legal.
I dipped my chip,
In a touch of dip,
And chowed on it so quaintly.
Because it is,
A low fat chip,
I feel I could eat it nightly.
But through the night,
My stomach screamed,
What did you put in me?
I did not know,
But had to go,
Because my stomach’s achy.
When poisons flow,
The bathroom I go,
Trip after trip after trip.
Which led me down,
To question roun’,
Was it the chip or the dip?
My answer came,
From the raging fame,
Of a poison substance.
The non-fat chip,
And not the dip,
Was why my body’s resistance.
P&G’s Olestra Brand,
Can cause even anal leakage.
It’s legal cause,
The corporate claws,
Can seize their financial reapage.
So before you eat,
Any American treat,
Look at what is in it.,
You may not be well,
You’ll feel like hell,
Cause FDA wants more corporate profit.
As I write this, I still have yet to fully recover. This poem
When we stopped listening to the crickets ,
Lullabying us to sleep in the summer,
And the birds,
Singing us awake in the winter,
We missed listening to our hearts beating,
And telling us to love,
All of the time.
I began to cry realizing how much of Boulder and America’s natural beauty and clean water has been lost to the short term thinking
What would you give,
To control that blade of grass,
Time in your day,
Denver police, state patrol, federal police,**
Please step back, step aside,
Step in and join us,
Together let’s put people first,
And let the corporations serve the people or be voted out of existence.
I wrote this poem in response to the struggle for the lawn that occurred again
(Occupy Oakland, Occupy Denver and other occupations in solidarity with Occupy Wall Street have been forcibly evicted by riot police. To make sure that these citizens do not peaceably gather on the grass again in Denver, thousands of dollars are being spent to have police and state patrol protect the grass. After seeing the around 25 state patrollers occupying the capitol lawn and a bunch of Denver police occupy the city park after 11pm, wasting our tax money and impeding on our rights to peaceable assemble, I wrote this poem.)
I wanted to thank you,
For protecting the weak,
For standing for the rights,
Of those who could so easily be trampled,
For securing what cannot speak for itself.
Thank you for protecting the grass,
For it cannot speak for itself.
I suppose we, the people, do not need your protection,
Because we have mouths to speak
And hearts to control our future of peace
A future of solidarity
A future that we can all have hope in.
So thanks again for protecting the grass,
And maybe next year you will stand with us,
In a future of solidarity.
Are the following pictures of Tiananmen Square or the United States?
I saw my own power in Martin Luther King,
And I hid from it.
I saw my deep love in the royal wedding,
And I turned my face away from it.
I saw my heart in Mother Teresa,
And I shut off from it.
I saw my innate ability to heal in Edgar Cayce,
And out of respect, I shrunk from it.
And the world of love and peace that I could have created…
As I ran away from my own greatness.
I wrote this poem after spending a few days at Edgar Cayce’s Edgar Cayce Institute
A little old lady,
Sits in the corner remembering,
A home, was very nice
A place to sleep, was very nice
But the biggest heartbreak of all
Was the loss of her only picture
An arm, a leg, an eye, a tongue,
These are the prizes the soldiers have won.
But mom that’s not all
They’ve got Saul
When the Democrats decided to
Vote for a healthcare bill
Written by the insurance companies,
Me: What suggestions would you give to struggling poets?
Alicia: Write. Every. Day. Read everything…Stop talking about writing, stop thinking about about writing, just “give it all, give it now” (Annie Dillard).
A society so set on justice,
It will kill it’s own
For sweet revenge
To make things “right”
For the tormented victims.
I came home,
I looked around,
I realized that,
I was all alone.
No one to understand,
Waiting to blossom
Does not sit
When shall I blossom?
A little girl
To a far off land.
Pent up inside
I cannot believe that I have been caught up in:
The audacity to hope,
For a better America.
The insanity to dream,
For our constitutional rights.
A weary traveler,
Looking for a place to sleep.