As the
incoming administration builds its agenda of attack on marginalized people, on
freedom of speech, on the earth itself, poetry will continue to be an essential
voice of resistance. Poets will speak out in solidarity, united
against hatred, systemic oppression, and violence and for justice, beauty,
and community.
In this
spirit, Split This Rock is offering its blog as a Virtual Open Mic. For the
rest of this frightening month, January of 2017, we invite you to send us poems
of resistance, power, and resilience.
We will post every poem we receive unless it is offensive (containing language that is derogatory toward marginalized groups, that belittles, uses hurtful stereotypes, explicitly condones or implies a call for violence, etc.). After the Virtual Open Mic closes, we hope to print out and mail all of the poems to the White House.
We will post every poem we receive unless it is offensive (containing language that is derogatory toward marginalized groups, that belittles, uses hurtful stereotypes, explicitly condones or implies a call for violence, etc.). After the Virtual Open Mic closes, we hope to print out and mail all of the poems to the White House.
For
guidelines on how to submit poems for this call, visit the Call for Poems of
Resistance, Power & Resilience blog post.
***
Planetology
by Amy Young
Nothing is as it seems
and everything is as it seems.
Without truth this is true.
The song sparrow who
this morning trills
as usual and the horizon
which has gone
in a matter of minutes
from pink to gray—
these truths are solid.
But yesterday we were a free
country. Or maybe it was the day
before that. And that seemed
true too. Though the sky is
always redder in hue
looking back. Rose-colored
glasses and all that.
My ancestors are groaning
in their graves. They used
a compass rose to arrive
at this shore. So, we can’t
really
be sure of anything anymore—
can we? Even the sparrow
singing full throttle
atop the crepe myrtle
seems at best a shaky
proposition. At the very least
a grey dawn will sully the
sky
as we rise again. They say the sun
isn’t due to burn out, yet.
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