Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘end hunger’ Category

Thoughts On Listening To *This Land Is Your Land”

 

I had a dream today, got me thinking,

On the bus on the way home from work,

A dream I’ve had before,

A dream many have probably had

I was on television, talking and singing,

The whole world was a’ watchin’

Woody Guthrie was a’ watchin’

Pete Seeger, he was a ’watchin’

Bruce Springsteen, he was a ’watchin’

And old orange face, Mr. Trump, he was a ’watchin’ too

Kept droppin’ the big TV remote outta his small hands, poor thing,

Anyways, like I said, I was on TV,

Had a guitar in my hands,

Strapped over my favorite flannel shirt,

And my favorite pair of Levis

And my bestest boots. I was a’ wearing all of that

And the song I was gonna sing,

This Land Is Your Land,

Well it weren’t no regular song, sir,

It was, I reckon, one of the most beautiful songs

I ever heard, I was telling people about it,

It was all about this country of ours,

And all its’ natural beauty,

And how it was built for you,

And built for me

And how it was built for him,

And him,

And her

And her

And the preacher

And the doctor

And the lawman

And the bus driver

And the children playing in the schoolyard,

Sir it was built for them too,

It didn’t make no mention of names

Nor what school they went to,

Nor even if they didn’t go to school, well it didn’t mention that neither

Nor what church they go to, who they pray to, iffn they pray at all,

No, sir, not even where they come from,

Not which part of town, not which coast,

Not which country,

Cuz everybody here comes from someplace else in the long run, don’t they?

Iffn ya trace it back far enough, I mean, we all come from immigrants

– Well, almost all of us –

Yes, sir, the song was plain and simple and beautiful, and indeed

This here land was made for you, and me, and him, and him, and her, and her

All to share equally, don’t that sound like a place you wanna live in, sir?

I know I would, if I could find it.

What say we find it together, sir?

 

 

Click the link below to listen to This Land is Your Land – Live by Bruce Springsteen
https://open.spotify.com/track/4MvJlIpDpdZi4sCXvAhrym

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

With, of course, all due respect to the brilliance of Gil Scot Heron, this time the revolution WILL be televised, send around the world live as a show of solidarity for all our brothers and sisters as they face their own struggle against the forces of facism and oppression, eager to wake to a new dawn where gender, race, sexuality, intellect, looks, nor religion are no longer a factor in determining one’s self-worth nor the individuals contribution to society. The revolution will be televised. It will be sponsored by the prayers of mothers in Aleppo, the fears of children in Gaza, the cries of hungry children of unemployed factory workers in Detroit and Portland, by the pain of migrant workers in the vineyards of California, by the single mother working three jobs to feed her child because some Trump- loving bureaucrat with no heart cut the funding that helped pay her rent while she finished her high school degree, the revolution will be televised the revolution will be televised the revolution will be televised. The revolution will be live!! #NowPlaying the revolution will be televised by Dan Hass https://open.spotify.com/user/danandinger/playlist/4bnyLrSGvNVfBEhNrUDOK0

Read Full Post »

Towards Lhasa

We discussed the smell

Of the monk who set himself on fire,

Shaking our heads in half-disbelief

As our tour guides made dinner.

We camped early along the banks of

The Lhasa River,

The terrain rough-hewed and ragged.

The sunset, intense orange and purple, matching

The orange flames of our campfire matching

Those that ate his flesh.
In Liuwuxiang we waited as our gear dried.

We inquired, with barely a concern,

As to precisely where he burned,

How much further to the spot in Ngawa and

Was the spot worshiped like a shrine?

To forgotten freedom?  Was there

A plaque to commemorate?
No one talked to us about the Why.

Half- hearted questions met with steel eyes.

Such questions are better not asked

Such words carry too much weight

Baggage packed with an official taboo

Burning the tongue before utterance.

 

We discussed the smell of a monk on fire.

His ashes washed away long ago

But the smoke still presents a challenge

The stench of burning flesh

A common pain that may never leave.

 

 

 

Poets note: Most of the self immolation that has occurred in Tibet have been in the Ngawa region, not in Lhasa. Access to Ngawa is forbidden by the Chinese government for most from the west, and internet access has been severely restricted. I chose to use Lhasa in this poem to reinforce these restrictions.

For more information, go to this website; https://www.freetibet.org/about/self-immolation-protests

 

Read Full Post »

Just in case Rump or those who vote for him might wonder, it IS the people who have the power! In one sense it was shown in last nights results, in that a large unhappy part of the population took their frustrations out on Washington D.C. and truly made themselves heard. As Hillary Clinton said, we found out that we are a much more divided country than we thought. Oh how i wish it had taken another form. It is typical for the outcast, the underpriviledged white angry male voter to turn to fascism. It happened in Germany and it’s happening now across europe and today in the USA. Our job is to listen better and find ways to fight off Rump and his insanity all the while working to heal a nation divided and in a great deal of pain.
#NowPlaying People Have The Power – Live by Patti Smith

https://open.spotify.com/track/3AMTprQwcxLj0b5NZoS5d7

Read Full Post »

there is no them, there is only us.

 

 

I tried to walk on the earth

In a place where it did not ache

Find that spot where

My bare feet might not do damage

But its pain was all-encompassing.

With every step I felt it cry.

With no place left to go

I cut off my feet.

 

I tried to find a field

that didn’t know of hunger

Where the crops could feed the multitudes

But the corn was crying

Its husks were brown and its heart broken.

I felt so insufficient

I couldn’t find crops enough

So i starved myself.

 

I searched the borders for refugees

That felt safe and welcome

But the children were starving

And the parents frightened

I tried to speak but no one spoke my language

I tried to open my nations borders

To harbor those who flee

But many who were inside

Turned violent,

Terrified by what they didn’t know or understand.

I turned their water to wine

Their swords to plowshares

But still they wouldn’t share.

 

I tried to find a song

That all could sing and feel inspired

But no one grasped the meaning

I cried and became mute.

Read Full Post »

There is no greater injustice than the continued gender based oppression of and violence against women across the world.

http://commondreams.org/news/2014/11/24/end-hunger-empower-women-study

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: