Collective Unrest

 

CRI DE COEUR

November 21, 2018

I’m tired of all those old white men in Washington, and
I’m tired of hoping things will change, tired of empty
promises that all will work out well in the end.

I’m ready for some non-violent action, and the only arms
I want to see are those stretched out in love to welcome
refugees, immigrants, and one another.

But all we hear these days is talk, so many empty words,
not backed up by action. Worthless paper currency
with no Fort Knox of moral honesty to back them up.

The pious paper men in Washington offer us their
thoughts and prayers, but do not change the laws to
protect us, love their guns more than our children.

Their guiding light remains their own political ambition,
their selfish delight in grasping financial contributions to their
campaigns and their greedy, never satisfied wallets.

Hope is such a hollow word if it doesn’t provoke action,
just an endlessly receding goal of peace and equal opportunity
for all. I’m tired of hoping the politicians will change. They never do.

And I’m tired of waking up each day sighing, depressed by the
constant bad news, the guns still firing, the lies still flowing.
The time for hope is past. Now is the time for action.

 

Susan P. Blevins was born in England and has been a happy ex-pat for the last fifty years.  She now lives in Houston with her cat and her garden, writing stories and poetry based on her life
experiences.  She always tries to see the big picture and to embrace all points of view and through her writings hopes to bring people together in the realization that we are all one human family.
Please follow and like us:
Newer Post

would

Click the link below to read "Would," a poem by Karen Shepherd Would by Karen Shepherd   Karen Shepherd lives with her husband and two teenagers in the Pacific Northwest where she enjoys walking in forests and listening to the rain. Her…
Read
Older Post

for the girls

TW for sexual assault and rape   this poem is for the girls who get called “too political” for being feminists. this poem is for the girls whose “no’s” wilt fast, who memorize dark satin pillowcase against cheek and the…
Read
Random Post

Night Shift Snack Break

I insert the coins into the money slot. Then, the small pack of soda crackers that is first in line gets betrayed by its comrade immediately behind: The latter pushes the former off the edge, and it plummets helplessly until…
Read
Random Post

black shards

*TW for sexual assault  1/2 my sexuality has been invaded all my life that night especially that night I was torn I was ripped I was shattered black shards of glass,my eyes bleeding,achy after wet and cold and for some…
Read
Random Post

only read from exodus

we've cradled enuff bodies of men we love bleeding out onto uncaring streets learned to roll my hair with funeral programs climbed into sheets that may shroud my children black rituals. emmit till was my peter rabbit. my mama only…
Read
Random Post

Two Photos

Follow the Money I took this shot of a manikin standing outside a thrift store in Ocean Beach, San Diego, CA.  An assemblage of symbolic meanings captured in one photograph forms a snapshot in time of America. The Universe of…
Read