The Left Column

from poem page 159

Politics for Poets

the politics of indifference.

No worry's but I do it anyway. We live in this vacant world with people who disappoint. Mostly me disappointing myself when I am living in the expectation. No expectations are better. That is a kind of bliss.

I hope that the season is appropriately gloomy wherever you are so you can get your gloom days over with and then, after Easter, have a nice rest of the year. I am writing some new stuff and it is a little bit depressing. So I pause. Come back to this site. Notice how depressing my forward site is and, wallah, come here and modify it.

Everything is fine, really. And when the sun shines we all feel better. Let the muckys muck and they can have their wars off over there, in Cyber space I'd hope, but bombs. Ya, know, and sub-machine guns, are depressing. Not poetic. Death by strafing. See how depressing.

May we all be protected from that. We don't want it. What are we to do about news from Syria? From Libya? From Wall Street? Isn't it all beyond our control at this point? Wait. My own success. That is under my own control.

When we were young we knew that we had no power and that what we did was local and that the forces of international fussing was large and intrusive. We were faced with power-mongering co-classmates bred to be upset and to rouse the rabble for the benefit of their own clan for wars that were very far away and didn't effect us locally. Meanwhile we were brow-beaten to be mum on these issues. Like we have no input. But listen up: if we are impotent about these things than so are you, or you rouser of rabbles.

Those who seek to effect change can really only have it on there own hearts, their own communities, their own lives. Those who seek for mass movements are fools who don't know the real way of life. They want things to come out their way (as they delude) and they fuss and fret until it does. Be free of those people.

Alas, they are a fact of this world. Maybe in the next they will be cast outside of the wedding feast and gnash their teeth. Sounds mean, in one sense. But what they do here is mean to everyone else. They declare us, the lowly, impotent, and themselves omnipotent.

And then, maybe,someday, they'll be another wedding. They have learned their lesson. They'll make it to that one. There will be much celbrating. But if they do the same thing again the same thing will happen.

Whatever works for them works for you, works for me. If you have been meticulous in saving up blessings of life then you get to a place where you want to give back. Double down. We are all winners. Even those political fussy folks, insecure in their overwhelming power. When change comes it is the mighty who get cast aside. Humble yourself or the steamroller of the torpedo of truth, with the scalpel for a mouth, will trim away all the BS (that you foist upon the rest of us) with his mighty voice of the truth.

Best of luck that you've got enough oil for your lamp, enough wick, enough lamp. Be the lamp. Be the oil. Be the wick.

~ OK Now.

April 20, 2011

The Susquahanna River, Pennsylvania from
last fall.


     

  Revolution of heart
   start with the new art
  of soul.
   Be on a roll.
    Poet's politics must
           be about love
    don't run for office
       run from the office
    leaping, skipping,
       making it fair for
         the worthy
   be they weak or be they
               swarthy
     (a corny poem:
        a demo derby
         of sour).

  The poet plays the roll
    of the fool
  gives a rant while jesticulating
       while perched high on his
                            stool
      in his sober valley ranch
   he is taking a chance
     given up on the rolls written by
             decorum
     he's on his rant, damn decorum!

   If you don't get the poet and his rant
       and wish to rip him up and pull him down
    then how could you ever understand
    what the people need in this land?

   Poet dances, poet swirls
      poet writes a sonnet
        for the special girl.



     from Poems 189