thehoopoe:

SLAVERY. GENOCIDE. EMPIRE. DON’T CELEBRATE COLUMBUS!

thehoopoe:

SLAVERY. GENOCIDE. EMPIRE. DON’T CELEBRATE COLUMBUS!

Oakland Work Crew, Gibson Fay-LeBlanc

Dan said, My life is a nine with the hammer cocked,
chuckled, told of standing on a browned lawn
naked, three hundred pounds of pure Mick-Spic:
shooting at a Chevelle, tire marks on concrete.
Told how, inside, you heat a sharpened Bic
and a guy carves DannyBoy or Norteaño on your neck.

Prince pictured of faint patterns on ceiling tiles
in his dreams and a pot with a ten in it when he finds
where color begins. He brought a picture: he’s thirteen,
Liberia, wide smile, fatigues, kalishnikov
hugging his shoulder. Told of barefoot soccer,
running on bricks, the grace of a clean pass.

I’m worth more than someone I meet, Rich said,
then described his daughter, his girl, and ladies
here, there. He explained what it means to be
a baldhead, why, if he sees a Sudeaño on Third,
he can’t be held responsible for what’ll happen.
Told us which old school Cutlass’ is hella tight.

Larry kept saying, High as an Oaktown sky,
that’s all he said, aside from seeing vines
or brush or poison oak we cut and pulled
were a J with a hit so big he’d vanish. Never
told us what we knew: clapboard house,
cracked talk, brothers to keep in shoes.

And I went home and wrote a lover, told
how far hills were no matter where I drove,
how I didn’t know what it was to be a tatted
baldhead, raise kids, play barefoot in the street,
one eye on the hammer, one ear to the barrel,
hearing a seashell inside the chamber.

(Source: versedaily.org)

thehoopoe:

Obama’s campaign office in Oakland

thehoopoe:

Obama’s campaign office in Oakland

American police celebrating Deepavali with sound cannons and tear gas; there is a light occupiers carry in them that you can see from space. I am carrying a concealed poem, a weapon.

oakland, 25 october 2011 by Amirah Mizrahi

I. second person present

when you are there
nothing else
is real.

tear gas makes you calm
clear-headed
surprisingly
a warm comfortable room
is disorienting

the shaking you feel
is each cell rising up
to protest with you
each person marching
is a cell
in the blood stream
of resistance flowing
steadily

broadway
is a vein

II. first person past

today
i was wadi salib 1959
i was musrara 1971
i was palestine in oakland
like never before i was
all the places
in all the radical histories
i know and don’t know

i heard a trumpet in a marching band
play a tune i recognized
bella ciao, bella ciao, bella ciao ciao ciao
clapping hands marching feet i gave
away shirts as scarves
to shield faces

today i was a time
place comma date
that some day some one will be
when she is again marching
in the streets and
knowing history
holding it
making
it.

III. future perfect

there is a moment of realization
that a new world
is on the horizon we
work hard for her
slowly, painfully we
recognize

that there is still work
to be done tomorrow we
go home, wash
tear gas out
of our hair
clean our wounds
each other’s wounds

we remind each other:
love yourself
& build
for tomorrow.

(Source: occupywriters.com)