POETIC JUSTICE: November 2008

LOPPED AWAY

Everyone of us on the wounded ground,
limbs left under,
eyes,
minds,
lopped away.

See what we have made?
We’ve molded ourselves into his shape,
aided a liar and murderer,
and all those that came before.
See what we’ve done?
We’ve shaped ourselves into their casualty,
Our country.

How did we let it happen?

"USA! USA! USA!"

(Enough. Goddamnit. Enough!)

How did we land here,
puffed-up with pride, withered of truth?
How did we let this happen?
We know. We damn well know.

We share in the shame,
we’re all so miserably guilty
and bleeding
and hemorrhaging
and limbless.

(Reach out. Reach out. Reach out!)

© 2008 mrp/tpm

CAIRO, Egypt — Al-Qaida's No. 2 leader used a racial epithet to insult Barack Obama in a message posted Wednesday, describing the president-elect in demeaning terms that imply he does the bidding of whites. The message appeared chiefly aimed at persuading Muslims and Arabs that Obama does not represent a change in U.S. policies.

Ayman al-Zawahri said in the message, which appeared on militant Web sites, that Obama is "the direct opposite of honorable black Americans" like Malcolm X, the 1960s African-American rights leader.
In al-Qaida's first response to Obama's victory, al-Zawahri also called the president-elect _ along with secretaries of state Colin Powell and Condoleezza Rice _ "house Negroes."
Speaking in Arabic, al-Zawahri uses the term "abeed al-beit," which literally translates as "house slaves." But al-Qaida supplied English subtitles of his speech that included the translation as "house Negroes." (More...)

Terror’s teeth
lunges for the leather whip that cracks
the tense and shackled light

We’ve enough of that, screeches the slave
Feared enough, roars the wounded slave
Pity you’re caged by your own foul tongue

Captured by your will to stir darkness
Spent of courage that would mock a fair beast
Sending what’s been dead for what hasn’t lived

What should we do with you, cries the slave
When shall we begin, shouts the bold slave
What shall we do with my fear, shrieks the master

Terror’s teeth
pierces the sheath that houses the whip
and sets free its trembling

© 2008 mrp/tpm

ABEED AL-BEIT

HOUSE NEGRO

LET THIS, LET US...

(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

We Are The Ones Song by will.i.am - Obama

Let this not be only a gesture extending outward just to fade in the night...

Let us begin anew in this time that strokes the skies with our breath...

Let this moment surge beyond the walls of oppression, tyranny and might...

Let this, I ask, be a movement that transports a full and lifelong change...

Let this time ring out above all else, above that which only serves to conquer...

Let us hold on to this passion that has rightfully shifted our conscience...

Let each and every one of us find it inside ourselves and feed its steely hunger...

Let us savor its taste, its touch, and relish in its wet lips upon our music...

Let not this time be our meek servant, instead permit us to humbly be its slave…

Let us form an alliance with its tears, a steadfast adherence with its cause…

Let us unite in common good around the permanence of this moment’s call…

Let us not presently allow the dream to merely become just another song...

ODE TO CHANGE

This poem is for President Elect Barack Obama... and hope.

How is it possible-
that, in an age of such a shredded foundation,
that, in an age of such unprecedented warring,
that, in an age of such unequaled corruption and
terrible sadness, a moment as this could come?

How is it possible-
that, after such machinations of greed and hubris,
we have the power to have witnessed this;
the moment now bending its light upon us,
directing us forward to our better selves?

How is it possible-
that we now proceed with this stunning milestone,
that we march onward in the footprints of revolution
though the course is not curved of our choosing
and the strident shriek of the dying covers our skies?

How is it possible-
that we have stumbled to our rightful place of account,
wandered in on such lustrous and cheerful promise
standing now before our grasp, yet still untaken,
unused, and ready for our hands to shape into our art?

How is it possible-
with the end written before the bright and new beginning,
with our expectations rutted in dishonest obligation,
with the world’s eyes having peered down into our shame,
that our pathway is not ruled by immeasurable detonation?

How is it possible-
that, with such divergence and fragmentary mourning,
with stained waters and sky distorting our reflection,
with our differences still hidden in the visage of ghosts,
we were able to land here without knowing what’s next?

How is it possible-
that the air that we scorch doesn’t blink or make a sound
as we push and shove our burning way through it
with sorrow at our flank speaking of others as mere fodder
for our wholly unrestrained hubristic nourishment?

How is it possible-
that this plot has begun at the end of such torturous ire,
at the back of gloom instead of the heart of illumination?
That this moment even has words like hope and change within it
is certainly the most astounding thing of all!

BARREN SPEECH (poem & photomontage

(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

On the dusty floors of the barren house
Rats eat their weight in stale crumbs.

Straight talk pushes through a musty air,
Moving with untold illness. Restless,
Frantic voters, march, plead. Useless,
Their freedom’s song
Pulsing against their teeth.
The country groans,
Wretchedly pleading of liberty;
Words of hope feel oily,
Staining the tongue.

The rats scurry over the boards
In the empty home.