I believe all poetry is propaganda. If you write a love poem, it is a propaganda for love.
Farmer dusts his cap off on torn faded Levi jeans finished sewing winter wheat so he can pay the banker’s salary and send Old Man Kellogg’s dynasty to college it is a banker’s worldhe tells meas we head to the shop where the combinethe thresherthe grain drilland the shop itself aresitting up on jacks broke downContinue reading “SIGH LOW EMPTY”
from Parley Noyo and the Oyster Bard. Read at the San Francisco Living Wage Coalition Art and Literature Gala, April 10, 2021 Old rusted out shipyardswhere the lumber schooners dockedand coal trains pulled in and outof elongated, angular platformsbisecting main streets at 29 degreesaltered carbonaltered gravity altar of worker’s sainthood now martyred and lamentedanother hotel erectedbeachcombersandContinue reading “Old rusted out shipyards”
When the bell tolls tonight I will not think of writing a poem of hope. I’ve tried that before. Like you, my vision has become poorer by one degree slowly losing any ability to foresee and have gained only more grief marks and a great silver streak head – body – heart aches Like you, IContinue reading “EMERGE”
Let this be the year that minds crack open wide Spilling over with all that the Eyes can hear and ears can see With all that the heart can sing And mouths can beat With hands that walk and giving feet I look into the blur of city lights And see bodies smiting their eggshell exoskeletonsContinue reading “EPISTEMY”
The old Daisy dog sleeps by the fireplace at night under an avalanche of curry-combed polar bear fur making rusty handsaw blade noises through the plank she pants and can’t make it down the front porch steps anymore to cool off, so she moseys to the backroom to eat the catfood and drink some shredded toilet Continue reading “DOGGEREL SWIM”
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