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ConnectHook Sep 5
Mosh pit
at the Senior Center:
giving God the finger at 66.
Names no one heard of,
(bands long-dead
on their leather jackets)
still squatting anarchy,
arthritically smashing the State,
babbling Mao,
drooling Bakunin,
shocking the middle-class mores
as their Christian nurse
empties their bedpan
no sellout, etc.
since ******* songs
were used for car commercials
on network T.V.
"We're gonna have a TV party tonite--
Henk May 1
As the stench of the final bones burning drifts downward and into the soil
The halo of ash intertwines with the light
A shroud 'cross the heavens
Man's kindom denied
At last freed of the symbiote
Their teeth torn from the veins
Peace and monolithic emptyness
Whilst carcasses sink to their graves
Nourishment for the new growth to devour
Debts paid in death and in full
Cracks in the bronze of the bull run deep

Smoke suffocates the ground
Roots choked by wisps and tendrils of what has been
Echoes of life drift into nothing
Dying breaths upon the wind
Work in progress
DA Bloomfield Dec 2019
None can defy what there is not
So why and how do you?
As Narcissus reigns, how can you contend?
Contentment with the norm, a shameful folk you are

As the faithless faithful preach
We remain steady,
watching through the distance
silently and inquisitively

So when the time arrives
Haste we do not
They, a pitiful bunch, consider us but shams
"How can the peasants rule after all?"
Oh, their gall

And so the farmers and the toilers march
March under the banner of revolution!
No faith to obstruct, no wealth to envy
'Tis but another evolution

Humanity will once again rule itself
Not succumbing, but becoming
its own god and its own master
aaron Jul 2019
I fantasize
about marching with my friends
down wellington
forcing the government
to look below,
and think
"maybe they're right."
but instead, they think
"shut it down."

i fantasize
about taking care of the wounded
doing my part
and truly feeling
that there is power in unity
forcing the government
to look below,
and think
"maybe we're wrong."
but instead, they think
"send more troops."

i fantasize
about singing "l'internationale"
with thousands of my comrades
as we fight for justice
arm in arm,
hand in hand
forcing the government
to look below,
and think
"maybe it's us."
but instead, they think
"casualties don't matter unless the goal is reached."
Pearson Bolt May 2019
the first time i choked on tear-gas,
we were standing in the heart of the Empire.
the scent of capsaicin still smarted
as we fished our medic bags for water-bottles
to flush our comrades’ eyes. we did not weep
for the revolt. we were at peace even as we knew,
beyond a shadow of a doubt,
we were ******.

the black bloc, three thousand strong,
had raged through the streets of D.C.
overturning dumpsters, torching limos,
taking hammers and crowbars
to Bank of America windows
with gleeful abandon, a sense of endless,
militant joy. it would be
anarchy or annihilation.

the spontaneous insurrection
of the antifascist demonstration
was an inferno hotter than the dumpster-fires
we’d left like signal-flares in our wake.
for a moment, there, we could feel
the ******* quaking as our feet
shook the Earth, stepping
in-and-out of Lovecraftian shadows,
eldritch horrors of doom gloating over us.

but we’d been kettled,
cordoned by cops in riot gear,
cut-off from all possible routes of escape.
faceless phantoms clutching cudgels
to bludgeon our conflagration
into submission. and then
the call came. “this way! this way!
we found an exit!”

immediately, the cops swarmed in,
their momentarily vindictive arrogance
shattered by the freedom that rang
like church-bells in a half-a-hundred voices.
“this way! this way! we found an exit!”
motorcycles turned down the alleyway,
sirens screaming, echoing off the tenement halls
and only one of us possessed the sense to intervene.

for a moment, she stood alone.
a single figure, holding up her hands
and shaking her head, refusing to let
the ******* advance. but courage
is infectious. a moment later,
another joined her, then another,
until all of a sudden a half-a-dozen
of us stood shoulder-to-shoulder, shouting,

no pasaran! you shall not pass!”
we waited for the billy-clubs to rain
hell upon our shoulders, but still
we remained steadfast, anchored
by the weight of our conviction
and the hope that even if we fell
the rest of the bloc would escape
to wreak havoc another day.
Maya Oct 2018
an anarchist, just
a person who wants to de-
-stroy the government.

there's a difference be-
- tween letting the world burn and
setting it aflame.
"i will not die in the night
but in the light of the sun
with the ashes of this world
in my lungs"
- hollywood undead, 'City'
Pearson Bolt Aug 2017
we held hands behind the Black Lives Matter banner.
we took to the streets in solidarity with Heather Heyer
opposing white supremacy and every vestige of bigotry.

the cops stood idle while racists circled
the park like sharks to shake our resolve.
but we carry a new world in our head and hearts.

we marched down Kennedy and Ashley
no badge or gun could hope to stop us hundreds.
we mourned and wept and rose like lions.

no justice, no peace! no racist police!
1-2-3-4, this is ******* class war!
5-6-7-8, organize to smash the State!

i cannot find the rhythm and beat amidst this misery.
but, in her memory, we will drive the fascists out.
from Tampa Bay, FL to Charlottesville, VA: *¡No pasaran!
This is less a poem and more a collection of thoughts, images, and experiences. For Heather Heyer. Rest in Power. Martyrs live forever.
Pearson Bolt Apr 2017
this is not a dialogue.
tug the cotton
out of your ears.
free speech
is the banner
fascists wave
to propagate
their hate, hissing
with forked tongues,
spitting vitriolic venom.

speak in a language
they cannot fail
to comprehend:
kick a racist
in the teeth.
**** ****.
no pasaran!
they shall not pass.
we won't go meekly
into that dark night.
National Poetry Month, Day 15.

Solidarity with antifascists everywhere. No pasaran.
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