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The blue cat sits over the moon
beside the vase of gun and fire flaker.
under the wanting desires 
Invisible Dragons Eyes are cruising

Waves come in and out, crash
Switch on and off and then recede again
The parasympathetic nervous system is activated

Roar…  Miao...
the white lion stands in the wind of a deep violet night 
Ancient PaPa flies through the clouds 
He cried for his blue cat: No more
crimes. No need for detention
May everyone is happy. No more
thoughts of confusions
Everyone can be comfortable with their own reflection

Roar…  Miao...
Yet it counts, this one  cat
filling our courage of days

Experiencing
Ourselves,

One cat at a time.
Dedicate to Aung San Suu Kyi’ who under detention 16 times since 1989.
Also dedicate it to all who has democratic spirits and soul.
clear conscience Jun 2020
the democratic convention under the deck
———————————————————


all kinds have registered their displeasure
with the arrival of the human menagerie,
their boisterous ways, jive not with the quietus
of the island paradise, and under the shady deck
where the convention conversations are held...

open to all but the factions forming, squirrels most
populous, demand the gavel and the chairmanships,
because they breed best, knowledges of the yard
terrain, par excellent, have climbed every tree,
show no fear, boldly jumping on the chaise lounge
occupant by the lady of the house, quizzing her with a
side-tilted glance of what are YOU doing here????

they like their acorns from the Oaks, their fav poem
Acorns in August, naturellement, naturellement,
leaving the beheaded remains of the acorns devoured,
everywhere, to obtain maximum annoyance from them
interlopers human, delighting in the foul mouthed exclamations,
when their ugly footed bottoms, unshod, meet the pointy part,
proving squirrels natural ability to govern the swap infected
by the two legged in-cursors, who have annoyed for forty years...

the rabbits, seek alliances, they live full time neath the deck,
making babies, so cute, getting bolder as they get older, hopping
unashamedly across the deck, eliciting oohs and has, of the children,
who blissfully unaware, all this creatures carry the ticks of Old Lyme.
Though unnumbered, the rabbits, fat, throw their heft around,
promising to drain the backyard of the invading hordes, with their
smelly sun tan lotions and outrageously ugly bathing towels...

called to order by the light of the flickering television, a fire signal
that the humans are in for the night, won’t notice the shouting and
shoving not so cute, tween the factions.  Animals behaving like
humans, what a lowly sad sight, deals and promises made, give
me a hundred Likes, ten repostings, and five 😊, say the hedgehog,
who rarely appears but boy is he big and has capital to lend to anybody
who will give him what he wants...

the field mice, have little-power, their diminutive constituency, not
so useful, as they no longer make the female humans, shriek, nah,
now they are cute, until they chew the wires in the basement, and
hide their tennis socks in spidery corners where they leave them to
yellow, corrode, unravel, unfit for human footage anymore;
and while these weakfish of the under-deck, their longevity of encroachment must be respected for they have been since time immemorial, which nobody remembers exactly how long that is exactly...

called to order, resolution on the floor, who shall lead the charge,
plan the plan to drain away the inhuman interference for once and
forevermore; but the conventional dialogue interruptus,  by an unfamiliar voice: a scouting party sent, like the spies of the Israelites, fails to return, another party formed and returns, with woeful news, of a white van truck,stenciled in black death,
                 The East End Pest Company (Exterminators)
has been invited in, and sadly nobody of the animal world has in their possess, a dictionary or vocabulary so large that the word, exterminate, strikes a note of danger!

the booing and brawling silenced, the political skullduggery is replaced
by the sad quietude, until the insect kingdom returns to reclaim the lands,
they were driven from many decades earlier, and they big human eavesdroppers, well, they know that word well and won’t make the same mistake twice! but then from above, between a crack, come a tumbling a business, white, from the deck o the below deck, in hand upon the back write these words:

See ya next week!
We leave your property

as clear as our conscience


p.s. for security reasons, conventions are held now every four years,
the location unrevealed, until, the very last minute
Clive Blake May 2019
If people aren’t listened to
And will never be,
That would spell the end
Of our Democracy …
Clive Blake May 2019
You said we could vote
And the verdict -
You would Protexit,
You said that -
Brexit Means Brexit,
You said to trust you
To take us to the Exit.

So why did you decide to Hexit,
Slow it down and Perplexit,
So confuse and Complexit,
Try and reverse and then Wrexit,
With you we now feel very Vexit,
So now stop your betrayal,
It’s time for you to Corexit.

It’s simple enough,
Brexit does mean Brexit
So save our democracy,
And please, please -
Just Exit!
mark john junor Jul 2017
the words of treason he shouted is what
put the stock of a rifle to my shoulder
take aim now that the patriots are traitors
never thought it would ever come to this in my lifetime
there's a man on the road with a rebel flag
yelling that his treason is patriotic
he is gonna take my life for some russian profit in his pocket
he is gonna take my America for somebody else's taxes

Remember growing up the thought that my generation trusted
this land be free
"this land is your land, this land is my land"*
never said nothing bout had to be black or white
never said had to be praying to another man's God
they have come knocking upon my door
tell me my words are not the lies they are selling
and I better get in line or they gonna take me away
get right in my head evil men are the gods Americka dreams of
that our children will live in darkness and hunger
for some russians profit in your pocket

just an hour from Reno stopped by the roadside
watched the sun set on the edge of the desert
and hoped my America would still be here when i awoke
this never should have happened
never saw it comin
never thought America could fall
let alone to have a president be the
one who fires the first shot
I see a rebel on the road
words of treason spilling from his bible
a used car salesman spinning a tall tale
and the fools who cheered him on
wipe that stupid grin off his face if I could
I see a rebel on the road
yelling his treason is patriotic
come to take away my America
come to take my life for some rich thief's taxes

Remember growing up the thought that my generation trusted
remember what my country was built on honor integrity truth
now that's all been sold for pennies on the dollar
so some rich slob can feed off what used to be
a place that the world envied
a place people dreamed of
now the patriots are traitors
now Amerika burns
now Americans die
for some russians profit in your pocket
*reference: Quote from Woody Guthrie "This land is your land" Circa 1940
ConnectHook Oct 2015
Bernie Sanders hatched a scheme
to rant an old progressive theme.
He left the greening mountain heights
to bellow forth for Social Rights
descending to our nation's valleys
milking the faithful at his rallies.
Mr. Sanders sold the farm,
sounded socialist alarm;
Trading professorial tweeds
for bloviating human needs.
He set the lefties all a-twitter
bartering the sweet for bitter.
He glared through academic glasses
at the doubtful working classes
wondering why they failed to note
just why and how they ought to vote.
Sanders patched up race-relations
fixing holes with reparations,
working up his magic wonder:
horsey voice of righteous thunder
till the clouds hung heavy and gray
portent of a darker day...
Warming up leftover Hope
he spared no change for hangman's rope,
sputtering on, he blew a gasket
redistributing our basket
scolding, bellowing, pumping fist
and waving fingers from the wrist
like politburo retro-chic
a tousled old white-headed freak.
Vote for Bernie Clinton everybody !!!
Nikhil Khandekar Sep 2015
Dry winds of monsoon rainless
Caress my little hair idly
Fire crackers acrid painless
Waft up quite widely

The elements treat me fine
Yes, they are all democratic
Often verging on divine
Tho’ folks call em lunatic

Bother not, friends
Folks are easily dumb
That’s how it ends -
Tom, **** and a thumb

Tho’ nothing might augur well
Keep being until groundswell
Cori MacNaughton Jul 2015
The illusion of freedom
in a democratic republic in decline
The third of seven poems written this morning.

— The End —