Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Aug 2020
Criminal Trump has done what no other U.S. president has ever done. He has created a gulag in the United States of America. It is a metaphorical, and evil, gulug:  an archipelago of lies, cheats, racism, misogyny, illegalities, and rampant corruption, among many other offences. His Oval Office has become a black box, spiritually so dark that truth cannot enter. His friends, his associates, his heads of the most important governmental departments are, or have been, in prison. His Republican cohorts, most notoriously in the Senate, have been craven for four years. McConnell has shamed himself innumerable times in the political arena. Starr is no star at all, but a moral Black Hole. Stalin got away with his gulag in tact. Trump will try to cheat his way to four more years and not only keep, but also enlarge, his.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, an essayist, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life
If that *****
Wasn't so stupid
She would
Love me
But
Earth-lings don't value
Intelligence
Or wisdom
I Was Beulah
Gary Brocks Aug 2018
My work day woke to Monk,
the click of typing keys,
clock watched, Spotify playing,
random thoughts rose like bees
to freeze in these jagged lines,
then swarm in threatening flight.

Hours of data entry later,
on a stool, in a bar, a clock's
hands tock, I flick a wrist,
and slur my words concluding  
an anguished monologue,
“They call it work, you know.”

Awash at home, in the strobe of
pixelated panel light,
visions surge and dissipate
with the pulse of the night. Osip,
were you tempered to embrace
attention’s fugitive caress?

You etched memory’s texture
with candle soot for ink,
and the gulag’s blackened gaze -
I type lines by hunt and peck
humming Monk’s WELL YOU NEEDN’T,
hoping for an adequate phrase.

Copyright © 2004 Gary Brocks
180826F

Osip Mandelstam was a Russian poet and essayist. He a leading member of the Acmeist school of poets. He was arrested by Joseph Stalin's government in 1934, and sent into internal exile.  After a reprieve, he was rearrested and sent to a camp in Siberia in 1938, where he died that year.
— From Wikipedia: "Acmeist poetry"
===
The Acmeists strove for compactness of form and clarity of expression; they preferred "direct expression through images", in contrast to the Russian symbolist poets who strove for "intimations through symbols"
Osip Mandelstam defined the movement as "a yearning for world culture", and as a "neo-classical form of modernism", which essentialized "poetic craft and cultural continuity".
Each major acmeist poet, interpreted acmeism in a different stylistic light, for example from intimate poems on topics of love and relationships to narrative verse.
— From Wikipedia: "Osip Mandelstam"
Andrew M Bell Feb 2015
In my luxury there is shame,

using my thin, Western excuses

to hide from my art.

When I read your story

I heard a trumpet of glory

and a stern rebuke

from a creativity so compelled

that, denied the tools of your craft,

you carved your daily poem in soap

and committed it to memory

before washing your words away.


When the days pass me

with the pen's call unheeded

and my reluctance comes

from seeing the word as a foe

then I'll remember you, Irina,

and how the word set you free

from the darkest confinement.
Copyright Andrew M. Bell. I wrote this poem in 1987 when I read an article by PEN about the release from a gulag of the dissident Russian poet, Irina Borisovna Ratushinskaya.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irina_Ratushinskaya

— The End —