how many protests have you watched now?
how many devolving into riots?
via violent actors, on either side
what was gained, for those we lost?
was it in vain?
did the pay outweigh the cost?
or was our venture defunct?
would civil disobedience had been better sought?
or a more brutal insurrection,
to rival those we've been taught?
just do like they'd wish
and lay down and die

Matchsticks and Torches

Another matchstick,
struck and lit,
another flint spark
of an ongoing inferno,
and the town criers,
cry condemnation
for torch bearing villagers
(not on their side),
storming the steps
to further fan the flames
for their own reasons,
as we in the middle, burn.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Don - they tell me you're leaving
I can't believe it's true,
that we’ll get to live without you.

You’ll go away - govern-mentally,
after all this pain and misery.
When you go - I won’t miss you,
You never said a thing that was true.

Remember when - you hoaxed the virus fight.
What an idiot - you never got it right.
Trump never cared - for me or you,
but we might survive now that he's through.

So let’s discuss - the insurrection -
you provoked when you lost the election.
You got impeached for time number two
who said breaking up was hard to do?

Let’s say goodbye - and let it be,
I hear you’re going to do - Trump TV?
About the time you get that set up,
New York will come and lock you up.

Insurrection
by Michael R. Burch

She has become as the night—listening
for rumors of dawn—while the dew, glistening,
reminds me of her, and the wind, whistling,
lashes my cheeks with its soft chastening.

She has become as the lights—flickering
in the distance—till memories old and troubling
rise up again and demand remembering ...
like peasants rebelling against a mad king.

Originally published by The Chained Muse

Keywords/Tags: insurrection, night, dawn, wind, lights, peasants, rebelling, mad, king, old, troubling, cheeks, chastening, flickering, memories

Drinking away the cold reality,
sipping away at the truth,
smell of revolution in the air,
the township rebellion weeps,
radically violent love,
surpressing undignified hate,
**** the cop in yourself, stomp the ghosts in your head,
destroy your masters,
Sweet negation, oh sweet negation!,
Burn down the walls of infinite discontent,
Live your life,
Live for yourself,
The forever insurrection,
The creative nothing,
We are the unique,
Guillotine your captures,
Free your mind, free your body, free your beautiful life!

Her plan
with bantam
there shakes
subsequent arthritis
or foment
her albatross
when zion
mats superfluously
and poverty
now ungrateful
in their
Milwaukee suburbs
while her
ruby floss
allure in
her java
melts mine.

When the “100” departed,
Four turned ‘round,
To carry on and away
From that bloodied dusk,
Sojourn and sought last Saturday.

It was a solemn evening, for even I,
Upon the scent of spent beer,
Soiled socks and job well done,
Albeit, half-assed, but good for me,
Since money’s the modern paradigm.

Beholden gallant, I returned to rebellion,
This satiated dish tantalizing the four,
And only four – painted traitors,
An opposition to the flock christened
“Listen” and assumed safer skies.

Souls atop intrepid –
The “4” would learn alone,
So whispered, “insurrection,”
Savoring a certain comfort in solitude,
A stiff chin come rules abundant others,
And freedoms never realized.

I’m sure they’ll fly, they’ll mate,
I’m sure they’ll die and fly once more
Whilst I smirk, smoke
And take note of the next fool
To forget the heavens and allowed,
Became the heathen’s promised.

It’s an epiphany’s echo as
The fall’s a salvation in and of itself
And the four’d that opted flounder,
Beyond an already withered earth,
Bet on fortunes unknown,
When they, themselves, were gems,
And certain paradises, lay in wait.