JIM TRAINER'S PROTEST POEM OF THE WEEK
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4 DAYS: WRITING DESK, FRENCH PRESS, AC
the creative impulse, at last
bores through the moment
with a spontaneous creation of poetry
don’t ask me what it means
these mad jack murmurings of heart
this emotional snapshot, chronicling
of a moment that becomes the moment
we’ve told you it’s not sane
we’ve written you from
the firing line
the electric wire
the barricade
we’ve ripped and clawed
at artifice
and set the rawest parts down
some blooms grow only when pruned
others wild and without permission but
they all need light
every love poem in a cruel world is revolutionary
every revolution poem
shakes the moorings of the idol subtly
every idea coming forth is torn
from what we feel must be
and placed into
the world they said should
I haven’t been outside today
the amount of coffee in my cup tells the time
there is a world out there and it’s
bleeding
but on these white sheets
in black ink is this
communion with love and rage
my armament and rose.
Thank you, Comrade!