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ferguson

I

Dead poets rising from the fissures in the heartland
are taking up their posts in the New Democracy.

I see William with his tyger playing leapfrog with a lamb;
dead poets rising from the fissures in the heartland.

Langston’s got a jazz club; Sappho’s in the band.
Walt’s put final touches on the “Resurrected Song of Me”.

Dead poets rising from the fissures in the heartland
are taking up their posts in the New Democracy.

II

Such flippancy, a founding father mutters,
while fires throughout his constitution rage.

Justice must not stoop for poets, sons, and mothers!
Such flippancy, a founding father mutters.

Whatever truths your bleeding hearts uncover
will not shake the bulwarks of this profit-raking age.

Such flippancy, a founding father mutters,
while fires throughout his constitution rage.

III

And still the poets rise from grave and ash
with law books writ in sonnet and fine verse.

Minds slowly rouse while antiquated systems crash,
and still the poets rise from grave and ash

to found a willing, new majority through brash
and hopeful rhyme, true reason to disperse.

And still the poets rise from grave and ash
with law books writ in sonnet and fine verse.

~~~

The image of Ferguson, Missouri, to which I dedicate these verses, comes from http://www.mumpsimus.com where Langston Hughes’s haunting poem, “Let America be America Again” accompanies more beautiful photographs. Every voice and every image matters.

© Elaine Stirling, 2014

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