In Memorium: A Poem for George H.W. Bush
A poem for George H.W. Bush.
Part I
Even though I know
The government is
— And always has been —
Filled with criminals,
Warmongers, racists, misogynists,
And oligarchs…
Even though I know
The people are
— And always have been —
The ones I look to
For justice and caring,
For leadership and grace…
On this day of shuttered services
— No SSI, no passports,
No mail delivered,
or decisions made —
To honor one who damaged generations.
I feel angry.
In memoriam for a person who profited
From murder and hatred.
Who sowed addiction and lies,
War and neglect.
The government shits on its people.
The people are left to clean up the mess.
And eventually, the people
Rise up.
And plant fresh flowers.
Fruits and vegetables.
The people, resilient and rebellious,
Somehow grow.
But that day?
Is not today.
Today, is a day for anger,
Incandescent in the bitter, winter wind.
Today, we remember
All that has come before.
Tomorrow, we take up planning
What comes next.
Tomorrow, we continue
To nurture one another
And spit on those who would
Grind us into dust.
We are human.
We feel angry.
And our greatest power
Is the knowledge
That, even angry, we can still love.
***
Part II
Most often,
I do not speak of politics,
But of justice.
Not of politicians,
But of mutual aid.
But be their last names
Clinton or Bush,
Reagan or Obama,
Or the one who shall not
Even bear a name…
All I see are legacies of pain.
Torture. Bombings. Assassinations.
Crack cocaine flooding city streets.
Men dying of curable diseases,
Told to change their behavior.
Women raped by those in power,
Told to change their clothes.
Deals made with despots
As earth cracks,
And skies and oceans choke.
Prisons built from stolen dreams.
Dark skinned people shot, and caged,
And teargassed in the streets.
I see arrogance and greed,
And the easy knowledge
That silence can be bought.
The assumption that
No one will remember
The misdeeds come to light.
The rulers count on our forgetting.
They count on our exhaustion,
Or on eyes held steady toward
The prize of fool’s gold, and
A piece of pie that
Was never baked for us.
The oligarchs know
How their billions are accrued,
And they don’t care.
They wipe their blood stained feet
Upon the masses, and go about
Their dirty business
As more die.
We must remember.
We must recall their crimes.
And we must insist
Upon our Sovereignty.
And on our love
For one another.
And on the future
Of this good, green earth.
Together, we must rise.
December, 2018
A link for those needing some history.
T. Thorn Coyle
T. Thorn Coyle is a magic worker and Pagan committed to love, liberation, and justice. Thorn is the author of the novel Like Water and the collection of magical tales Alighting on His Shoulders. Her spiritual writing includes: Sigil Magic for Writers, Artists & Other Creatives; Make Magic of Your Life; Kissing the Limitless; Evolutionary Witch-craft; and Crafting a Daily Practice. Thorn works to build a society based on love, equity, justice, and beauty.
