You Know the Party’s Over

You know the party’s over
when the face paint comes off,
when the hot tub is naked no longer,
when the goats come in
and start nosing, nibbling
tablecloths and tin cans

much as the wind, gentle,
relentless, unseen uncovers
the truth of the matter

when even men and dead horses
genuflect before her
omnipresence —
there is no stopping

She is the patience
and the unyielding command
to grow here, to shrink there
and thus
to change

much as the pages turned
reduce the book on one side
only to grow imperceptibly
on the other

a walk through the woods
and on the beach
ends with subtle increase

and a form frees itself
fully formed, but waiting
for the smoothing, slowly
so slowly, of the sculptor’s
fiercely tolerant hands.

Read more poetry for social justice at Poetry Occupying Poetry

You Know the Party's Over.


Humpty’s Last Hurrah (take 2)

Wouldn’t you say this is getting out of hand?
Is the iron fist we depend on for order losing its grip?
It’s like the thing being held so tight
is breaking into 99 pieces moving
like living grains of diamonds
and squirming through the cracks,
and dropping out all over.

They are in Charlotte bothering
the Bank of America.
They are in tiny Fredrick Maryland near Camp David
where the mighty G8 is hiding out.
In Chicago they are massing
with buses bringing Americans from Boston and San Francisco,
from Providence and Portland Oregon.
You’ll find them in New York City sitting
with the Native Americans
and standing up to the CUNY and the NYPD
against tuition hikes and police tactics.
In Detroit they occupy foreclosed homes.
They are even gathering for protest in Texas
for God sake.
And on June 20 they’ll occupy the entire world
for a Global Midsummer Festival for a Living Wage.

Is there no stopping these people?
Is there no end to their popping up everywhere?
Whack a mole, whack a mole, whack a mole.

Somewhere I read that all the kings money
and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty
together again.

Humpty’s Last Hurrah (take 2).

More poetry in support of the Occupy Movement and 99% Spring at

The Future

The Future.

She rises from our bed like a satisfied sigh
and as her sleeping gown slides to the floor
the sun’s first rays softly illuminate her body.

She becomes clearer as I wake
and I see her ripening curves
holding the future for us all.

Though I am old enough to be her father,
the father of her offering is ageless.

Though I might not have enough days
to be with her at the birth, I am content.

In the beauty of her womanhood and
in the fierceness of her painful giving she
affirms the rhythm of the world that always returns
to balance, simplicity, transparency and equity.

For more see

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou

Still I Rise by Maya Angelou.

Still I Rise by Mya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Gentle Warriors

Gentle Warriors.


Gentle warriors never scarred

(outside, that is.)

happy warriors training for battle

armored with smiles,

headed for battle the best intentions,

trained in nonviolent action.


Will there be an audience picnicking on the hillside

watching?  Politely applauding?


We are good people, your neighbors,

uncle Charley and aunt Rose,

the man with the missing finger who runs

the hardware store, three singers

from the church choir without their robes,

the award winning high school teacher

with a stutter.


Where are the politicians, the bankers

the PAC men, the CEO swinging their boards

of directors?  Are they lining up

on the other side?  They haven’t got a chance

we outnumber them 99 to 1.  They live behind

electronic gates and work somewhere in the clouds.


The stakes of this battle are everything.

We want it all: democracy, equality of opportunity,

money for education and a modern infrastructure,

healthcare for all, the freedom for unions to organize,

peace.  Is that too much to want?  To demand?


We march to meet the 1% but instead we will

be met by the thin blue line.  They will push us,

cuff us, pepper spray our unguarded faces,

club us on the head, arrest us.  They won’t let us

meet the other side face-to-face for a conversation.

Why do the cops fight us?  Are their homes never

foreclosed?  Do they never face medical bankruptcy?

Do they happily and completely cover their children’s

student loans?  Do they only watch Fox News?


They are only following orders…


So let the struggle begin.  From Saugatuck,

Harrisonville, Cape May, Morristown, Northeast Denver,

the University of Baltimore to Mount Pleasant Michigan,

from Ulster County and southside Chicago and Portland Maine,

Chico, Sacramento, Long Beach and Antelope Valley,

Houston Clear Lake, Uptown Kingston, from Santa Fe Springs

and Northside Chicago to the University of Central Florida

to East Harlem, Ottawa Illinois, and hundreds of other cities,

we are coming.  Don’t underestimate us.


May Day – 2012

From Beltane to Walpurgisnacht,
from Red Square to Haymarket Square,
from scattering fish blood to beseech a good crop,
to crowning the Queen of the May

May the 99% occupy this day
and graft with the deepest roots
of civilization’s growth
in merry celebration and mischief

Marking nonviolently our fields,
continuing to broadcast the seeds
that will flower into a million mighty vines
hanging with the fruit of a new order.

Life and Death in a National Park

A bear bit a man of the 1%
who was eating a Châteaubriand
and wearing a Rolex watch.

Earlier in the day a Park Ranger tried to
discourage the bear by locking down
the refuse bin lids.

The bear reasoned, If I can’t have
garbage then I’ll
eat some fresh meat and have
a great time doing it.
Just watch me.



To the Rose of Occupy by Rumi

To the Rose of Occupy by Rumi.


This poem from the Master says it so beautifully…

Occupy by Brian McSweeney

Occupy by Brian McSweeney.

This is one hell of a excellent poem.  It’s encyclopedic in scope and atomic in its power.


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