30 Poems in 30 Days

I am involved in an  exercise to write thirty poems in thirty days. I will be posting my poems here. I hope you enjoy my creative experience.  Be sure to leave thoughts and comments.  John "FeatherLeaf" Kaniecki 

Links to purchase my books

Poet to The Poor Information
Murmurings of a Mad Man Information.
A Day's Weather Information

Here we go.

Next Stop The Crematory

by John Kaniecki  24/30

Full of science

Full of reason

No defiance

Tis but the final season

As the body aches

Blistering in pain

The mind awakes

No words to explain

A sad goodbye

Back to the dust

Loved ones cry

No God to trust

Life lived to the best

The brave atheist

End of story

Next stop the crematory 

She Came

by John Kaniecki   23/30

She came

With rags and tears

Wading in raging waters of fears

Crying

Tears flowing like rain

Crying

Unable to refrain

Falling at the Master's feet

Silent, suddenly sweet

Her sins

Knowing each by name

Her sins

No longer to claim

For on the cross of glory

Precious blood flowed free

In death, life

In giving, receiving

A miracle

In believing

With rags and tears

She came

Never to be the same 

A Glorious Song

by John Kaniecki  22/30

Singing a glorious song

Drenched in praise

Singing a glorious song

All of our days

A song of joy

A song of sorrow

A song with promise

Of a better tomorrow

So lift up your voice

And rejoice

Cry from your heart

With a spirit sincere

For God will never part

So have no fear

Though you enter the grave

God shall save

For you will rise from dust

If God is your trust

In heaven's home

You belong

God fully known

In a glorious song

Without beginning or end

Which none can comprehend

Sing in strong

A glorious song 

Gospel Train

by John Kaniecki    21/30

There is a train steaming down the track

Ain't no pain in dreaming if you don't look back

Tomorrow is certain the Promised Land

All sorrow and hurtin' you shall understand

Catch the train cause you can afford the fee

Catch the train don't you know the ride is free

We'll be singing as we fade into glory

Always bringing the great gospel story

Let me tell you sister

There ain't no stopping this train

Let me tell you brother

We ain't a riding in vain

We don't care

About your race, country of skin

We don't care

We'll give you a helping hand in

We'll even say a prayer

To help you overcome your sin

Don't you hear that mighty whistle blowing

I want  you to be confident in knowing

That gospel train it is always on time

Go on and claim it say 'it is mine'

So get down on your knees

And cry out to God Almighty

He'll hear your pleas

And He'll set you free

The gospel train it'll never stop

Till it reaches Zion's top

So come on catch the ride

Gospel train can't be denied 

Stevie Nicks

by John Kaniecki 20/30

You were the woman

From a dream

You were the woman

Who made me scream

And between

Coming and going

There was no knowing

The scene

so, so, so serene

I will ride the white horse

I will sail the seven rivers

I will wrestle the ocean
I will fight with Love's force

With utmost devotion

So long lady stardust

It was only lust

Your sins have been forgiven

Mother of Heaven

Fair Thee Well

by John Kaniecki 19/30

I promised to always be there

To hold you

And to care

I promised love sincere

To protect you

From every fear

I promised so much

To be gentle

When we touch

I have upheld my part

I never left you

It is true

You live in my heart

But you have forgotten me

I am but a memory

So fair thee well

You have earned your hell

Leroy Passed On

by John Kaniecki 18/30

Leroy walked his final step

Momma cried

And the children wept

Leroy went on home

At least that's our prayer

I can't be sure

Cause I've never been there

But one thing I know for sure

Leroy ain't here no more

Leroy is gone

Leroy passed on

Perhaps on heaven's shore

I'll see Leroy once more

A hope to hope upon

Leroy passed on

Soul Brother

by John Kaniecki 17/30

Soul brother

Remember me

I'm the one

Who raped your mother

I'm the one

Who called you boy

I stole the blues

To make rock and roll

I've got news

I'm still in control

You'll never see me

Down in the hood

You'll never see me

Is that understood

I am the general

Standing behind the ranks

I am the businessman

Running the banks

I am the man in blue

With his gun pointed at you

You won't know my hate

Until it's too late

Soul brother

Take my advice

To me hatred

Is sacred

I feed off the rage

It turns me on

You want to turn the page

Show some real Love

And I'll be gone

Soul brother

Understand

You are also

In my command

For none can claim

That they are without sin

Uplift my name

And I always win


Hometown Hero

by John Kaniecki  16/30

He was the hometown hero

In a village of losers

Really liked his blow

Hung out with the boozers

And I was the one with the greatest sin

Cause I was infested with hatred

Without and within

But somewhere in my journey

Walking under a dark, dismal, gray sky

It occurred to me

That everything I learned was a lie

And the hometown hero

Could not conceive

Cause no matter how you count the cost

The numbers add up to zero

And in the asylums I found

Answers to the secrets most profound

Superiority is but an illusion

And most of life is futile confusion

That money is simply a paper green

And all our theories of war obscene

And so the hometown hero

Plays the local bars

Smiling, singing, strumming guitars

One day I might come by to say hello

Cause tomorrow is uncertain

You just never know

So raise the glass

And let the past pass

As we give a toast

To our hometown hero

In whom we still boast 

 Those Walls of Hatred

by John Kaniecki 15/30

This poem is my prayer

This poem is my plea

God I wonder
If you care for me

Sorry for the doubt

I'll try to refrain

But all about

Are walls of endless pain

Walls that confine

Walls that shout

Walls that define

Keeping Love out

Oh Lord can you hear?

Listen to my call

If you are there

Tear down the walls

The Song Of The Martyrs

by John Kaniecki 14/30

The song of the martyrs

Are laced with fire

While the good man barters

Faith for desire

And I fall upon my wicked knees

To pray

Crying in anxious pleas

For strength to get through today

And in your silence

Your anguish is heard

And in your silence

I mourn every word

Crucified on the cruel cross

Of some fabricated reality

Counting the cost

Until you are numbered as a fatality

The bass drum keep the beat

As our blood cleanses the street

The song of victory

Is the song of defeat

For in order for one to win

Another must lose

Righteousness or sin

That is for you to chose
Just remember

Before you surrender

Long after you are gone

The song goes on 

A Poet's Prayer

by John Kaniecki 13/30

Well the winter wind it blew

And somehow I just knew

That the times were due for a turn

Cause when you work for pay

Day after day after day

You just seem to learn

It's an instinct

A second sense if you will

Something you learn to trust

To tell love from lust

Or a kiss from a lie

And I was feeling bitterly cold

And I was feeling bitterly old

And I couldn't understand why

To be born a fool

And then to live and die

With unimaginable promise

Settling for this

I'm hoping for spring

I'm hoping for a better thing

A blessing from the Divine

Not just for me and mine

But something to find

For all of mankind

So I gazed to the heavens cloudy and gray

And I wondered who listened

When the starving children pray

Still I have to say
I have hope for a better day

An end to the winter's wicked white

An end to the endless fight

And the missiles are aimed to kill

And the missiles are aimed to kill

And the missiles are aimed to kill

Still....

Propaganda Poem

by John Kaniecki 12/30

Everybody give glory

To the official story

Those who died on nine eleven

Went straight to heaven

On this I must insist

Except for each terrorist

This is the only way to feel

Never mind

That you find

Temperatures too low to melt steel

One plane, two plane

One tower, two tower

Building Seven as well

It's insane

To question those in power

It is the Highway to Hell

In the awful aftermath

Deny basic math

Can't you see

One plus one equals three

Wave the flag

Boast and brag

Go on the attack

Invade Iraq

But don't bitch and moan

Cause we left Saudi Arabia alone

This poem is propaganda

So I declare

You'll lose all your rights

From guns to Miranda

So beware

In Remembrance Of A Beloved Son

by John Kaniecki 11/30

No words for Ron

Now that his son has passed on

Nothing to say

What good are words anyway?

There exists the tragic loss

And the inevitable cross

So I write this poem of sympathy

Between Ron and me

To express

I have offered a prayer

And that I care

God bless

Perhaps these words shall last into eternity

And forever will be his memory 

Modern Poetry Magazine's Solicitation

by John Kaniecki 10/30

Poems wanted

Our tastes are eclectic

Send us your best work

We are avant-garde

So ahead of our time

Words lose all meaning

Abstractly vague poems

Decipherable only to the authors

Is our specialty

Talent is ambiguous

As a Rorschach Test

I am happy to publish

Anyone who will publish me

And if you have a degree

Who am I to deny your talent

After all you know

How many PhD's Tesla had

Our contests are outright scams

If the winner ain't rigged

Well then we always stand

To make a tidy profit

I am misunderstood

Which explains a lot

If you happen to display

Real talent

Perhaps rhythm and rhyme

Or some clever imagery

You will be deemed

A threat

In the end

We will reject you

With an anonymous email

Telling you art is highly subjective

And not to be discouraged

And please resubmit

So we can repeat

The same sadistic experience

Jazz At The Montclair Library

by John Kaniecki 9/30

They only play Jazz
Cause they can't handle the blues

And I am composing this poem
Walking in the freezing drizzle

I won't use the word rain

Despite that

Vain, pain, and remain, all rhyme

So you all must understand

That eternity has done a flip

A psychedelic trip

While I must never forget

The tea pot is on the fire

It's not tea I desire

Rather to poor the boiling water

To unclog my bathroom drain

And yes that too rhymes with rain

And poor drizzle

Only can fizzle

I had a nice cupcake

Chocolate with green icing on top

They were dispensed after the ensemble

Perhaps to avoid an early

Exodus

Yes I was reading my Bible

And talking to Gerard

I like reading my Bible

I realize life ain't too hard

Like playing jazz

A lot of sophistication

And endless hours of dedication

Just to be misunderstood

And if you're really good

Well then...

I just poured the boiling water down the

sink

It cured my ills at least I

think

So.. tap...out...right....rhythm

Love Lost

by John Kaniecki 8/30

Grains of sand, coarse petals of rain

The color red laughing immersed in pain

A lethal leather tongue lapping love

A sacrifice

At any price

Is never twice

A puff of smoke whispers forgotten

Blacker than night my only true love begotten

Marry me, marry me, marry me

Your love was a deluge of anarchy

Liberty is not freedom

One finds sin binds crueler than steel

Wake up, wake up, this is real

I wonder, down under

Darkness seething thunder

And the lightening

A flash of every righteous reality revealing

Only a momentary feeling

As the waves lap upon the eternal shore

Once more

Dark as before 

From Engineering Student To Novice Poet A True Story

by John Kaniecki 7/30

Perhaps it was the harsh doctrines of science choking me

Two brutal hands of logic and reason

Or rather the poetic fire ignited

As my heart burst into a blazing beacon

Either way came the insanity

I was lost

Longing for anathema

The sum of my existence

Uniform boxes

Defined by complex, intricate, equations

I did not spill these containers

Rather

I detonated a billion and three neutron bombs

Free as the essence of liberty

Oh sweetest nectar of impossibility

Poisoning my tart reality

Crushing waters of the lightlessness

Of the deepest ocean depths

Crumbled me to my knees

Devastated

My mind stripped barren as a bark less tree

Gnawed by savagery

Inflicted in the asylum

With repeated lethal injections of Thorazine

But I had kissed the Promised Land

For my liberation

I would pay the ultimate toll

I was riding on the New York subway on January nights

Simply to stay warm

One and one is not three

One and one is me 

Love Letters Written In Mania

by John Kaniecki 6/30

Why rebuke flaming words of passion?

As if my letters had teeth

To bite your tenderness underneath

Hate is cold and vile

Sold and sterile

The dark, dead moon on a frigid winter's night

What then is love?

The savage furies that I am thinking of?

They are the shocking pinks of fashion

Painted on pants

Slow, sensual, sexual, dance

Rhythmic racing raging romance

The elegance of style

Ending in a satisfactory smile

Was it all in vain?

Strewn ashes but remain

And I

At this very instant

Eternally still in time

Momentarily sane

Plead guilty to the crime

Of reckless, boundless, affection

But need I mention

For my tender heart's protection

I have moved on

And like other ancient, forbidden, mysteries

Gone

Do you still possess

My chaotic poetic mess

Of the love I once dared to profess?

I refuse to take a guess

For that is the double edge sword of the blues

Either way, I lose 

Endurance

by John Kaniecki 5/30

On Mount Hope's summit pondering

I behold with my eyes

A City of Truth

Ivory White Towers, void of lies

Streets of gold

So the journey begins

The story of life laced with sins

Wandering, wondering

Down in the dark depths of the valley of woe

Uncertain, confused, which way to go?

Cruel creatures calling to compromise

Demons deceitfully dark donning angelic disguise

In the soft song of the wind blowing

A frail, faint, beautiful sound

Somehow mysteriously knowing

A secret truth profound

If you keep to the task

And you never surrender

All that you ask

God shall render

Youth's strength shall fade in days

A family there will be to raise

Trials, temptations, torments, testing

Days upon days without resting

Finally to awaken intimate to grays

And whom shall win God's praise?

Money and mammon a hindering weight

To your shame are the wages of hate

All you gave so shall you receive

Trust in the Word, believe

For the length you walk the trail

Shall not make you prevail

Rather the one the Lord will bless

Is the pilgrim who did his best

Who despite evil vile circumstance

Ran the race with endurance

The Slaughter Of Loreal Tsingine

by John Kaniecki 4/30

Most citizens do not know

Or heard of the Navajo

All tribes slandered

Into the convenient box of 'Injun'

All peoples slandered

By this injustice done

Apparently somebody stole a case of beer

Losing money America's worst fear

A casual call to the police

From the convenience store

Agony, a declaration of war

Here's the description they release

Native American woman

Gray sweatpants, white top

Native American woman

This reckless anarchy must stop

For if we don't put them in their place

By mercy and God's grace

The Great Spirit will bless their race

And all these lands shall be returned

And the pale face spurned

So what went down?

A police man came

Loreal didn't want to be arrested

And who would?

The charges she contested

The nameless cop makes a claim

Scissors the woman drew

Upon the man in blue

One shot

Perhaps from surprise

Two shots

Well that'll stop her cries

But five shots

YES FIVE SHOTS I said

Until she was good and dead

So long my dear daughter

Like the buffalo they did slaughter

As their crimes amount

More then we can count

It is up for us, those still sane

To make sure

Our sister did not die in vain

And the authorities will not even release a name

To tell us who was to blame

Cowards with no shame

Cowboys and 'Injuns' their sadistic game

Loreal Tsingine you sought no fame

For those you loved

Whom I am thinking of

Life will never be the same

I pray their misery

And this poetry

Will ignite a mighty flame

So to the whole world will proclaim

We are sick of this racist war
NO MORE!!!

A Poem For Peace- A Mother's Words

(Dedicated to Cindy Sheehan and the memory of her beloved son Casey)

by John Kaniecki 3/30

What have you done

To my darling young one

To my precious son

Whose life had just begun

Why?

I need no answer

From you sir

All you speak is a lie

And even that you deny

Generals, politicians, laugh

There is no draft

But as the empty belly aches
Minds make mistakes

Three hots and a cot

So many of life's miseries forgot

Until you deploy

To kill and destroy

For they assume control

Of body and soul

Casey

I long to see your face

To hold you in an endless embrace

But you were stolen from me in youth

And so I am obliged to speak the truth

I lament

I cry

I weep and wail

But I shall never repent

For many more shall suffer and die

If my mission I fail

So in the solitude of my sorrow

I dream of a better tomorrow

Where soldiers fight no more

And war

Is but a sad memory

Of a forgotten history

And so I must raise my voice

For I have no other choice

For if I am silent

It speaks consent

And nothing do I deplore more

Then war

So shall I never cease

Until we achieve peace

And Casey this

Is my solemn promise

Momma loves you still

And momma always will

Feelings mothers share

Everywhere

Oh Almighty God hear this prayer

Help us if you care

Precious

(Dedicated to Tatyana and Sophie ages five and four)

by John Kaniecki 2/30

Precious

Sweetly pure

Eyes alive saying so much more

Oblivious

To hate and death and war

Why?
Why do angels have to cry?

While demons of foulest sin-

Always to win!!?!

I believe

As you live

As you take and give

So shall you receive

For life is not the accumulation of gold

Rather

Our story to be told

And as Heaven and Earth

Rebirth with fervent heat

On the other side

So shall we meet

Once more

To bow before God's son

To answer for all that we have done

Of that precious
I am sure

A Day @ The Poet's Cafe

by John Kaniecki 1/30

"WHAT DO YOU WANT!!??!!"

Rosie is far from nosy

Serving as waitress at the restaurant

Chewing Bazooka bubble gum with a smile

Her raw radiance

Tightly fitting finely filled uniform

Compensates for her lack of style

Her glossy red cheeks speak abundantly

Strawberry Blossom -  exactly

My eyes tip toe over the menu

"I'm not sure"

"I've never been here before"

"Perhaps an extended metaphor?"

Rosie smiles savage and cunning

Sultry, sexually stunning

"Take it from me"

"Try a simile"

"The taste is nice"

"At an excellent price"

Confounded by a vague reference

Like a ship lost upon the sea

"Oh my" I cry suddenly

It's the worst thing to say

At the Poet's Cafe

A corny cliché

So dead the corpse is but dust

Embarrassed like cuddling lovers discovered in lust

I surrender sorrowfully

"Just coffee for me"

Poet To The Poor

Murmurings of a Mad Man

Words of the Future

Poet To The Poor -Beyond The Poetry

Poet To The Poor- Beyond The Poetry

          Before one can solve a problem one must find a solution. This is of course a mental endeavor. One can only share a vision when one can articulate it. That is to express a thought into words so that it can be shared and conveyed to another. That is why education is so important. To learn from those who walked our way in the past and to have the means to learn from one another. We must be able to talk the talk or we can never walk the walk.

          I defy the logical view of life. I am not saying that life is not logical. Rather I am emphasizing that there is something more. There is an intangible that exists. A 'spirit' to humanity if you will. There is something that makes a certain combination of musical notes pleasurable to the ear. There is something in the right coordination of colors and brush strokes that thrills the heart. There is something in words, when cleverly written that inspire the soul to action.

          Poet To The Poor, Poems Of Hope For The Bottom One Percent is a book of poetry with a mission. It is one that will infuse the reader with a zeal of revolutionary desire to change the world. For the common man has many heroes. Some, Jesus Christ, Langston Hughes, Pete Seeger, Fred Hampton, Mumia Abu Jamal, Joe Hill and Mother Jones are recognizable names. (And if you don't know them you should investigate them!!) But there are many more. Unknown almost anonymous faces from my life who have bravely struggled in their daily existence.

          For you see society is created from the whole. Though the rich man dominates, the world is certainly not is. As Chief Joseph taught the indigenous lesson, 'nobody can own the land'. In the same way 'nobody can own the truth'. There in lies the beauty of Poet To The Poor. It speaks of those truths, present, past and future that the bankers and their ilk would like for us to forget. It presents ideas that have the potential of changing the world.

The Mistress Money

By John Kaniecki

She’s a sultry siren singing her song

A temptress with a taunting desire

Men blindly serve her doing all wrong

Cold as ice hot as hell fire

Money, that’s her name

Evil is her favorite game

She seems to be a mighty power

Her servants kill, destroy and devour

But she is simply a piece of paper

Free your mind you shall escape her

Money, that’s her name

Greed it is to blame

Don’t fall in love with Mistress Money

Don’t make her your sweet honey

She’ll give you a thrill

All the while setting you up for the kill

She laughs when nothings funny

That’s Mistress Money

          Poet to the Poor is a journey. It will take you places that you never even knew existed. Important places where you can gather strength and learn wisdom. It is a work in the greater context of the left. It draws from our diversity but unifies us in our purpose. To make the world a better place for all people to live in.

          Above all it is written for the disenfranchised. For the poor fellow who is down and out on his luck. Hope is one of the most powerful forces in the universe. You can kill a man but you can't kill an idea. If you can get a man to believe that there is something good coming down the line than wonderful things will happen. Not only will they survive but they will work towards a brighter future. Hope never surrenders.

          Please support the cause by purchasing "Poet To The Poor, Poems Of Hope For The Bottom On Percent". The Kindle edition can bought for less than two dollars. For less than a cup of coffee you can get something the will warm your heart. And if you are kind enough to purchase my book of poetry then please give a review on Amazon. At a certain point I hope that Poet To The Poor will become a loud voice in the never ending struggle against oppression for liberation of all. The revolution will always survive it is up to us to make it thrive.

Click For Purchase Information of Poet To The Poor

​​

Why Are We Standing On The Corner?

WHY ARE WE STANDING ON THE CORNER ?

Let there be peace on Earth and let it begin with me.

We are against the war.  The war is a bad thing which destroys and ruins the lives of many.  Our young men and women are sent into harms way; some to come back in coffins, some to come back disabled never to be the same, some come back psychologically damaged.  The best way to support the troops is to bring them back home.

Also there is a great toll on the people of Iraq.  Over a hundred thousand

Citizens have died.  These people have never done anything to hurt the

United States.  They are just innocent civilians who unfortunately got in the

way. These were human beings just like you.  Mothers, children, babies,

Grand parents. The country of Iraq lies in ruins.  War is not working.

We cannot change the past no matter how much we would like to.  The war

is a reality we cannot uninvade Iraq.  But we can change the future. There is

talk about America invading Iran.  WE DO NOT WANT MORE WAR.

 We have had more than enough death, destruction and suffering from this

war. Don’t forget all the resources wasted that could have been better used.

George Bush and his government have problems with Iran.  These are legitimate problems over terrorism and nuclear weapons.  Yet the Bush administration refuses to talk to the other side.  This is insanity.  Give peace a chance. 

We must take action.  We must avoid another war.  That is why we stand on the corner.  We stand for people of all walks of life and people of all religions and beliefs.  We stand because we know this war is morally wrong.  We stand because we do not want to see one more innocent person die.  We stand because we care and we want peace.

We know from the reactions of those who pass by that the majority is in full support.  Yet there are only a dozen of us on the corner.  Don’t you care about the evil being done in the name of all Americans? Don’t you want to right the wrong?  If there were five hundred of us people would notice.  Do not be silent in the face of evil.  Stand with us on the corner and make your voice heard. 

We Can Only Win With Bernie

We Can Only Win With Bernie

          What is at stake in the presidential election? The possible extermination of mankind. What is going on? First and foremost there is endless war. The so called 'war on terror' has spread. Of course the only real terrorists are the those conducting the 'war on terror', or urging it on. The United States has no right and certainly no moral high ground to invade, bomb or destroy nations. In the process stealing their precious resources, particularly oil.

          Obama of course was no darling of the peace community. Beside the extensive drone warfare, president Obama bombed Syria and destroyed Libya. However Libya was done under N.A.T.O oversight. Which suggests to me that an African American man really didn't want to destroy one of the most prosperous nations in Africa. Whatever the case, Libya was destroyed and afterwards the witch Hillary laughs, "we came, we saw, he died". What she is chuckling about is the murder of the Libyan leader Qaddafi who was slain in brutal fashion.

          The reaction of Hillary Clinton in fact encapsulates the whole problem. The United States as a nation has never valued the sanctity of human life. Life and death is no joking matter. Starting from it's reckless genocide of the indigenous peoples, to the brutal chattel slaver of Africans, to the dropping of two atomic bombs on civilian populations.  The Untied States in it's constant warfare has been brutal not caring whom they kill. For America as a whole has placed the value of mammon over the worth of human life. Especially if one's skin color is darker in tone.

          So does Bernie Sanders have a great foreign policy record? Not really. He did oppose the war on Iraq and that is a very important distinction that needs to be made. He made the right choice at time when his voice was unpopular. Now Hillary claims she made a mistake. That is an understatement. A mistake is spilling some ink on a new dress. Invading a sovereign nation on trumped up lies resulting in the deaths of millions is a tragedy. When it comes to committing to war or not  you only get one chance to get it right. All Hillary's apologies won't bring back the dead or reverse the destruction, or bring back or spent resources. I don't want a president who will repeat her 'mistakes'.

          Bernie does give lip service to the 'war on terror' which is a farce. Also he refuses to stand up and condemn the state called "Israel" which brutally occupies Palestine. Still Bernie would slow down the descent into the murky grave of world war three. This would be done by default. In providing universal health care for everyone, along with free college and boosting our infrastructure  there will be scant money left for the military. Thus the endless war may get a reprise in the same fashion we knew peace under Jimmy Carter.

          The Republicans of course offer nothing but insane war mongers. Donald Trump who is following Hitler's plan to power is no solution. Ted Cruz falsely portraying himself as a 'Christian' is in fact more dangerous than Trump. Cruz said something to the effect, "I don't know if sand glows but we'll find out." This is a reference of course to excessive bombing in the Middle East. Basically a call for genocide of Arabs by air power. So much for Jesus clear teachings of "loving neighbor" and "loving one's enemy".

          Still there is another area in which mankind is threatened and that is our ecology. Remember Fukushima it has been five years. It has not gotten any better either. Radiation is still going into the Pacific Ocean with no solution. Perhaps it is "Wormwood" as the book of Revelation has predicted would occur. The powers that be don't like to talk about it because they can't solve this problem. Add on fracking, global warm, and the general pollution we are in serious problems.

   I put my faith in God not man. But I believe that God wants his children to stand up to evil. To be righteous and fight for the ideals that we should believe in. A world without war, hunger, poverty. A place of sharing and caring. There is much work to be done. Is Bernie Sanders the perfect candidate? Not at all. But he is clearly the best candidate who could actually win. And he is not the best by a little but by immense magnitudes. Hillary, Cruz or Trump would most likely get us into World War 3 in their term. I am voting for Bernie Sanders and I urge you to do so. To my leftist friends I am not selling out rather I am being practical.

The State of Poetry

The State of Poetry

          What you ask is the state of poetry? Well there are probably more outlets for the art than ever. Especially when you factor in the internet sites. In one way the business is booming. However is poetry popular? That is, is there an interest in the art outside of poets? I once heard that there are more writers of poetry than readers. How one can prove that to be true, I don't know. But understand what such a statement is getting at. Poetry has become an art for only those working in that medium. Or has it?
          William  Shakespeare was a poet. A very powerful and prolific writer. He knew and still knows immense popularity. I suspect that Shakespeare's sales today surpass the most popular poets of our day. William Shakespeare proves that poetry can indeed be popular. He was a play writer, you say. Well his plays are works of poetry. William Shakespeare became a wealthy man off of his art.

          Some will scowl and frown, saying, poetry will never ascend to those heights again. They are of course, dead wrong. All I have to do is present to you musical lyrics. True there is more to the song than the lyrics but the lyrics are essential most of the time to a song's success. Music lyrics are not at all like modern poetry. Rather they are a very strict form of writing. They have a set rhythm, a rhyming scheme and an overall pattern. Then you need a chorus and a hook as well. Song lyrics show that poetry can indeed be popular. Writing a great song is of course one of the hardest things in the world to do.

          So why isn't poetry popular today? Because the majority of the poems produced today are simply garbage. 'Free verse' has digressed into a saying that the poet interprets as 'I'll just write whatever I want'. Truly rhyming poetry and other formal modes of poems have been thrust out as being archaic. But this attitude is but a momentary phenomena.

          Let us look at art in the form of painting pictures. In particular Pablo Picasso. Pablo Picasso could paint a realistic picture. That is he was so talented that his work was almost like a photograph when he wanted to. So when Pablo paints these abstract pictures, I have no choice but to respect them. Even if I cannot understand them. Why? Because I know that he is a master of the art and every paint brush stroke is painstakingly put into place. But if some joker comes along who can't even paint a fruit bowl realistically does abstract work, should I respect him? Absolutely not.

          Let us look at poetry. It takes a good amount of talent to write a sonnet. There is both a strict meter and rhyming skill to it. Then beyond that it takes some artistic spirit. It takes that intangible known as creativity. Now let's compare poetry to painting. If somebody cannot demonstrate skillful control of words, why should I look at their free verse. If somebody can't play a simple tune on a piano, should I respect their improvisation.  Or is it a senseless clanking of the keys? So if you can't even write a decent sonnet, please don't show my your free verse. You haven't proven yourself.

          So let us look at what Walt Whitman was all about. Poetry had been inundated with rhyme to the point that it became trite. Then came 'Leaves of Grass'. It was labeled 'free verse' as it didn't rhyme. It wasn't blank verse as there was no strict rhythmic patter. But it was not as Robert Frost said about free verse. "Playing tennis without a net." Rather Walt Whitman created his own unique creature and there in he liberally adhered to the new pattern he created. Note that there was something there. It was not simply words thrown on a piece of paper.

          So let us diverge at this moment to consider the true purpose of poetry. As a sub genre of literature poetry is supposed to communicate something. It could make you sad, happy, reflective or whatever. Or it could simply just make you think. Also poetry could take the form that what is read is pleasing to the ear. Generally it encompasses more than one of these aspects in a small amount of words. But above all a poem should communicate something.  You should read it and something should be left with you.

          But what happens today? You get ambiguous words without any connection. The meaning, if there is one, is known solely by the author. So are you saying that poetry needs to abide by some strict set of rules to make it work. Not at all. As evidence I present Robert Hayden's "Middle Passage". Though  this poem holds structure it by now means has a clear formal pattern. That is it would be a struggle to write a formula that was adhered to.

          Still after reading Middle Passage one cannot help but stand back and be amazed. The drama of the work coupled with the beauty of the words are extraordinary. Clearly there is something communicated. At the very least a story is told. More than a simple tale Hayden gives us an ironic look at the hypocrisy of life. If one wants to write free verse, look at Middle Passage.

          So where is poetry heading? There is a struggle here. I firmly believe that poetry belongs in the hand of the main stream. That it's rightful place is in the hand of the common man. But in order to do so we must take the art away from those who have hijacked it.  Those who have made a beautiful and powerful force into a trivial and trite ordeal.

          How do we make poetry popular again? By writing poetry that connects. By writing great pieces. By disregarding the quick and easy way out, to please those editors who lack vision. Rhyming Poets International is a great organization that is attempting to bring back the artistic quality into poetry.

          Finally let us have a word about experts. A degree is nothing more than a piece of paper when it comes down to it. You can hold a degree in engineering but that doesn't make you like Tesla. The proof of understanding how to write is contained solely in the piece itself. A poem stands or fails by it's own merit alone. I don't care who wrote it, it is subject to the same criteria. Did this poem have an impact on me in some way?

          Obviously poetry is failing. Where are the great poets of our age? Where are the William Shakespeares of our day? Unfortunately they are buried in a massive garbage heap. But do not be dismayed for in the struggle the artist is made. If one truly has talent and the heart of the champion they will achieve, God willing. Understand we almost missed out on Emily Dickinson didn't we? 

Signing off for now,

John 'FeatherLeaf' Kaniecki 

Guest Blog- Raymond Nat Turner Presents a Poem

I am very happy to present a poem from Raymond Nat Turner. I first became aware of Raymond's art from the pages of Struggle Magazine. I find his work poignant, thought provoking and moving. Above all I appreciate the call of righteousness when so many others conveniently look away in complacent silence.

Defense wins championships,
War profiteering bleeds budgets & People

by Raymond Nat Turner

I.
Enough ale the color of
Leaded water in Flint to
Flood the Lower Ninth Ward
Enough Bud brewed to drown
Governments in bathtubs
Enough melted cheese to sink
Manhattan multiple times
Enough pizzas to feed every
Occupy, springing up 2011, for a week
Enough chips to stretch from
Earth to Uranus and back again
Enough heartburn to backlog
Every emergency room still open
Enough gas to forget about fracking;
and power an armada of nuclear subs
Enough bullshit to flow Brooklyn Bridge
to Golden Gate Bridge and back again,
Pausing “Send In The Clowns—“
$election 2016—2/4 Dance where a dime’s
Difference resides in war dancers,
Bailout engineers, extraordinary renderers,
Enhanced interrogators, collateral damagers,
Drone devotees—Guantanamo groupies!
thickness of a Trump card separates
Warheads of a Cruz missile from those of a
Golda-plated Iron Lady plundering Haiti—
Grieving families still feel the Bern of Boeing’s
Products and learn Northrup-Grummond’s another
Name for death…

Grandiose spectacle of declining empire, the
Warfare state, causes chickens to tremble in terror
This time of the year
thinking of their wings, breasts, other body parts
stuffing the Colonel’s buckets; chickens shudder
at being stuffed in pepperoni holes of cops, klan,
militia and poor black, brown, and white
Working-class men in Couch Potato Pose
for four hours…

A week deep into African-
American History Month—shortest
Month of the year, and another
Newton leads Panthers on Ohlone Land,
Golden State, world stage, this Sunday—
Not the 9.0 earthquake, 1960s…

He entertains endless babbling about
Arms, “arm-strength—“ armed self-defense
Stuffed behind class war’s line of scrimmage
like a failed fourth and one run; he addresses
chatter of “moving the chains—“ Removing the
Chains is out of bounds, like a receiver failing to tap
dance before the white line…
Pigskin pursuits like opponents clipping, chopping
Black Lives down on streets, are out of bounds—so is
Tackling land, bread, housing and other 10-Points
Panthers played Sudden Death overtime for…

II.
ALERT:
Before Broncos or Panthers wake up,
Before buses caravan from hotels—before
Coin toss—heads 1% wins, tails 99% loses:
Playing field ain’t level, dice are loaded—
Game’s rigged, fix is in:
Fat Cats, too big to fail, stuffed Single Payer, strip-
Sacked schools, jobs, pensions, 4o1Ks, blocked
Housing, threw drinking water, air we breathe for
Losses; bailed-out bull-rushing banksters on quick-
Counts—ran endless, no huddle wars… And 64 people
Own more wealth than all eyes viewing Super Bowl L!

Voting is like talking12th Man, Terrible Towel, Cheese-
head claptrap, rant, rodomontade—until Colts become
Broncos; Jaguars, Panthers; Raiders, Patriots— or some
Slave Phone app is invented for saving the planet,
Saving the working-class masses—February 31st…

We claim we want another world—say it’s
Possible, we can hear it on a clear day, and
can’t wait, and other incredibly beautiful things…
Yet, classmates succumb to cancer and we talk
“transitions,” “home-goings,” avoiding the
hermeneutics of suspicion, not outliving our
parents—our children not outliving us…
We claim, “all lives matter” knowing some
Have never mattered—and never will…
We say, “Save the children,” watching fifty-four
Schools closed, twenty-three prisons built—
celebrating life, slicing 60% of the pie for death
We say, “organic,” instead of calling out war-
Poisoned Frankenfood; we say, “mainstream media,”
knowing it’s minority, multibillionaire, big-lie
Head-fixing…
We say, “becoming a police state,” like $4.99
Becomes $5.00— because bald-headed buffoons and
lil’ fellas with funny mustaches are MIA—though 25%
of all humans caged are under stars and stripes; some
are gunned down daily!

We speak truth to power. Yet, power creeps like
Weeds into our lexicon:
“boots on the ground” isn’t a Barney’s blowout
sidewalk sale; “enhanced interrogation” ain’t discourse
on Douglass intersecting Du Bois, in Robeson’s
Cultural Work, or King’s ‘67 Riverside Church speech;
“signature strikes” aren’t ILWU refusals to
Unload South African and Israeli apartheid cargo
“high value targets” ain’t good department store deals

Game planning from the Peoples’ Playbook—
Marching holes in soles, walking out, sitting-in,
Striking, boycotting—meeting more than four corners;
Nurturing the new—paying attention to children in
Chitown, babies in Baltimore, front-liners in Flint and
Ferguson—remembering Occupy, drawing lessons—
putting forehead to history, theory getting us to the
Red Zone—struggle for socialism’s our Super Bowl!


Raymond Nat Turner © 2016 All Rights Reserved

http://aaduna.org/summerfall2015/poetry/raymond-nat-turner/

Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet privileged to have read at the Harriet Tubman Centennial Symposium. He is Artistic Director of the stalwart JazzPoetry Ensemble UpSurge and has appeared at numerous festivals and venues including the Monterey Jazz Festival and Panafest in Ghana West Africa. He currently is Poet-in-Residence at Black Agenda Report. Turner has opened for such people as James Baldwin, People’s Advocate Cynthia McKinney, radical sportswriter Dave Zirin and CA Congresswoman Barbara Lee following her lone vote against attacking Afghanistan. Read otherarticles by Raymond Nat, or visit Raymond Nat's website.

********************************************************************************************

“…one of the most prolific, consistently beautiful and unabashedly radical voices writing today - Raymond Nat Turner. If you ever have an opportunity to see him perform, just do it."

—Writer, activist, organizer, Makani Themba    

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=luaob58zq8s

“The cadence is rocking; the rhythm, haunting; the message riveting; the urgency for righteousness, profoundly compelling!”

—Writer, Georgia Webb

Upsurge! is another entity that brings politically radical words to the stage, albeit woven into an amazing fabric of jazz…. more akin to modern theatre than anything else. This is the kind of theatre that I would pay Broadway prices for. And we got to enjoy it as a part of this Festival. Thank you all for something so special.

—John Pietaro, Founder/Director Dissident Arts Festival, NYC   

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A2i5qq_H37w