Poetry Project, V. 11.0, days 15-16

 Oh boy - looks like a couple more days of two-fers.  Well, at least there is a bonus in that it's a new week, so we get to look at a new theme!!  Healing one's country.  Even harder then a neighborhood - there are a lot more concerns, and it takes something different, especially from poetry.  For poetry to work on a national level, it has to capture the imagination of a lot of people simultaneously.  Take a look at some of our past inaugurations, featuring the likes of Maya Angelou and Amanda Gorman.  They were on a big stage, able to access lots of people.  Poetry's biggest stage has been music, so maybe there is something to that.  Can music heal a nation??  I think it could.  And if music can, then poetry can't be that far behind.  So let's get started on this week's journey, yes??

Amanda Gorman wrote (and spoke) about this hill we climb.  I don't want to do that, because well, that would be stealing her thunder, and that's not ok.  But her words are inspiring and uplifting - and that's a good thing, a needed thing.  We need that, as a country.  We also need people to be brave enough to talk about the good parts of this country....and the bad parts, too.  To call it like it is.  

Day 15:

The System

you can't change the system

from the outside,

only from within,

but once you're in,

it takes a hold of you,

sets you on a path,

takes over,

becomes the goal,

a self-feeding machine,

man-made,

self-destructive to the very people it was intended to help,

until the goal no longer matches the image,

it exists to feed itself.

good teachers,

good cops,

good people in office,

trying hard to make the changes, but it's too big for them,

it's already trying to swallow their drive,

their passion,

their energy,

and when the system is done with them,

it spits them out the other side,

gnarled and twisted,

hopes faded and dreams gone,

a life that feels wasted and barren.

it goes on and on for years,

generations,

part of the system,

part of the problem.

Day 16:

and then, silence

a sunny Tuesday morning 

in the city,

the spark,

waiting for fuel to light,

a 20-year flame kept strong

even though most of us have forgotten why.

riding the anger until it subsides,

and we get caught in a new cycle of being,

and then, silence.

we forget why, move on,

get back to our lives, 

looking past a brief unity,

not seeing that in the silence lies a truth

that we don't want to look at.

We only care when it matters to us,

personally,

and we shout in anger at the momentary things,

but not the normal things,

the things that hurt us every day,

that shred our lives.

the things that live in the silence.

Well, that's it for now.  I will try and log on later to get to today's actual poem, but for now, this will have to do.  As always,

Thanks for reading,

Me.