The Guard in LA

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: CIVIL LIBERTIES

 

The Guard in LA

 

To brutalize the people

Is not the duty of the Guard

You’re leaving us no option

But to push back hard

 

The agents of the Homeland

Are completely out of place

Waging war against the people

An incredible disgrace

 

The people do not want you here

Throw your weapons to the ground

You’re marketing in hate and fear

To this course you are not bound

 

For this is not a war zone

No one summoned you for aid

The violence you’ve caused has grown

Tear down your damned blockades

 

Ask yourselves what you are serving

The cause of peace or war

The people here are not deserving

They’re just unfortunate and poor

 

 

 

The Insurrection Act

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: INSURRECTION

 

The Insurrection Act

 

What despicable irony

That the leading insurrectionist

Should summon the Insurrection Act

To release the military hounds

The few, the proud, the Marines

To fight back their own people

To suppress a lawful assembly

To oppress a peaceful gathering

Within the confines of our nation

 

This is not an insurrection

It’s a plain and simple fact

We have gone the wrong direction

We are on a vicious track

 

We remember insurrection

It was not so long ago

You cried out for insurrection

Then you said it wasn’t so

 

You pardoned all your followers

For breaking down the walls

For pushing through the barriers

For answering your call

 

For provoking mass disorder

For striking fear in all

For following your orders

Put ‘em up against the wall!

 

Now you call the soldiers in

A ruthless show of force

This is where it all begins

Our democracy off course

 

 

A Long Hard Road Part IV

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: TRUE HISTORY

 

A Long Hard Road Part IV

 

They came to California on a promise of jobs

Where there was fruit on the vine and peaches

on trees just ripe for the picking

But there was way more refugees than

there was jobs

 

And there was a whole lot of people with skin

a shade darker working those fields of plenty

long before the dust bowl migration

 

They gathered together in sprawling camps of

makeshift shelters and worked like slaves of labor

 

Long hard hours for little pay

Kicked and spit at like stray dogs

 

When the boss man came up short on his payroll

Or got a little greedier than he usually was

He’d call the immigration bulls

 

The Mexicanos would go a running

Those who weren’t fast enough or were

Just too tired to run would be rounded up

Like cattle and took down to the border

 

Sometimes they took em in planes

A man name of Woody sang about it:

 

  The crops are all in and the peaches are rotting

  The oranges piled in the creosote dumps

  They’re flying em back to the Mexican border

  To pay all their money to wade back again

 

  Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye Rosalita

  Adios mes amigos, Jesus y Maria

  You won’t have your names when you ride

  the big airplane

  and all they will call you will be deportee

 

You might wonder how the poor white folk

couldn’t see that what happened to them back

in Oklahoma is what happened to the

Mexicans here in California

 

Cheated out of their homes and pushed off

their land

 

You might wonder how they couldn’t see that

What happened to them happened to the

Cherokee a way back in Tennessee

 

It ain’t about the color of your skin

It’s about how much you have in your pocket

It ain’t about how you talk or where you’re from

It’s about greed

It’s about never being satisfied with what you

have but always wanting more

It’s about not caring who you have to cheat or

abuse to get what you want

 

It’s all connected

One long hard road

It’s all the same thing

And we’re all in it together

 

  This land is your land

  This land is my land

  From California to the New York island

  From the redwood forest

  to the Gulf Stream waters

  This land was made for me and you

 

(for Alan Arnopole and Woody Guthrie)

 

 

A Long Hard Road Part III

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: TRUE HISTORY

 

A Long Hard Road Part III

 

A dust storm came and it never left

It stretched out half a continent

High as any man could see

(of course you couldn’t see a thing)

 

Those were the Dust Bowl days

Hard times multiplied a hundred times over

Ain’t nothing you could do about it

Some say it was the farming ways

Swept out the natural brush, dried out the

land and made it ripe for the taking

Some say it was the revenge of the Cherokee

Payback is a punch in the gut

(but the Cherokee are not vengeful people)

A dust storm the size of Texas picked

up the land and blowed it all away

 

A man named Guthrie grew up in those

times and put it down in a song:

 

So long, been good to know ya

So long, it’s been good to know ya

So long, it’s been good to know ya

This dusty old dust is a gettin my home

And I’ve gotta be drifting along

 

He joined the army of the great migration

Thousands of poor folks with all their belongings

stacked up like hotcakes on an iron skillet

heading down the highway of the lost and

misguided looking for the land of plenty

 

When you think about it (and I do) it

sounds a lot like the Trail of Tears

Only there weren’t no people lined up to

watch the long loathsome trail of hardship

It came a way too close to home

 

Busted down and nearly broke

They came west to California

Where they hoped things would be better

For some maybe it was

For many it just weren’t

And that’s another story

 

A Long Hard Road (Part II)

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: TRUE HISTORY

 

A Long Hard Road Part II

 

The great war between the states

The war of the whites over black slaves

was a blessing to the Cherokee and

all other native tribes

The whites with their weapons and their

endless thirst for land and treasure

left them in peace

The Cherokee thrived

against all odds and all manner of adversity

the Cherokee survived

 

But when the great war ended and the slaves

were freed the whites remembered

They saw what the Cherokee did

That their tribal ways and culture endured

They saw and didn’t like what they saw

Injuns were supposed to learn the white ways

They weren’t supposed to live in tribes

The were supposed to live in homes

with fenced yards and small farms

 

So they passed laws that broke up the land

into small lots that couldn’t survive hard times

 

So they passed a law that paved a highway

over the red road of days past

 

They called it the Oklahoma Land Rush

 

So the Cherokee and others were pushed

out of their homes once again

They became tenant farmers working the land

alongside poor white farmers for next to

nothing just to put food on the table

 

The Cherokee found a way

The poor white farmers not so much

But that’s another story