The Fourth Estate (Kenya)

RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: GLOBAL POLITICS

 

The Fourth Estate (Kenya)

 

When Kenya closed the fourth estate

It opened up the doors

It killed the right to demonstrate

And invited bloody war

 

When the people have no eyes and ears

The police will have their way

The people would be right to fear

A cause to bow and pray

 

Without the freedom of the press

The republic is in doubt

Those in power will oppress

To push good people out

 

The flow of honest information

Is essential to democracy

If you want a democratic nation

And not a cruel autocracy

 

There are those who would do anything

To keep their hold on power

But freedom is a force that sings

To break down a tyrant’s tower

 

 

Zohran Mamdani

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: AMERICAN POLITICS

 

Zohran Mamdani

 

The plight of the true progressive

Is that s/he is supposed to lose

Though we may become obsessive

In the end we’ll sing the blues

 

To the people of New York City

His message is heaven sent

He’s as smart as he is witty

He pledges to freeze the rent

 

We are all in this together

We’re the same in basic needs

We’re birds of the same feather

We reject the policies of greed

 

He makes no pledge to the wealthy

In fact he’ll make them pay

But he’ll work to make us healthy

Because there is another way

 

Though the days aren’t always sunny

For the man who lives in Queens

He won’t take their dirty money

But he’ll win by honest means

 

(Democratic Socialist defeats Cuomo

as Dem candidate for NYC mayor.)

 

ICE

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: MASS DEPORTION

 

ICE

 

ICE is the new Brown Shirts

The American SS and the KGB

A force buried in American dirt

From sea to hypocritical sea

 

Is this the look you MAGA’s want?

All jaundiced and diseased

Tired, ugly, bloody and gaunt

Beneath our desperate pleas

 

America the true and free

Has vanished with the wind

A land we thought could never be

A fortress built of tin

 

What happened to our liberties?

We’ve lost what we revered

Gone with our democracy

Submerged in blood and tears

 

Our darkest days will linger on

Until we stop them cold

The opposition must hold strong

The resistance must be bold

 

 

 

Cheerleaders of War

RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: WAR

 

Cheerleaders

 

Here they all stand

The cheerleaders of war

Lining up to lead the band

Outside the White House door

 

They cheered for Afghanistan

They cheered for Iraq *

They marched hand in hand

Their step always in lock

 

We no longer see

With sound common sense

With our soldiers in need

We’ll call defense

 

But it’s bold aggression

By any other name

A march of regression

A warmonger’s shame

 

How many must die?

We no longer care

We will not ask why

We would not dare

 

For when the missiles fly

We all must toe the line

When war becomes the cry

We’re leading from behind

 

* pronounced “ee rock”

 

 

Voice of Reason (Lost in War)

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: IRAN WAR

 

Voice of Reason

 

As we re-enter an era of war

As we begin a new killing season

We fear the horrors in store

Where is the voice of reason?

 

We are dancing the dance of death

We are following Netanyahu’s orders

We shiver and hold our breaths

We’ve crossed the civilized border

 

There were no real negotiations

We demanded total surrender

To a hostile and criminal nation

With its brutal and powerful mentor

 

Like those that came before her

Iran may not like her leaders

But the invaders will not restore her

Regardless of how they treat her

 

This is a war that will not end

Not today and not tomorrow

We will lose our loyal friends

As we enter a world of sorrow

 

 

Russian Spies in Argentina

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: RUSSIA

 

Russian Spies in Argentina

 

The Russians are in Buenos Aires

Recruiting agents of disinformation

Paid for loyalty with the latest spyware

Through political media organizations

 

Don’t think it’s just a one and done

We have the same here in the states

Tulsi Gabbard and Tucker Carlson

Mother Russia holds their fates

 

Their tentacles reach everywhere

From the local news to the internet

Disinformation “free and fair”

Bought and paid for without regret

 

Ever wonder why they love Iran?

Vladimir Putin is their ally

When Putin drums they sing his song

If you’ve got morals don’t apply

 

But Argentina is fighting back

They won’t be played by Kremlin spies

All republics are under attack

From Russia’s hacks and spies

 

(Argentina uncovers spy network)

 

 

 

America First

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: MIDDLE EAST

 

America First

 

Is this what we are fighting for?

When you pledge America first?

The Middle East in flames of war

Could it get any worse?

 

Israel wants mass destruction

Iran wants the bomb

Feel the blast, quake and suction

The bombing of Tehran

 

We had our massive wars of choice

Afghanistan and Iraq

America’s most horrific voice

Meant to awe and shock

 

It didn’t go as we had planned

The shock was to ourselves

Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan

A journey straight to hell

 

The way of war has gone too far

The path of escalation

We’re chasing ghosts and falling stars

The scourge of every nation

 

 

Immigration Gestapo

RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: IMMIGRATION

  

Immigration Gestapo

 

The émigré gestapo is coming

To spread terror in your town

Factory workers start running

Before you’re beaten to the ground

 

They don’t care about your rights

Your rights expired yesterday

They’re more than ready for a fight

Your people do not have a say

 

You are something less than human

So our president has decreed

His gestapo friends are fuming

They would love to see you bleed

 

Towns and cities across the land

Get prepared to be invaded

Unless you want to make a stand

The light of liberty has faded

 

It seems our nation’s gone astray

Our doors and gates are locked

The new gestapo is here to stay

The road to freedom has been blocked

 

Rights on Hold

RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: AMERICAN DEMOCRACY

 

Rights on Hold

 

When rights are suspended for others

We sacrifice much of our own

What we do to one another

Must one day be atoned

 

When our rights are placed on hold

When the guarantee is lost

It means our rights can be sold

By any cruel and ruthless boss

 

We have placed our fate in hands

That never should be trusted

It’s too late to understand

When all your friends are busted

 

So you thought it was just the others

The ones with darker skin

Then they came for your brothers

And your rationale grew thin

 

Now you’re running with the rest of us

And you regret those things you did

Now you’re in the back of the bus

With the servants and their kids

 

 

Tanks on the Streets

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: TRUMP

 

Tanks on the Streets

 

Tanks on the streets of Washington

A show of military force

A democratic abomination

Revealing the president’s course

 

He wants to build an empire

That will stand a thousand years

His thirst will never tire

For admiration built on fear

 

He would love to enfold Canada

Into these United States

Next he’ll annex Greenland

It is written in the book of fate

 

He demands the commendation

Of all nations across the globe

It may require the exhumation

Of our collective frontal lobe

 

This drive for global power

Is an insult to us all

If his push outlasts the hour

The dominoes will fall

 

 

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

 

 

A Long Hard Road (Part I)

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: TRUE HISTORY

 

A Long Hard Road Part I

 

This is a story about how things go together

Told in the language of the common folk

A language meant for talking

For telling stories in a crowded barroom

For speaking out loud in a circle of friends

It’s the language of Faulkner, McCarthy,

Steinbeck and Woody Guthrie

(but that’s another story)

 

This story begins in the green valleys,

endless forests, rugged mountains and

winding rivers of rural Tennessee

It may be the story rightly begins long

before Tennessee was even a name on a map

when the seven tribes of the Natchez Trace

lived and prospered on the mother of all rivers

before the great white invasion

 

But this story begins with the Cherokee

Known by the whites as the civilized tribe

(Tecumseh and Crazy Horse might disagree

but that too is another story)

 

The Cherokee invented their own syllabary

so they could write and read in their own language

They wrote their own constitution

They formed their own democracy

They elected their own representatives

 

The Supreme Court of the United States of

America (an audacious name but there it is)

recognized their lawful sovereignty but at that

time a man from Tennessee who grew up with

the Cherokee and led many of them into the Battle

of New Orleans was elected president of the

white man’s nation

 

His name was Andrew Jackson and he didn’t

think much of the Supreme Court’s decision

In fact he tossed it out with the daily trash

He ordered the Cherokee, Choctaw, the Creek

and Chickasaw herded up like cattle and

moved a thousand miles away to a desolate

land no white man wanted (until they did

but that is another story)

 

It came to be known as the Trail of Tears

but it was not just Indian tears on the path

to the setting sun where all things go to die

 

The poor white folk and black folk and other

folk lined up along the trail to watch a proud

people humbled by hardship and pushed to

the edge of their limits

 

They watched and their tears became a river

flowing, a path of sorrow, and a tribute to

the human spirit

 

Thousands of folks native to the land packed

what belongings they could and marched the

long hard road to Indian Territory

 

Some died, some escaped and many endured

It would come to be called Oklahoma

(but that is another story)