I wrote this poem in writing group tonight. Our prompt was popular music and how it stimulates the muse. I'm rather attached to this poem but I know it's not perfect yet. Your input is very welcomed and valued.


For the most part,
I do not write
about creeps in my-
or anyone else's-
Personal cellar.
I'm a hearts and flowers, glass half full girl.
Muse finds easy access
to memories at morning or midnight
when she is confronted with a blank page.
Remembrances of Martin speaking
with ire not concealed
by pulpit's protection.

Anita softly singing
freedom songs to comfort the new
(often surprised and young) arrestees
en route to their first night in jail
for seeking our people's liberation.

Since youth,
I've headed the Raging Grannies community call
to worship something other than capitalism.
Even though I never met the ladies themselves
until moving to Western Massachusetts in 2000.

Each time, I elect to make my own march
through and to the jailhouse door
or to seek- in an admittedly less radical attempt-
justice by wielding a pen

I cannot avoid sweet refrains of Anne Fenney's neoclassic radical folk anthem.
Have you been to Jail for Justice?
Bouncing off my brain waves
even in the silence.
Issuing me another set of marching orders
as both poet and organizer.

Categories: poetry [t]

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