Poetry from Pat Doyne

FULL CIRCLE

Once we were an outpost of an empire.

Looted, used—as colonies tend to be.

Grievances were real. A core of thinkers,

afire with notions of democracy,

set off a revolution. Stars and stripes!

Fight for freedom! Down with tyrant kings!

Independence gained, this founding crew

invent a fledgling nation, full of hope.

States are sovereign, but united. Three

branches anchor checks and balances.

One makes laws. One handles all the finance.

President’s a leader, not a king.

But don’t forget the peasants, now empowered

to vote for congressmen and presidents.

Created equal, yes, but rabble-rousers

target commoners– unschooled, like children

who follow blindly men that dangle candy.

Even Senators can be beguiled.

And that’s how this old firebrand gains a foothold.

Hoodwinks voters. Preys upon their fears.

Stokes racial grudges. Rule by ultra-rich

works best when workers are no more than slaves.

And women? Slaves by gender. Slap them down.

Strip the right to vote, to rule their bodies.

This cartoon clown has seized the highest courts;

bought off lawmakers with threats and bribes;

won a loyal cult, who swallow lies,

who clap and cheer, who’d like to make him king.

He plans to rule an empire. Will annex

Greenland, Gaza, Panama Canal…

History’s come full-circle. Bites its tail.

The colony that once broke free of England

has now become Old England, Putin-style,

ruled by our own mad George III. What’s more,

a widening chasm cuts off rich from poor.

Can revolution’s smoke be far behind?

SYNCHRONIZED CHAOS