This (below) is one of the many reasons why, for a few years now, I’ve been in love (from afar!) with this fabulous woman …
July 3, 2015
Allow me to kill your high —
pull you down from that rainbow-studded sky,
back to the ground, the background
of depressive realism creeping to the fore
on the floor like shackles round our feet.
While we, with our heads held high, don’t look to see,
listen to hear, what would be so clear, save the ringing
in our ears, the fog of fireworks, din of cheers,
and,—fuckin-A!—take this day
to celebrate a battle won from years so waged.
And as the smoke does settle like lovers’ highs do level,
pull from this, and be inspired.
Realize that what comes easy isn’t good,
and what is good is fuckin hard.
And there are two truths here to mine:
follow the rainbow and you’ll find
a pot of gold marked “corporate greed,”
drone bombs signed to the White House deed.
“War for Oil!” is our creed.
Drilling rigs are planted seeds.
Misery is what we’ll reap: “O, All Hail The TTP!”
It’s not a cheerful wedding speech.
But “free” is not your marriage!
See, and even if a shift could come
from letting love be blind,
this time is not enough to mark it “Done!”
Look at how the slaves were freed:
—could you say today that the fight
for black rights is won?
Could you say that women are represented,
spoken for on Congress floors,
just because we now can vote?
I don’t think so.
No, the fight for equal rights—black, white,
women, gay—can’t be laid to rest,
lest our gains be bound with corporate chains,
belittled to a “For Sale” slave.
This is not a box to check, a crossed-off line
on social lists of our time.
This is every day,
A fight on-going, never slowing,
always growing: Evil never sleeps,
never even naps!
Don’t grab for coffee, or a line;
Life, after all, must be alive!
Take in a sunset, and a smile,
rest up, and meet us on the front lines,
all of you!
For your issue is mine,
and mine is yours;
and this is all intertwined.
Not because I smoked a bowl
and see that we are One,
and Nature is our home.—No!
—because The System makes it so!
Follow the lies, folk-devils
and beady tycoon eyes,
and oil spill and Arctic drill,
a homeless child,
drone-bombs’ sickly song—
All the right that they do wrong
stains the name of you and I,
a tarnish on the varnish of a land
that could do so much fucking better!
Then hoist a flag and claim that “fag”
isn’t politically correct?
Our standards shouldn’t be so low!
You don’t just deserve to love,
you deserve a gov-ern-ment
of, for, and by the people—how it’s meant,
—not steered by greed or the steeple.
You’ll be made to think that you don’t need to,
that this win somehow cleans the sins,
and now we’re on an up-swing.
But let me ask you, over the din
of a corporate-sponsored
media freedom marriage church bell ring,
what good is that ring?
if you’re hands are tied: debt the only thing
that you can buy? pollution stings
your throat and eyes?
war exported, hate imported,
and, faded in an old headline,
bold thick words now shameful lie: “We won!”
My friends, congrats to your love;
Now, let’s get to work!
From tweets, to marching in the streets,—
this is Act Out!
—Eleanor Goldfield (b. 1987) age 29
Act Out! founder, spoken word poet,
vlogger, model, singer-songwriter
(heavy metal message rock musician),
creative activist force of nature on-all-fronts