Archive for December 25, 2018

I refuse 

i refuse …

to bow

scraping for scraps in the dirt

i refuse

to kneel

cowering before the altar

i refuse

to lose

hope for a better tomorrow

i refuse

to stop believing

that love will gently prevail

where mirth peace respect may again walk tall

in the very places

where once roamed nothing but sorrow …

“The Immigrants Void” – Sculpture by Bruno Catalano

migrant feet.

bleeding feet.

calloused feet,

that bleed,

scraping souls,

seeking paths that lead,


anywhere from here,
from the horror of the now,

wiping bloody sweaty tears,
of grandmothers’ brow,

seeking refuge, sanctuary,

from bullets,

from epithets that wound,
that slay,

from men, always men,

puffed-up, inflated,
stuffed with raw venomous hate,

to be flotsam and jetsam,
adrift on the seas,

crammed into boxes,
clutching onto every choked breath,

seeking another fate,

not an asphyxiated blueish death,

tossed, seasick,
wracked and pained,

cattle-cars, slave-ships,

modernised mechanised terror,

the horror of self-righteous zeal,

nations, cultures,
tribes, traditions,

stoking the flames,
sectarian, communal,

the fuel on which bigotry must feed …

tiny feet, old and cracked,
all kinds of blistered twisted feet,

a death march along the treelined street,

seeking only alleyways of peace,

perhaps, a bite to eat,

as gleaming chariots roll on by,

and if you’re thinking you’re safe,

if you’re thinking it isn’t us, its them,

him, her, they, those people,

for now,

think again,
and think how,

“… first they came for the communists … ” *


* Pastor Martin Niemoller

Jesus Christ” by Woody Guthrie …

Jesus Christ was a man who traveled through the land,

Hard working man and brave,

He said to the rich, “Give your goods to the poor.”,

So they laid Jesus Christ in his grave.

Jesus was a man, a carpenter by hand,

His followers true and brave,

One dirty little coward called Judas Iscariot,

Has laid Jesus Christ in his grave.

He went to the sick, he went to the poor,

And he went to the hungry and the lame;

Said that the poor would one day win this world,

And so they laid Jesus Christ in his grave,

He went to the preacher, he went to the sheriff,

Told them all the same;

Sell all of your jewelry and give it to the Poor,

But they laid Jesus Christ in his grave,

When Jesus came to town, the working folks around,

Believed what he did say;

The bankers and the preachers they nailed him on a cross,

And they laid Jesus Christ in his grave.

Poor working people, they follered him around,

Sung and shouted gay;

Cops and the soldiers, they nailed him in the air,

And they nailed Jesus Christ in his grave.

Well the people held their breath when they heard about his death,

And everybody wondered why;

It was the landlord and the soldiers that he hired,

That nailed Jesus Christ in the sky.

When the love of the poor shall one day turn to hate,

When the patience of the workers gives away,

“Would be better for you rich if you never had been born”,

So they laid Jesus Christ in his grave,

This song was written in New York City,

Of rich men, preachers and slaves,

Yes, if Jesus was to preach like he preached in Galillee,

They would lay Jesus Christ in his grave.

Merry Christmas to all friends!


though pummelled by cantankerous day,

embracing encroaching night,

the desolation lifts,

glimpsing a shimmer in the tunnel,

of hope’s eternal light … … …

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