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Author Archives: soitgoes1984
Elegy for Alaa Mashzoub
Blind assassins can’t erase your words, written in ink, can’t erase your message. Thirteen bullets and they think they have silenced you but ink outlives blood, and paper weighs more than rock, and scissors, they can cut off your … Continue reading
Posted in Arabic Poetry, haiku, Iran, Iraq, murder, poem, Poetry, poetry for peace, tanka, Uncategorized, war
Tagged Alaa Mashzoub, Arabic literature, Arabic Poetry, assassination, Baghdad, death, haiku, iraq, life, Peace, poem, Poetry, tanka, war, writing
Gone
You blink and it’s gone an entire decade, gone gone like a goodbye so too a hello in a cafe basement, with strong coffee, long gone caffeine jitters, gone mix tapes and letters, all gone buried somewhere deep … Continue reading
Wake Up And Smell The Falafel
We better wake up and smell the falafel and go to bed always dreaming of waffles let’s peel some potatoes and make shepherds pie and get ourselves a fresh lamb sandwich on rye lets eat our way through old imperial … Continue reading
Diamonds and Deities
Our ancestors weren’t trying quite as hard as we are to go extinct in fact our ancestors weren’t trying at all but here we are trying so hard to rip out our lungs, and we’re slitting our wrists for barrels … Continue reading
Posted in poem, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged poem, Poetry
March Against The Disease
The President isn’t the disease he’s only a symptom and the disease isn’t new, it’s not worse now than it was a couple of years ago or a couple of decades ago or a couple of centuries ago. The disease … Continue reading
Posted in poem, Poetry, Uncategorized
Tagged poem, Poetry
This is why we fight
Early December years ago cramming for finials, I was braving the cold making my way through the court yard to the library making my way up the stairs, and who do I see being harassed by campus security but one … Continue reading
Humanity’s Blight
I am the shackles on the legs of history, the whip on the skin the smallpox on the blanket I am original sin. I am the bullet that pierces the quiet night ignorant, I fly without rhyme or reason … Continue reading
