new poems by brigade member Gary Hicks

to a serious inquirer

                              for blindpig

answer your questions
by bringing all that you know
to the fight at hand

all the new issues
will pose all new questions
to add to the old

we're on the rough road
building movements that will fight
until victory

leninism lives
but only as far as we
cease to genuflect

marxism lives too
but please remember lenin
was his disciple



elements of style

                    apologies to messrs strunk and white

first it was grammar all

those terms all those schematic

blackboard charts telling what

kinds of words went where when

speaking or reading  this was

supplemented by penmanship

using india ink and dip into inkwell

pens assuring that my mother

would scream as she tossed

yet another shirt to scrub out

stains alongside my father's

automotive industry leukemia

laden work clothes.

later it was composition also

jammed down my throat  hated

it with every bone in my body

excepting some moments of

fun writing flyers and

press releases for the movement

and discovered i could really

do this stuff if i wanted to.

then writing in prison  letters

to the outside  rapping with

fellow inmates which meant

writing and talking way too

much  it served me well later

in and out of college except

that on campus i rediscovered

my hatred of writing things not

of my own  was i the only one

who realized that fifteen pages

or more typed  double-spaced

footnotes properly placed

was so so tortuous where only

five pages, triple-spaced

could say it all? but we were

training to be real or wannabe

rulers  and i suppose that

it's par for the course to have

so evil a skill to be mastered

the better to mesmerize and

baffle people out of at least two

sides of your mouth

when i discovered that i could

write poetry and proceeded

to do so i finally cut through

all this bullshit  and strangely

years later my writing improved

it was as though i had become

an outlaw fugitive from convention

and upon return was

convention's master by virtue

of knowing what laws to obey

having skillfully broken all of them.

berkeley ca   april 27 2012

 

 

on finding an abandoned copy of dreams from my father

                                                    for bill fletcher' jr

beethoven's paean to bonaparte
became an elegy
disguised as majestic symphony
when the general annointed
himself emperor

i am a poet, know not a
word of music but this piece
is eroica, reloaded

all of the sacred words
of the great hope
have become naught
the world which held
its breath, bated
has reclaimed the
sense to exhale

and this poem is elegy
not for him who forgot
the difference between
puddles on chicago's
streets and the swamp
running off chesapeake
aside the potomac.

this is an elegy for
the dreams all our parents
and all who came before
and who one more time
have been betrayed
by a system
about whom
our great hopehad zip to say having
found himself the
latest if privileged
passenger on the
good ship jesus

this is an elegy
for our african
sisters and brothers
and of all who
went before them
mau mau lost the
battle and now
africom* and al qaida
cousins! must be
reckoned with

this is eroica, reloaded
elegy awaiting symphonic
music in four-four time
triumphal people's te deum

*africom..the african command of the united states armed forces
berkeley ca   4-29-2012
 

New poem by brigade member Jim Byron, "The Rules of the Game Have Changed"

THE RULES of the GAME HAVE CHANGED

When the pawns on both sides of the battle
Have built their own new city
And the bishop to the knight, he exclaims
That the kings and queens could no longer rule them
Wouldn't you say that the rules of the game have changed?

When the queen of hearts realizes
That she had been fooled
And that she too has been captured and enchained
And she sees that it is time to free the people
Then would you say that the rules of the game have changed?

So fold your hand; the jig is up
Take the rest of the wine that is left in your cup
When the game is over, there is nothing left to win
Cut your losses; it is time for a new beginning

When the laughter of all the jokers
Turns back into silence and peace
Hushes over where the swords once clanged
And the chips are left for worthless on the battlefield
Then would you say that the rules of the game have changed?

The Prizefight by brigade member Carol Denney

The Prizefight

a friend said he eats
for entertainment
giving me new perspective
on my melon
it was true
it was wildly entertaining
cutting it up
was like a prize fight
there was wrestling
fluids flying
it was exhausting
but I won.
of course, I
brought a knife

new poem by brigade member Sarah Menefee

red ant

that's what I am

a commie red ant

just see what happens

if you sit on me

with your fat 1% ass

that's why they call me

the fire ant

          Sarah Menefee

           written with the Occupy Your Visions

           writer's working group, OccupySF

new poem by brigade member Mark Lipman, "THE CROWS"

Don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

Those crows been

  up in that tree

  longer than you’d know.

 

Don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

Up there they perch

  with midnight beak askew,

  sharpened talons gripping silky bark

  ready to tear the flesh off

  the wayward field mouse.

 

Eyes translucent black

  they see right through you.

 

Cock-a-doodle-do.

 

You’d better have grit

  in your heart

  to travel in these woods.

 

Them crows be always

  one step ahead of you.

 

That’s cos they got 99

  to the 1 of you.

 

They may seem fearful,

  stepping back,

  retreating to their branches.

 

Just be careful overhead

  when you walk beneath

  them ficus.

 

Crows got a nasty way

  of keeping track of you.

So, don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

Those crows been

  up in that tree

  longer than you’d know.

 

Don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

Now, maybe you think

  you're gonna pitch a tent

  and stay awhile.

 

See what’s going on

  underneath them shooting stars.

 

And maybe you think those crows

  will just make way

                   for you …

 

… well, maybe they may,

  and maybe they won’t …

 

that really depends on

  your own intentions.

 

The tree is big

  and its limbs are wide.

 

There is space

  for all who wish to reside.

 

Yet, as you climb up high,

  into the thicket of those leafy branches

  do not be too surprised

  if the crows have all absconded

  and flown, now left unable to follow …

 

You might take the tree,

  but does that make you truly free,

  when their silence

  has stolen your thunder?

 

Don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

Those crows been

  up in that tree

  longer than you’d know.

 

Don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

They followed me home tonight.

 

I could see their shadows

  lurking above

  stalking my every footstep

  daring me to slow my pace

  pushing me forward

  I ran away

  feet falling fast

  beating damp cobblestone.

 

I turned towards a darkened alley

  candle light shimmering

  brick cages closing in.

 

They circled in above my head.

 

Cawing, their raucous voices

  taunted my path

  unto my very doorstep.

 

Turning silver key,

  I entered safer quarters.

 

Collapsing on my sofa,

  I took solace in the knowledge

  that not a moment of this

  would make the evening news.

 

Officially, they didn’t exist.

 

Those crows – gazing

  through my window

  pecking at my eyes

  filling my head

  with their social discontent …

 

  were only a figment

  of my imagination

 

… or so I am told.

 

Don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

Those crows been

  up in that tree

  longer than you’d know.

 

Don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

In winter, naked branches

  stretch out in all directions.

 

Their spindly fingers

  make nest for a flock of silhouettes.

 

99 crows have gathered.

 

They gaze onto the horizon

  watching and waiting

  they bide their time.

 

The sun sets burnt orange

  down before them.

 

Twilight marks their feeding time

  the tide is now uprising.

 

As if a cue had just been called

  they cock their heads

  and lift their beaks

  and though as if exploding

  they burst into the sky.

 

Streaking black the eventide

  99 crows devour the horizon.

Don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

Those crows been

  up in that tree

  longer than you’d know.

 

Don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

Now, maybe you think you’re a hawk,

  circling overhead,

 

or the noble and bloodthirsty eagle

  watching from on high,

 

looking down with ridicule.

  onto the swarming negro masses below.

 

But let it just be advertized,

  those crows ain’t no doves,

  ready to coo and die.

 

They’re too experienced for that.

 

Their lack of attack is based

  more on the intellectual,

  of knowing how and where

  to strike their blows

  to be the most effectual.

 

With all your speed and strength,

  the audacity of your governance

  you’d never see it coming.

 

The crows are everywhere,

  they are every one of us.

 

When we come

  it will be from every direction.

 

So, don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

 

Those crows been

  up in that tree

  longer than you’d know.

 

Don’t you dare disturb

                 those crows.

new poem from brigade member jimmy.mankind

The Mystery of Life.

the mystery of life is god.

do not be confused.

that is, you, me, them, we,

the elements in and around

life

are god.

whatever you don't know or don't get but like, love, want to tend, need to nurture

is god.

god is prevalent

in that we forget

spirit is a material issue here on Earth, where matter is immaterial.

god is the life force inherited from the wasted 

possibilities of the past.

god is soil, and where the clear waters run to

when they tire.

god is life, breath, care, love,

and we are god for knowing that.

the unDead seek to rule through their legacy of fear.

Seek the other.

follow the gleaning greening of life

the shimmery water which is sacred.

as our air and our breath.

we have work to engage our wild desires

and we learn to enjoy the process--

every step of the journey...

is laughter.  equal to any other.

to be happy before the victory is the victory.

for the laws of fear are past. they cannot allow 

happy again.

they sold their happiness.  yet

everyone can change: watch for new ideas:

and embrace what you feel of them.

remembering that the old ideas are what 

got us to here.

we are whole now

parts of a cell

we call ourselves

the Self.

we can still feel plan write talk 

watch the shadows as the weather changes.

our openness to change marks this step in human 

evolution

and makes us invincible.

love is opportunity

our only weapon is love.

it is what we wish to be and so wish it to be us now.

they'll push and we'll retreat leaving them flowers.

we'll teach.

peacelovepowertothepeople

we are already great because you are god and i am god, 

and i thank you for reminding me of that.

we are molecules in the same cell,

Earth.

let's raise a cup of tea, coffee, water pure and simple for 

the people who surround us.

our next step is the beginning of our own dance.

you are the greatest thing

since sliced bread.

today is the best day of our lives:

yesterday's gone, and tomorrow a dream away.

you are the mystery of life.

this is that

start