Political World

POLITICAL

WORLD

Political World is a publication of the WCC Poetry Club, Washtenaw Community College, Ann Arbor, Michigan.

This digital issue was produced on a PC using Microsoft Publisher. Fonts used are Arial Black, Arial Narrow, and Chalky Chicken. Design and layout by Tom Zimmerman.

Copyright © 2016 the individual authors and artists.

The works herein have been chosen for their literary and artistic merit and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Washtenaw Community College, its Board of Trustees, its administration, or its faculty, staff, or students. ………………………………………………………………………………………………..……….....

We live in a political world Where mercy walks the plank Life is in mirrors Death disappears Up the steps to the nearest bank —Bob Dylan ………………………………………………………………………………………….…………….

WCC POETRY CLUB Meetings are in the Writing Center, LA 355 Fridays @ 5 pm in Fall & Winter Fridays @ 1 pm in Spring/Summer All Welcome tzman@wccnet.edu wccpoetryclub.wordpress.com ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Huron River Review

WCC’s Award-Winning Literary Magazine Seeks Poetry, Fiction, Nonfiction, Artwork, & Photography Open to submissions from September through January tzman@wccnet.edu thehuronriverreview.wordpress.com .2.

POLITICAL WORLD A WCC Poetry Club Anthology Edited by Tom Zimmerman & Tyler Wettig Contents—Words Diane M. Laboda Christine Bichler Olivia Oakes Izzy Jaeger Wanda Kay Sanders Lawrence Moebs Theo (Amy) Poling Audrey Talbot Joe Chapman Ayowole Oladeji Donnie Bonilla Lawson Vaughn Tom Zimmerman

The Blood Mother Sings Names of Flowers Making Anarchy Safe for the World Scarlet Debate: Round One Where Is This Country Going?

Four Years Again Orphan 2015 The Combahee River Collective They did this, They did that To Those of Us Who Have Made It This Far Pain World in Crisis Colombia Free Write Child of the ’60s Trip

4 6 8 10 11 12 14 16 18 20 22 24 28 29 30 33 34

Contents—Images Tom Zimmerman Tyler Wettig Jessica Winn Adam Lowis Brendi Stanyer

Front cover, 5, 21, 26, 27, 29, 32, 33, back cover 7, 12, 23, 25 9, 13, 28 11, 15, 17, 23, 31, 35 30

The photo on p. 19 was taken by an unknown protester at the March Against Monsanto, in Detroit, May 2015.

The photo at the top of p. 26 was taken by Emily Magma at a march against Governor Rick Snyder, in Ann Arbor, January 18, 2016.

.3.

Diane M. Laboda The Blood Mother Sings Drain all the blood from the world and what do you get—pale people?

A lifeless garden of yellow and blue limp plants.

Turnips instead of carrots, Patty pan instead of zucchini.

They breed the yellow out of corn and call the kernel cream.

They drain the nectar out of rose and call it gardenia.

They spray Agent Orange and call it a dying womb.

They use up the water and make salt ponds where reservoirs used to be.

They suck the sweet out of orange and call it royal marmalade.

They take henna from beauty and leave India a lifeless cow.

Drain blood, drink blood, leak blood, give blood away and call it medicine, let blood to exorcise demons, suck blood and leave histamine welts, give flesh to the insects, fear to the leach, hemoglobin to the grave.

Draw a pale infertile world surrounded by blood rains, un-read news, helter-skelter families and a Rose-line that leads nowhere. .4.

Let the Blood Mother sing her songs— invisible words of legions past and a bleached forever.

Tom Zimmerman .5.

Diane M. Laboda Names of Flowers —Dedicated to Vietnamese/American poet Ocean Vuong Stones are scattered about the lawn a few miles from the stone wall they came from, blown to bits by a manmade sun, a sun that is itself blown apart— once the better part of the universe, now visiting destruction on tiny villages— tiny villages called home by small people planting rice and singing songs of their kinfolk, songs of life as farmers— farmers who planted what they ate, ate what they planted, bent and bony, shadows in the night, night in the shadows— shadows backlit by their sons and daughters who scattered to the sound of “White Christmas,”* ran to save their souls, our souls— souls bound by GI rations and napalm, black habits and crying babies, souls bound by poems of love, and fire, and loss— loss carved into the faces of widows, leaking from the eyes of children, blackening the hems of dresses and uniforms— uniforms unable to protect the souls with guns from the souls hiding in the trees, matching bullet for bullet in rhythm— .6.

a rhythm of hearts beating wildly, oozing bravely into the ground they walked on, searching for the names of flowers. *The playing of “White Christmas� signaled the beginning of the U.S. evacuation from Saigon, spring 1975.

Tyler Wettig .7.

Diane M. Laboda Making Anarchy Safe for the World after “Poem of Disconnected Parts” by Pinsky (closed couplets) and “I Am Waiting” by Ferlinghetti 1 Bring out the bumpers, the bolsters, the fenders, the treaties.

Wrap yourself in bubble wrap, check all weapons at the door, dull the knives.

Hire an intermediary to filter the air, the news, your food, your blood.

Catch your tears in a bucket lest there be a flashflood of grief.

2 Fade the media feed so no one knows the mother ship has landed.

Watch the rabbits run for their warrens and pull their tails in behind them.

Climb the honey tree before the bees come home or the bear shakes you out with the royal jelly.

3 Never let them see you flinch or look them in the eye— play to their blind side.

.8.

Let your eyes wander up beyond their faces.

Smile, but not so wide that they think you like what you see.

Turn your deaf ear to their speeches, their rattles, their weeping, their tribal thunder.

Turn away slowly—ignore them altogether as if they were never there and you had never won.

Jessica Winn .9.

Christine Bichler Scarlet Torn between disgust and disgust between a rock and a hard place between the orange buffoon on the left side of the screen and the lady in red He rolls his eyes hunkers down into the mic lowers his voice like a mobster talks past her over her “It’s called business, by the way.”

She stands unmoving her face a studied mask professional revealing nothing This is what all women must do to reach the place where she now stands Stand silent motionless Gravity is your ally Feet solidly under her she looks unblinking .10.

at the monster and knows what she is – a dragon-slayer

Adam Lowis .11.

Olivia Oakes Debate: Round One I rendered beef fat last week kept me stable during the hot flashes I butchered the fat a mass around the kidneys It was easy to pull from the carcass I took my time then ran it through the processor

Tyler Wettig .12.

Izzy Jaeger Where Is This Country Going?

Pronged this election is an egg beater a carving knife Our country of yolks emerged when the hatch was cracked Scrambling to retain the 1% Mexico is looking better every day

Jessica Winn .13.

Wanda Kay Sanders Four Years Again It’s the fourth year again.

Remember all to vote.

The donkeys and the elephants are once more at each other’s throats.

They’re standing on their platforms.

Reds and blues spinning lies.

We hear them daily on the news.

‘Look at the record they cry.’

They travel round the country and visit every key state.

This week there’s a town hall, next week a debate.

‘Pick me for the nation,’ is the mantra that they rant.

‘I can do for the country what my competitor can’t.’

‘I won’t raise your taxes but I’ll raise the minimum wage.

The middle class will prosper and from enemies we’ll be safe.’

‘Choose me, choose me’ is the message that they call.

‘Come to my side of the fence.’

They shout to one and all.

.14.

But in the end will it be better when all is said and done?

Isn’t it just more of the same No matter who runs?

Adam Lowis .15.

Wanda Kay Sanders Orphan 2015 In the 239 years that America has been a country when a child lost both of their parents, it was common for near relatives or close friends to take them in. Sometimes a family in the community would take them or even multiple families if there were siblings and financially it was too much.

The reason wasn’t always without perceived benefit such as a boy to help with the farm or a girl who could help with the cooking and cleaning. In return they had a roof over their heads, food to eat and a bed to sleep in. Sometimes the reason was more heinous but none of the neighbors or townsfolk spoke of such things. There was no Child Protective Service during the Revolutionary War, The War of 1812 or the Civil War. There was no one to take in a First Nations child or an African American child, or a mixed race one either. And if they were taken in the life was more of the life of a slave than anything else. It’s doubtful that they would have beds in the house and a good portion of food.

As America grew out West to include everything to California, and the Native tribes were continually forced to relocate, parentless children began including Asians, as Chinese and Japanese workers on the railroad system lost their lives blowing down mountains and laying down the rails. More free labor or for a pittance just to survive.

As the decades and centuries passed and immigrants from Europe, Ireland, and many more came to the shores of the USA looking for a better life, the perils at sea to the injustice of child labor, many felt that their children would fare better to be indentured to the Financial moguls at least for food and shelter. Again no advocate for the orphans whose mothers and fathers died because of unsafe work practices. Not till 1904 with the National Child Labor Committee did it begin to get attention, and not till 1938 did a Federal Law get established.

In 1980 Congress established the federal Child Protective Service Act. So was this the law that would keep the orphans from servitude and mistreatment? In 2015 do those who have lost their parents due to abuse or mothers and fathers addicted to illegal substances work? The statistics say that the full intent of this law is to have good homes for these children to stay in till they are old enough to be on their own.

But can we really call Foster Care the magic bullet or solution? Most of the orphans or those removed from their parents’ care do not fare well. Either they go from one form .16.

of abuse to another. Many wind up running away and falling into sex slavery or addictions of their own.

Some of these orphans are taken from good homes with loving parents who have been accused, usually falsely, of being parents not taking good care of their offspring. Whether there is a difference in what good child rearing is or from some other malicious intent. But we must always protect the orphan in all cases whether it is literal or figurative. It’s taken over 200 years to begin to speak up for them. We must never let our response be silence. They are our future, but only if we nurture them to grow into the path they are destined to trod.

Adam Lowis .17.

Lawrence Moebs The Combahee River Collective Politics (often the politics of) are the principles Relating to, or of, or inherent In a sphere or activity, especially When concerned with power And equally when concerned with status still: Such as in the case of the politics of gender and struggle.

In 1974, in Boston, their struggle Was given a name and their principles Outlined, laid on the table like a still Life, over-ripe and inherently Long past overdue. Gathered their power, Honed their knives, trimmed their sails and especially, Collected their strength and especially, Gathered and collected themselves, to gird against the struggle.

For a group of Black, Feminist, Sexual Women, what power To be had but that gathered themselves on a basis of principled Thought, and action consistently inherent Thereto, on the banks of the river Combahee, seeming still On the surface but flowing mightily and flowing mightily still?

They were the rising tide and a sign thereof especially, In a sea of rising vessels, in a time when rising was inherent, On the tails of a rising time, in a time when the strugglers Had committed again to re-committing again to the principles Held dear by metaphorical mothers which gave them power.

And the Combahee River Collective collected their power And their legacy powers us still, Multiplicitous and jig-sawed, held by interlocking principles, Identified as female and lesbian, anarcho-punk and black especially: .18.

Hardcore, queercore, and collective. Struggling Side-by-side, queer shoulders, the wheel inherent.

And the struggles of identity are always inherent In any dynamic flux, give and take, of power, Until, sometimes, they tire of the struggle, Need to breathe, need to take a breath and be still, Be still with, or without sisters, especially And be still, with, or without principles.

And the Combahee River’s motion, inherent as the principles Of physics; the river’s power harnessed, bit and bridle especially, And their struggle, their struggle, is our struggle, still.

.19.

Theo (Amy) Poling They did this, They did that People love to talk Skulking by with hushed voices And narrowed eyes People love to talk About what they don’t understand People say “They’re this way” “They did that” “They live like this” Like it’s a curse But maybe those people would change their tune If those people knew I was one of Them And we aren’t that way We didn’t do that We don’t live like that We’re just like you People love to talk Without thinking, without stopping To consider “What if one of us Was one of them?”

People love to hate They hate me to my face, unwittingly For being transgender But it shows me the truth-People hate to love.

.20.

Tom Zimmerman .21.

Audrey Talbot To Those of Us Who Have Made It This Far There is no prize for surviving.

You have made it And that is impeccable For living in a world That can and will smash uniqueness.

It's okay To not be okay, Despite what society tells you.

No one is always happy And you can't be expected to be.

Life will not give you what you want.

It's simply a rule of living.

You take what it gives you And you're often lucky If good comes from that.

If you have made it, Then keep going.

You've made it too far To give up now And I wish you the best.

.22.

Tyler Wetig

Adam Lowis .23.

Joe Chapman Pain Just as a leaf can live with another nestled in the sky of a different color So does the bear who wanders through the trees who feeds of sweetness made by the bees There’s still aggression but no supremacist pride No blinding anger Only what is just, what’s to survive So why does our species grow increasingly unstable by separating each other with these unruly labels Black and white Gay and Straight Our differences are beautiful but We’re all from the same place Tension is rising the message becoming clear If love doesn’t win A revolution is near

.24.

Tyler Wettig

Tyler Wettig .25.

Tom Zimmerman .26.

Tom Zimmerman .27.

Ayowole Oladeji World in Crisis There comes a time when the whole world comes to a complete standstill.

In between, politicians, both Democratic and Republican, engage in battle.

Who is reliable?

As both sides try to defuse the situation, nothing comes to bear . . . .

Jessica Winn .28.

Donnie Bonilla Colombia Mountains of Colombia City of Cali Parties in every location * Capital of Colombia Cloudy day Hot food goes cold in five minutes * City of Cali Pool open all year long Fan & open windows is your air conditioning

Tom Zimmerman .29.

Lawson Vaughn Free Write I’m gonna free write once again Only God knows how this is gonna begin I hope this is something y’all can comprehend From the very beginning to the very end So much so that every syllable is valuable Every word every letter is irreplaceable Why do I always write in rhymes?

I don’t know besides it’s irresistible So everything I write from on is gonna be rhythmical And if that makes you irritable Then leave the poetry club or else you’re gonna be miserable But hey don’t act pitiful You know why because that’s just me being despicable Sike nah the word I really meant was whimsical

Brendi Stanyer .30.

Adam Lowis .31.

Tom Zimmerman .32.

Tom Zimmerman Child of the ’60s Your mom in love with Elvis, Kennedys.

When Bobby died, such crying. Hummed “Hound Dog” and “Teddy Bear”: late-’50s beasts now tamed.

In ’66 and ’67, Dad in Vietnam. He mailed you back a black silk jacket with a multicolored map on back. Star Trek’s what kept you up. A knife, red rubber, strapped tight, bent against your waist.

A Batman t-shirt, gray and winged like life or wife too tight around the armpits. Sex, lit crit, and other drugs: fazed aftermaths.

You’re trying hard to weave these strands. Your mind, splayed, shaved, and nude, before a screen’s flat eye.

What kicks inside you since that era died?

Tom Zimmerman .33.

Tom Zimmerman Trip We’re driving west on 94, through Michigan, a nip of Indiana, 80 west, Chicago, boring deep past Dixon, Ronald Reagan’s birthplace, farms, old neighborhoods down on their knees, some others belly up. Election year, police and race, crusade for oil, crusade for heroin, the mantra “I am bad, but not as bad as my opponent,” virus biting babies, women cracking ceilings, gender fluid/flowing, family a reconstruction reconstructing. Mississippi River, Mississippi Fred McDowell is on the stereo: “I do not play no rock ’n’ roll,” all twang guitar and nasal rage, Black artist from the South who signifies for more than just himself. Our privilege, it makes this easy.

Easier. Now Iowa. White-bread Dubuque in ’91 was luring Blacks to integrate. Well-meaning but wrongheaded, so the papers said. On US 61, I think of Dylan and the shifting versions of the ’60s. Those assassinations then have left us leaderless till even now. Next exit, Cedar Rapids. Then Lost Nation. Haven’t been there yet. The wind turbines like spaceships landed in the rolling hills, straight-razors .34.

shaving sky. We head in the direction of the devil, Anamosa Prison, Hurstville Lime Kilns, pastoral we pass, that’s passing, past. This bridge will take us to the Land of Lincoln. That one, to Wisconsin. Let’s pull over, get some chicken, beer.

Your mother’s waiting. Nothing else is going to stop.

Adam Lowis .35.

Christine Bichler, Donnie Bonilla, Joe Chapman, Izzy Jaeger, Diane M. Laboda, Adam Lowis, Lawrence Moebs, Olivia Oakes, Ayowole Oladeji, Theo (Amy) Poling, Wanda Kay Sanders, Brendi Stanyer, Audrey Talbot, Lawson Vaughn, Tyler Wettig, Jessica Winn, and Tom Zimmerman

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