by Michael Shorb
history’s lofted ball
flies just beyond your grasp,
you sprawl on striped grass.
who dreamed this second coming,
this leaderless revolt?
what Nostradamus foresaw
these raw nights and days
when millions stood up
to launch a revolution,
when common people
demanded something different,
roared like an ocean,
waving their shoes to
dishonor the dictator’s rhetoric?
went without food and endured
cattle prods and shotguns and whips,
automatic weapons and jet planes,
ridicule and censure?
you ingrown dynasties,
you legions of clerks and playboys
who devour the lion’s share,
you can’t bluff and you can’t kill
fast enough to evade this flood
of everyday people
driven by the thirst for freedom.
San Francisco-based poet Michael Shorb's work reflects an abiding interest in environmental issues, history, and the lyrical form. His poems have appeared in over 100 magazines and anthologies, including The Nation, The Sun, Michigan Quarterly Review, Queen's Quarterly, Poetry Salzburg Review, Commonweal, Rattle, Urthona, Underground Voices, The Great American Poetry Show and European Judaism. His collection, Whale Walkers Morning, will appear in Winter 2013 from Shabda Press.
_____________________________________________________