THE REVOLUTION IS BEING TELEVISED

by Alex Stolis

after Gil Scott-Heron

You cannot escape it by staying home 

the revolution is alive

the revolution is a nuclear sun melting black ice

the revolution will not let you rest.

There are no news highlights

there is no news, only revolution,

no memes, no theme song, no uniforms,

no military-industrial complexion.

The revolution is being televised

in B&W

in Technicolor

in IMAX 3D.

The revolution is being televised as you read this

the revolution does not care about talking heads,

doesn’t believe in DHS or FBI or ATF or 

any other alphabet-despotic soup.

The revolution is being televised

while you eat, sleep, make love, 

while you want to believe things are normal,

ignore the revolution at your own peril.

The revolution is being televised

coast to coast, station to station

a commercial free telethon streaming 24/7

it is Bot-proof, cleared of influencers.

This revolution takes no prisoners

it names names & kicks ass, it spins 

spin back to truth, it’s a Springsteen song 

written & recorded in 48 hours.

There will be no taping or film at 11:00

no reruns,

tune in or turn out

the revolution is being televised.

There will be no ctrl-alt-delete

lock screen, reboot

this revolution is being televised

is being televised live.

Author’s note: Last week, Bruce Springsteen wrote a song in protest of the ICE actions in my hometown, Minneapolis. It brought to mind Public Enemy's song "Revolution" which brought to mind Gil Scott-Heron's song "The Revolution Will Not Be Televised" which, in turn, brought this poem to me. I am reminded of how art is connected, the power of words and how we, the people, do have the power to direct history.

Alex Stolis has had poems published in numerous journals. Two full length collections, Pop. 1280 and John Berryman Died Here were released by Cyberwit and available on Amazon. His work has previously appeared or is forthcoming in Piker’s Press, Ekphrastic Review, Louisiana Literature Review, Burningwood Literary Journal, and Star 82 Review. His chapbook Postcards from the Knife-Thrower's Wife was released by Louisiana Literature Press, RIP Winston Smith from Alien Buddha Press, and The Hum of Geometry; The Music of Spheres in by Bottlecap Press. He lives in upstate New York with his partner, poet Catherine Arra.

BJÖRN IN VENICE

by Julia Griffin

Björn Andrésen, Swedish actor who starred in Death in Venice, dies aged 70: Actor who also starred in Midsommar and became a musician was nicknamed ‘the most beautiful boy in the world’–a title he struggled with all his life. —The Guardian, October 27, 2025

"He is very frail, he is sickly," Aschenbach thought. "In all probability he will not grow old." And he refused to reckon with the feeling of gratification or reassurance which accompanied this notion. — Thomas Mann, Death in Venice (1912)

The man wanted him dead. That was the truth

Beyond the mere unspeakable, the shame,

The furtive stalking, the pretence at youth:

To have him die, this moonbeam boy whose name

He never knew, whose voice he never heard:

Blue eyelids closed, flesh drained to marble, cold

Child’s spirit thinned to air. The man incurred,

Thereby, his own death, endlessly retold; 

The boy survived, to manhood, middle age,

Seventy years. He did his best to grow:

He bristled out, became a white-haired sage,

Outlived the man, but not the mythic glow

That doomed them both. Behold the boy, love’s prey,

Who died, at last, but never got away.

Julia Griffin has published in several online poetry  magazines; lives with a socially-engaged basset hound, a regular on local demonstrations.

WE’LL TAKE CARE OF EACH OTHER

by Thomas R. Smith

Everything is a little damaged now.

Even the things you buy new, like a book

or a chair. Long lines at the return counter.

The country is a little damaged too,

or maybe a lot. People’s ability

to speak honestly stunned by threat, even

churches preaching the gospel of force.

Best turn away from the gambling dens

of the pollsters, twist the radio knob

to cut off the loud voice in mid-sentence.

Walk down some quiet street in your town

that’s loved you. Trust the kindnesses received

and especially the kindnesses you’ve given.

That goodness can’t be voted out of your heart.

Thomas R. Smith’s recent books are a poetry collection Medicine Year (Paris Morning Publications) and a prose work Poetry on the Side of Nature: Writing the Nature Poem as an Act of Survival (Red Dragonfly Press). He lives in western Wisconsin near the Kinnickinnic River.

IMAGINE WANTING TO LIVE

by Kristin Yates

So much you break 

the windows of your home

with the blunt force 

of your will 

to live—

though the house treads water,

and devastation 

like a muddy choke surrounds you 

where your life, your loved ones, used 

to breathe—

imagine wanting to live

so much—

you crawl to the roof

and you hunch

and you hold

and you wait

and you watch

and you wonder

how many bodies

human

nonhuman

dead

almost dead

are cremated 

in the flood’s current

and you pray to your will to live 

and you pray to the storm

and you pray to tomorrow

to let you       live,

please

let me      live. 

If you look close enough 

on the roof of any storm, 

you’ll find 

someone who wants         to live. 

Kristin Yates is an award-winning poet, artist, cat cuddler, and work in progress from Lewisville, North Carolina. Her poems have appeared in Tiny Seed Journal, Beyond the Veil Press, Writerly Magazine, Unstamatic, Campfire Poets, Scavengers, Green Ink Poetry, Last Leaves Magazine, and others.

ACCEPTABLE LEVELS OF CRUELTY, STEADILY RISING

by Gordon Gilbert

In the not-so-distant past,
genocidal acts, a holocaust,
distant from our shores,
rumoured only, but for most unseen,
finally revealed in retrospect
indelibly to soldiers’ eyes,
brought home in photographs,
not to be denied.
 
Ah, we said, if only… If only…
But we did not know
at the time, only later,
and alas, too late to do
what we surely would have done
had we only known…
 
But now this genocide comes to us live,
like a fog slowly lifting, revealing
the landscapes of barbarity:
bombs falling; the destruction of
homes & neighborhoods,
schools & hospitals,
mosques & churches;
the death of civilians—
babies,  children,  women,  men;
the cries and wails of those
(for now) still alive.
 
Survivors,
searching in the rubble for those they lost.
We know this time. 
We cannot say we do not know. 

Editor's note: The title of this poem is a line from “To the Days” by Adrienne Rich.


Gordon Gilbert is a writer living in NYC's west village.  During the pandemic, he often found solace and an inner sense of peace by taking walks along the nearby Hudson River; now he does so as unwilling witness to the ongoing genocide in Gaza. 

GLOBAL STRIKE!

by Katherine West

Geneva (AFP) – A man ended a 39-day-long hunger strike outside the Swiss parliament on Thursday, declaring "Victory!" after the MPs agreed to be briefed by scientists on the latest climate change research. Guillermo Fernandez, who says he has lost 20 kilos since launching his hunger strike on November 1 to push for Swiss MPs to take climate change seriously, ended his fast by gingerly eating a banana outside the parliament building. "Victory!!!!" he announced on Twitter… "Finally the parliament will be confronted with the truth!" His announcement came after the president of the lower house of parliament Irene Kalin, of the Green Party, announced that scientists had been invited to brief MPs on May 2, 2022 about the latest research from the Intergovernmental Panel for Climate Change (IPCC). —France 24, December 9, 2021

I had a dream the millions woke from their dream.  

There was no violence, just numbers.  

Quietly, the millions put down their tools and shut down their computers.  

Quietly, the millions said, "No."  

Quietly, they said, "We want to live."  

Quietly, they marched.  

Quietly, they sang as they marched.  

Quietly, they stood.  

Quietly, they sat. 

Before the capitals of state and country.  

Quietly, they stayed.  

Singing love of forest and river. 

Of life for children and grandchildren.  

Until power returned to the ones who work.  

Until Earth was put first. 

Katherine West lives in Southwest New Mexico, near Silver City. She hs written three collections of poetry: The Bone Train, Scimitar Dreams, and Riddle, as well as one novel, Lion Tamer.  Her poetry has appeared in journals such as Writing in a Woman's Voice, Lalitamba, Bombay Gin, The New Verse News, Tanka Journal, Splash!, Eucalypt, and Southwest Word Fiesta. The New Verse News nominated her poem "And Then the Sky" for a Pushcart Prize in 2019. In addition she has had poetry appear as part of art exhibitions at the Light Art Space gallery in Silver City, New Mexico and at the Windsor Museum in Windsor, Colorado. She is also an artist. 

THE AMERICAN BOOK OF THE DEAD

by Harold Oberman

“Radical Approaches to Social Distancing” by Carolita Johnson, The New Yorker, March 22, 2020

X.  April 10, 2020 16,690

Ars Poetica

I feel guilty for writing something beautiful.
I try to tone it down,
Replace the lilt with hard t’s,
Crash consonants like cars,
Try to remember what landscape is, or was
In this still life.
There are few active verbs
On this couch.  No
Sensible line breaks as I go insane
In isolation.
Hiss.
I swear if I ever get to a bar again
I won’t have a pen and I’m going
To touch my face, shake your hand
And share a shot.
Is there deep meaning in that?
Death to metaphors.
“Live your life as if you’re already dead”
Said Charles Wright, quoting Che Guevara
Or a Japanese coin.
As I was, I wish I could.

Harold Oberman is a poet and lawyer writing in Charleston, S.C.  The above is excerpted from a longer work which may, or may not, ever see the light of day.  He has appeared in TheNewVerse.News and The Free State Review.

EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT VIOLENCE

by Diane Elayne Dees

Carrie Matula hugs a woman who lost her father in a mass shooting at the First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs, Texas, on Sunday, Nov. 5, 2017. Matula said she saw and heard everything as it happened from the gas station where she works just a block away. (Nick Wagner / American-Statesman via AP via Yahoo!)

Some were on the sidewalk,
some were at a concert,
some were in a needless war,
some were in a laboratory cage,
some were living in a house of rage and sadism,
some were in a church,
some were in a car when the police showed up,
some spent their lives in tiny, cramped pens,
some were at school,
some were in a house with monster parents,
some were raised only to be on your plate
at the prayer breakfast, where you begged for peace.
All longed for freedom.
None wanted pain.
All wanted to live.

Diane Elayne Dees’s poems have been published in many journals and anthologies. Diane, who lives in Louisiana, also publishes Women Who Serve, a blog that covers women’s professional tennis throughout the world.