It was a week ago when America went to the polls. As you know by now who was elected and who lost. There is much to contemplate as we move forward as a nation. Many are protesting, many are shouting hallelujah…as for me I am highly concerned and highly fearful for many who are on the margins. Of course history is written in the future as it goes by. People are holding close to the things and traditions that offer them wisdom and comfort. We shall see what our world will be. Decisions have been made, now there is much work to be done.
November 15, 2016 – This is reblogged from original post in The BeZine
“later that night
i held an atlas in my lap
ran my fingers across the whole world
where does it hurt?
excerpt “what they did yesterday afternoon” by Warsan Shire
In our themed section this month our writers explore acts of kindness that are motivated by love (respect) as expressed to neighbors, to self and for the peoples of the world and the environment.
London-based Somali writer Warsan Shire’s poem above makes a powerful statement about the world today. Our writers define some of the issues, express their pain and encourage right action. They move from a hip-hop poem calling us to unity, collaboration and a sense of self-worth to an experimental expression of sadness and disillusionment in the aftermath of a mean-spirited presidential campaign and the inclusion of an impassioned piece asking us to stand against moral injustice and…
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I got up while June was still in bed drawing a plimsoll line on a surf board of sleep. She finally reached the shore and we both watched the figure in the street take off everything that didn’t actually belong to her. June then went to town to collect her armadillo coat - I went down later followed by a long line of ants. We came home as part of a silk route caravan only for June to go out again, wrapped in coloured sheets and with a clock miraculously floating over the pillow case on her head. I heard a crash when it chimed two-o-clock but she appeared sometime later completely unscathed and wearing an upright piano for a skirt. She had gone to the birth place of the mitrochondrial Eve to clean clothes not realising that I had briefly visited Armageddon to make them dirty again.
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