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The Daily Poetry Movement

In honor of the new network, and the last site being switched to Edna, todays poem is "Conscientious Objector" By Edna St Vincent Millay. Long Live Indymedia, you blasted anarchist scoundrals and bastions of the truth! May our truth echo through out the globe stopping neoliberalism in it's tracks and giving prosperity to all! Am I a cheese sap? Oh the movemnt is on and the future is ours, you beautiful artists! Here is my unspoken toast to you! I hope tonight everyone will sing a song aloud and let the movement gain voice! Resist! Refuse! Recycle!

I shall die, but
that is all that I shall do for Death.
I hear him leading his horse out of the stall;
I hear the clatter on the barn-floor.
He is in haste; he has business in Cuba,
business in the Balkans, many calls to make this morning.
But I will not hold the bridle
while he clinches the girth.
And he may mount by himself:
I will not give him a leg up.

Though he flick my shoulders with his whip,
I will not tell him which way the fox ran.
With his hoof on my breast, I will not tell him where
the black boy hides in the swamp.
I shall die, but that is all that I shall do for Death;
I am not on his pay-roll.

I will not tell him the whereabout of my friends
nor of my enemies either.
Though he promise me much,
I will not map him the route to any man's door.
Am I a spy in the land of the living,
that I should deliver men to Death?
Brother, the password and the plans of our city
are safe with me; never through me Shall you be overcome.

beautiful 14.Dec.2003 01:04

hugo pants

viva daily poetry movement.

A poemto honor indymedia 14.Dec.2003 01:56


Grandma Speaks:

When I drank polluted mountain streams
my tears coursed through my veins
dynamited for gold, and steel,
people slaughtered to silence
hungry wails of our South American,
African global plantations.
And Prescott Bush chuckled like Hitler
as I lay sick in bed turning
over in a global graveyard.

Whispers on the wind.
Maybe there is someone
out there who does not debate
global warming but wants answers to oceans
swimming with hepatitis and floating dead fish,
who want accountability on
the School of the Americas:
dropping the body of another
Political prisoner into the watery depths.
A bird cries with fright as the redwood
Falls and the oceans swim up diseased,
to catch
her fragile body.

Our body a collective conscious,
A global entity,
Indymedia is the screaming wind,
Wailing down the lies of
corporate media trademarked by:

(We name the these corporations
and one day we will see
A wall covered with their names like the Vietnam
Memorial or the Holocaust Museum)

Coca cola
Carlyle group

And on and on
Lest We Forget

Indymedia is the Cure and Corporate media the Disease!

Poetry Movemnt 14.Dec.2003 04:06

migratory bird

One day someone took me to a fastfood drive thu sign to point out cockroackhes that had been stenciled onto the menu. It kind of inspired this poem
called Poetry Movement. I realized that there were a lot of deffintions to art and a lot of definitions to party. Like the idea of democratic party vs housewarming party vs guilty party vs poetry party. So as you can see I was party to a lot of different thoughts that day so I decided to let you be party to these thoughts as I don't intend to join the democratic party.

Poetry Movement

Yesterday my feet circled a stenciled poem against war

Outside McDonalds was a mural of the slaughterhouses

And in long's drugs I saw stickers of animal testing
on products
Which use animal testing.

It was an artist's movement,
Bold sweeping expressions that wiped the
Gunk from consumer's sleepy dulled eyes!

Gas stations were closed due to belly dancing
blocking access to the gas pumps, while children testified to the warm crimes in Iraq and Palestine.

Artists have gone wild and are bucking the tyranny of corporate
Expression! Egos thrown away and we dance heads thrown back and shoulders lifted high! We are singing,
Our songs lifted into the wind and carried across town without microphones,
the anti Christmas carol singing about the dangers of over consumption.

We are painting all of the sidewalks in town with wild ecstatic colors. Every telephone pole is covered in radical self-expression. All of the houses are painted with designs and the solid paint color scheme is thrown away.

Whole blocks have closed down their streets to traffic to throw block parties for their children.
They read them poetry and teach them musical instruments.

Smiles are everywhere! We are liberating ourselves from the drudgery of TV WORK WAGES BILLS TAXES VACATIONS!

Street signs are turned into haikus.

At night we walk around picking out constellations and painting them into the road where we saw them.

Everyone brings their grocery bags back to one culprit store on the same day. Millions of grocery bags are dumped in the middle of the store. "What are you doing?" asks the manager? "Paper or plastic?" the crowd chants back.

Dadaist meet mamaist!

Gardeners unite! All the vacant lots are taken over for community gardens and empty buildings are used as nurseries and community centers. Nothing wasted is a penny saved, chuckles grandma as she teaches herbology to kids.

And all of this happened last Tuesday, because it was Tuesday.

Tomorrow is trash pick up day so we are going to collect it and deliver it to city hall with a note that says "CLEAN UP THE RIVER OR ELSE!" Grandpa says he would bike it over but maybe the teamsters will help.

We laugh until a teamster says, "I was headed that way anyway, so sure, I will do it as long as I can have a stenciled shirt that says Drop Bush Not Bombs." A woman takes her shirt off her back and hands it to him. He says thanks and gives her his shirt off his back.

Corporate Media News boxes were returned to their head quarters. They were all marked with a postage stamp that said "RETURN TO SENDER" with a list of their corporate sponsors.

People met in mass in the city park to do political jokes. People took turns to tell that one new joke they had heard.

Oh what a movement, a sexy vital young force is infusing us again! We are the independents, making collective decisions based on immediate needs, formed by temporary committees that acknowledge art as freedom

I say amen. And shake my head slowly. Can peace be possible?

Thank's for the inspiration 14.Dec.2003 10:53


Life is a message scribbled in the dark.