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The Daily Poetry Movement

I want to be part of a nonviolent goddess based movement. I want to be part of a 13 month calendar agrarian community based kissing poetry movement. I don't want orders or rules, nor guns or bombs. I realize that I have a choice so I will choose this life as long as I can. I will give away food, I will play music, I will give of my open heart.
The Deserter
by Boris Vian

Mr. President
I'm writing you a letter
that perhaps you will read
If you have the time.

I've just received
my call-up papers
to leave for the front
Before Wednesday night.

Mr. President
I do not want to go
I am not on this earth
to kill wretched people.

It's not to make you mad
I must tell you
my decision is made
I am going to desert.

Since I was born
I have seen my father die
I have seen my brothers leave
and my children cry.

My mother has suffered so,
that she is in her grave
and she laughs at the bombs
and she laughs at the worms.

When I was a prisoner
they stole my wife
they stole my soul
and all my dear past.

Early tomorrow morning
I will shut my door
on these dead years
I will take to the road.

I will beg my way along
on the roads of France
from Brittany to Provence
and I will cry out to the people:

Refuse to obey
refuse to do it
don't go to war
refuse to go.

If blood must be given
go give your own
you are a good apostle
Mr. President.

If you go after me
warn your police
that I'll be unarmed
and that they can shoot.


I thought about it, Ward Churchill, and even though I find you sexy, well- researched, I can not leave the tenets of my faith behind. I can not become white enough to go to endless war. I can not become violent enough to oppress my opressors. I am sorry becuase in all truth I wish I could find solidarity with you in all ways. All I can say is that I nearly broke my own heart loving you so much. I still love you, Ward. I wish I could say something more mature, or finessed, but I lack ability on this matter. I have done what I can Ward, but I will not accept all your truths as maxims. I will not accept cultural stereotypes as history or people. People are more complex that history or historians. There were no cowboys and indians, black slaves or irish indentured. There were, but mostly they were simply people, unique unto themselves. Fool am I to still believe that I must love, love, love all of humanity despite the terror, the war, the torture and the pardoners of torture.

So for the japanese brazilians who migrate to America I say welcome. Welcome, you wonderful, shooting star flowers. I can not own this earth but please try to stay off the meadow, as the land is fragile.

I love this earth more than I could ever love this great mass of chaotic gorgeous humanity! I love this gorgeous land, this enchanting sky! So I can not believe in armed resistance becuase it ruins what I think is more sacred than my own life. It ruins the mountain lion, the bighorn sheep, the bison, and the brown bear. When we destroy this earth we destroy our mother. I can not.

I would desert, you Ward, were you to ask this of me. I would hide in a cave and so be it- die in a cave but simply to have known the mountain breeze from the top and to have known the forest breeze from being in the tree, I know what love is. I must practice this ancient love. My mother earth gave it to me.

I know that I will earn the scorn of the violent everywhere. Those who call for armed revolution and those who kill those who call for revolution. In both their eyes I will be a disgusting faction, a fraud, a cruel underbelly beast of a lethargic movement.

I accept your scorn. I accept that in compensation I must search out the native wilds that have been imprisoned by city and nuclear plants. I know that I must teach myself the names of the birds, the trees, the flowers, I must learn to know what I am really looking at. This is my struggle. Maybe you will not understand. But how can a brazillian born japanese girl know your understandings? I must search for the wild and nurture it. I must seek to build wild places, to commune with wild beings to save those whose languages are lost in the violence of technology and currency.

Thanks, Ward. Thanks for writing, thanks for researching, thank you for thinking. I appreciate you.

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