Saturday, December 3, 2011



All Mixed Up

The times, they are a changin’, slowly, in straw-and-stick house ways.

And the wolf? He’s still at the door. Breathing down our necks.

The privileged will cling to their mighty height and eat pork whenever they can.

And should they fall, one or all, down and out and cracked irrepairably,

others already eagerly prepare for the scramble

to the top, to the top, to the towering top in a race

up the bean stock, in the great cloud

the better to count you with

oh, my precious.

Where is Jack? We need Jack!

And the clever, pink, unionized piggies!

Who are those golden-egg laying hens the giants keep?

By Trish Welsh Taylor - 11/29/11



THE TEARFUL STATUE OF LIBERTY


There stands a stately statue on our shore

That holds the burning torch of liberty

And boasts to all it has an open door,

Inviting huddled masses to be free.


It was a gift from France across the sea

To laud America's experiment

Of representative democracy

And pure humanitarian intent.


And though its structure is maintained and cleaned

For way too long its meaning has been lost,

Its symbols quite forgotten and demeaned

And sheds huge tears at all the human cost.


But now I see the statue dry its tearful eyes

As Occupiers in the nation rise in size.

-- By Sam Catalano 11/30/2011


The House of Anonymous in Session

The Confessor's House

is 872 feet

along the river

guarded by the Lionhearted horseman.

Common and Lordly,

from Thorney, Saxon and on to MPs,

offer their stories

and remember the 5th of November.

Jesuit Season

In the Year of Our Lord 1605;

successful failure

of the Catholic cannon of Guy Fawkes.

You're an atheist

872 feet away

along the sidewalk

guarding your identity in a mask;

Common against lords,

like Gandhi or King or Egyptian kids

whose battle stories

have now, in Treason, long since been forgot.

Anonymous Fawkes,

I'd like to ask if you are Catholic

in that grim, fake face.

Do you know the reason for Bonfires?

-- by Hannah Hill 11/29/11


Four Thoughts in November, 2011

* What does hope look like when the public square smells of pepper and tears?

* Arms woven, elbow to elbow, a thin fabric of humanity make, a line of flesh in the sand, no wave can wash away.

*A cheek turned the other way, an act of faith, an offer of redemption, a chance for the video camera to focus.

*The public park, a safe and happy playground for the commoners, where we gather, where we assemble and speak, where big brother demonstrates down upon the children of the homeland.

-- Trish Welsh Taylor 11/2011

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