Warren Lehrer, Protest in New York City (October 2025—No Kings Day)

Mark DuCharme

Written from the Hooky Playing Meeting

Contractors shuffle— a nervous pitch.

The light in the room has lifted

A sorrow to its burnt-out avatar.

How do I know when I know myself?

How live among those who chose to go back?

 

If living’s a creation, why is life grim?

At any level elsewhere

Be warned. Stay heeded.

Crime doesn’t quiver. At the junction’s meaning

Hope burns— a tumorous constancy.

 

Manifold— through done day waning.

Guarded merchandise vigor— the way

The light hits your logo, a laying on of

Grandstands. Go home & jabber, in

The light. Where territorialists ditch abortive

 

Festschrifts. All eyes on sold-out tomorrows

With sycophant grifters at horrid portals.

How much will it cost? The word us

No longer seems real. The word real has been sold

For its weight in triggers. You’re next.

 

Look Inward, Bystander

                                                           —for Steve Carll

 Look out, citizen!

Even Sirens collapse at a glimpse of

Tidy border guards, rehearsing

 

Maniac tangos at the proscenium—

Ugly,

Somewhat unctuous, violent even, just like

Kafkaesque snarlers who loiter in shadows &

 

Eat only with

Angels bleeding.

Think now. Do I have to tell you to be kind?

 

Emotional masturbation sets dimwits to cackle in

Xenophobic mockery, like glib, dull, young

Conquistadors. In which First World is this even

Remotely funny? Dare anyone—

Even in rare

Moments when

Everything’s

Not

Tainted.

 

Us

 Can you bear more grief, America

Even self-inflicted? Startled

    For your past, recent & deep

On this day forever will

    No flowers bloom

Rose kindness effigies

    Senses of betrayal (the Big

Lie itself consisting of a

    Thousand little

    Ones)

Little lies we tell

    In order to get by. I’m done

 

With you, for all your grief

    This icy calamity

Cold fingering decay, saying

    “I despise someone” is never

Enough. What is? I dreamed

    I misread “horror” as “home.” You probably don’t

Get enough fruit. We can talk about the weather

    When I don’t fear coming over

Faithless & deathless like incendiary machinery

    Count rabble abdicated

Thug-in-a-wig bleakly

    Over & done. You had it coming, America

Don’t ask me to cry

    I’ll cry for those starving or

    Brutalized, not

 

You anymore. The ‘dream’ is

    Done. You should have

Known. Becoming what you always

        Were, all along


 

Susan M. Schultz, Protest on Oahu, Hawaii (October 2025—No Kings Day)

Norman Fischer

The assertion of blind will over many

 

The assertion of blind will over many

The smashing of things, of people, their fragile lives

In name of an idea, a slogan, a furious twist

Meant to — what? — bring about a self-defined

Utopia for whom?

Control control control

Power power and mad for power, mad in it

To do what you insist on to follow out the thread of the mad idea

To do this against all good sense and good advice

With no reference to compassion as if if no real person lived —

Who can stop the force of it

Rumbling through the corridors of government

Through the fronts of the buildings and out of them the back

Like a bullet through and through the skull

That stops when the force is shut by an obstructing object

In death, at war’s end,

And something new is forced to begin

 

 

The Catastrophic Diplomatic Event

 

The catastrophic diplomatic event

All the pundits in shock now interpret

In which the two great leaders, Frick and Frack,

Bully the lesser leader in his superhero outfit

Telling him the ocean is not wet, the sky not blue,

And the moon’s a slice of swiss cheese and he ought to be

Grateful to them for the delivery of such honest sober truth

And all the generous ways they’ve shored up his beleaguered nation

For which they now demand fealty and a giant pile of cash

Truly their hearts were in it as they shouted and shook

The Fracks with their bloated indignation

The superhero with a firm dismay

For the world so full of blood

And dying people who do not sit in such rooms,

Engage in such discussions,

But caught in the jaws of history authored by thugs,

Do what they must as ever they have

To survive another day if possible

As the wheels spin, the train rolls on,

And words whip all round the globe

Pronounced by stuttering tongues and trembling throats

As the spectacle unfolds

 

 

They Are Firing the Generals and the Admirals

 

They are firing the generals and the admirals

Who are women and who are Black

It’s the manly thing to do

They’re policing gender

Putting women in their places

Keeping categories pure

As an innocent God intended

It’s the manly thing to do

They take a cleaver to the government

Dictate, depose, dispose, detach, deplore

Without the nicety of detail

That there are people involved

It’s the manly thing to do

They eliminate opposition or ignore it

As you cut down a tree to destroy it

Though the acorns and cones have rolled away

Out of sight at some distance

And the soil remains fecund and dark

Willing to grow whatever will sprout

It’s the manly thing to do

It’s the thing men do

It’s what a man does

A man alone and muttering

 

 

What When the Government’s at War with its Citizens

 

What when the government’s at war with its citizens

When it pushes out mean-spirited claw-back (they call it claw-back)

Of depended-on funds for happy use

And debouches public servants from their diligent desks

Claiming fraud and waste and evil

That exists only in their ideological panting

A pall settles over the heroic landscape

Though some citizens, who either know what’s occurring or not,

Rejoice in a blast of pent-up resentment

That they have their way at last against the smug and fancy ones,

A moment of vicarious manly gloating

As after a decisive break-through touchdown

But how far does it go

And who will be hurt

And how many

Once the dust settles on the trees and on the buildings

Of the subdued cities

History does not repeat itself, no two moments are alike

But uncertainty freezes hearts…

It’s mid-winter


Susan M. Schultz, Abstract series