El meu insurrecció

Archive for the category “Poetry”

Mightiest of mighties

Mightiest of mighties
Weren’t we the mighty mighties
as we walked circles around the city as it was
when we were young
and didn’t we ignore our own questions
and fears of how long the trek
and would we be home before dark

It was mostly woods then
and marsh and fields
small streams and the river and ponds
land being cleared for new homes to be crushed together
leaving little to nothing for forts or tree houses
tunnels and caves
where we could hide our magazines and sodas

and didn’t we walk those distances through brush and trails
through puddle and mud
how our shoes filled with water and silt
crushed leaves and twigs
and how they made those sounds of sloshing
and squeaking
and farts

weren’t we fearless on our treks
knowing the pack dogs and bobcats could smell us
and the fisher cats and fox eyed us
as we went to all those corners of the town where we had never been
kids we had never met watched us
sometimes asking

and didn’t we feast on the sandwiches we packed
box of raisans and peanut butter crackers stacked neatly in their wrappers
eating as we hiked
dodging branches between bits
swatting flies and mosquitoes

weren’t we the most mighty of mighties
as we explored like lewis and clark
making our own trails and leaving marks
in case we had to turn back
or came this way again

and didn’t we talk about everything
and laugh giggles and great guffaws
telling stories and jokes
repeating marx brothers and 3 stooges
cartoons and little rascals

weren’t we brazen in pushing our way
even with doubts we could make the distance
and knowing we would hear the voices of damnation
and maybe some threats of penence to come

not letting anyone know we had gone
or where we were going
when we’d return.. or if
finally dragging ourselves into foyers or
on to porches to remove the obvious evidence

weren’t we proud and pleased with ourselves
as we waited for the inevitable
knowing we would be the only ones who felt such pride
knowing we might also feel some hide

and we stood up to it
we were undaunted for we had traveled hard
like soldiers on a march to destiny
and in our stories some had fallen
left to the fates of battle

weren’t we tired and hungry but the mightiest of mighties
washing the journey from our bodies in warm and soapy tubs
counting the cuts and scratches
rubbing the bruises
and grinning

and didn’t we know that in a week
or even less
we would do it all again
maybe take a different route
perhaps travel further

weren’t we the mightiest of mighties
conquering the world

ah yes


Endless Hyena


Endless Hyena

Somber refrain slowly walks across a keyboard
over and again endless
and endlessly sad
as a progression of innocents
numbers endlessly increasing
increasingly endless
tattered rags wrapped around swollen limbs
missing limbs
nightmarish pallor on broken skin
slowly marching toward relentless horizons
remaining far distant horizons
no matter the miles of dragging feet
feet dragged endless miles
carrying eyes in forward staring
filled with vacant tears reflecting sand
and nothing

I watch endlessly
as hyena circle closer
brushing fur against the fabric of my pants
brushing harder for attention
beckoning me to look at the tears in their eyes
listen to the hunger in their bellies
endless hunger
hauntingly crying
endlessly waiting
tears forming mud
mud staining the leather of my shoes

Miles of moms and dads
grandmas. grandpas, aunts and uncles
miles of brothers and sisters
all flowing in one direction
flowing endlessy
Some from Palestine and some
from Libya
and from Sudan and Yemen
Endlessly from Iraq and Syria
Miles from Burma
more from Cameroon
endless miles
all flowing in one direction
toward an ever shifting horizon
all in tattered cloth covering wounded limbs
and missing limbs
and broken skin
all with pallor ashen
endlessly lifeless
endlessly marching
dragging swollen eyes filled with vacant tears reflecting sand
and nothing.

I watch endlessy
as hyena circle closer
brushing fur against the fabric of my pants
brushing harder for attention
beckoning me to see the tears that have pooled in their eyes
hear the hunger tearing at their bellies
endless hunger
haunting cries
endlessly waiting
tears forming puddles in the sand
staining the leather of my shoes

I remember the card encased in plastic
placed safely in my wallet
secured in the fabric of my pants
I recall the reason I am here
and why they march endlessly
The reason why I watch as I follow endlessly
endlessly as we shuffle toward that increasingly
unreachable horizon

Two questions…

The first is What are the names of the five permanent members of the UN Security Council?
Answer: US, Russia, China, France and the UK
The second question is What other distinction do these five nations share?
Answer: They are the top five arms purveyors in the world.

This, I tell myself, is why even hyena cry
and why mud stains the leather of my shoes
it isn’t a hunger in the belly
I am not clean

Sad refrain walks from the keys of a saxophone
playing over and endless

your words invited me to love you

You have words for me that do not judge
but ask of me to think and consider
to look within and without

You have words for me that do not judge
but paint pictures of beauty
portraits of pasts, present and futures
where we, you and I, find perspective
for this world we’ve resolved to share
and together build our eternal nest

You have words for me that do not judge
nor do they cut or demean
or diminish any part of me and

I have words for you that thank you
and express how much your words
and you
do mean to me
and how much
how very very much
your words invited me to love you

I do
so very much
love you
Now and forever

Eternal Raven

When one has such courage as to attack the surrendered soul of a dying man
-every cell committed to ending life-
with a love and a compassion comparable in weight
to that of a feather
it is the station of the Universe to open the gates
holding back memories of ten thousand years
of one million lives
peel the veneer off the grand illusion of linear existence
and provide the silver stallion who will carry the two
together through eternity

When you thrust your lance through the shield I held
against life
against living one more cycle of life
you pierced with it my heart
and raised my soul above the pit of fire I had targeted
as my final rest
You awakened everything inside me
that I had carefully brought to stupor
with elements from the god of sleep

You took the most fearful route to save your old friend
and lover
who lost in years of search for you
beaten by so many illusions
thought to be you
and who had opted for finality rather than seek
another moment
or succumb to further illusion

Your risk came with familiarity that only my ancient one could know
with lightness and laughter
love for all oppressed
and determination to address anything unjust
The fullness in reading your words
and then hearing your brilliant voice and then
emptiness coming quickly when words and voices had to end for a time
The increasing need to see you, to hold you
and touch
The instant overpowering knowledge of being there
times in the past
and having shared all that was glorious in existence because
it was shared with each other

You came without reservation and I
who was the one to resign from everything
came back to life without hesitation
knowing that your hand belonged in my hand
My heart belonged in yours

Persistence is the knight that our stallion carries and soon
together old friends will ride
Old friends will ride as one
as they have always been meant to ride
as they are destined to ride
into eternity once more

My heart
had you not reached out to save
would surely have ceased
and my eternity would then
be loss
and I might be reborn again and again to ask
to forget
So would the Universe be thus kind to grant
without you, my raven,

Butoh Dreams

Butoh Dreams

By M. Dennis Paul

Once… I was Gandhi’s son
love is real or it’s not
sometimes just deception

the luxury of poison
before the fall
passion builds
and then the lust

she promised she could dance
then tripped then fell
momentum propells
the unforseen compells

Blue (2012)

blue draws against a simple surface where sparse tendrils curve pointing off in one direction

This simple surface lifts over blue edge on top
pushing slightly down below

So brief this vision allows as surface opens into layers where more pull apart and away from blue now moist and streaked

Moisture fills space made from pulling then droplets roll from space racing downward splashing against tendrils forming a ragged line

Droplets travel followed by stream followed by river cascading over tendrils as gravity pulls rushing to earth

Drums begin to pound as their sound fills the vessel where seconds before only a soft cry and droplets formed

Drumming feels so heavy until horns begin blowing air through the vessel blowing dull thud out and away

Darkness covers all until crackling begins whereupon darkness shatters like a mirror falling away as light pours through the fractures until all is light

Then the body falls into a pool of itself and sighs -0-

Between Two Worlds (for Sammi)(for Palestine)

{On May 26 of this year, 2016, it will be 47 years since the IOF took Sammi away from me.}


Between Two Worlds

(for Sammi)

by M. Dennis Paul

(Part One)

I feel angry and hurt. I feel pain. In an instant, I feel compassion and healing. I feel Palestine.

I talk with friends, read Tweets and emails, view videos and gaze at photos. I cry and shout at a flat screen and I type words. Angry words. Fearful words. Sad words. Feeling words. In my mind, my heart, my blood pulsing against every pore and every follicle I feel Palestine.

I read and analyze. I listen and watch and I learn. I learn questions and sometimes answers. I question and sometime answer.

(Part Two)

I feel Palestine.

I understand the imperative to resist. Resistance is a beautiful thing. I understand the hardship to resist. Resistance is a harsh thing. Resistance brings and it takes away. Resistance is Palestine. Palestine is resistance.

I realize resistance portends the life of coming generations. Resistance. Generations of resistance. Never ending cycles of children without childhood. Perhaps a moment happens on rare occasions. Interruptions of sadness and foreboding. Afraid to look back. Back is where my family is buried. Afraid to look ahead. Ahead is where I will be buried. Everything happens in a moment and the only expectation is that moment ending somehow.

(Part Three)

If I die I am gone. If I live I will live ….

People have created themselves to be my enemy. Taking everything from me and at end trying to take my spirit. My essence. Existence. Their decision. Choice. Creation.

I have no choice other than to run or fight. The little corner is all that is left of what was once vast and inviting. In that corner there is no longer any place to run. I have no choice. Fight.

(Part Four)

Children. Eyes dark and swollen. Faces gaunt. Lips parched. Belly close to forgetting what food feels like inside it. Horrible unyielding sadness locked into every muscle. Unyielding horror in dreams and re-emerging images. Living dead memories. What to do but resist. What to do.

Find moments. Have children. Try to help children have moments. Moments before they must resist. Moments before they are buried. I feel Palestine.

(Part Five)

I feel alone. I feel there is no world to which I am attached. No world I am a part of. I feel everyone has turned their back to me while the schoolyard bully punches away at my skull. My mouth and nose catch sand and stone with every pinpoint blow.

If I die I am gone. If I live I will live ….

(Part Six)

I feel Palestine. In my mind and my heart. In every pulse against every pore and follicle. I feel Palestine.

(Part Seven)

I do not want this never ending cycle. Children and grown ups do not want this never ending cycle. Children forced to be grown ups do not want this never ending cycle. Only people who have created themselves to be my enemy want this never ending cycle. We can live without it. Live. They cannot. It is what they have created of themselves. For themselves.

How do we break the cycle without destroying them… in the process or as a process. How do we break these cycles without destroying us…in the process or as a process. How do we live in this moment ever fearful there will be no others. For us. For our children. For Palestine.

I feel Palestine. In my heart and in my mind. In every pulse against every pore and follicle. I feel Palestine.

(Part Eight)

In the middle of a moment I close my eyes and dream of my feet in warm moist sand. The spray of our ocean mixes with sand to create tiny sparkles of light on my face and my arms and my legs. I look toward the waves and see the sparkles of my childrens’ flesh and hear the light in their voices and I breath. Only for that break in that moment.

(Part Nine)

I feel Palestine.

(Part Ten)

Palestine is this moment passing and perhaps another. It is a moment in which every emotion washes over our faces like the salted water. Palestine is the moment in which we feel so deeply in love with our children and our partners. Feel the pain if they aren’t there. Breath the air that would have been theirs.

(Part Eleven)

Palestine is this moment when the beast kicks in our doors and steals one or another of us and carries us off blinded to buildings we do not know but know what will be in them. It is this moment when pain and humiliation are fighting with the memory of those we love.

(Part Twelve)

Palestine can never be taken from us nor we from Palestine. It is made from everything we are. Our blood and bones over generations are the soil in which our homes are built and rebuilt, our children play, our gardens grow, our martyrs rest. I feel Palestine. The beast who steals may take our land but what grows there will be us. Let them eat knowing that what they eat is us and that we are inside them. The beast can never escape us. Can never erase us.

Still, the thought persists trapped between two worlds…

If I die I am gone. If I live I will live to kill you.

—— M. Dennis Paul

Zen is a dead dog

Zen is a dead dog

in a ditch


some tattered cloth,

bits of paper,


a peony about to blossom

A Very Ugly Poem

{Reprint. Some may object to the characterization of Hamas in this piece. It needs to be made clear that Hamas, above all, is a national defense organization for Gaza.. and would be for the WB.  Were it not for Hamas, Gaza would have been leveled a number of years ago. Hamas, unfortunately, is aligned with the Muslim Brotherhood and carries its distorted and heavy hand to the people of Gaza. I have had a number of friends surviving, barely, in Gaza over the years and feelings about Hamas have always been markedly mixed. Some love and respect Hamas, some detest Hamas and others have a love-hate struggle. Many are not aware that the election of Morsi in Egypt was grudgingly supported by the US as the Brotherhood was viewed as a useful tool (Hamas was also originally viewed as a useful tool by the US and Israel).  It was understood that the Brotherhood would gradually employ its heavy hand in Egypt and “control” the masses that the US viewed as a threat to Israel. That hand showed itself almost immediately and the masses began to stir. The US sought to correct what it viewed as a mistake and threw its weight behind the coup under long time despot, Sisi.  Egypt, and its revolution, never stood a chance… not with Israel and the US and not with the Brotherhood. It goes without further comment regarding Sisi.}


A Very Ugly Poem

by M. Dennis Paul, Ph.D.

Mahmoud al-Sarsak …

In prison, the only sentence for this man of honour is death.

In detention for 3 years without charge or evidence suggesting commission of crime, Mahmoud has sentenced himself for the only “crime” he can fathom brought him to where he now fleetingly exists and he has been starving himself to death for over 80 days.

It is hard for family and friends to watch this once vital young man, once a terror but not a terrorist on the field, fast away toward a tragic and painful end.

Hardest, however, is watching the world sit on its collective ass continuing to allow such abuse of law and human right.

Netanyahu sees just one more dead terrorist.. one less prison mouth to feed for now (and may many more join him) and one more bed to fill upon his demise.

Obama refuses to see… too busy playing Bomb the BloodSacks with his “Joy” stick and chasing the decreasing political panderer dollar while touting his many accomplishments for the 1%.

Abbas sees a future photo op whether Mahmoud lives or dies and plans to be the first PA “Official” to claim Saviour status should the Egyptians again step in and broker another empty deal.

He busily stuffs his face at diplomat dinners as he jets around the globe seeking alternate ways to insure he remains in his too long held illegal office.. perhaps being declared King of all that is Palestine… what might be left of it when he is done aiding Israel in its taking.

Hamas sees no opportunity for anything it can’t control and instead thinks of new ways to oppress its own people.

Global media focuses on the poor Jewish boy who got a sliver in his hand while beating one of those funny looking migrant workers while he was doing a job too far beneath the status of any Jew.

Too, media focuses on the murderous exploits of the American migrant worker who calls himself President.. funny looking.. apparently as dumb as a Palestinian according to Israeli press and a socialist pseudo patriot by US press.. and they focus on the next war and the next and the next.. all in oil rich countries that must absolutely be protected from human rights violations, murder and mayhem… unlike Palestine which has more of the mayhem and murder and violations every day.. for decades.. but has no oil.

The UN prattles on and on about how out of line Israel is and how it will sign the fifteen-thousand and twenty first “mandate” against.. and which, like all the others, will be ignored..or even laughed at by the world’s ugliest and most evil nation that only resembles Germany at its very worst and South Africa at its unsavory worst but is genuinely only Israel at its very best..Israel.

It could be worse.

It is terribly hard to know and see all of this while a friend or family bravely takes a stand using the only force he has… his body… to attempt waking up an entire world of apathy.

And it is frighteningly hard to watch his tears falling down his sunken, pale cheeks… blood red tears.


To Said El-Said

To Said El-Said

In your heart rests the key to your home in Palestine
patient beyond all measure of tolerance
each beat echoes closer to home

A farmer
you have sown seeds in all corners of the earth
growing sweet fruits
delicious vegetables
vibrant flowers
shared with grateful masses

A sailor
you have culled grand fish
willing to sacrifice
proud to fill your nets
to feed children
mothers and fathers

A carpenter
you have built mansions
where wisdom flourishes
generation to generation

A lover
you have embraced
supported and calmed
without want of reward
or mention

A friend
You have offered all that you are
in every moment
with a promise of more should you find it

Your heart
weighed against the feather
can’t fall upon the scale
yet strong it is
carrying that key
comfort in knowing home

—–M. Dennis Paul

One is fortunate in life to have known honourable individuals. Warriors brave, strong and true. I count Said among those I have met through social media. I thank the universe for his stopover in this world.

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