A Painting by Philip Guston

Why Did the National Gallery Postpone Its Guston Show? Its Director Says We  Don't Need a 'White Artist to Explain Racism' Right Now
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Enemies of the State–Covin 19

Today we decided to do something a bit different. The virus is out of controll in the USA. Here’s a website we think will help you navigate the disease.

But before you click on the link, why the title of this piece? Our leadership everywhere has dropped the ball from not wearing ,masks from making incredibly stupid statements. When you click on the link, scroll down and you will meet more enemies of the people.


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philanthropic PR

A Poem by Sarah Khan

they’ve erected in-fra-stuct-ure
in the form of half-hearted cell towers–


reminiscent of moai–

in rural burkina faso; bestowed seeds
on haitian and indian farmers
to establish

promised to feed
all (those

with biotechnology; “improving”
agriculture—“improving” lives

cowering behind nomenclature:


creeps w/multinational propulsion
distorts normalcy; visiting

nature as a brothel; littering
Earth with human entrails.

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Women of the Tempest

A Poem by Maik Strosahl

Based on a painting by Richie Uni Verse

—-for all the Missing & Murdered Indigenous Women

Hear our winds
whistling in your ears,
uttering words
of the storm coming—
it is here,
blowing away
the leaves of our daughters,
yet you do not thunder.

Hear us now!
Haunting your steps
as you walk in a rain of tears.
Where is your sister?
Where is your little girl,
the barely grown woman
whose smile just vanished
in a lightning flash?
Why do you not rage?

I am buried
deep in the cornfield,
she is hidden
shallow in the woods,
we are bound and
screaming breathless
with the girl in the hayloft
just west of the reservation,
innocence lost
to the man who zips up
and ponders where
he will toss her away,
now that she is useless to him.

You ask the neighbors,
you check under a rock,
you look back
to where she used to sit
and shrug your shoulders,
perhaps wondering
through the years

as the leaves continue to blow,
gathering in a distant ditch,
and our voices only come together
in the storms as they brew—
collect your hat and
pull your overcoat
closed around your face
as we rage—
your sister’s,
your daughter’s screams unheard,
their tears falling with the rain.

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A Poem by Devlin De La Chapa

Plowing through the fields of life
we lived the last of our best days
at war’s end, and though I realize
you have always been my brother
I never thought of you as my friend,

. . .amidst today.

So I will take these instances of regret
and etch them like a eulogy in a gravestone,
my dying heart, it hurts to depart
from this life we fought in together, and
to never repeat itself, we shall die in poetic infamy.

So, until we meet again,

take care, and

journey well. . .my friend.

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in excelsis Deo

A Poem by Anon ymous

She is determined to find God, figures it’s easy
to recognize a peddler when you hear one:

a teller of tales,
that serpent in man’s clothing.

She wonders if it is enough to fly
into the highest cloud but all she finds

is a nest built from high hopes and thin air,
Monsanto spreading its poison across the land.

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A Poem by A.J. Huffman

strike moment, I spark.  Catch, flame, fly. 
Consuming my surroundings, I sputter, cough, choke
on the repercussions of my success.  Flicker, fall
out.  Puff, I slink away in one last breath
of smoked regret.

Thousands of miles away, a companion
strikes a cigarette outside Dow Chemical headquarters,
watches clouds lightly streak pristine sky, stands
gloriously ignorant, oblivious to the disastrous
havoc I, his billion-dollar brainchild, have
ravaged across innocent lands.

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A Poem by Linda M. Crate

Judgments are based
on appearances always,
and now more than ever
people are ripping apart
others on clothing or body
shape alone. Imagine, Monsanto
and Dow Chemical, your
grandchild with deformed limbs,
your family starving to death.
The stretch would be too
great for your imagination.
You should be ashamed.
Is your defense the rich deserve
to profit off the backs of the poor?
You’re just as greedy as the politicians,
but at least they didn’t poison us
with anything but lies.
You’ve murdered families and starved
children of love, how can you look in the mirror
and live with yourself knowing your atrocities?
Origami with folded wings pushes against
the wind in a way, these children
shamed from the eyes of the world cannot—
they parish long before they began
not knowing this world would try to
mold them in their mantra of beauty and
reject them because you couldn’t let them conform.

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A poem by Sao Mai Nguyen


Dioxin kills weed
I knew it from Monsanto’s Roundup
Dow has produced a similar one
I found it in the soil
Not only just that
Inside the veteran’s body who had sacrificed for his country
Not only just that
It passes on and on
Something needs to be st

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Monsanto’s Birth Defects

A Poem by Birtha de Fect

band aids of breath fleshly blob
intrusive tumors:castrati & anti
revolting and angered—the slur
taking the point  from the point
here and now…achoos and ahah

despite the deaths and a dread
enemies mired in mud–where
fingers missing…the worms of
egos out of controls, out of we
calling and calling, no!, the sac
taking Monsanto’s birth defect

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