Because Monsanto is Dead

--–Linh T. Ngo

––Linh T. Ngo

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AN OWL OVERLOOKING AN EMPIRE OF RUIN

A Poem by Korea Brownstein

–Based on a sculpture created by Mayo Turner while serving time for bank robbery. The three dimensional piece is made from rope, wooden sticks and velvet on a plywood frame.

Empty eyed
Tall tale signs
Broken wing
Straw heart
Stuck in a web
Dead child
Below the womb
Looking upon
Colorful moon

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I feel

A Poem by R. Soos

I am a gravestone
preparing to come alive when
I fly back home

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embrace defeat

A Poem by R. Soos

these desert winds
bring new solders every year
to freely drill deeply for the blood
of your land

their religious fervor
inflicts suffering on you

which could inspire solitude
for the few days you have left

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in war

A Poem by R Soos

there is a call for strength
with simple commands of reason
kill or be killed commands
from men who take afternoon
naps in air conditioned
offices while the shrapnel
allows the blood on our
legs to sweetly clot and coagulate
so we may kill again tomorrow

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The Woodline

A Poem by Maik Strosahl

On the brightest of days,
There is still darkness at the woodline,
Shadows and their voices
Who stormed out in his younger days,
Killed his father,
Took his brothers to join the fight
For freedom.

They did not want his
Gimp leg and bowed back.
He was left
To toil the fields for his mother, sisters,
Later for his own wife, children until

Nightmares of the forest returned,
New fighters for new causes,
Raging from the trees
To take all he loved off to war.
Somehow,
They never found their way back
To enjoy that hard earned freedom.

Those that would free our souls
Have all come through here:
The People’s Armies,
The Liberation Squads,
The Democratic Militias—
All freedom fighting for
Some force fed ideal.

With nothing left to contribute,
They torched his home,
They burned his crops,
Leaving him in ruins
To build up
Again and again.
The wars have grown silent now,
But those woods,
They still hold their faces,
This forest
Is still alive with their voices
As they rage through the night
In an old man’s nightmares,
Where freedom
Is just a bad dream
Casting shadows and darkness
Upon the brightest of days.

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