A Poem by Devlin De La Chapa
He stood amidst the fields of foreign crops
like a statue frozen in time-
as his body remains, his mind
rewinds present to past,
the past, pitch black darkness
and it’s raining inconsistently, but in
the present, the sun is consistent,
shining down bright over his obscurity;
he’s a beautiful man, a broken man,
a man raped by the ill politics of one
country’s hunger to save everything,
and everyone, for a country fighting
amongst their own pillars of division;
the piper cub flying over the foreign fields
dispenses his soul, and he becomes
a multi hue of Agent Orange liquescence,
and his ignorance dries like a Monsanto fragrance
of cologne enriched of chemicals, dirt and rainwater
A Quote from Unknown
The past is the devil–you can’t fix the past and you can’t run from it. It’s always behind you, the devil chasing and chasing, but you can forgive and ask for forgiveness. This alone will chase the devil onto another path.
Monsanto–Why is it you cannot ask forgiveness for your sins, but must keep piling them up higher and higher until…
A Poem by Anon ymous.
There is the anticipation of road trips
mixed with the leftovers from last night:
albums gone sleeveless,
bra and pants,
loose change and dishes in the sink.
Curtains shimmy to the pop and hiss
of Exile on Main Street.
The skyline breaks at the same time side one
skip-bumps to a stop.
The open window is a promise, the asphalt
Everything but Monsanto’s greed
burns at the right temperature.
A Poem by Sarah M. Zang
The wrath of all the seasons past
falls fast upon this gloomy day,
There’s not a single ray of sun
seen to mingle with dire deeds done.
Monsanto and Dow Chemical
would burn our parent planet bare,
Their malevolent corp’rate play
leaves a scarred and oozing pathway.
The titan fist of tyranny
breaks rapidly the might and mind
of those entrapped by luck and fate
and backwash of an awful hate.
The dollar wields a green fed greed
that does not yield to hope nor dread.
When price is up and profits mount
the miser’s happy with the count,
but when bull turns bear the pennies
pinch; Shylock gives not one scant inch.
The piper comes to claim his pay,
it matters not the time nor day.
Agent Orange convicted now,
exposed, this evil criminal
of battles fought on distant soil,
atrocities that still despoil.
The tired men toil with tears and sweat,
beat long before they bid or bet.
The pound of flesh as promised then,
once took with blood, now bleeds again.
spoils gala festivities –
is a landscape overflowing with savagery.
Wrapped in the comfort of consumerism –
It costs a fortune to keep
the devils at bay.
Petrified voices sound
so truly apathetic.
Dissent burns away,
to fine ashy dust –
Safely we sleep,
as sycamores surrender
to summers hostage situations –
Cherry trees grow tall
through wooden bedposts –
While the dead march on,
through paper megaphones,
under the disguise
of moonlight in disarray.
Don’t look away.
Don’t look anywhere for answers.
Junior Murvin said:
“Police and thieves
in the street (oh yeah)
Fighting the nation with their
guns and ammunition
Police and thieves in the street (oh yeah)
Scaring the nation with their guns and ammunition
From Genesis to Revelation
And next generation will hear me.”
A Poem by Ali Znaidi
Of blackened river,
black thick layers on a white pure river fill
passerby’s nose with delinquent aroma.
And all but fat frogs keep showing off their sinews,
gluttonously sipping the stained water of the poor
river, wanting more and more industrial waste—
vitamins for their already contaminated
A Poem by Devlin De La Chapa
She wrote them letters-
letters of anger,
letters of boycott,
letters of lawsuits,
but all those letters
written were just letters
wasted of precious time
from the man she considered
her husband and her hero
dead he now lays
in his highly decorated coffin;
two months, and two days
she still dreams
of abandoning her soul
to her husband,
to her God,
to her country,
at the Monsanto Dow entrance
in the form of a kamikaze letter