Convulsive days indeed. Between the time written and finished, just before breakfast today; to proofing and revision, sometime after lunch; to prep to publish a little later, it's already obsolete. I, immersed in the misery of events on our own shores, get the news that Israel lobbed missiles into Iran. The absolute shock of seeing a United States Senator being manhandled by a group of thugs in uniform, wrestled to the ground and thrown into cuffs, four or five rabid, what were they...Don't remember seeing a group of personnel brought in to keep the piece rough-house an innocent bystander like that since the Angels beat that guy at the Stones concert at Altamont... I hear of no apologies from the despot's lair, nor expect such, or any nod toward duty, or honor, or even the most basic civility. No talk of resignation or removal. No remorse. All part of the plan. No one is safe, in the land of the free, the home of the brave. It's beyond comprehension, to be witnessing this obvious coup in real time. Jim Garland June 13, 2025
Convulsive Days
So much has happened in such a short time That it’s hard to convey The immensity of the wrong that’s been done, The ferocity of the plan rolled into place, The immediacy of the unrolling, The depth of the evil yet to be inflicted, The complicity of weak-spined politicians And their betrayal, cowardice, and Dereliction of duty and honor, The abrogation of our collective history, Our sense of duty, our status, our pride, Trying to build a new world order, With a clown at the helm,
A protest looms this weekend, I’ve attended the protests thus far, They’ve been family affairs, all ages Present and making their voices heard, Peacefully, and loudly, but gently insistent, With minimal overt police presence The crowd swelled and moved at will, Without counterprotest, though an Occasional flip-off from an opposition supporter Driving by.
But 6/14 is already one for the history books, As they say, though it looks like history books May themselves be history, The fourteenth will be the president’s birthday, And he’s arranged a military show of strength Akin to those they display in Russia, First in my lifetime, even Eisenhower, the old General, Knew such a parade was folly, And as a result, there’s a nationwide protest the same day, And today, as the National Guard, and Marines, And the thug army that call themselves ICE, Hold Los Angeles hostage, abducting, abusing, And shooting at citizens peacefully protesting, It looks highly possible that lines will be drawn In the sand on Saturday, and it’s also highly Possible that lines are crossed.
And the ramifications of what has changed, Our betrayal of our allies, Our warming relationship with our enemies, The weakening of our defenses, Tonight, it appears that Israel, Gone rogue, committing genocide in Gaza, Is poised to attack Iran, igniting the region, And we have nothing to say,
We abandoned Ukraine, insulted its leader, Withdrew our support in its ongoing War with Russia, our archest of foes,
So much has gone so terribly wrong For the fading dream of America, In such a short time, And it increasingly appears Those who have seized power With their relentless zeal to enrich themselves While they tear away at the foundations of our democracy, While they wage a racist war of terror against People of color, and children, and women, While they eliminate environmental protections, While they tear down public health, and education, While they burn books and alter history to suit their lurid beliefs, While they push us toward the end.
I go out after all the chores are done- This is really what I sat to write tonight- To the balcony, looking west, at twilight, Polaris faint in periwinkle light, the Dipper overhead, Sunset’s remainder a smudge of burnt orange Dissolving into lavender and purple like a bruise, Castor and Pollux sinking into haze Above the towering silhouette of fir and cedar
I go out after all the chores are done, To the cool of the evening, lights out on Route 22 Winding along the Willamette heading west to the coast, And the constantly present sound of roaring engines winding out, They’re racing on River Road, fast cars and massive trucks with modified exhaust, And hurtling down Commercial Street, over the crest of Salem Heights, They echo through the hills, I can hear them for miles Tearing through the night, And to these ears it sounds like doom, That in this age, setting at the precipice, the edge of disaster, The whining engines at night Send again clear understanding that we’ll never be smart enough, Or committed enough, to fix this, Too lazy and greedy and caught up in our image As an Exceptional people, fools for Detroit and big oil, Ready, always, to believe resources will forever be available, That the damage we do can be undone, That politicians are working for us, for our welfare, Will not deceive us, But leave us to get in our Pontiacs and ride This planet down.
I go out after all the chores are done, The remnants of sunset sinking into darkness, Days end, stars above, coastal breeze caressing boughs Of the massive fir across the street, the mother fir, Oldest in the neighborhood, reaching above the others Magnificent, stately, swaying gracefully in the wind And whispering its song, in the shadows, in the night.
James Garland Poetry 