Journey to Ixtlan

Politics have always been an exercise in spin. It feels like this is about to go into overdrive as formally disenfranchised or excluded groups are quietly ushered into the part. One thing is said when another is meant. Words trigger a specific reaction in some groups but not others. The poem “Sublime Rules” is about this phenomenon.


Sublime Rules

Look behind the words portrayed
for a truth that lays beyond
betrayed by the lies in front
the unspoken matters more
the signs distract by design
verbal cues that do not mean
what is said by evil men
smiling big with bad intent.

Symbols ask for audience
simple cues to the flock
meaning nothing to outlanders
witnesses of a message sent
one thing shown, another meant
confusion for the innocent
don’t ask what’s inferred
only members know the gist.

In the end the whistles sound
hidden from the world at large
by the word or by the flag
the devoted know what’s implied
barking when none may hear
salivating at thin air
madness buried deep in the mind
who is the master when sublime rules?

2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20161124.

I was thinking about how easy it is to hate, truly despise, a rival group. This is facilitated by the convenient presentation of the enemy as being both weak and twisted, defeatable and dangerous. Rally the troops! Put aside reason and put in place blind dogmatic loyalty! Ah… that’s how we win a war.


Ink Of Our Enemy
Poem for Day 079 – 20150320

Draw me a caricature,
a picture comic or grotesque.
Make it almost life like
but not enough to count.
Strip it of humanity,
devoid of redeeming grace.
Make them a true villain,
one we can all hate.

Societies can be the target,
entire nations reduced in mockery.
Our ability to transform the visage
is unlimited in our derision.
No action required on their part,
they can go about their business.
We’ll twist and turn their features
to fit our vision of their weakness.

We’ll paint us a devil, enemy true,
make them dangerous to all.
We can still defeat them,
we must to feel complete.
Spin our sins around to them,
they are the source of evil within.
Absolution bestowed to us
as god’s wrath is loosed to them.

The kernel of truth is seed enough,
grow the orchard of hatred for our feast.
Never you mind the awful truth,
the bumper crop of our own fruit.
The blood of the enemy washes us clean,
our hands spotless with pen dipped in red.
Mock them in drawing, caricature portrayed,
with ink of the enemy at our command.

© 2015. Sean Green. All Rights Reserved