The Refugees

In cities and towns people marched. I suppose one who tosses out easy irony or cynicism would offer something along the lines of “A lot of good that did.” Did 45 care? Of course not. Did he wake up the next day thinking he had better pay attention to the values carried by those who marched? Of course not. To march together is to reveal that we shall overcome being isolated, alone in the enormity of our worry and concern; that there can be joy within the sorrow; that we can be ourselves when we gather with others; that we don’t have to sacrifice our individual voices to some oppressive political ventriloquist. We march, we sing, we laugh, we hug, we drink coffee, and vodka and stay after the march to be with one another, to be who we are, to not be beliefs but to be what and whom we care about, to be.

The Refugees

They are walking, walking. They are walking, walking.
They are walking.  Walking. They are walking. They walk.

They walk. They walk.           They walk.

They walk.   Walk. They walk.
They walk.              They walk. They walk.
They walk.    Walk.      They walk.
They stop.                 They walk.

They walk. They walk.      They walk. They walk.
Walk.                        They walk.    They walk.

They walk. They walk. They walk.
They walk. They walk. They walk.

They walk. They walk. They walk.
They stop.

They walk.                  They walk.
Walk.             They walk.                     They stop.
They walk.              They walk.        Walk.

They walk.           They stop.
They walk. They walk.                         Walk.
Walk.             They walk. They walk.
They stop.

Walk.                  They walk.      Walk.
They stop.       They walk.                       They walk.
They walk.                        Walk. They walk.

Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk. Walk.  WalkWalkWalk  Stop   WalkWalkWalk

Stop
WalkWalk   Stop    Walk    Walk.
Walk . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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14 thoughts on “The Refugees

  1. So so very powerful, Jack. Wish I could be there to hear you read this. Wish we could all hold hands and stand and read it together.
    What a marvel you are.

    Your fan,
    Dale

    • Ohhhhhh thanks be to thee, Dale.
      You get that it’s a “kinetic” poem. This morning a mom and her
      first grade daughter read it together. What a joy, how they
      felt it as one.
      XXX

    • Oh my gosh! This brings me such deep joy!
      Thank you so much. This morning a mother and first
      grade daughter read it together, felt it together.
      So moving that they could feel its kinetic feel,
      it’s being a physical poem.
      XXX

    • Thank thee. So much.
      This morning a mom and her first grade daughter chanted
      it together, felt it together, as one. So so moving.
      XXX

  2. Amazing how the words change as you follow them down the page, finally losing their meaning in the repetition. The lines becoming like bird tracks. Leaves me in a place beyond words. Thank you Jack!

    • Oh my. Thank you for telling me this. The words becoming flesh.
      How I hoped.
      It’s a kinetic poem, but you knew that.
      This morning, Dawn Stafford and her first grade daughter chanted
      it together, could feel themselves becoming one.
      XXX

  3. I like the look and sound of this poem. I need to hear the poet read it.
    I loved your intro. Especially the idea of a “political ventriloquist”. Well done, Jack! D.

  4. Oh Jack… and this is why you post each Thursday and we need these, drink deep snd long of every word – including your words of preface that deepen context and meaning. There was another poem in today’s words of preface I think…. Thank you…again and again. Colette

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

    • You are always so thoughtful. It sustains the project immensely.
      Dawn Stafford and her daughter Lillian read it together, a chant.
      XXX

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