Storming the Bastille, NCPS Poetry night

Join us on Thursday (tomorrow) for “Storming the Bastille”

Poetry readings by North Carolina Poetry “Royalty”

Grace Ocasio, Peter Makuk, Joanna Catherine Scott, Bill Griffin, Joan Barasovska, and David Radavich!  All in One Night!  Also A poetry Open Mic, and spiritually uplifting music by Jewel Song and the poetry and music of Alice Osborn.


And here’s one for you from my pen:


Genocide, Slavery, Greed

We cry for the slavery that led to such wealth,

This is not just  the land of the free.

We witness genocide all over this earth.

What can we do to end greed?

We cry for the land, full of modified crops

We must work to save human life.

What will our grandchildren have to live through

Since our appetite causes such strife?

The oil wars that started a decade ago

Have moved toward the Caspian Sea.

We are the dissidents, loud, without fear,

Even if we are cut at the knees.

We cry for the news they keep off TV,

The grapevine could snap any day.

Disinformation is the age we live in,

So who’s going to show us the way?

The answer is simple, we grow as a team,

A new brotherhood in the light.

We must build the village, invite all your friends,

This is no time to give up the fight!

They have all the bombs, the juntas abound,

Monsanto is spraying the poor.

We must dig our hands into arable land

Or genetics will foul every spore.

Profit mongers have sucked the earth dry,

We must reclaim all that we can.

Industrial China, the last frontier,

Soon money will own every man.

The kids on the streets are locked-down together,

Push a bike, and you could get ten years!

All this is forced because we stopped caring,

Yet some offer blood, sweat and tears.

We couldn’t stop bosses from shipping our jobs,

The replacement is for-profit jails.

Our schools are rotting, so teach if you can,

Where it counts, not Harvard or Yale.

The time is upon us, united as friends

We can make anything grow.

Come join the party, sing and dance all the day,

Tomorrow we get out the vote.

We cry for the genocide, slavery, greed

That persists after thousands of years.

It’s late, but there’s time, if we really work hard

We can stop the torrent of tears.

The Sewol, by Joan Barasovska

The Sewol

There are 206 bones in the adult human skeleton, also in the teenage human skeleton.
Thousands of them rest thousands of feet below the ocean’s surface where chunks of a ferry float, where cranes prospect when the sea is calm.
The children’s lost bones must be buried in dry ground; their parents are frantic to bury what is already buried.
Photos in the paper of mothers and fathers, heads bent, hands covering their faces, and we hear the short cell phone calls from the children: I love you, goodbye.
In the paper, the suicide note of the principal, who survived, offering his ashes to the sea:
“Perhaps I should be a teacher for those children in the other world.”
The orders were to stay, to keep to your room, to your bed, to obey.
They obeyed.
The grownups fled in lifeboats, the children stayed and stayed.
Their ghost teacher may reach them in a year or a century.
They can only wait.


Copyright, Joan Barasovska, 2014.  Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.