“Net Neutrality” and Response

“Net Neutrality”
By Yoko Tamada

“No Longer Neutral”
By me

Well, here we are, one day removed from
Pay-per-view being a possibility
And paper views on the rise
As the Washington Post costs less to have
Printed and delivered than accessed
Without cutting down a tree.

I’m not naïve enough to believe
That change will happen overnight,
Or measurably over any short length of time,
But that is how the worst possible change occurs,
Like a lobster boiled before it even realizes it’s too hot.

My brother, yesterday, told me a theory,
And it made me wary, revolutionary,
For his theory went like this:

If I were an independently wealthy politician,
And I wanted to control the flow of ideas,
What’s stopping me from:
Paying to slow down traffic to free thought
Paying to promote the stories that I bought
Paying to ensure those without the means
Could only see what I believe or at least
Want to be The Truth?

What’s to stop this simple 3-2 vote
From being the latest of stages in
The transformation from a
Democracy to a dictatorship?

For those who read this years down the road,
I think you for paying extra tolls,
And I hope your windows are covered
So those patrolling the night don’t see the light you generate.

“Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night” and Response

This poem was suggested for me to read and respond to. Thank you, whoever made the suggestion. It has given me much to think about.

“Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night”
By Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

From The Poems of Dylan Thomas, published by New Directions. Copyright © 1952, 1953 Dylan Thomas. Copyright © 1937, 1945, 1955, 1962, 1966, 1967 the Trustees for the Copyrights of Dylan Thomas. Copyright © 1938, 1939, 1943, 1946, 1971 New Directions Publishing Corp.
Web link: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/do-not-go-gentle-good-night

“Darkness and Light; Night and Day”
By me

When I think of good nights, I must admit that I
Wish to find a gentle way to find myself so that
My head could find its resting place and my body,
Weak and worn,
Could be renewed and reborn.

Gentle is how I wish to go, if I must go into that good night.

But the light is dying. The night exists because the light
Is dying.
No night can be good when it only is because the light
Was extinguished.

Democracy dies in darkness.
The thief comes in the night.
The light is dying and if I care,
I should gather my might
And rage, rage, rage.

You take away our healthy bodies: RAGE.
You take away our children: RAGE.
You take away our mobility: RAGE.
You give us a yoke which is not easy,
And a burden which is not light.
RAGE.

A child born into a home of love finds
Food is hard to come by
And wishes the darkness would be here soon.
They were born into a world where the light
Is flickering. It has been stolen from them.

While I yearn for the good night,
And wish to go gently into it,
I cannot welcome it fully.
I love the light too much
To permit the darkness to have my favour.

“The Usual” and Response

“The Usual”
By Rachel Sherwood

This is what it’s like:
you sit in the white room
singular, knees together
arms over your head
to break the noise from the radio
that is false as a drunk’s promise
to loan you his car next week.

Of course next week never comes
lies continue, nobody disbelieves them
but some are ready for the real story
the young man involved breaks her tired heart
it’s the usual: spilt liquor,
broken dishes, wrecked cars.

Rachel Sherwood, “The Usual” from Mysteries of Afternoon and Evening. Copyright ©1981 by David Trinidad.
Source: Mysteries of Afternoon and Evening (Sherwood Press/Yarmouth Press, 1981)
Web link: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57618/the-usual

“The Real Story”
By me

We’re all ready for the real story
The story where jokes only need to be branded as such
Because nobody laughed.
The story where grown men,
hands like sandpaper,
scraped and cut the skin
of boys and girls barely old enough
to see over the counter

The real story
The story where secret cars
traveling at night,
where the darkness matches the windows
matches the tires
matches the hearts and souls of the drivers
The story where these cars are revealed
in the light of day,
and the scrape on the trunk door
can be seen around the world

The real story
The story where the evils we think are true
are both far greater and far less
than we can imagine,
yet lines of blue and red tell us that
This One is true, and
That One is false,
and all we end up with is blood on our hands

“Words are Birds” and Response

“Words are Birds”
By Francisco X. Alarcon

words
are birds
that arrive
with books
and spring

they
love
clouds
the wind
and trees

some words
are messengers
that come
from far away
from distant lands

for them
there are
no borders
only stars
moon and sun

some words
are familiar
like canaries
others are exotic
like the quetzal bird

some can stand
the cold
others migrate
with the sun
to the south

some words
die
caged—
they’re difficult
to translate

and others
build nests
have chicks
warm them
feed them

teach them
how to fly
and one day
they go away
in flocks

the letters
on this page
are the prints
they leave
by the sea

Francisco X. Alarcon, “Words are Birds” from Laughing Tomatoes and Other Spring Poems. Copyright © 1997 by Francisco X. Alarcon.
Source: Laughing Tomatoes and Other Spring Poems (Lee & Low Books, 1997)
Web link: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/91108/words-are-birds

“Words are Flames”
By me

your words
are flames
tongues
licking
my feet

they
burn
old growth
making room
for the new

ivy shoots
up
from the freshly
burned
soil

green replaces
black replaces
red replaces
brown replaces
green

my feet
left blistered
and wanting
to drink
to be quenched

your words
are fire
forcing me
to move
or to roast

hot coals
oven doors
dragon’s breath
cigar ash
candle

a light
showing
the way
through
my darkness