Poets Against War continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression.

Ken Weisner

48 years old

Ken Weisner is a poet and avid french hornist living in Santa Cruz and teaching through De Anza Community College in Cupertino.  Read his book,  The Sacred Geometry of Pedestrians (Hummingbird Press, 2002).

After Gertrude Stein

I
Therefore is so certain, therefore
we invade them, therefore knowing
what we do, invade them, knowing
certain we are knowing,
knowing and invading, certain
knowing, certain, and certain, therefore—

so we knew therefore, and
in knowing, certain,
we invaded in our knowing,
we invaded in our therefore
so, in springtime, so, in springtime
so, in therefore, therefore, springtime—

we invaded in our knowing
in our knowing we invaded,
certain were we, and it started
in our knowing, in our therefore
and it started in our knowing, then.
How frightened and alone in therefore

were we when we knew in springtime.
How frightened and alone and young,
in our therefore; in our knowing,
we were certain, oh, we were brave,
in our knowing, in our springtime—
who could tell us we weren't knowing?

We were certain, we were brave,
brave in springtime, brave in therefore,
we were frightened, we were brave,
invaded therefore, certain, knowing,
invaded young, invaded knowing,
invaded therefore, invaded springtime.


II
And it was goodness,
         it was language
told us goodness
          told us fight it
told us it was good to fight it
        and it was language
told us fight it
        told us twice, fight it
fight it
        and it, was them
the language told us
fight them, it told us,
        It was them it told us,
it was a word,
         the word was it
And it was it, and it was them.

And it was them
         that fought it,
it was them alone that fought it,
        it alone,
but also them;

        he was good
we heard his language.
         It was evil, it was them...
and it was goodness
         it was language
told us goodness
        told us fight it
told us it was good to fight it
        and it was language
told us fight it
         told us twice, fight it
fight it, told us it was good
         to fight it.

                       3/4/03

Donald Rumsfeld

Donald Rumsfeld

Who feels road rage,
perhaps, on a sunny day in spring—

who fantasizes what he'd do to the rapist
if he caught him—

who feels these things
was surely a child once.

And so we know Donald well
and stroke his forehead like a boy,

and say "yes, yes; of course, Donald.
You’re fine. You're really doing fine."

And there was no shame
in the wish to invade

but equally, one would have supposed,
nothing wrong with knowing

that we need not have—
because Donald, there is

higher authority: our statesmen, our legislators,
our ambassadors, our best minds,

all of whom can protect us, Donald,
from what he is—and what you are,

and from how you rise in us predictably,
with your Mephistophelean charm:

witty, making promises, smirking
with a little righteousness,

practicing all the clarity and diction
you picked up along the way; at last you are righting

all the wretched wrongs
of the schoolyard—Ah, what was done to you!

We understand, for you rise in us, too, Donald,
like a fantasy of  revenge, and are part of us,

and are only kept in check
and balance by our knowing what you are

and how you must be kept down
in good times and in bad.

For you are already
seething in each of us,

the face like a skull,
the grin barely withheld, the shiver of pleasure

at each dark pronouncement.

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