Poets Against War continues the tradition of socially engaged poetry by creating venues for poetry as a voice against war, tyranny and oppression.
Bert Ifill
50 years old
Washington, DC
Bert is an economist, choral singer and aspiring poet who has been energized by Poets Against the War. He's recently read at a gathering of DC Poets Against the War to celebrate the first anniversary of this extraordinary effort.
Warning
A man with a gruff voice, Gravely tells me, “There is a wolf at your door. That’s not it exactly.
There are wolves around your house. They are hungry for what you have. They will take your livestock, Your children, you. So, be careful.
They might patrol your doorstep at night. So, be careful in the dark. Sometimes, we’ve seen them in the day time. So, be careful in the light. They are dangerously hungry, But we will get them With your help.
Go about your lives; Be alert. If you see a wolf, tell us. If you see something like a wolf— Perhaps its shadow slanting across your fields— Tell us.
Do not set traps for them yourselves. Even if you capture one wolf, There are others. They will know You are protecting something important And will return to take it. We will get them, with your help.
Some of your neighbors, In order to placate them Or divert them from their doors, Put out food for the wolves. Tell us who they are, And we will deal with them. Do not talk to them yourselves.
Go about your daily lives, But be alert. Watch for wolves And the shadow of wolves. Listen for their rustle in the fields Or their distant howls In the middle of the night. Don’t talk to your neighbors.
Trust us.”
Anonymous Sources
The President looked us level in the eye And said, "No one wants war." I suppose. No one needed an issue to bolster sagging polls. No one expected to gain seats in Congress. No one hoped to put opponents in a box. No one lusts for oil or revenge Or a quick victory gift-wrapped for CNN. I wonder. Who is "No one"? Not "Nobody." Nobody wants us to be distracted From our domestic travails. Nobody thinks it is a good idea To slip tax cuts under the carpet bombs. Nobody will desert the Iraqis Once Saddam is shed.
No one wants this war. Nobody is going to get it.
Ballad of the Good American
A month after the attacks, I found myself Sitting next to a man with caramel-colored skin. I made them turn the airplane back to the jetway To take him off. I don’t feel any safer.
A year later, I overheard three swarthy men Making sneering comments in a liquid language I couldn’t understand. I called the FBI, and they were detained. I don’t feel any safer.
Last week, I cocooned my house In plastic sheeting when the Secretary told me to And took all of it down, When the Secretary told me to. I don’t feel any safer.
Tomorrow, my son will join a quarter million troops Who will rid the world of the most horrible dictator Since Adolf Stalin. My son tells me, “It’ll be all right, Ma.” I don’t feel any safer.
Information Campaign
The first lies they told Were drips of cool water Plopping on our fevered brows. Each little drip Soothed us, calmed us. The rhythm stilled the throbbing Of our anxious foreheads. But, As the lies kept plopping, They became less soothing. We shifted our heads to avoid them, But, The spigot moved with us, And the lies kept dripping. They pelted our foreheads Like lead slugs. They turned our heads numb, Except for one aching spot Worn concave by the steady drips. We wanted to put up a hand, To say, "Stop!" But, We are immobilized by our fears. So, we squint our eyes shut And endure the relentless dripping lies That drill our skulls like awls.
