Mimi - Mona Poetry: Letters We Share at Three A.M.

In case the word oligarchy is foreign to readers, it is described in the dictionary as “a form of government in which all power is vested in a few persons or in a dominant class or clique; government by the few.”

The U.S. also can be described as a plutocracy, which means a government or state in which the wealthy class rules. Nations operated for years under the rule of kings who lived in luxury at the expense of the heavily taxed working class.

It wasn’t until the U. S. Supreme Court’s “gang of five” slammed us with the concept of corporate personhood in its controversial 2010 Citizens United case that the reality of the U.S. oligarchy began to sink in.

A study on Princeton's website provides the grim vindication of what we already know: the United States of America is no longer a democracy, but rather an oligarchy.

This is a political poem about such an oligarchy.

©Letters We Share at Three A.M.

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Never weep when the clowns leave the show;

There is always a circus,

It is not far they dare go.

In a nation become an oligarchy,

citizens should percuss

A call for all to anarchy.

You acquiesced when some rights were taken;

They over propagandize

So your right to arms is shaken.

We’re no longer a democracy.

The wealthy you dare not criticize—

But we can’t accept their profligacy!

With oligarchic sleepy fantasies

Filling their little minds,

With no care to appease

Any citizen of America.

Us kissing their behinds—

Them keeping our dreams in a hookah.

Mimi - Mona Poetry: Does Life Still in The Noise of Day?

©Does Life Still in The Noise of Day?

Mimi Wolske

All Rights Reserved

Have you noticed that if you go somewhere—

not just anywhere, but somewhere

where you are alone with nature,

just before dawn crests,

like a forest

or at the base of a mountain,

or by the water,

by yourself, or with your dog,

and you sit quietly and ponder life—

the sounds start up again?

That nature comes back to life?

That an invisible toad declares change is possible?

That a leaf glides until it kisses the earth?

That the steers snort in the dark pasture?

That the old windmill creaks in perfect time

to the wind that rustles the tall grass

in the open field?

Something moves.

Coyotes hunt at the base of these mountains.

You are your own shadow

in the light of the harvest moon

moving more slowly than crippled stars

as dawn creeps into life.

(shadow photo by Russian photographer Alexey Bednij)