Category: Immigrants

May Day, mayday.

On By ©️K.T. 2026In america, American Apartheid, anti-capitalism, anti-fascism, anti-zionism, Capitalism, Climate Chaos, Fascism, Free Palestine, Gaza, Genocide, gentrification, holocaust, Immigrants, Indigenous Land, inequality, kill lists, Labor Day, Liberation, May Day, Nazism, neo-liberalism, Nuclear Weapons, Palestine, Poem, poetry, Poverty, Regime, Resistance, Revolution, Sixth Mass Extinction, threshold, War, Xenophobia, ZionismLeave a comment

originally published May Day 2024, revised May Day 2025

workers of the world, unite!

The Haymarket Memorial 125th anniversary plaque dedication
April 30, 2011.
photo: by author

humans of the Earth, unite!

To The Comfortably-Numbed,

Petit Bourgeoisie:

“No Business As Usual During Genocide” — or — FASCISM!

15,000

no 30,000

Palestinian children, were murdered, not “died”

in seven, nineteen, months’ time.

300,000 — or more in Gaza on threshold of death by intentional starvation with consent of The West

you flaunt your epicurean life

while the workers and students and poets
and artists, all,
groundswell, to resist this violent, white tide,

// of the IDF

home and abroad,

training ICE

& your local SWAT precinct,

to disappear and deport //

and crucially, to liberate you — of the occupier & cop — living in your mind.

this is in fact,

the marketplace of one [1] singular idea:

Land.

Continue reading “May Day, mayday.” →

Wanderten Mutter

On By ©️K.T. 2026In Death, Estrangement, Frau, Funerary, Hospice, Immigrant, Immigrants, Life and Death, Mother, Mutter, Parents, Stoic, Terminal Illness, Transistion, William BlakeLeave a comment
“Lief heim ins Seitelein.” Unitätsarchiv, R.20.E.36.12. Archiv der Brüder-unität, Herrnhut. http://bq.blakearchive.org/40.3.schuchard “Lief heim ins Seitelein.” Unitätsarchiv, R.20.E.36.12. Archiv der Brüder-unität, Herrnhut.
http://bq.blakearchive.org/40.3.schuchard

My life seems long, I know
My body’s mostly worn
Inside, she’s just begun to live, again
A young woman and girl, or gone long ago

There are bottled laughs to voice aloud
New smiles to wear with these old shoes
Time to know the world, and you, and you, and you …
between these walls of peeling, muted hues

Once Herr died
My Self was ready to return
My cadence so shy and slow,
Lamenting the awkward waste of precious years

I find my voice as I write the past,
But in my book, the Tomorrow has no page
Forever winter approaches from within
These years and years upright on hard chairs

Unreal, unseen, unheard, untouched
by the world, by the womb, it may concern, Whom
I speak through and then beyond this pain of bone and life
Before the cold within brings silence of the tomb

You see, to me, my presence still feels warm, and blush
somehow, even new
My life stretched out behind me, no steps ahead
And I forestall Death’s cue, awaiting mere glimpse of you

If you can imagine, child
I love, unsaid,
I feel as just alive, as real, as you. Continue reading “Wanderten Mutter” →