It may be laid down, as a primary position . . . that every citizen who enjoys the protection of a free government, owes not only a proportion of his property, but even of his personal services to the defense of it...
“As soon as any man says of the affairs of the State 'What does it matter to me?' the State may be given up for lost.”
"If I knew something that would serve my country but would harm mankind, I would never reveal it; for I am a citizen of humanity first and by necessity, and a citizen of France second, and only by accident"
Midweek Motif ~ Citizenship
What is its purpose and its rituals? Is it in the taxes we pay or the flags we fly? Is it in the ideals we hold standing side by side? Is it in our borders and who is in or out? Just what is citizenship all about?
Where and how are we each citizens?
(The recent Federal Tax Day in the USA
raised these questions for me.)
(The recent Federal Tax Day in the USA
raised these questions for me.)
Your Challenge: Write a new poem that answers one or all of these questions with images of citizenship.
Poems:
It's the Fourth of July, the flags
are painting the town,
the plastic forks and knives
are laid out like a parade.
And I'm grilling, I've got my apron,
I've got potato salad, macaroni, relish,
I've got a hat shaped
like the state of Pennsylvania.
I ask my father what's his pleasure
and he says, "Hot dog, medium rare,"
and then, "Hamburger, sure,
what's the big difference,"
as if he's really asking.
I put on hamburgers and hot dogs,
slice up the sour pickles and Bermudas,
uncap the condiments. The paper napkins
are fluttering away like lost messages.
"You're running around," my mother
says,
"like a chicken with its head loose."
. . . .
(Read
the rest HERE at the
Poetry Foundation.)
BY ED BOK LEE
Hmong
Hunter Charged with 6 Murders
Is Said
to Be a Shaman —new york times
If a tree falls in a forest,
does it make a sound?
If a rifle fires a shot in the
woods,
whose body first hits the
ground?
If a group of angry hunters
surrounds, curses at, and
accosts you
for wandering onto their land
If you apologize for being
lost,
inform you saw no posted
signs, swallow
their chinks this and gooks
taking over that;
are walking away over mud and
fallen leaves when a loud
crack far behind you kicks up
black earth
If your father was conscripted
to fight
on the side of the United
States
for the cia during the war in Vietnam
If he, your mother, you—the
oldest son—
and all your younger siblings
were later abandoned
in the hills of Laos as
targets for genocide by the Viet Cong
If after five years in a Thai
refugee camp,
you come to this land as a
teen, a casualty
of history and time, then
receive three years
of training to become a
sharpshooter
in the u.s. military
If you spent your adolescence
watching blacks,
Asians, Latinos, and whites
watching one
another watch each other for
weakness and flaws
. . .
.
(Read the rest HERE at
the Poetry Foundation.)
Lincoln?
He was a mystery in smoke and
flags
Saying yes to the smoke, yes
to the flags,
Yes to the paradoxes of
democracy,
Yes to the hopes of government
Of the people by the people
for the people,
No to debauchery of the public
mind,
No to personal malice nursed
and fed,
Yes to the Constitution when a
help,
No to the Constitution when a
hindrance
Yes to man as a struggler amid
illusions,
Each man fated to answer for
himself:
Which of the faiths and
illusions of mankind
Must I choose for my own
sustaining light
To bring me beyond the present
wilderness?
Lincoln? Was he a poet?
And did he write verses?
“I have not willingly planted
a thorn
in any man’s bosom.”
I shall do nothing through
malice: what
I deal with is too vast for malice.”
Death was in the air.
So was birth.
***
Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below
and visit others
in the spirit of the community.
(Next week Sumana's Midweek Motif will be
~ Home)
***
