Thursday, June 09, 2022

Two Poems

From The Western Socialist #5, 1967

The Hungry Eagle 

Vietnam is not the eagle's only foe:
You try to set a limit to his needs —
The sons you feed him make his talons grow.

Hatched from workers' graves, he perches now
On arms that pet him while they fear his speeds;
Vietnam it not the eagle‘s only foe.

The death he spatters on the ground is slow. 
His human food lies thrashing in the reeds, 
The sons you feed him make his talons grow.

The eggs he saves have fire still to throw. 
His butane beak is sharper than his greeds; 
Vietnam is not the eagle's only foe.

You watch his wings above your home. and know
He never spirals near but what he feeds. 
The sons you feed him make his talons grow.

The meek are looking for a place to go. 
The rebels fight, the harbor statue bleeds; 
Vietnam it not the eagle's only foes; 
The time you feed him makes his talons grow. 
Stan Blake


Nightmares of a Radical 

In the bottom of my Campbell soup cans 
Vietnamese orphans squabble on a trash heap
For the freedom to lick empty G.I. lint. 
From the crackle of my Dow Saran-wrap 
Flaming "targets" scream and old men weep.

A Saigon mother in my wife's sad eyes 
Whores for Marines to feed her baby girl 
My fenced yard is full of mental refugees. 
Ten thousand miles of Pacific Ocean fail 
To pacify them; nothing shuts off this newsreel.

I, a socialist, whose children salute 
The stars and stripes, whose hands exchange the buck.
Whose telephone supplies the guns we shoot, 
I try to believe I'm better than a hawk 
Because I held a sign and gave a talk.  
Stan Blake

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