Social Justice Poetry

Susan Marie

Thus Man Strikes Man | A Social Justice Poem by Susan Marie and Richard-Phillip [Jack of Hearts]

Thus Man Strikes Man - Social Justice Poetry

Wisdom is not truth
truth is not beauty,
beauty is not love
love is not music

like your soul,
singing, sweetly,
as birds
like the rhythmic harp,
fingers plucking cords
like the hellish thunder
of an electric lady
like the deep tribal thumping
of hands on hides
like the voices that carry divinity
through breath on wind,
to the lungs and heart,
atriums and ventricles,


as the fowl, unsplendid
and all their
that attempt to place
upon this most beautiful face
thus man strikes
at man

like the old striking young
the young unlearned
the rest of us staring
wide eyed in wonder
at this new world
the bastard children
leftovers of the “what” generation
living for, breathing for
existing for some semblance of

stuck in the middle
of w’s thrice
and a “.com” label
measuring life with a price
unsure how to rebel
blindly striking the wall
knuckles bloodied
with the lust of a pauper
plus greed’s filth

like rats we scramble and strive
to speak, stand, shout
do something that


with our hands, lips, mouths, fingers, hearts, minds, souls
even if we are screaming to the void
shouting into canyons
painting on subway station walls
and scratching out blood on sidewalks in chalk
we speak, shout, sing:

wisdom is not truth
truth is not beauty
beauty is not love
love is not music

like your soul, singing, sweetly,

as birds.

Listen to this poem at

Image © by Stephen King under the pen-name of Richard Bachman, “The Running Man” [from Orwell’s “1984”]

“Wisdom is not truth , truth is not beauty, beauty is not love, love is not music” © Packard Goose by Frank Zappa

Blinding Six Senses | A Social Justice Poem by Susan Marie, Bhakti Williams Brown, Dian Isis, Elissa Feit, and Albert Brown

Blinding Six Senses - Social Justice Poetry

Only this sun star heart realm
it’s tears bless us over a glittering ageless age
like diamonds buried deep within the windows of the skull

Composite wealth shitting
on aspirations of blessed moonlight’s rage
and the body of Nuit blanketing the night sky

Veils slipping over the crust of dusk
screeching in dire sweet death
let us burn paper
that suffocates the voices
of the tired and hungry

Dear SisterMoonChild,
we cannot fail your selfless sweet shelter
before the coming of day
the black sun of Khepera rising,

Let the deathly inhale toxins of past homes
but relieve in the bathing of moon,
while the privileged collect their sins and run,
shedding light on footpads
in silt and dirt
from the Potomac to the Euphrates

fearing beauty’s judgements
fearing self,
the mirror, cracked and bleeding
self-loathing monuments
hope and tide from pull
and swing of moon, rise
slip and fade while cascading
over the empty temples gloom
the ebb and flow, in flux,
a conundrum to those still sleeping
a pun to this tired of breathing,
and bleeding

Eternity screams in the hearts of dusk to night
but love to dawn
in the peace of a new sun rising

The promise of a new beginning

– set us on fire –

free, thrushes’ birth
from my belly
into the velvet night


my ancestors cry with me,
my release,
embers of the campfire
calling me home

Money is a sharp knife
stuck deep in the heart
of the world’s beautiful visions
innocence falls
in stinking chunks of violated flesh
from the bones of this dead philosophy
blinding six senses,

A most holy paradise exists,
here and now

Loving is a sharp knife
stuck deep in the heart
of the world’s beautiful visions

parallel prying
into crates and carts
full of suffering tears
and heat fissions, fissures,
cutting like scissors into realities,
slither away
and let my mind enter and bleed
like yours to heed our stories,
thneed our minds,

peel our kindly vibes
that vibrations find
in prison and slums
hopping over life like bums,
in streets and alleys,
childish ’till 34,
crying bitch ’till many more

Every generation of promising youth
are offered in ritual sacrifice
to the cold fears
of their parent’s impenetrable
prisons of complacency,
years of tears and moonlight
cut the slimy existence of the perfect leaders,

but we purr,
hoping for more
than stealers

Like Black Death, the Great Hunger,
every burning of innocent souls,
how many more tears shed in vain,
in life,
in death,

The mighty Phoenix shall rise,
running away with our attention and meaning,
but feel her moonlight princess kneeling
over our crippled body
wingspan picking us off to heaven,
rapturously kinship with her

We can’t run,
so let us fly

She is love, precious Mother
she bats her eyelashes dim and spider-like
watching us as we slumber
off into the moonlight of dusk and sky

Slaves controlling one another in white efficiency
breeding ever new forms of domestication for lazy minds

Freedom is just another logo
sold in their suburban malls
but we all see,
we all pray to someway,
but you can’t sway with parking lots or street tar
only the guitars in the solo
of perpetual undead

Let us fly as great blue herons,
upon the lofty wings of owls,
upon backs of eagles scrying thunder,
let us become one
with antiquated raiment

Kill the last green growing tree
and celebrate its commodity,
by eating plastic cake
in uniformity

Defillibrated laments,
don’t bend in our tents
of nighttime
blindness is in fashion,
dollar signs as eyes
minds only know passion
because deep thoughts now a lie
thinking thought is death
to the dead
to the living
to the spirit

Charon awaits,
skeletal teeth, rotted and grinning
blinking not fed up of led and shillings in soul pit,
baron stakes, mental feeds,
spotted and continuing

continuing to open the doors of nighttime rituals
barons orders to steal our princess,
leaking incest,
like sweat
in the sauna of a new day

Take away spots and acne of online needs
the feeds refreshing and beheading our human taint
a night illuminated by the glow of black fire blazing

The night is wise,
she embraces the secrets
of our psychotic midnight ramblings
the keeper of all truths
the great poet and poetess
the most holy heart

All of our vain egos gush with excited offerings
while the Earth dies and we adore ourselves

It would be
our vain egos,
but it’s ours,
which means


Listen to this poem at Spoken word by Bhakti Williams Brown.

This poem was written free-form online by five authors: Bhakti Williams BrownSusan MarieDian IsisElissa Feit, and Albert Brown in Buffalo, New York.

Valhalla | A Social Justice Poem by Susan Marie

Valhalla - A Social Justice Poem by Susan Marie - Photo Copyright Ronald Sorrento

We are building roads to roads
that build roads to

people are at the same time
sane and insane

are you listening
to the wind
as she whispers
when dawn drags her belly
pregnant and full
across the purpling skyline
as the sun
places her hand
ever so warmly
upon the nape of your neck

and the sea

just stop and listen
do not even try
just be

good follows
nature and trees
and all that is
Earth and dirt
and sand
and you and me

it is not easy

left to right

as the Earth bellows
like airstrikes
on the innocent
and we keep voting
and protesting
and dying while alive
living in a
free state of
mind controlled

where do I turn
when the world has gone mad
and everything is on a
go round
of bullets fly
from lips, pursed
in hate
and anger
like Valhalla

and the Valkyries scream like
eagles scrying


We are building roads to roads
that build roads to


Listen to Susan Marie read this poem at
Visit Susan Marie at
Photo copyright Ronald Sorrento, Vietnam Vet, a peace sign made from m-79 high explosive grenade rounds.