We are always honored to post messages from our Anons in prison. Stanley Cohen has asked that we share his articles and it is our honor to do so. Stanley hasn’t given up his fight and it’s an honor to call him a friend to Freeanons.
Lately I’ve had a number of letters and emails from young activists who understandably are feeling distressed about the world that is ours today- one seemingly on fire everywhere that we look. Some seem to be questioning their own ability to make a meaningful impact upon a world which, at times, appears to be dangerously out of control and unresponsive to resistance from progressive forces or action.
Many years ago I took off and have not looked back since. My own struggle to make this world a better, more just and humane place for us all has taken many twists and turns and embraced a full range of expression from words to direct action- of all kinds. Along the way I’ve been fortunate to work with and be mentored by some legendary giants in many different fields and places who inspired my by their drive, determination and indefatigable spirit to rage on and on. Although there have been times that I’ve questioned my own ability to travel those last few steps to the proverbial mountain top I saw just above, I’ve never failed to reach that peak for want of trying. This is after-all a very, very fast march- we live, we fight, we die.
Sitting around in prison the last few nights as I contemplated my release on December 15th I started to play around with some verse that hopefully talks to the need to rage on from beginning to end. Lets face it, I’m certainly not a poet and though I enjoy the texture of words, its typically a feeling that comes out best while on my feet in courtrooms or at a podium or, I’ve been told, in some of my so-called polemics. Never one to run from a principled fight however, I decided to challenge myself the last few days and to try and create some poetic verse that speaks to the speed of our journey and our need to keep fiercely determined in pursuing our dreams. With that, I hope you enjoy “Forgotten Words.” Up the Rebels.
Spring’s bloom, frenzied in its reach,
unbridled, the genesis of our seductive teach.
Summer’s smile a stretch of grand allure,
with still the tease of that much more.
Yet, fade of Autumn with color’s gray
now harkens gloom of twilight’s day.
Life’s promise forgotten, now but barnacles time faded
fancied discourse- long tired, passe- so much jaded.
Smiles veiled and soft, breath soured by fleeting time
shorn of hope and elegance, honeyed taste of once sweet thyme.
Laughter withered, moments missed, endless bays;
echoes of silence long in brood hushed ways.
Musty tattered texts; rhymes well past sleep-
verse resound, far ever-wide in sweep.
Now dark and bitter creased with yellowed page
passion, dissent reduced to muted rage.
Night’s darkest fear, morn’s once rise to hope-
bled of all its bright and early blissful cope.
Spring’s rush-so swift the tide to winter’s end.
Forgotten words; letters ne’er post to send.
The journey begun with boundless seam
unfinished, untold a shattered dream.
With haste, verse passed- scant a try;
the lion’s mighty roar now but a mournful sigh.
Can it be so fleeting- a blink of an eye- all past
vision come and gone, left with but bombast.
Tis now the time to reach for one last chance,
one last step, one final sweeping dance.