Banners Yet To Be Unfurled The snow lies lightly on the lilacs round by the kitchen door. The juncos peck in stone cracks endless in their search for more. I think that is my way too, to keep the search going on. What else really could I do but find new ways to scorn? As Camus said of Sisyphus who toiled with his stone, there is no fate for us that can’t be beat by scorn. And so I scorn what passes here today for equality and justice before the law, for helping the poor to find a way, for promises the troops will soon withdraw. The politicians are pathetic souls; almost every sentence is a lie. Recognition is their main goal. To integrity they’ve said good-bye. Oh purple mountain majesty! Oh fruited plains of amber grain! The machine crushes endlessly everything for investment’s gain. And so we search for ways to fight. We see the beauty of the snow, but we know to make it right may require our blood to flow. We’ve seen the heads bandaged round, the men and women teared by gas. Each has earned a special crown. They know the system will not last. Scorn, rage, and many actions: protests coming round the world. Today we see but a fraction of banners yet to be unfurled!
