Peace with Justice

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I would love to be an American  

Supreme Court justice and colleague of Ruth

Bader Ginsberg hearing her wisdom first

hand and enjoying a progressive nap

at times when conservatives are speaking.

I would love to be an American

Senator making and voting on law

and policy while representing home

for people who believe in me and come

out to info and fund-raising sessions.

I would love to be an American

at the top, but since that is not to be

I will content myself with being on

the bottom or in the middle standing

against oppression, pro humanity.

I would love to be an American

citizen who sweeps my walk and walks my

talk and meets residents of my many

neighborhoods in picnics and parties and

picket lines to promote peace with justice.

I would love to be an American 

in a country with no need for borders,

with proud United Nations involvement

in destroying means of war and torture

and promoting healthy environments.

A second poem for my prompt 

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Justice, or Poetic Justice

Copyright © 2015  S.L.Chast

#29 poem, April 2015

Imagine Logic

Lady Justice, a symbol of justice.

Imagine getting what you earn—

nothing more, nothing less.  Earning

what you get, and getting nothing

more.  Imagine one to one e-

quations other than an eye-for-

an-I, justice meted out on

a non-human plane.  Imagine

being unable to break this

law, being unable to find

a loophole, being unable

to sue.  Justice on this plain plane

being absolute—a tree looks

like a tree, a rock like a rock.

Words mean what they intend to mean. 

Metaphor is unfair, it gets

more for less.  Irony is pun-

ishable by death.  Scales balance. 

Justice is absolute, crime cancelled. 

Three of these lines are illegal—

neither complete nor metered.

"Justice = Just Ice"

For my prompt 

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Justice, or Poetic Justice

Copyright © 2015  S.L.Chast

#28 poem, April 2015

Sleeping in Public

The Sentry by Carel Fabritius, 1654

Unbridled whiteness fires me up to share

my privilege:  Please pull up a pillow,

rest a while, let me protest all despair.

White cops’ mis-justice hurts me, too, I fear.

I’m not safe if you can be held so low.

I can't feel happiness when your life’s austere.

Let me walk with you and grow seeds of care

to wake in your footsteps, to learn to know

unrest for real, how to always beware.

Unrestrained wickedness jerks me alert—

Your fragile bones are exposed to real blows.

I thought to forget, but you lived to hurt.

Whiteness supreme is mine to dismantle,

powers to share, achievements to channel.

What cannot be shared, might just be annulled.

I'll stop my walking, will myself awake—

I want the diverse life your presence makes.

If you have no freedom, mine’s a mistake.

Written at the end of a weekend workshop on Whites Addressing Racism. Rough draft Poem #25, April 2015. I'm a weekend behind.  

Copyright © 2015  S.L.Chast