1940, 1970 and Today – plus other poems - 4. in subtle features

Poem No. 7 speaks to the time after the crackdown in Tiananmen Square (June 1989), then the fall of the Berlin Wall (December 1989), and the eventual change in Russia from one-party rule to a democracy (December 1991). In retrospect, looking back on when it was written in 1992, the darker forecast of the poem has proved quite prophetic. Now America is faced with the terror of one-party rule by the Gops (2015), who, with the help of totalitarian Russia and the People’s (so-called) Army of red China, have brought waterboarding to George Washington’s army (2001) and January 6th to the nation’s Capitol (2021).

Very true, @AC Benus.  Evil can disguise itself and live on.  Hope still lives, but is often muted.

While I am yet hopeful for the world, I am less optimistic than I was once.

Much emotion in an economy of words.  Again, well done.

Number 8 really speaks to me today. My eyes sting with distant smoke, and my ears ring with the strident voices of fascism and bigotry rising. How I yearn for hope. 

15 hours ago, ReaderPaul said:

Very true, @AC Benus.  Evil can disguise itself and live on.  Hope still lives, but is often muted.

While I am yet hopeful for the world, I am less optimistic than I was once.

Much emotion in an economy of words.  Again, well done.

Thank you, ReaderPaul. This material connected with you, and I'm grateful to hear about it. Critics of my work often accuse me of "using too many words," which has always confused me. I think my own work, as you mention above, is impactful and economical in its word-choices.

Thanks again!  

17 hours ago, Parker Owens said:

Number 8 really speaks to me today. My eyes sting with distant smoke, and my ears ring with the strident voices of fascism and bigotry rising. How I yearn for hope. 

Thank you, Parker. I know the type of smoke you're enduring right now. San Francisco was blanketed by it a few summers ago. I took a picture with my cell phone one afternoon at 3pm, because streetlights had come on and the sun was nothing but a sooty 20 watt light bulb in the western sky.

In addition, I'd say the young 20-something who penned Poem No. 8 would be amazed his gripings about being in an in-between age (too young to be taken seriously; too old to be allowed the freedom of being a kid again) resonates with someone in a different circumstance. But then again, what did the poet know? He was just a kid after all