Silence Is Not Bliss Poem by Raymond Farrell

The last days of February 2025
Fading into history see
A fragile ceasefire in Gaza
That may or may not hold
Bringing an end
To the 21st century's worst genocide
Thus far
The US has re-elected a president
Who wants to expel the Palestinians from Gaza
And turn it into resort properties
He has a dream
Not like the one Martin Luther King had
But of a resort on the Mediterranean
Perhaps like the island one
He used to frequent
Owned by the late Jeffrey Epstein
As for the rest of Gaza
Some relators from New York City
Are trying to hock seafront lots
They don't even own
Bizarre as all this is
The Mass Media in North America
Is treating this in their reporting
Like they do the local Santa Claus Parade
But the whole poetic subculture
Of acclaimed published poets in the USA
Has nothing to say
Many affiliated with taxpayer subsidized institutions
Across North America
Are unwilling to take a break
From whining about the trivialities that trouble their lives
Or quit picking fly droppings out of pepper
Or stop looking for bird droppings under cuckoo clocks
Periodically when they get together
For conventions, sessions, readings etc.
It's always a Home On The Range atmosphere
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
Directed towards a fellow attendee's poetry
It is telling to see such camaraderie
Yet another sign amongst many
Of the complete triumph of mediocrity
Within this subterranean subculture
None of these enlightened souls
Have said anything about the genocide in Gaza
They have seen flash across their TV screens
Or mentioned in their newspapers
For the past 15 months
Such stone cold silence
Speaks volumes to the consciences
Of those in this world
Who actually do care
About the lives of thousands of innocent children
Tragically ended when US made bombs
Obliterated their dwellings
Weapons sent by the US to Israel
With the support in government
Of all parties
At all levels of government
The same government officials who vote
To support ongoing funding
For their institutions of employment
Who underwrite the conventions and reading etc they attend
Where too often their less than relevant poems
Are read in that sanctimonious quasi-religious drone
Put on for effect at poetry readings
This whole poetic subculture
Knows where its bread is buttered
And have failed in their duty
In the face of evil and its perpetrators
To be heard on the side of truth and justice
Having sold their souls
For a mere pittance.