But does that make poetry a political act?
Since when did being honest become political?
I think the answer to this question depends on the connotation of "political" that is used. In a lot of everyday language of the last few years, people have said "political" when they really mean to say "partisan". It doesn't help that a lot of media commentators across the spectrum use this connotation of "political". Journalists and editors alike should recognize that words matter and that using "political" with this connotation is in some ways outright dangerous.
On the other hand, there is the connotation of "political" that is more focused on organization to provide safety in numbers. This connotation is more prevalent among minority groups, groups that are more inclined to consider poetry a political act. For these groups, speaking their truth in any capacity (even poetry) is a way to make it clear that there are very vulnerable people in their ranks and that we need to at least pay this some mind. If we take a moment to scrutinize the systems that make these people vulnerable, even better. And when I say vulnerable, I mean it. Whether it's Indigenous women almost being guaranteed to be abused in their lives or autistic people being failed physically because all the research is focused on the mental/behavioral aspects of ASD, the vulnerability in these groups focuses on life endangerment. And poetry sometimes may be the only way to get people to even see these things. In this capacity, yes, honesty can be political. It's pushing up against both insufficient systems and biases that will not budge. Being political may be the first, last, and only line of both defense and offense.
I don't feel it needs an entire overhaul but the rich should not have all the advantages they do with the loopholes their leadership buddies have given them.
Sounds interesting. Love the story about the underground tunnels, great impetus for a scary story. Ww was black eyed peas for good luck on New Year's Day.
Thank y'all for the comments. I know it will get better, it always does. The stress just gets overwhelming sometimes and if I'm at odds with my best friend/husband, it can mess up my head for a bit. But I'm blessed. As hardheaded as my husband is, he still cares for me enough to consider my side of things. Today, he reminded me that yeah, our life is a mess but if it wasn't, we wouldn't have near as much fun. He's right.
The newly adult offspring can be a real pain. I know. I raised two sons. I can tell you that it will (probably) get better as they get a bit more mature. Ours did, or at least with the younger one.
I would agree with you about giving the younger one some help. At least she's trying to learn how to live on her own instead of living off of you like a six foot tall two year old like our oldest did for a long while. Of course, that doesn't help much with coming to an agreement with her father.
Growing up in the country was great. I had the run of both my parents' property and that of their neighbors; hundreds of acres in all. Hiking through the woods, swimming in the creeks, fishing in the stock ponds - there was always so much for me to do and I was seldom inside. Even on the nasty days of rain or snow I would be out of the house, exploring one of the old barns or just chilling with the animals in those barns suitable to still be in use. I loved being out, being around the animals, helping out my dad (or getting in his way, depending on how one looks at things). I was such a Daddy's girl! He taught me how to care for the animals, feed the orphaned babies, that sort of thing. But one of the "at home" memories I will always cherish is how my dad would start up his old Izuzu Pup and grab the spotlight and tell me to hop in. Those times were such fun! We would drive through the pastures and swipe the spotlight around looking for critters. We were hunting skunks because our place was overrun with them, and they were killing our chickens. We didn't need guns. You don't always have to have a gun when you're hunting. All we needed was a spotlight and Daddy's trusty little truck. Most times, I would sweep the field with the spotlight and Daddy would run over any skunks we came across. Yeah, it was a smelly business, but it was so fun, and it was something that I got to share with my dad that no one else did. It's also where I learned to drive a stick shift. I suppose Daddy figured that out in the pasture I'd be less likely to wreck the truck or hit anyone else's vehicle. But, while I never wrecked the truck out in those pastures, I did manage to wreck our dirt bike out there. Yet another adventure of a kid with ample opportunity to get into mischief.
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