#anarchist poetry

[love-ardour-anarchism]

Soft Stone Butch

Its the softness of flowers The scent of lavender and roses The knight I dreamed to be when I was 6 Is not a man nor male Nor does he strive to be

Butchness is the rejection of patriarchal order and hegemony Of the authority of maleness over masculinity The cherishing of masculinity absolved of violence and threat The blending and the merging Of things we’re told do not fit Of soft furred femininity, and identity outside the binary of stubble on my face and hairy legs and pits and arms of gentle love, protection and how I long to hold and keep you safe

Take what you want Take what you need Be who you want to be Deconstruct the idea that masculinity needs to be hard be soft and masculine and tender be feminine and outside and between be anything you want to be be anyone you want to see

They tried to raise a man but my heart transmuted manhood into me I’m butch and I think I’ll always be

.SCRR

[faggotbetweenrevolutions]

Ghosts and Empties

or, no more dead friend

[anarchistpoet]

#my personal demon

[manwalksintobar]

Meeting // Katerina Gogou

Listen, I walk barefoot thru a world I’m trying to change, leaving bloody footprints on the ground. Slowly but surely I run out of energy and today Tuesday 5 o’clock it’s dark again. The safety valves in my brain have loosened, so be it. I feel like I’m eight again on a boat bound for Tinos Island and its miracles. Angle iron, concrete, and cheap blankets hermetically seal off people with zero hope who lock themselves in stalls to weep. I have to deal. You go over everything you want to say, word by word, and end up pale yet determined at the meeting waiting for the right moment and you are indeed there, my brother but you miss your chance—you lose your cool you hear yourself shout: Proletarians of the world, unite! —everyone stares at you like they’re watching a western, and even though a cowboy never takes his hat off, you nervously try to take yours off but you’ve never even owned a hat and you stare at your shoes, embarrassed completely alone at this general meeting. But you were right. At least one person was . . .

(translated from the Greek by ΔT and JC)

[wulfinna]

Individual Inklings

Should I make it home, should I live,I will not allow even the Black FlagTo define my aspirations after.Only the ever-evolving “I”That belongs to me.   Complete text here (PDF) Print books available soon, contact for a physical copy.

[allegrasloman]

Meditation on the two anonymous fash Who set themselves on fire Whilst being fashy In Bakersfield, California In the first week of 2024

Capture, reframe and deny

a sequence of bad choices presents itself The first rule is that when fascists are making fools of themselves You don’t get in their way

But how do you communicate about it without broadening their reach?

Engaging with fash online is so appealing when you’re young. You’re doing something! some get older and get more fiery still I think of you two, blazing in your actions – always the bias for action – never immobilized by doubt, or your derogation in social media or anything, really, except illness, and often not even then

Or you’re on a different path. I spend my days parcelling outrage in stanzas What is the artificial distance between the beginning and end of a tweet, (or bleat, or skeet, or whatever the fuck they’ll call it, tomorrow)

but a stanza of a long, insistent, halting song?:

The song of resistance to the urge to conquer others

*** seen by enthusiasts as a demonstration of strength, eugenic fitness, cultural reclamation, the special blessing of good god y’all, the hat tip by whomever in our kicked-through motherfucker of a global pantheon has told you to take your self-benedictions as fact or just plain old, well-coached, hatred of the other ;with you at the centre of a well-ordered universe and everything that squicks you on the far side of a soundly constructed wall

dude, you can do that without killing us, ask us how

and the thing is it never lasts. Fascists have consistent cognitive issues which repeat, repeat in large groups repeat over time replicate like bunnies made of bloodlust and incompetence they don’t trust each other AND THEY ARE RIGHT NOT TO TRUST EACH OTHER

And after Troy’s burnt down - or - current equivalent Trust is revealed once again – one more time – oh boy, another encore –

as the great grease of civilization

And what is a civilization {A REAL ONE

not a colonized decorticated Frankenstein’s monster of lawsuits, ugly currency, a standing army and a few other bobs and sods

if not the instantiated and curated daily reality of prosocial collective power once again we must be cleansed of the luxury of looking away from how a good civilization is to be maintained Which is in t r u s t Which is in permeability Which is in the personal

I know I should love all people Because they’re alive; because they’re people XD When the fash set themselves on fire I must arrange my riot dogs of affect into doggerel - for this is the truth: we’ll win in the end when we take advantage of their incompetence by not dying (wear a mask) and by continuing to fight whether we march today or no younger legs than ours will march and older too bear witness & sing

allegra sloman 2024 cc by 4.0

[r3n0-5]

The church wanted you to believe in God so you won’t believe in yourself

[wytaiwinter]

The quote that led me back to my love

- “The trouble with being born” by Emil Cioran

[crmsnmth]

Dead Philosophers

You used to sit and tell me about revolution Class war and how you always shout, "fuck the bourgeois!" Claiming the works of dead philosophers as your own Mouth agape, the words of Jim Jones and pull string dolls But you knew And you swore to me you were going to change the world

You'd sit for hours and talk about the plans The ones you stayed up all night figuring And it seems that maybe you do have this all figured out Right down to how we'll cook the rich when it's time to eat them Poetic imagery spilling form a silver tongue And you call me the class traitor I'll accept the role

because you're goddamn right I am.

I know what I am. I know exactly what I am.

But you don't. You took the words of Proudhon and Goldman and Godwin And that's become your identity now And you call for civil war in between all these stupid factions Putting Anarcho in front of anything just in case the cool kids are looking this way

You say all of this, of your going to topple the patriarchy and your going to eat the rich You give you twisted history of anarchism And if that's what anarchy looks like, than I want no part.

You say all these words. Over mimosas and fruit As you've dragged me to brunch and a bunch of wasps are staring at my hair

[hada-lesbiana]

“ i could feel the hay sticking between my fingers,

the ohio summer nostalgia beginning it’s end on that truck bed in the urban garden,

illuminated only by street lights,

the pin stuck me a little harder

realize.

i could feel my socks soaking in the puddle

looking down through fogged glasses the rain permeated my entire being on that loud city street,

pushing laughter through gritted teeth so they wouldn’t sense my fear,

the line broke from too much resistance

realize.

i could feel my hands trembling on the edge of the bathroom sink,

it’s definitely not raining inside though

i can hardly see myself in the mirror,

voices rang aimlessly down the hall passing right through,

the atmosphere started to suffocate me

i realize,

the closet is an awful place to die. ” - @hada-lesbiana

this is my poem & my art. please reblog and share with credit. my creativity is very important to me. much love and solidarity to all who see, feel, and resonate.

[love-ardour-anarchism]

Live as if already free

Graeber said and wrote

“Live as if you’re already free”

and so I woke up and I texted you and did the dishes

“Its been way too long and seeing you, it always feels like coming home”

I’ve said it many times before, I wasn’t made to work and die, I was made to live and lie in silken sheets

To love communally, to tend to hearths and hearts and on the bleakest days I place my faith in this

“Who does the dishes” they asked like sealions “after the revolution?”

“Who builds the phones, who puts the work in?” and I think to myself that we already do

We already do and all thats different is the boots upon our back

So like the people always have

Since times unknown and unrecorded

I yearn, I long, I hope strategically

Your voice on my headphones lasts me for days

Your hands placed on my waist last me for weeks The thought alone that we are meant to be will outlast all

Live as if we’re already free, build community, build care

Build love and hope, and unconditional support

Build a world worth living in among the ashes of the old

It struggles to be born and now are times of holding on

So please hold on

For brighter days have need of you

.SCRR

[faggotbetweenrevolutions]

written on the 95th day of the genocide in gaza

[anarchistpoet]

[genekies]

tag vent

[manwalksintobar]

Our life is knifings.. // Katarina Gogou

Our life is knifings in dirty dead-end streets rotten teeth worn-out slogans dressing rooms smell of piss and disinfectant and fetid sperm. Torn-up posters. Up and down. Up and down Patission St. Our life is Patission St. Detergent that doesn’t pollute the sea and Mitropanos who entered our lives then Dexameni and chic women gobbled him up. We keep going. All our life is craving, we travel the same roads. Humiliation-loneliness-despair. And vice versa. Okay. We’re not crying. We’ve grown up. But secretly when it rains we suck our thumbs. And smoke. Our life is hyperventilating at conventional strikes, snitches and patrols. That’s why I’m telling you next time they shoot at us don’t run away. Stay in line. Don’t sell out so fast, dammit. Don’t. It’s raining. Give me a cigarette.

(translated from the Greek by ΔT and JC)

[drdamiang]

AND THE FORESTS

AND THE FORESTS

"and the forests will

echo with laughter"

Led Zeppelin

I don't have a bag to

keep the goodness in

or, thank God,

a bag to let waste products out!

but I do

have the idea

that

if there were

a thing called

spiritual

anarchism

it might

be cool

chatbot spewed out

twenty pages

on the subject

read

some

wrote some

womdering if

there might be a

golden

ripple effect

to be had here

last

of these dystopian days

we will ever see

the forests

eager to agree