Brors Anders Wikstrom (1854-1909), “Mangrove Swamp,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
“I suppose my critics will call that preaching, but I have got such a bully pulpit!”
–Theodore Roosevelt, President of the United States, 1901-1909
All the world’s his stage,
the phone, his bully pulpit,
emitting fear and rage,
small thumbs all atwitter
producing chirps, smirks,
false promises that glitter.
Perhaps this is a test—
but monsters crawl from the undrained swamp
fetid creatures that once were buried,
ravenous beasts, they stomp and chomp,
intent on destruction,
wise on obstruction,
We the People,
that earnest phrase
will it expire in a Twittery blaze?
No bonfire of the vanities
the burning of humanity’s
souls aflame with freedom lost,
fascist salutes and justice tossed.
Life is short, we live and die
and perhaps sometimes we wonder why
the good die young
and the evil ones fly
high in this post-truth world
we must expose the lies,
smile with heart and eyes,
keep kindness and hope,
atop this slippery slope,
support freedom of the press
to get rid of this mess,
take back the stage,
bring back love and fight the rage.
This poem is for Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Challenge.
The prompt words were: Stage/Short/Young/Test/Live