black lives matter protests new york shut down the brooklyn bridge What they chanted from 54 poems at 27 lance schaubert blog
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What they Chanted • from 54 poems at 27

Out of the sidewalks & into the streets
Out of the sidewalks & into the streets
Out of the sidewalks & into the streets
If there’s no justice, gonna be no peace,
until there’s no more killer police

Hey hey, ho ho, these killer cops have got to go
Hey hey, ho ho, these killer cops have got to go
Hey hey, ho ho, these killer cops have got to go
If there’s no justice, gonna be no peace,
until there’s no more killer police

If we don’t get it shut it down
If we don’t get it shut it down
WE DON’T GET IT
SHUT IT DOWN
If there’s no justice, gonna be no peace,
until there’s no more killer police

Eric Garner, Michael Brown, shut it down, shut it down
Democracy? Drop your ballot, hit the streets
That’s right: see what democracy looks like
This is what democracy looks like
That’s right: see what democracy looks like
Democracy looks like this:
If there’s no justice, gonna be no peace,
until there’s no more killer police

Oh Martin, Martin, Martin, Martin
We shall over-,
we shall over-,
we shall overcome someday

If there’s no justice, gonna be no peace,
until there’s no more killer police

To him who overcomes I’ll drum up the right
to eat of that tree of life
To her who lasts beyond the blast of society
death’s second wrath will be denied her
To those who overcome I’ll give some
hidden manna and one white stone with
a name inside known to the receiver alone
To the receiver alone
To those who last to the end I give
a bit of my father’s scepter
she’ll break with an iron rod
he’ll wear the morning star
oh know who you are
know whose you are
See overcomers will wear white and I’ll
write their name in that book of life
Overcomers become pillars in the
temple of God
Overcomes see the sights
and overcomers know what’s right
then overcomers read the times
so overcomers can call out crimes
If you last beyond the past inherited you’ll see:
Sit beside me on my throne
you’ll listen to the spirit’s groans to the churches
how he groans in ways that words cannot convey

Oh Martin, Martin, Martin, Martin ::

We shall over-,
we shall over-,
we shall overcome someday

If there’s no justice, gonna be no peace,
until there’s no more killer police

Eric Garner, Michael Brown, shut it down, shut it down
Rika Boyd, they gunned her down, shut it down, shut it down
Aiyanna Jone, gunned her down, Miriam Carey, they gunned her down,
Yvette Smith, Tyisha Miller, Kathryn Johnston, Gabriella Nevarez
Pearlie Golden at 90 gunned down
Tarika Wilson, at 90 gunned down

If I read each one it’d be an half-hour long song
Did the math: 31 minutes, 51 seconds wrong
And I know we’re but a breath of life
but some men kick the wind right out of us
right out of us too soon in time
See I think a life’s worth more than a second
but will you take a second to think
on the lives cut short this year?

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:: about the 54 poems written at 27 ::

After much deliberation, I decided to keep the whole tradition of doubling my age and writing that many poems in a year. You’ll notice that April Thirtyish has already passed, so I’m late in posting. I’ve gotten about half of them written and will begin posting this week.

I started this whole mess with 46 poems written at 23, most of which are still up on the site and many of which are awful. Those poems I wrote because I read somewhere that the best age for poetry is 23. I was turning 24 and had an existential crisis.

Then I got over it.

Suddenly I was 25 and thought, “Why not do it again?” So I doubled my age and wrote 50 poems at 25. Again, most of these are still on the site and I’m proud of one or two of them.

Now I’m twenty-eight and it’s almost a principle, almost an undeniable fact of life. When the wild Lancelot is in his native habitat and his age is in an odd year, he will be secreting poetry. I do this because poetry is important, because we must take an active role in the creation of new language or else our language dies.

That means I must write, I must learn how to create better poems even if I’m awful at it — everyone must because the fate of our culture’s at stake. For me, this year, that’s 54 poems at 27.

So I’ll schedule these suckers out and give it a go. Follow along with the category 54 @ 27.

cover image by Dorret

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Quick note from Lance about this post: when you choose to comment (or share this post with your friends) you help other readers just like you.

How?

Well, see, your comments & sharing whisper a few things to those who come after you:

The first is that this site is a safe place to speak up & stay curious. That it's civil. That discussion is encouraged. That there's no such thing as a stupid question (being a student of Socrates, I really and truly believe this). That talking to one another and growing together is more important than anything we could possibly publish. That the point is growing in virtue and growing together and growing wise. That discovery is invention, deference is originality, that we all can rise together. The only folks I'm going to take comments down from are obvious jerks who argue in bad faith, don't stay curious, or actively make personal attacks. And, frankly, I'd rather we talk here than on some social media farm — I will never show ads and the only thing I'm selling anywhere on the site or my mailing list is just the stuff I make.

You're also helping folks realize that anything you & they build together is far more important than anything you come to me to read. I take the things I write about seriously, but I don't take myself seriously: I play the fool, I hate cults of personality, and I also don't really like being the center of attention (believe it or not). I would much rather folks connect because of an introduction I've made or because they commented with one another back and forth and then build something beautiful together. My favorite contributions have been lifelong business and love partnerships from two people who have forgotten I introduced them. Some of my closest friends NOW I literally met on another blog's comment section fifteen years ago. I would love for that to happen here — let two of you meet and let me fade into the background.

Last, you help me revise. I'm wrong. Often. I'm not embarrassed to admit it or worried about being cancelled or publicly shamed. I make a fool out of myself (that's sort of the point). So as I get feedback, I can say, "I was wrong about that" and set a model for curious, consistent learning, and growing in wisdom. I'm blind to what I don't know and as grows the island of my knowledge so grows the shoreline of my ignorance. It's the recovery of innocence on the far end of experience: a child is in a permanent state of wonder. So are the wise: they aren't afraid of saying, "I don't know. That's new: please teach me." That's my goal, comments help. And I read all reviews: my skin's tough, but that's not license to be needlessly cruel. We teach one another our habits and there's a way to civilly demolish an idea without demolishing another person: just because I personally can take the world's meanest 1-star review doesn't mean we should teach one another how to be crueler on the internet.

For three magical reasons — your brave curiosity, your community, & my ignorance:

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