‘A Fragmentary Introduction to the Geo-Political America of the Progressive Left’ and Other Poetry by James A. Tweedie

A Fragmentary Introduction to the Geo-Political America of the Progressive Left

Exuding virtue-signaling savoir-faire,
“The Vanguard of the Proletariat,”
Like Lenin, Xi, Marat, or Robespierre,
Assumes the role of Commissariat.

With self-appointed righteousness and power
The autocrats declare what’s best for all,
And crush dissent and regulate each hour
While holding all society in thrall,

Today, with mainstream media support,
New PC rules replace the rule of law.
Such “truths” as these, to which we must comport,
Imposed by dictat, threat, and sheer chutzpah:

“There is no place where racist attitudes
Are not entrenched, pervasive and systemic.”
“There is no place where Trump’s ineptitudes
Are not responsible for the pandemic.”

“There is no place where crime and poverty
Are not the fault of one-percenters.”
“There is no place where damaged property
Is caused by black-clad Antifa dissenters “

“There is no place where funding for police
Can’t be reduced for neighborhood improvement.”
“There is no place where rioting will cease
Until we bless the Black Lives Matter movement.”

“The world will end unless we sign and seal,
Embrace and implement the Green New Deal.”

The list is endless—on and on and on it goes.
And where or when it all will end, God only knows.

One Nation, Under God

When God’s existence is denied
The government is deified.
For rulers where God isn’t King
Will have no fear of anything.
And if there is no God at all
The government holds all in thrall.
Whatever politicians say
Will be what’s right and true today.
For without God, it’s all a game
Where good and evil are the same.
Yet even when God’s recognized,
Some nations claim, “He’s on our side.”
And therefore, if God’s on their side,
Then all they do is justified.
But, either way, such effrontery
Is treason to God’s sovereignty.
For those who rule apart from God
Are like all other humans, flawed.
For even petty hellions
Behave like Machiavellians,
And if their power is absolute,
Unchecked corruption follows suit.
And though, at times, they may rule well,
They’ll always be one step from hell.
Until, of course, the day they dare
To take that step and lead us there.

Two Paths

A man betrothed,
And subsequently wed,
In service to our much-divided nation.
A man both loathed
(Indeed, some wish him dead)
Yet loved by those who see in him salvation.

Four years have passed;
It’s time to choose our course—
A path that leads to a renewal of vows
As at the last;
Or bitter-fought divorce
And a new lover as the law allows.

Two paths that lead
To different destinations;
The one, to some, being hell, the other, heaven;
To dust our creed—
Our national foundations—
With anarchist or law and order leaven.

As Covid steals
Our health and liberty,
We’ll cast our vote and wile away the hours
Till time reveals
Our nation’s destiny—
A future in the hands of God—and ours.

“Let Mortal Tongues Awake”

Reflections on the Hymn, “My Country, ‘tis of Thee”

(may be sung to the tune, “America”)

The lyric to a much-loved song, “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee”—
That sings of “pilgrim’s pride” and our “sweet land of liberty,”
Along with patriotic love for “woods and templed hills,”—
Lies buried neath the rubbled hate that anarchy instills.

“Let freedom ring!” the lyrics cry. “Let all that breathe partake”
Of everything endowed by God that’s ours, by right, to take.
For freedom is bestowed by neither government nor king,
“Our father’s God,” who authored liberty, “to thee we sing.”

The promise of equality is good, of course, except
The promise that was made was not a promise always kept.
For some, and to our shame, a shadow fell on freedom’s light,
And sacrificial blood had to be shed to make things right.

The days of legal slavery have long been left behind.
But prejudicial bias lingers on in some folks’ minds.
There’s work to do before we cross into that promised land
Where racist prejudice is set aside and hate is banned.

But taking out our anger on each other will not serve
To bring about the kind of world that all of us deserve.
To think that something good will come from burning property
While hurling rocks and worse at cops makes no good sense to me.

But anarchy seeks not to fix the system that we own,
But fervently believes that it should all be overthrown.
And be replaced by what? The anarchists don’t really say,
Except to promise everything will turn out right someday.

The water in our nation’s “bath” is dirty, through and through,
And so, they say, dump out the baby with the water, too.
As if a perfect Paradise, like Aristotle’s flies,
From piles of fetid dung will just spontaneously rise.

As long as city governments allow this lawlessness
The rest of us will pay the price for cleaning up the mess.
To meet the violence with strength is what police should do.
While cities must enforce the law with prosecutions, too.

“Let mortal tongues awake” in praise of liberty and law,
And find a way to bring to pass what our forefathers saw.
God bless our city on a hill, “long may our land be bright,”
And crown our good with brotherhood; and “freedom’s holy light.”

James A. Tweedie is a recently retired pastor living in Long Beach, Washington. He likes to walk on the beach with his wife. He has written and self-published four novels and a collection of short stories. He has several hundred unpublished poems tucked away in drawers.