The Song of the Scream – Poetry


The Song of the Scream
by C. Mascott

I.
A woman in Aleppo screamed as she committed suicide to avoid being raped when the rebel forces fell
A woman in Ohio will scream as she dies trying to give herself a home abortion
A woman in New York screams to deaf ears on the subway as she’s beaten for simply covering her head
A woman in LA screams and cries herself to sleep , passed over for the new male boss that has no expertise in her field
A woman in Pakistan screams as she’s stoned by her family for marrying the wrong man
A woman with a black eye in London screams at her kids to pack their few possessions more quickly so that they can escape before their abuser returns from the pub
A woman in Chicago screams over the body of her drive by murdered child lying on the sidewalk
A woman in Indonesia screams in fake sexual pleasure, playing at pleasing and teasing, knowing her john is perverted enough not to care that she’s actually not really a woman yet
A woman on the floor of the Senate in Washington recites the screams of a woman oppressed and is told to be silent
A woman watches all this and more from her digital window
and screams
with them, for them

II.
It is a primal scream
deep, devoid of all light
one of those kinds of screams that rips from your soul every pretension of happiness,
every touch of refinement
a bestial scream of ultimate pain
the kind of sound that would rise holding the head of a decapitated loved one
or in the bittersweet searing and ripping pain of birthing a stillborn child

but woman has been told only to release this scream
in a stream of politically correct discourse
this scream must only be expressed through the softest of language, the gentlest of tone
because no one listens when a woman screams
no one likes a woman who screams
too feminine, too emotional, judged
dismissed

the woman speaks quietly, trying to be heard. And is spoken over
she waits silently, patiently to speak her turn again
a turn that never comes, for the other voices escalate in self importance
drowning the quiet voice in the noise of their own agenda
She speaks softly again, hoping to be finally heard with the force of repetition
and receives condescension in return

III.
what has being soft gained woman?
what has being silent gained?
what is needed to be gained demands an end of silence,
an end of etiquette

demands we let loose the primal fierceness of the mother, protector
demands we use the gift of emotion as a weapon to fire our resolve
to scream with every ounce of all we possess
to declare with a voice of power
not needing outside confirmation that we are worthy enough to use it to say
I am not less than
I am not yours and you do not choose for me
you shall not chain me
I am.

what exists now, has been built by the hands of my oppressors
it is wrong and I reject it

For I am so much more than you can conceive
and I know I scare the shit out of you
because I can scream,
and when I do
there is no sound you can make that could drown me out
When I force you to hear my glorious voice next to yours
you feel minuscule next to the sound of my fury
and you should
for my song is unleashed because of your contempt
and it sings of the majestic, it sings of the holy
it sings of the aberrant , the spreading sickness and takes it to task
it sings with the strength of moral certainty
striking resistance in the jealous hearts of empty heads and bankrupt souls

I am coming to claim what has been denied
with a scream so definitive I pray it will never be questioned again
but who knows what the future will bring
for our screams will vibrate the quantum strings
to play a song never heard before
the sound of woman
the sound of fury
the sound of birth
of something completely new
loud enough to make the universe dance to the song of the scream

The Bowling Green Address – Essay

A draft of the speech Frederick Douglass gave at the dedication and consecration of the battlefield at Bowling Green:

Less than a score of days ago, our government brought forth, on this continent, a new reality, conceived in hate, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal (but only if they’re white and male).

Now we are divided by a great verbal war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so deceived and so dedicated to alternate truth can long endure. We are met on a mythical battle-field of that war. We have come to dedicate a portion of Bowling Green, as the final resting-place for truth, which gave it’s life, so our leaders could see our nation die. It is altogether repulsive that we should have to do this.

But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate, we can not consecrate, we can not hallow this ground. Brave truth is dead and in its death this land has been defiled far beyond our poor power to free it from the stain. The world might note and long remember what we say here, but it may not. It might just be considered fake news, for history is being purposefully rewritten and will be forever tarnished by the falsehoods told here.

It is for us, those who see the the newspeak happening, to be here dedicated to the unfinished work which the death of truth has nobly set before us. That from the honored death of truth, we take increased devotion to oppose those who caused its demise – that we here highly resolve that truth shall not have died in vain, that this nation shall have a new birth of freedom, and that an honest government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall still be possible on this earth.

-C. Mascott

The Ballad of Bowling Green – Poetry

THE BALLAD OF BOWLING GREEN

by C. Mascott

Listen dear friends and you shall hear
of the lies that are whispered in your ears
on the second of February, twenty seventeen
nothing was heard, nothing was seen
‘cept the ballad of Bowling Green

with flickering light
the spinster told
of evil awakened like tales of old
bringing monsters to life with the fears people hold
when nothing was what was seen
at the mythical Bowling Green

they will come for your weapons
they will come for your wives
they will eat your small children
and ruin your lives
they will kill all your gods
said the tv screen
of the devils at Bowling Green

You know the rest,
from the papers you’ve read
and now can see with lowered head
as we honor the loss of what’s truly dead
though no actual life was lost that day
the thing for which we need to pray
is the death of truth and what fact should mean
massacred by the silence of Bowling Green

I sound alarm my dearest friends
before our reason meets it’s end
cry defiance, don’t eat their fear
be a voice in the darkness for all that’s dear
In this hour of weakness, peril and need,
if we keep truth alive we can fight all the greed
that seeks to destroy what reality means
by feeding us lies like Bowling Green