When I had to write a political poem
but they didn’t want an unhappy poem.
When I had to write an inspiring poem
but all I could do is shoot snot on the page
and I hear an inimitable voice from Jersey,
my good great friend saying, “You gotta stop
hangin out with the normies.” And, I’m thinkin
I gotta get back to what I admire about my nephew
‘cause he’s the most like me. That silent mysterious
rebellion. They can’t fight it, ‘cause there’s nothing
to point to, no botton to push. In a silent mysterious
rebellion, you experience the inimitable rush of air,
like the type that whistles on the wind on a Novenmber
night that accelerates the color revolution of falling
leaves, the stubbornness of the flower garden
to give in to the season, the cacophony,
the great enforcer, the autumn rain that brings down
the last leaves, the silent rebellion
of saw grass acting like summer waves still sooth
the summer sand and the inimitable tug of a poetry
editor relentlessly wearing away at my peace
for not having it in me to write a peaceful
political poem. Until… like an unexpected
gift from a distant star sending a care package
from light years away, my poet sister
handed me a meteor that turned into a poem.
It was on fire! Then, silent mysterious glow
and the rebellion of a peaceful political poem
was born.

Russ Green is a Graduate of Hofstra University. Over the years he has been co-editor at Great Weather for Media and has put on poetry and arts events around Long Island and New York city in addition to hosting and curating poetry stages at various festivals. Russ has read his work from New York to New Orleans to Santa Fe and cities in between. He is currently focusing on humanitarian based events. His first book, Gimme Back My Radio, is out with Night Ballet Press. In addition, Russ has been published in a number of anthologies. He can usually be found communing with the mountains in Vermont with interesting artist friends or roaming the docks of Port Jefferson Harbor at night looking for signs of life in the starry night sky.