Wile there is much bred
Daily preyed for
Ample for awe concerned
That seemingly still
Fomenting swell times
A mist repleting agin and agin
In dubitable motifs
Giving ascent to
That for most ingredient
A telling signature of homme
The yeast of these
Which will provide
That effervescent up
Rising
Without flail
Soully as flower and water
Well grounded
Flourishing in a rest
And taking the heat
Toward its full realization
Satiating more than just us
And peace meal gain
This poem is about hope springing eternal, utilizing the metaphor of yeast responsible for the rising of bread. Hope often strikes me as a reality grounded firmly in both necessity and possibility. The faith that hope is comprised of the stuff that makes for a juggernaut gives me profound comfort. This fuels a much more joyful social activism. The subtle and permeating workings of hope inspire the artist in me.
The metaphor of yeast rising, the smallest portion of the bread — the yeast of these — responsible for the very nature of a successful outcome, speaks to the infective and catalytic role that hope plays in social transformation, in social uprisings giving results often surprisingly larger than the sum of the mere parts. That the uplifting power of yeast is invisible to the eye is far from insignificant. Even the penetrating scientific mind will likely lead to a disgust to our human sensibilities: the gas released by yeast that expands to rise the dough is the waste product of microbial fermentation, yeast farts if you will. To add insult to injury to some, the pockets of dough that successfully capture these farts so well is attributable to the much demonized foodstuff called gluten — be afraid, very afraid!
Beyond the world of bread-making, in the human world, the downtrodden, dispossessed, and disenfranchised are the necessary ingredient and driver in social justice movements. The sanitized conventional wisdom that it is an elite class of intelligentsia or highly formally educated “managers” who guide social transformation is simply wrong. In truth, such conventional forces are typically beholden to making a different kind of “bread” — or bred. 
The lessens learned in the school of hard knocks are fertile fodder for street smarts and a built-in “skin in the game” that powers authentic personal and social transformation. The primary purpose of so-called social success and “middle-class” living may very well be to erect a firewall between one's own success (and kin or clan) and the milieu of the messy, grungy, and sometimes vulgar “lower” classes. This firewall is the very barrier that creates and perpetuates social injustice. The sanitized, impersonal, distant injustices of the board room and bedroom communities are normalized as “civilized,” even though they are responsible for far more human lost potential and suffering than the “barbaric” physical acting out of street crime and “bad” neighborhoods. White collar crimes go unpunished or perhaps dealt with “as a cost of doing business ” — on occasion there is a slap on the wrist, more like going into the penalty box within a blood sport. Almost without saying, waging war is a patriot duty, not a human tragedy. “Street” crimes involving actual people — as opposed to corporate people — are an almost exclusive focus, to protect property and mostly respectable people. People of color, those lowest on the social ladder — or any “other” — get the book thrown at them by erudite, costumed judges and enforced by less-erudite, armed, uniformed police.
This poem alludes to nonviolence, Rising/Without flail, but this is not simply a comfortable nonviolence of safe pacifists. On the receiving end of violence by the state and the powers that be, its victims eventually realize that you can't beat the state at its own game. Besides being outgunned, “non-sanctioned” violence is used to discredit social movements and serves as a convenient excuse to violently suppress — in a “civilized” way of course — social revolutionaries. When rising tides of resistance reach critical masses, violence is what the state knows best to put down resistance. The usually unbroken veneer of civility is deeply threatened when persistent nonviolent resistance bares the brutish, overwhelming power of the state. This is a highly effective weapon in manifesting true civility. The solidarity needed for such a daring and dangerous venture is rooted in the shared experiences of the many disenfranchisements that the powers that be yield. The equation of having more to gain than lose in such a venture presents the palpable opportunity and deep root for real social change. privilege works against such opportunity, when the status quo favors one's own personal interests. Plus, beyond any simple equation, the humanity gained by living in solidarity restores some measure of the humanity robbed by injustices. Long the weigh, many realize that peace is the way, and such folks offer another way of living that doesn't re-lie on the dehumanization of others.
May you find peace long the weigh and bare its many fruits…
POSTSCRIPT: On a somewhat more vulgar, and perhaps somewhat embarrassing, note, this poem can be red quite well as a sexual poem. This was not my original intent. If you read it that way, you are probably a man! This is a fine example of how it is possible, particularly for a man, to sexual eyes most anything, any metaphor. Hopefully, this multiple meaning will harm no one. Enjoy! I hope to never lose my touch…
