“Democracy In Motion” (Biennial of the Americas 2015)

by Molina Speaks

(This poem was scribed to reflect an international conversation about the intersections of Art and Democracy.  Molina was commissioned as the live poetic scribe of the Biennial of the Americas 2015.)

Democracy In Motion

We are born of legacies
Of genocide in the americas.

Is democracy our way out?
If art is democracy than Yes.

Here in the deserts of Justice
We conserve space for Interaction.

In these modern shapes we have fashioned
We do not function whole, fractured.

Questioned and driven to be relevant
We create allies out of the clays we mold.

Without support, it is merely our desire sold, so
We meet creative chaos with necessity.

In the land of plenty we are well supplied with fancy words
But sometimes short on laughter and tears.

Shedding our fear we seek return to raw emotion.
Our artistic energies, Democracy in Motion.

“Our Plutos” (Biennial of the Americas 2015)

by Molina Speaks

(This poem was scribed to reflect Astronomy on Tap, a chat over beer about Space with American astronomy experts.  Molina was commissioned as the live poetic scribe of the Biennial of the Americas 2015.)

Our Plutos

Pluto, the abandoned child, we have cast you
out of our Solar System, but still we cannot let you go,
we string you along when it’s time for show

Pluto
fa show, fa show       Pluto
fasho, fasho
                                                          Pluto

we imagine you in the darkest corners, the forgotten
supernovas of our indigenous american diaspora

yours are the souls we launch to the furthest reaches of our light zones
kept in the blackest holes still identified an unseen by the bluest eyes

but right here in the brownest dirt we find america’s oldest bones

a wonder that we marvel at returning images of planets and satellites from afar
out in the very darkest solars, without caring for our own Plutos here at home

Real History of the Americas

Fort Lewis College, Durango, CO, October 14th, 2013: Real History 2013

Approximately 25 people – students, community members, artists, and Ft. Lewis college staff – sat down this morning to share breakfast and speak about the meaning of The Real History of the Americas, now in its sixth year in Durango Colorado.  This tradition began with a vision by Teahonna Colleen James and Amy Joy Iwasaki in 2008.  The words in this poem are statements I weaved together from this morning’s council.   This is an open letter to America.  

History After Columbus – An Open Letter to America

Issues confront, Buffalo Council
identity, more to America
than spoon-fed books.
Everybody needs to see
our nations, we come from
land.
Good mornings, and history
books written to lie.
Mini steps 
we take, not only indigenous-
poor, working class
suicide, 
drugs, 
alcoholism 
and domestic violence.
Terror becomes America.

Mini steps, working on my own
ignorance,
hope for losing battles,
jews and catholics throwing stones at each other,
at war with muslims, and those undefined and uncapitalized.
Addicted to conquest
we resist, through coordination
scheduling ritual
to replace cultural voids.

I stand for what I believe
and build tomorrow
with what I do not know, challenging grandparents
so often void of wisdom now
we seek balance.
Where are the voices of women?
Where are the voices, period?   
We want to come home.
We keep knowledge
growing,
having grown
without tribes, often
without celebration.
We make time
and observe meaning.

This is not about teaching to hate whites.
This is to heal black, all shades brown, white.
To see history for what it is-
Space
to learn and unlearn.
Responsibility
for lessons to seeds.
Grandmothers sending pilgrims in the mail, fall

in 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean blue,
making red land more red
with blood.

The real history is powerful-
part of us.
Hero worship for murderers,
a ceremony for power.
We speak our stories to the wind
to chisel mountains.
A new reality, which is an old reality,
(re)defining real people’s stories
valid, to exist
and function
whole.

Our history really happened
so we carry our names,
educated to agendas
we are global
again.
Clans.

This day means to be here.
Happy
to be alive.

SmallPoster