Mostly a man,
carrying a gigantic gun,
death and disease
causing a certain patriotism.
Parading the dreams of thieves
he stands where he wants to
before settling on a position among
who he believes are trusty brothers.

The gigantic gun seems to carry him
even though his shoulder submits,
at times it outsizes how small
he seems to be, even though the media
has a specific size for him,
a choice several stations select
to pass off a threat I dismiss.

How he turns up on the steps
or poised like a soldier in halls
of so many government buildings–
I am sure you have seen him there.
Seemingly so confident, unalone
and unafraid, the gigantic gun
falling over him like a fashion
chosen by those brothers, everything
to do with a white Romerica.

Something has stolen the man inside
all the appearances and marching
brings nothing more than he had…
the gun will never be big enough
in order for those trusted brothers
to be men too, something so seen,
so obvious, let his longing out
to be as white as his willing hatred.


Mostly a woman
lifting a legible slogan,
birth and burden
write: “Caring For One Another is Right!”

Hearing the dreams of marchers
a question keeps being asked,
“Is this how she’ll be a part of change?”
Over there beside the burnt cop-shop,
over there beside all the murdered
black loved ones, stolen from a
family somewhere, to be left in
a cemetery to be alive forever.

Her voice is from all the voices
I hear in the marches, in
my other family members
who choose to carry the colour of skin
in other than the weight on faces,
carrying it on placards and signs
made for the day it could be seen
and able to speak, the colour of,
the skin of, all of them like a
harmony, like a collection, like
what she says about a country,
a house so sick, a house so white,
yeah, you know it, where traitors
and liars enjoy success, all being
part of what so many eyes see.

A woman has taken back sanity
what can be defined as a “return-
to-sender” put in rising fists,
and then when the streets want
more voices, more of other
than the furious blend, it is good,
it is all about how what is going on
out there in Romerica, brought down
by a red-headed misleader, put in place
by an addict in love with the mix
he needs daily: fraud, incarceration,
racism, cheating, infamous addictions
labelled a presidency, the reason
to walk with her dealing in
some further observations, lucrative
when another election brings reprieve,
points to a way out and a way in,
a future less eager to be a mystery.


CHAD NORMAN His poems have appeared for the past 35 years in literary publications across Canada, as well as a number of other countries around the world. He hosts and organizes RiverWords: Poetry & Music Festival each year in Truro, NS., held at Riverfront Park, the 2nd Saturday of each July. In October 2016 he was invited by the Nordic Assn. for Canadian Studies to give talks on Canadian Poetry and read from his books at Borupgaard Gym in Copenhagen, and Risskov Gym in Aarhus, as well as other readings in both cities and Malmo, Sweden. Because of that tour Norman has started the manuscript, Counting Coins In Denmark And Sweden. His most recent books are Selected & New Poems, from Mosaic Press, and Waking Up On The Wrong Side of The Sky, from Grant Block Press, and a new book, Squall: Poems In The Voice Of Mary Shelley, is due out Spring 2020, from Guernica Editions. Recently, he completed the manuscript, The Black Rum Poems, and presently works on a new manuscript, A Small Matter of Inclusion. In October of 2017 he read at various Eastern Canada venues in Kingston, Ottawa, and Montreal. And in the Fall of 2018 Norman gave a speaking/reading tour of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, as a celebration of literacy and Canadian Poetry. He is currently a member of the Federation of NS Writers and The League Of Canadian Poets. His love of walks is endless.