Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land;

Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command

The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

 

“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she

With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,

Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,

The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.

Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,

I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

 – Emma Lazarus

This is What Democracy Looks Like: An Occupy Everywhere Poem by Maxine Beneba Clarke

The written version of this poem has disappeared from this blog, read this poem at Maxine’s blog HERE.

Find more poetry, essays, and visual poetry by Maxine Beneba Clarke HERE

her work can also be found at, among others, OVERLAND and CORDITE POETRY REVIEW.