A Poem: For Alex Jeffrey Pretti by Amanda Gorman

For Alex Jeffrey Pretti

Murdered by federal agents January 24, 2026

by Amanda Gorman

We wake with

no words, just woe

& wound. Our own country shoot

ing us in the back is not just brutal

ity; it’s jarring betrayal; not enforcement,

but execution. A message: Love your people & you

will die. Yet our greatest threat isn’t the outsiders

among us, but those among us who never look

within. Fear not the those without papers, but those

without conscience. Know that to care intensively,

united, is to carry both pain-dark horror for today

& a profound, daring hope for tomorrow. We can feel

we have nothing to give, & still belove this world wait

ing, trembling to change. If we cannot find words, may

we find the will; if we ever lose hope, may we never lose our

humanity. The only undying thing is mercy, the courage to open

ourselves like doors, hug our neighbor,

& save one more bright, impossible life.

Another Murder by MAGA's Secret Police

The President of the United States is a liar. We have known that for decades. Anyone who has eyes and ears and has paid reasonable attention knew about his lies concerning the September 11, 2001 attacks and about the Central Park Five and about President Obama's birthplace. As a presidential candidate and as a first term president he told documented lies in virtually every public appearance. Then came his 2020 election defeat. The lies became part of an attempt to overthrow our republic. And now in his second term he lies about the deaths of over 100 civilians on the high seas. And his lies underlie the invasion of our cities that have resulted in the deaths of Renee Good and now Alex Pretti. Adding extra pain to these victims families he and his minions tell cruel lies about the victims.

We do not yet know all the facts about the outrage today. The specific guilt of Alex Pretti's direct attackers is not yet proven.

But the unAmerican nature of the MAGA regime is beyond question. There was NO legitimate reason for this horrible chaos. I believe chaos IS the reason from the viewpoint of Stephen Miller and Donald Trump. And it has resulted again in an unnecessary death.

Continued support for the MAGA regime by those who understand civics and American values is despicable.

I will fight in every non-violent and ethical way available to me to defeat the MAGA regime and consign their racist and fascist beliefs to the dustbin of history. If you love America and also believe in the non-violent tactics of MLK then please join this effort.

I saw what I saw on January Sixth.

I saw what I saw when Renee Good was murdered.

I saw what I saw when Alex Pretti was killed.

I stand for the American values of:

• freedom of speech

• freedom of assembly

• due process

• innocence until guilt is proven in court.

55 Years!

I knew when we started out in my little Opel Kadette from Wilmore, Kentucky, that I would take an unannounced side trip around Fort Mountain along the way to Atlanta.

I wanted to ask a question.

I wanted the right answer.

I needed a little help...

... and I thought the sound of Holly Creek

splashing down the mountain,

the smell of green pines,

the majesty of the Cohutta wilderness...

We walked among the giant pines.

She rested against one and I leaned in to kiss her,

and asked my question.

She gave the right answer!

Just one word expressed unreservedly, enthusiastically, beautifully.

That was 55 years ago today.

(The photos are from a camping/hiking trip near the same spot a year or two later. Photo credits to our friend Mike Bock.)

What Is So Rare As A Day In June

What Is So Rare As A Day In June

And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten;
Every clod feels a stir of might,
An instinct within it that reaches and towers,
And, groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers;
The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace;
The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives;
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?

Now is the high-tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it,
We are happy now because God wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
We may shut our eyes but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,
That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
That the river is bluer than the sky,
That the robin is plastering his house hard by;
And if the breeze kept the good news back,
For our couriers we should not lack;
We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,
And hark! How clear bold chanticleer,
Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing!

Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything is happy now,
Everything is upward striving;
'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true
As for grass to be green or skies to be blue,
'Tis for the natural way of living:
Who knows whither the clouds have fled?
In the unscarred heaven they leave not wake,
And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache;
The soul partakes the season's youth,
And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe
Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth,
Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.

-- James Russell Lowell