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A literary protest against creeping authoritarianism in the United States under Donald Trump-and beyond-this anthology gathers voices of resistance from poets across the country. Record of Dissent includes 44 poems on protest, survival, memory, justice, and defiance, each one pushing back against silence in the face of collapse. From intimate reflections to sharp political critique, these poems speak to the urgency of this moment and the power of language to confront repression

A project of The Chaos Section Poetry Project and edited by Nicholas Allison, this is a book for readers who refuse to look away.

Sample Poems

We nominated these six for the Pushcart Prize. One of them, by Dr. Matthew E. Henry, contains a racial slur that may be difficult for some readers. The word appears in the context of a Black poet reclaiming it to confront racism and hypocrisy directly. Just wanted to give you a heads up in case it catches you off guard! I’ve included the poems in a PDF as well as a DOCX file and pasted them below as well. (Editor Nicholas Allison)

1. What We Tend by Meridith Allison
2. Emerging from the Penumbra by Merril D. Smith
3. Keep Going by Rachel Armes-McLaughlin
4. misstra know-it-all by Matthew E. Henry
5. They’ll Say They Didn’t Know by Bartholomew Barker
6. The Gardener by Chris Chan

What We Tend
by Meridith Allison

The long and short of it is,
I’d rather not be listening to a podcast
about how democracies die
as I pull weeds on a Saturday morning
while the American flag on my neighbor’s porch
flaps loudly in the wind.

But this much I know: summer remembers both the gardener
and the absence of one.

The long and short of it is,
I have two sons, not yet caught up in the life ahead of them,
their days filled with Minecraft and marble runs,
chess openings and lightsaber duels.

But of this I’m sure: the empire of childhood, like all empires,
falls slowly at first, and then all at once.

And so I teach my gentle boys
of Napoleon III and the Reichstag fire,
Kent State, Selma, Tiananmen Square,
the rise of Mussolini and the fall of Rome.
We learn Habeas corpus, coup d’état, la migra! la migra!, et tu, Brute?

And I ask them to notice
the bowl in the sink before the oatmeal hardens,
the sock on the floor, passed over for days,
the sirens, the scared, the hungry, the helpers.
Where do the lizards get their water?

The long and short of it is,
I’m still trying to figure this out for myself.
Do we fight fire with fire?
Look for the cracks, push where it leans?
Do we run, do we wait, do we garden, can we grieve?

I think:
you can only fight a tyrant where your feet touch the ground.

I think:
the roots that we tend will return in the spring.

(first published in Record of Dissent: Poems of Protest in an Authoritarian Age, The Chaos Section Poetry Project, 2025)

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Emerging from the Penumbra
by Merril D. Smith

In scant light, slant light, shadows stroll
above the bones unseen,
remains of scattered, shattered lives,
Glory, Hallelujah, we used to sing.

Was this then, or is this now?
The truth is marching on–
torn, twisted, and trampled
in scant, slant light as shadows stroll,

as masked men menace, muscled marauders
from obscurity troll

in the scant, slant light of spring,
the grass is greening, the days are growing,
the roses blooming,

the shattered bones are speaking,

calling not for “bombs bursting in air,”
but my country, “sweet land of liberty,”
always a vision, yet there it is—listen—

the susurrus of ghost voices
songs from the shadows lift
“we shall overcome,”
march on, march on, march on, march on.

(first published in Record of Dissent: Poems of Protest in an Authoritarian Age, The Chaos Section Poetry Project, 2025)

__________________________________________

Keep Going
by Rachel Armes-McLaughlin

Small twigs on the pavement
look like so many tiny bones—
phalanges and miniature fibulae.

Underfoot, they roll, still fresh
enough that they do not crack.
There is a me-sized bowl in the

earth ahead near the creek—
a womb-like hollow that I
desperately long to crawl inside.

I keep going, keenly aware that
so many others walk with me
in collective grief, even if not here.

The old baseball field is nearly empty,
a lone crow yelling at vacant stands,
or maybe ghosts of those long gone.

The few leaves remaining shake
on limbs like pom-poms across
the track, sounding like distant applause,

the sentiment: “You’re almost there!”
Are we almost there? I am so tired.
Even so, it is a bright, crisp morning.

Birds sing. Leaves drift beautifully.
Are we almost there? I don’t think so.
But walk with me—

Even if you are not here.

(first published in Record of Dissent: Poems of Protest in an Authoritarian Age, The Chaos Section Poetry Project, 2025)

__________________________________________

misstra know-it-all
after Stevie Wonder
by Matthew E. Henry

he’s everything the racists hoped a Black president would be.
a sexual predator, jackal-slinking from one vulgarity
to the next—tiny hands always in someone else’s pocket.
a bastard with multiple baby mommas, married—for the moment—
to an off-White woman his supporters used to slut shame, citing
something about “family values.” with a bachelor’s in shucking,
a master of jiving, he’s so crooked he has to screw on his socks—
catching more cases than cold sores, which is surprising considering
the number of prostitutes on his payroll. surrounded by a collection
of shady characters—Dickensian in corruption—he’s a study
in ghetto wealth: a bankrupt adept at borrowing money
he’s never good for, who thinks gold should adorn everything
his name touches, showers included. he’s the most shiftless nigger
I know. and of course he’s from New York.

(first published in Record of Dissent: Poems of Protest in an Authoritarian Age, The Chaos Section Poetry Project, 2025)

__________________________________________

They’ll Say They Didn’t Know
by Bartholomew Barker

I can imagine how it feels
to cross a border for a better future and not do the paperwork
to get pregnant and not want to have a baby
to live in a body not carrying the right gender

I can imagine how it feels
to be vilified — to be hunted
to be afraid of every stranger
and some friends

But I’m a straight white man in America
I can’t truly understand it in my gut
but I can sympathize

So why then can’t I imagine
what caused so many of my fellows
to vote the way they did?

(first published in Record of Dissent: Poems of Protest in an Authoritarian Age, The Chaos Section Poetry Project, 2025)

__________________________________________

The Gardener
by Chris Chan

Someone above our heads is building a fence
to keep his neighbors’ weeds out. Pushing the stake
into the ground, he lifts the hammer to strike
the sharp spoke down, and at his feet explodes
a clod of earth. He does this rhythmically — right
fist clenched, left hand loose — as though
the dream of weedless grass were enough
to keep him breathing, to keep him sweating beneath
the springtime sun. The whitewashed wall will leave
no gaps, and the garden he planted will thrive
as it did last season, when no one noticed
the dandelions crouched among the tiger lilies
brought in from elsewhere and now settled
with the rest. Perhaps he thinks the lawn will grow
green again as his rusted shovel sweeps away
another unnamed plant he does not believe
belongs here. Perhaps he wants the simple proof
that this will work out well. Or perhaps it is the truth
of our roots that unsettles him: shallow limbs
interlocking, gnarled arms outstretched, restless as

abandoned kin, dying to flower in full force.

(first published in Record of Dissent: Poems of Protest in an Authoritarian Age, The Chaos Section Poetry Project, 2025)

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