HORSEPOWER DREAM

ENIGMA4EVER: "PoetryMan : thanks for the sympathy...nope ..not my car...
but if it was I would be rushing to get my new Porsche Cayenne (sigh)...( hey a gal's gotta dream....)" 12:00 AM

POETRYMAN: "Jag, Enigma4! Jaguar! :>)" 11:13 AM

ENIGMA4: "Oh my you have good taste in cars...wow....purrrrrr ....a jag...wow....( screw the porsche)" 11:20 PM
_________________

HORSEPOWER DREAM

Jags just my dream...along with yours,
I'd assume, yet a horse
Would be my preferred form of transportation...
Another dream of mine, but more realistic in price,
Yet not necessarily in my traveling life.

I mean if Wal-Mart had a hitching post outside
And a big field of plush green grass set wide
For parking lot
And less child slave labored by lust
And if the highways were dirt
And the skyline filled with wonderment
Instead of smog and construction dust
Blown
I'd probably ride a horse to Washington DC
And let it be known,

"I have no intentions of being absorbed by tyranny!
I will not stand for your empirical reasoning!
I will not slaughter a people for envy!
I will not stand by while you desecrate
This; our founding document
Or the worlds crust
With your breeding of fear's intent!
I will ride over you
And beyond you
And spit pity
On your shadow as you descend!"

mrp

ENIGMA4EVER'S fine blog

Children's Rights

O! ORIGINAL EARTH!

In this land of twenty million years and Ishango Bone;
The root of man in his original life,
In his foremost loss, from the barren drums of home
To the brimming terms of literacy, Egypt, Carthage,
the Nubian Kingdom, the Great Zimbabwe, Sahel,
Hutu and Tutsi now both so scorched in grief!

Malawi, Kenya and of Livingston’s Victoria Falls,
Lake Victoria; the Nile, its soggy trough beseech!

O! Original land, you shall not go!

Stay your spirit’s dancing in splendid hope's refrain!

O! Children come!

Stand upon on the back of eternity and pray for rain!


mrp

BOOM!

Bang! Iraq is restless!
Iran in full seizure!
Boom! France is unemployable!
Taylor heads for The Hague!
Bam! Bang! Jill Carroll is freed today!
Boom! Moussaoui and Abramoff cuffed!
Bang! Bam! Russia enthralled in America’s bluff!
Boom! Boom! Christian Right’s collating control!
O!
Bang! Bam! Boom! Boom!
Drop your allegiances of doom!
Lop off this loyalty with the motherland!
Impede the march of brooding OneWorldOrder!
Smack down in irons, fists, give not light to its dawn!
Smother pretense its egg, remove its sinister seed!
Bang! Bam!
Bam! Bang!

This; our world, awaits with her immaculate lips...

Boom!

Boom!

mrp

THE IRAQI FAMILY

Might I tell you about a dream I had? It won’t take long, my friend.
Please, sit. Take off your coat. Have some coffee. Shall I tell you of my dream?
Very well… Last night I dreamt I met an Iraqi man, his teenage daughter and nine year old son. It was almost six in the evening, in my dream. Six at night, like it is now. The light was almost taken from the sky. ...Yes. Like it is now. Yes. They wearily stepped onto the porch. I went to the door and I opened the screen and it screeched terribly, startling the boy. After a moment of awkwardness I said,

Dear weary travelers you may enter this house You may eat of my food and drink of my water. Please. For in the end we are these things, or at least I believe we become them. Why not share, right? ...Come, my friends, sit. Rest your tired legs, there’ll always be plenty of time for walking.

They entered and sat near one another on the couch. I served them water. This seemed to calm their nerves a bit. Mine too. What? Oh. No. I wasn’t nervous for who they were, I was nervous and worried they’d find me a poor host. I take pride in my manners. Yes. We all sat there drinking the water and listening to the grandfather clock. Much like we hear it tick tock now, only then, in my dream, it seemed amplified.

...I broke the ice,

Wouldn’t it be best if we got to know one another a little better? Family? Friends? Likes? Dislikes? The consequences of fate?

What? Oh. No. That is not how I talk normally. This is a dream. It was a dream. It caused me to jerk up in bed in a cold sweat. Nightmare? No. I- Well- No. It was a pleasant dream with a frightening end. I suppose you could call it a nightmare, technically.
Anyway, as I asked them my questions I noticed that the little girl began to cry. The father looked at her sternly. He didn’t want me to see her crying I suppose? But, the little boy didn’t move, he just looked down at his feet. As a matter of fact he never moved. He never even spoke.

What? Of course he had a tongue! Why on earth would you?-
He just seemed frightened is all. Not of me or the clock, but of the past. It was as if he had been in a terrible accident or witnessed something horrible at such a tender young age. I asked the father if they were okay and was there anything I could do and do you know what he said to me?

How did you know that?
How on earth could you possibly know what this man said in my dream?

How could you possibly know he asked me to do such a thing?

No. His son and daughter were alive in my dream.
No. There was no wife. Just the three.

Yes. She did.
How can you possibly know these things?
I never said how she died.
I never even mentioned her name.

She was your wife?

No. Oh God. I’m confused.
June 2003. Yes.
Wait! Where are your children?
If you are her husband you will have a teenage daughter and a nine year old son? Where are they?

How is that possible?

You just told me that your wife died in the war...



mrp

Iraqi family killed in 'perfect U.S. crime'

Iraqi Family Killed in US Airstrike

North Dakota soldiers repay a debt to Iraqi family

LOVE THYSELF

In the past few years I have begun the process of becoming a new man I am much chastened and profoundly remorseful. I can only hope that the Almighty and those whom I have wronged will forgive me my trespasses. __Jack Abramoff

LOVE THYSELF

Chastened!
Jack, you lived a lie of your life.
I say that and it makes me nauseous,
Sick of all the frauds pilfering our faith
For bloody tokens at the rich man’s gate.
Remorseful!
Profoundly penitent your hemorrhage
Sliding down this your fraudulent throat
Slurping use of confidence’s ethical stroke,
Egocentric enterprising of the original fathers.
Almighty!
There’s only one truth in the world,
Love thy neighbor before thyself, sir.
You’ll have no living `til you lash this notion,
The man who thinks otherwise is fool and liar.
Forgiveness!
O! Do not so hastily parade your bond
With God, banking the odds of early release.
You’d best to wash your hands before they clasp
Together in writhing enigmatic plea of clemency.

Love your fellow man, thy neighbor,
For it is all the power man need to save the world.


mrp

THE WAR ON PEACE

When men squander their waking lives
God-jawing `bout peace intent on war

The world’s roads will soon be ruined
Burdened in mans self strewn ambush

And our cities will crouch like snipers
Shelling their own decayed manifestation

Humanity then becomes the blinded child
Searching recklessly for its original eyes


mrp

LOOSE LIPS AND OTHER CHILDISH THINGS

It’s true, Mr. Bush, loose lips do sink ships!

Small lies glide over the slippery shell of continuity.
They prance about in backrooms of their own accord
Proffered from lips of tyrant, despot, king, traitor.
O! The fabrication in their dalliance is palpable!
Innocent children frolicking with rumors on brim,
Slapping, poking deceit `round and `bout a fat kid.
A child will, may, naturally mature out his absurdity
Leaving bully and deception to playground of infancy.

But you, sir, have forgotten to leave yours sleeping
Shelved in slumber, dead to the world in its cradle!
The leader of the free world is bathed in pettiness
Drenching backrooms, flinging spittle’s to kingdom!

You love to taunt the fat kid, the less fortunate!
Be the bully!
Cuffing and poking and jabbing and slapping
And bombing!
Smacking , stomping, squashing!
King of your mountain!
Lowering your grenade, and rocket,
Lobbing ghastly depleted uranium!

Nudging `bout Mesopotamia heaping
Arsenals of annihilation!
Child’s games without the ratings on the box!
No adult supervision!
Grow up, George!
The kingdom's not playground of your delusions!
You’ve leapfrogged recreation
Into this; our world’s intolerant collusion!

Be done with it you lackeyed, loutish,
malevolent damned imp!

THE STORYTELLER'S TINY SOUNDS

Storyteller:
It is cold, unoccupied, lifeless;
Our child's emptiness traveling
In sparsely armored humvee.
Jarring and bitter, empty,
Insensible; our child's barrenness
`long side man’s unraveling;
Fatigued, armed and dying.
It lifts the massive durable toward heaven,
Then bows, bends and screeches as it falls.
Silence- Or so it seems,
This, a moment of solitude in a globe
Of explosion and volley
Escalating with the Arab sun.
The child warriors within;
Patriots, brothers, sisters, one nation
Spindling through the shell of molten
Metal’s blazing shawl.
A ringing ear comes leisurely
Near sounds of lamentation
For this; our numbed child's shrieking.
Tiny fragments of steel rain
Dropping `round our flesh
Spattering through horrors fabric,
At once soaking it, us.
What? You’re imperceptible, hush…
At first…and now it comes,
Spraying down upon the executioner’s table;
Tiny sounds,
tink…tink…spat…tink…tink…spat…
...tink, tink, tink…spat…tink…
This our child's numb life shrieking.



STORYTELLER: “…The cold, frightened and hungry child sits shivering upon the mountain top. The sun is enclosed in dark and menacing clouds. Just as the cold wind begins to take the child an angel appears. A voice as tender as moonlight, “Don’t be afraid my lovely child, just a small while longer.”
The weeping child looks up, “Are you a bird?”
“A bird?” now asks the angel. “What kind of bird my dear?”
And the child thinks for a moment. “Are you a blue bird?”
The angel now begins to flutter its massive wings and a warm wind begins to blow bringing a smile to the child’s cheeks. The wings begin to rise up like a tidal wave and all of the child’s fear now melts away. The wings now begin changing colors and the sky opens up and the earth is lit in a warm radiance and the angel disappears. On the ground at the child’s feet now lays a tiny bird as blue as the sea. ...The end.

GEORGE: `Houston, this is “Tiny Bluebird”, get me the hell outa here!' What are you thinking? Now? Now? No! Not now!That’s not the end! There is no happily ever after! 9/11 changed all of that! And you sure as hell ain't much of a storyteller neither! ...When the little shit was pooping ice cubes your blue angel summoned a lukewarm wind, and when the pipsqueak was terrified out of its skull it summoned the brat some half-baked courage! Right? Well tell me something, Einstein, what the hell did your beloved cherub bring for the kid’s starvation?

SUNSET PRAYER

The room where the killing occurred appeared to be a prayer hall. The floors are carpeted and the walls covered with religious posters. The tape showed a tangle of male bodies and spent 5.56mm bullet casings on the blood-smeared floor - the kind of ammunition used by the US military. "In our observation of the place and the activities that were going on, it's difficult for us to consider this a place of prayer," said US military spokesman Barry Johnson. "It was not identified by us as a mosque, though we certainly recognized it as a community gathering center. I think this is frankly a matter of perception," he added.

Pray! Pray upon your knees!
Beseech the sanctimony
Of thou beast!
Implore it lay down
In wounded bed!
Gnarled, racked, and headless,
Thy beast leans on the canvas
Toward its dwelling,
In its wake
Heaving pocks,
Hackled wishes,
Lacerated dignity!
Brushed in prayer,
Bent in supplication,
Pleading with supremacy,
“Have mercy on us!”
An ignited resolve
An explosion of man
Pierces the hall of prayer
And paints them home...

BBC- Firestorm Over Deaths

Collateral Damage?

"TINK...TINK...SPAT..."

CHENEY: Perception, if you will, that's created because what's newsworthy is the car bomb in Baghdad. It's not all the work that went on that day in 15 other provinces in terms of making progress towards rebuilding Iraq.

It was cold, unoccupied, lifeless;
Our emptiness traveling
In sparsely armored humvee;
Jarring and bitter, empty,
Insensible; our barrenness
`long side man's unraveling;
Fatigued, armed and dying.

BUSH: Footage of children playing or shops opening and people resuming their normal lives will never be as dramatic as the footage of an IED explosion. They're capable of blowing up innocent life so it ends up on your TV show.

It lifted the massive durable toward heaven,
Then bowed, bent and screeching, it fell.
Silence- or so it seemed,
A moment of solitude
In a globe of explosion and volley
Escalating with the Arab sun.

LAURA INGRAHAM, RADIO TALK SHOW HOST: To do a show from Iraq means to talk to the Iraqi military, to go out with the Iraqi military, to actually have a conversation with the people instead of reporting from hotel balconies about the latest IEDs going off.

The warriors within;
patriots, brothers, sisters;
One nation spindled through
The shell of molten metal’s blazing.
A ringing ear comes leisurely near
To sounds of lamentation for this;
Our numbed life’s shrieking.

KURTZ:What do you make of that comment about reporting from hotel balconies?

Tiny fragments of steel rain dropping
`round our flesh, spattering through
Horrors fabric, at once soaking it.
What? You’re imperceptible! Hush…
At first…and then it comes, spraying
Down upon executioner’s table;
Tiny sounds, “tink…tink…spat…”

LOGAN: Well, I think it's outrageous. …”tink…tink…spat” I have been out with Iraqi security forces over and over again. "tink…tink…spat” And you know what? When Bob Woodruff was out with Iraqi security forces and he was injured, the first thing that people were asking was, oh, was he being responsible by placing himself in this position with Iraqi forces? “tink…tink…spat” And they started to question his responsibility and integrity as a journalist. “tink…tink…spat” I mean, we just can't win. I think it's an outrage to point the finger at journalists and say that this is our fault. I really do. “tink…tink…spat” And I think it shows an abject lack of respect for any journalist that's prepared to come to this country and risk their lives. “tink…tink…spat”

KURTZ: I do want to point out that Laura Ingraham was in Iraq last month for eight days, and that was part of the reason for her appearance.

LOGAN: For eight days.
"tink…tink…spat; this, our faint life’s shrieking..."

BEHEADING DEATH

O! Put death away! Put death away!
Lower the bloodied dagger to its crypt!
Leave it snuggled with darkness,
To our dreams in cackled night.
Put death away! Put death away!
Shuttle him through the crease of humanity.
Put him down to rest in natural green plain.
Bring him not out to spectacle, child’s eyes.
Leave him slouched within our bladed shadows
Hunkered down in the dark house of mighty Ares’
With shrieking vulture’s span; its howling wind
And the mongrel’s yowl beseeching the moon.
O! Put death away! Put death away!
The corpse shall find its way soon enough.
The precursor of bomb’s the mighty sword,
Slip it bravely within its lengthy scabbard
And give death chance to come forth alone,
Let its scraggly legs wobble and meander
Find its victim in the natural motion of day.
Do not hasten its swooping blade from empire.
O! Put him away! Rest your demise for a while,
Empire will soon fade `way and lose its seed.
No need for death to plant our brazen youth,
Nor puncture hope with its reddening silver.
O! The living!
Put death away! Put death away!



mrp

Defining the Moment of Death

Beheading History

Kahlil Gibran (The Prophet)

Verily all things move within your being
in constant half embrace, the desired and
the dreaded, the repugnant and the cherished,
the persued and that which you would escape.
These things move within you as lights
and shadows in pairs that cling.
And when the shadow fades and is no
more, the light that lingers becomes a
shadow to another light.
And thus your freedom when it loses its
fetters becomes itself the fetter of a greater
freedom.
-Kahlil Gibran (The Prophet)

The Prophet ($9.75.)

THE GARDENER

See, America, deal with regimes like Iraq
Get in bed with them until they turn
As the beloved president sold to Iran
The echo now swings back and burns

It is a simple law of most frequent return
Never failing; rage, vengeance, greed
You shall harvest what you proliferate
Trumped by the truth of this; our need

Our Soviet friends have entered the frame
Supporting in much the same
Broken regime facing impending empire
Might versus right spatters in echoes fire

America, we’ve cried wolf to the world
With backs to wall and a failed leadership
It is now time to dismount our pride
And let the eruption, the boiling subside

The echo needn’t swing back and destroy
Let us demand release, for her to be freed
It might heal our now bleeding flesh
Let us the gardener’s hand to plant this seed




Russia denies Iraq secret claims

Russia Fact

VENGEANCE IS OURS

On “Imus In the Morning” earlier today, Chris Matthews ripped into Bush’s handling of Iraq (Watch it here):

"Everybody was led to believe that we were getting payback, we were avenging what happened on 9-11 and that we are going to get them. … We pursued the terrorists back to Iraq. And it’s all nonsense. The reason there are terrorists in Iraq today like Zarqawi is we created the opening by blowing the country apart. …"


Therein lies the problem:

Payback!?
Avenging!?
Get them!?
Pure nonsense!
If we, the US, continue to push this theme
of “payback” or “avenging”, Bush regime foreign policy, this our “rage for 9-11″, then I’d say we will surely fail on all levels. It is pure idiocy to peer through the depressive lens of “revenge” and expect any positive outcome for the country or the world.
We have become what we were supposed to be “avenging”.
How sad.

Think Progress on Mathews

THE INVISIBLE CANOPY

They lay upon the streets
Choking on their own.
Mounds of people
Desolate in their being.

Wait.

And breathe in again.
Kicked in the gut;
Split like lumber.
This is a home.
Animals have a home.

Wait.

And breathe in again.
Boxes propped up in the rain.
Empty cans rot.
Feeding is done.
Could they have hunger?
Is it ours that they’re hungry?

Wait.

And breathe in again.
Displaced assassination.
Soul tainted by remark.
Hold. The starving soul echoes back
And lives in our queried gaze.
Is this anyone’s “life”?

Wait.

And breathe in again.
Shoes leaking dirt on new snow.
Fingers hold paper canopy
Encasing country’s dishonor.
This is not a life, is it?
I think it is best to live.

Wait.

And breathe in again.
Perhaps the hand will move.
Will hope spring?
Will death take notice of this?
Will the good in man change them?
Will our naked shame bow softly?
Will we course this toward nurturing?
Will the hope of man succumb to hunger?
Will the pride of man not rip itself from within?
Might it begin?
Has it now?

Wait.

And breathe in again.
Men, women, and children; living ghosts,
Alleyways of mankind infested with distrust,
Cursing the self bending through our streets
Of our cities and towns to our own expense.
We needn’t turn away in shame, or fear of this;
Fingernails caked in dirt, soiled clothes and hair.
Run from it and it rests with you.
Mock it and it returns within you.
Spit upon it and you stir death.
Attempt to remedy; hope, love, salvation
And you turn its hastening back.

Wait.

And breathe in again.
We know these stooped forms are among us.
We know the hand extended is not in greed.
We know we needn’t fear its power,
Unless we are soulless and more in need of seeking.
Hope shall soar.
Death will perceive.
The good of man shall foster change.
These bones and faces
Are found in every man.
These hopes and despair
Frequent the soul’s café
Drinking in the fullness of grace.

Wait.

And breathe in again.
We must believe in the true nature.
We must hope for the caressing of our beings,
Beckoning man’s better self, his courage,
That it might rise up, swell within to champion,
Take hold our slipped fingers in desire of betterment,
Prayers of expectant selfless endeavors,
Freedom to ring not hollow,
But thunderous in the flattered ears of politicians!
Booming through the streets of home,
Piercing and raucous about this world,
Man summoning to man on these cold streets!
As we meander nearer the darkness,
Nearer the end,
Many will have gleaned over before we know
Our echo's come `round again.
Man cannot wait, not upon the streets
Of new snow…

...breathe in again.





Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman




Enigma4ever - WatergateSummer.blogspot

National Coalition of the Homeless

OH! JOE!

"It's time for Democrats who distrust President Bush to acknowledge that he will be the commander in chief for three more critical years and that in matters of war we undermine the president's credibility at our nation's peril,"

Oh! Joe!
You are a predator.
Must we endure
Your suffering?
Must we attend
Your pandering,
Swill with you
the juice of failure,
March
In off-step reality,
Seize neck
And snap it?

You’ve lost
Your people
Rallied behind
The right
Of most
Inopportune
The blood may stain
All our hands
But you’re bathing
In its effervescence

Swiftly, Joe.
Surely, Joe.
Leaning your
Traded head
To block.
No ones fault
But your own.
Heaping praise
Upon lies
Is not
Where you need
Lead.

You have sold
Your stake,
Forfeited
Your claim!
You're the worst
kind of predator;
Shallow.


mrp

Democrat in Name Only!

Flip Flop Joe!

Dump Joe!

Say Goodbye, Joe!

SET UPON THE ROAD

We are set upon a road
And that road is mankind
It is dangerous
It is loathsome
It is beautiful
Perhaps you have seen its path
In paintings most stunning
In the pirouette of night
In the openhanded gesture
Or glanced in the sleeping child

We are set upon this road
And that road is mankind
Try as we might
We cannot take another
It is this one we’ve been granted
This one we’ve oft smiled upon
This is the path of our founding
We may decorate it with laughter
And desecrate it, sully it, with dread
But we may not absolve its occasion
When wars conjure the spirit’s bed

We are set upon this road
And that road is mankind
A shower of stars cannot tap it
The impoverishment of man's good
May slim chance alter living’s course
It is this chance, this aperture
Of which we must seize, grasp of
Shilly-shallying of this anointed gift
Would be man’s greatest sin
Grasp and hold dear friends
Take hold of this and begin again

BOOM

Bomb squad checks suspicious
package outside White House

No
Picture
Available!
BOOM!
O! Here we go again!
You Rovian
Wiretapping,
Freedomhating,
Traitor-bating,
Lawbreaking,
Warmongering,
American-Terrorists!
BOOM!
Got a bomb on
The front lawn!
Is it too late
To detonate
Is it a ticking
Ass kicking
Life stripping
IED clicking
BOOM!

Are the children
Safe
Has night
Come calling
Do we
Pray it away
Are freedoms
Falling
BOOM!

Can it end
With you
Does it continue
Unabated
Fear and loathing
Inflated
Can we forget
It happened
BOOM!

MY GOD! MY GOD! MY (god)!

O! Guardian of unchallenged spirit!
Are you so enraged as this,
so daunted of fortitude?
Have you not breathed in truth,
Have you so lost your way
As to hold sign of your soul,
To erect such loathing within?
Have you no ideals?
Hope?
What is urging you?
Pain?
What is your reason?
Fear?
Why do you propose to death
Lest you’re willing to wed its reign?

What is within?
Your god?
You should unchain it of your soul,
Unfetter its grasp of your heart
And begin to live.




(Notice the subliminal message of this sign held by a little girl?
It is highlighted in green. Poor girl hasn't the capacity to understand
the true meaning of the words, nor imagine their consequence.)

Hate Crimes in a Biblical Light

Youth and Hate

IT IS NOT ENOUGH

"I am a veteran of WW II, I served my country as well as my fellow Veterans. I, along with my wife, need our SS and Medicare to survive. Cutting the budget would put our lives into a great deal of hardship. We are senior aged. At Pearl Harbor I was ready and able to put my life on the line for my country. Sir, I don't believe this administration has the moral right to repay the seniors like myself with cutting our means of survival by cutting the budget."
—George, NC



It is not enough that you served with honor
It is not enough that you died for the cause
It is only enough that you are most willing
To die over and over until death has no loss
`til it finds passage through the vein of self
Torturing you through its very pounding

How dreaded and parched is your termination
How outrageous and bloodied damp are theirs

How might we know the horror of your plight
Without looking deeper than the beggar’s eyes
Without examining infinitely the empty corpse
Without narrowing our glance at rib and tongue

It is not enough that we serve a mighty tower
It is not enough that we die at its engulfing us

How might we know when it has come `round
Come to collect our very bones for the sacrifice
Will it place marks upon our shoulder, forehead

It is not enough that you served with solid honor
How might we know without ownership of you
That you gave up everything of you to save her
How might we know unable then to see the person

It is not enough that you, sir, were willing to die
It is not enough to lay claim to that and that alone
It is only enough that you are one most willing
Death to repeat within you and you evaporate
To die again and again and again and...



Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

VetsForPeace -- Iraq Insurgents

BBC Bush Denial of Civil War

VFP of Maine -- BBC Iraqi Prisonbreak

WILL WAR FOR FOOD

-OSLO (Reuters) - Humans are responsible for the worst spate of extinctions since the dinosaurs and must make unprecedented extra efforts to reach a goal of slowing losses by 2010, a U.N. report said on Monday. "...In effect, we are currently responsible for the sixth major extinction event in the history of earth, and the greatest since the dinosaurs disappeared, 65 million years ago," said the 92-page Global Biodiversity Outlook 2 report.-



Before the makeshift homes give way,
Before the cannon’s echo traces day,
We should recall
The memory of loss,
Shrink back of its ache.
Countrymen falter not this;
Your calling to higher good,
To lofty stillness,
To greater wish and reverence
Not gnashing feint nemesis
Cuffing the burnish of childhood.
Long before vultures pace this outline
Or bear awakes from this our ample slumber,
Before the streets of return stay murky,
Before dreams of the earth quiver,
Turn back this march,
Signal end to this our rage
And overwhelm vengeance in this age.



Do Iraqi Civilian Casualties Matter? -- Homeless Veterans

mrp

DEAD IS DEAD

Rory said:

“Dead is dead whether you are killed in a civil war or not. Broken and ruined is the same whether it resulted from "torture" or "intensive interrogation methods." Incineration by phosphorous feels the same whether you call it willie pete or w. bush.”

Rory, this one is for you my friend…

_________________________

O! How white-hot and dead are these times
We still have some you know
Time
They still have a little
The center of life still throbs within us
seamless
Like a finely woven cloth masking our winter
10, 20, 100,
180 thousand

These others
Broken shells of breath maligned in rage
Soldiers standing in stunned reverie
Protecting their friends from fire
Ingesting the barbs of their own
torturous slaughter there

Phosphorous showering them in shrieking
For a king without a throne
a nation without a leader
a soul
a heart
a prayer

Rifles and tanks
RPG
IED
Tramping wet ground caked in the sap
Of existence and solemnity
Their reckoning-a-rata-tat-tat harmony
Heaps on
with each skull
Each gut
Each leg
Each arm
Each soul

Dead
is
dead



mrp

White Phosphorous Grenade

IraqBodyCount

Rocket Propelled Grenade

YOUR ESCAPE OF IT

The nattering jaws are a hearse of warring wits
And within their dry swamp thunders denial
They’re dropping the bombs!
They’re lobbing grenades!
They’re devouring in sneering laughter
And consuming with their cynical smiles

These, our leaders, and their most pestilent flesh
Now harvesting souls for kingdoms sport
They’re dropping the bombs!
They’re lobbing grenades!
They’re exterminating in sinister heart
And demolishing the spirit’s sweet core

We the listless are ingesting trepidation in this
And within our quagmire torment subsists
They’re encasing the bombs!
They’re staining our waters!
They’re transporting terror of a false god
And detesting our darling independence

The feint Iraqi peoples, an urn of absorbed ash
And within the ferried grief crashes internal war
You’re dropping the bombs!
You’re lobbing death’s den!
You’re lancing our prospects in tyranny
And you shall escape us ahead of our end

.
.
.

BBC- Prime Minister of Iraq Ready to Step Down

IRAQ profile -- USA Uses Depleted Uranium

Water Security -- US Cozy Up to Another Dictator

CIVIL WAR

I have traveled to the edge of Iraq
And peered over.

She panted treacherously.

It is not strange coming out of
The stifled mouth of national war.
It is not easily uttered, these
Words of internal detonations.
It is not compliant, this laceration
Of autonomy `gainst thy neighbor.

She beseeched the air.

I have traveled to the edge of Iraq
And peered over.

Lunged of war.

PETRI DISH FAILURE

Poetic Justice said: Alas...We have entered a new age of killing.


ARVIN said: Sad, isn't it, how every new age is a new age of killing. Can't stop progress, or so we're told.
Stone.
Spear.
Food/water.
Sword.
Gun.
Bomb.
Radiation.
Petri dish.

To which my only reply is this:

Only this remained of the
Stone
The thunder slapped greedily
Over the obstinate sky grown low
Striking over collapsed
Spear
Remember this is not make-believe
But new, bright and breathing
Of the eagle and the lioness
Seeking mere
Food and water
Writing history with bloody awe
We should have saved the young
And not left idle the spring of man
Charity subdued in loathing
Sword
They may now read of this slaughter
Papers insured
Gun's possession
But failed in man’s ache for murder
We shouldn’t recommence our fixation
Wielding science’s crush of matter and atom
Difficult, slow and deliberate is this
Bomb
dropping overhead, called homeward
To its use;
Radiation
bathing nations
With the stench of man’s undoing
Something as seemingly negligible
As affirming life in
Petri-dish.




Stonehenge

Spear -- FDA -- USGS Water/u> --Sword

Constitution/Bear Arms -- Atomic Bomb Decision

TrapRock Peace Center /Depleted Uranium

Pacific Conflicts and the War on Terror

URANIUM-235/PLUTONIUM-239

To end the war with Japan, on Aug. 6 and Aug. 9, 1945 President Truman authorized the dropping of two atomic bombs made by allied powers (USA and UK) from uranium-235 and plutonium-239 on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Japan surrendered on Aug. 14. Although the action undoubtedly saved many American lives by bringing the war to an end, the morality of the decision is still debated.


O! America!
Look what it is you have spawned
Neither you alone nor Japan
This fixed atrocity’s dreary dawn
Was born a child of modern man

Skulking beside mankind’s river
Your beast treks past in fresh delight
At this, human's radiated massacre
Lone demise of earth’s delicate flowers

Who’ll come laughing when the wind
Has blown a crater through the world
When living creatures crack and split
Their marrow choking out the sun

Hope witnesses this dreadful throat
Souls quenched in flattery’s chalice
Empire’s would be kings undone
Thrones and pedestals join the skies
in naked dominion



BBC- US Warns Over Iran Talk Tactic
US Assault Grabs Global Attention

COORDINATES

Coordinates:
Latitude 33 degrees
Diamond Republic
20 minutes north
O! Shrieking wonderment!
Longitude 44 degrees
Awash with grief
24 minutes east
Baghdad, Iraq
Will these injuries attain
Her neck aloft in wrath?

Coordinates:
Latitude 35 degrees
Prosper Thy Neighbor
45 minutes north
O! Sisterhood of oil!
Longitude 51 degrees
The Hormuz Strait
45 minutes east
Tehran, Iran
Over a billion barrels
Of bobbing death await!

Come!
About face!
Why are we waiting?
Fly this blackbird!
Hover that craft!
Roll that tank!
Lock and load!
Check your pack!
Let’s bang some flesh
To Hell and back!
Let’s roll!





Bush Gives New Reason For War

Iraq War- Oil is Key Issue

Oil, Geopolitics, and the Coming War with Iran

THE SHADOW'S TALON

Must we now hear of this?
Must the Iraqi people
Endure it?
Can we not see our rage
Brings upon talon amiss?

O! People, children of Iraq!
Do not walk in silence
With feet of stone,
Recoil into the shadows
But do not let your cowering
Become your darkness.

Breathe yet tomorrow,
Struggle from under error,
Stash your spirit in freedom,
Teach your children
That bombs are the graft
Of terror.




mrp

US launches Largest Offensive

Drone Soldier

Vietnam / Iraq

This, in and of itself, is a poem
A supplication
A prayer for
Iraq Through the Prism of Vietnam

THE GRAPPLING

Listen up you soulless cretins of misery-
Leave the children alone!

You know who you are;
Sheathed in secrecy,
Abnormal and malevolent,
Pilfering souls as ransom
For toll at your slipshod gate of anguish!

Let us grow louder for this
Than crimes government
Shall soon commit!
Graves where you hurl them
Their souls grappled in death’s dying end…

These are the offspring of wonderment
Not tides for stroking your treacherous rage
Executable in rigid decay!
Leave them be! Let your long use of them
Chatter and writhe in the dirt and descend!




mrp


BBC Report- Exploited Children

How to Take the War Out of the Child

Anti-Child-Porn

Nabbed on the Net

REACH FOR THE HEAVENS

O splendid is our reach for the heavens;
debris.
Buying the breath of this arid day;
towering city murdered in stillness,
loyal fortitude tainted of liberty;
capitalism’s flay.
War and dying- in and `round what may-
country, continent, world;
about us are people smiling
with stolen power.
There are mountains and rivers
maligned with refuse,
Oceans dipping under oily slag,
Forest, tender box refuge,
creatures slicked with industry,
children hungry and slaughtered,
people trampled- freedom's thirst
enslaving them in stampede.
O! Beautiful for spacious skies
Moving ravenous cloud,
cosmos yearning to be freed,
floating without coward’s night,
a mockery of this our reverie.
Honor, if you will, the ground,
pay tribute in towering light,
not custody in human race as slave,
nor ownership of souls shelved
in empirical might.
O! Splendid is our reach for the heavens;
debris.
Best we first erect a tower within ourselves.

mrp

A REQUEST FROM LIBERTY

Pat Robertson
You need to
Shut the hell up!
Jerry Falwell
You need to
Shut the hell up!
George Bush
You need
Your mind, awaken!
87 bodies
Iraqi within
24 hours forsaken!
Jericho stormed,
2 policemen dead!
9,200 Palestinian
Arrested!
4,298 gone
46,353 divested

Pat Robertson,
You need to
Shut the hell up!
Jerry Falwell,
You need to
Shut the hell up!
George Bush
You need
Your mind, awaken!
War in Iraq
Justice untaken!
Freedom absent
Citizen wiretapping
Over our constitution
2,309 US military
Eternally napping
And 17,004
Wounded upon
Your idiocy

O! George Bush!
You had an ally
Whose heart gave way!
This man too
Put Muslims to grave!
You’ve changed our lands
With blood on your hands
Pat Robertson,
You need to
Shut the hell up!
Jerry Falwell,
You need to
Shut the hell up!
George Bush,
You need
Your mind to wakeup!

THESE OUR DISTENDED DAYS

These, my friends, our distended days;
Torture, riot, bomb and inhumanity puff up
Uttering decrees in this, our propelled rage,
Thrusting the future forward out abysmal rot.
We must grasp hold this, bent nor awkward,
Marked with prints from haunted child
Skulking hordes of maddened youth!
Take heed!
Dry their eyes on your fabric of hope
And lyric.
Display no shaded hope or lose rhythm.
Rise up!
Rise up!
Rise up!
These melting days attend not a cowed voice
Of uneasiness or pattering along the dark schism.
Our battle moves on, spirals upward, and out.
Let us not dally time through jingoistic's prism,
Rather hear the orator beseech sanity!
Hear him!
It is time to act! It is now! It is ready!

Dissent.com

Russ Feingold

FIVE THOUSAND MILLIGRAMS

Have you heard?
A country's taking the wrong drug,
Slipping the noose round death,
Fitting shores in electric wire,
Defending human rights in jest.
Have you heard?
Ground Zero to open in 2009.

The country's ingesting Pantethol,
Five thousand milligrams in all.
Skipping out on the Pavulon dose,
Straight to Potassium Chloride.
Have you heard?
Ground Zero to open in 2009.

A country in this slaughtered age,
O! Can you hear the failing noise;
Bombs and guns; depleting disgrace,
Chambers filled with a dying face.
Have you heard?
Ground Zero to open in 2009.

We longed for more. We yearned.
A lighted path, an eternal flame
Hovering there on golden wing
Instead, two-way mirror our malign.
Have you heard?
Ground Zero to open in 2009.

A country's taking the wrong drug,
Slipping noose of bloody election,
Fitting in shackles of mined metal,
And governing the self-injection.
Have you heard?
Ground Zero to open in 2009.
Have you heard?

FRIST RANT

9/11! 9/11! 9/11!
What’s that you say?
War on terror! Terror!
Iran! War! Terror! Iran!
What’s that you chant?
Quash dissent! Dissent!
What’s that you rant?
Bumbling and babbling
Flat wrong! Dead wrong!
Fetid and un-true!
It’s wrong!
Carry on!
Hopes slain in you
Hope splattered through
Flat wrong! Dead wrong!
Carry on!
Sending indicators
Deep in the sand
Terrible, ghastly gestures
Reverberate `cross the land
It’s wrong!
Dead wrong!
Now why don’t you carry on!
Do not use liberties for freedoms sake
Do not raise your head and state
Democracy lives!
It’s wrong!
Carry on!
Democracy kept secret
Democracy kept quite!
Hush!
It’s wrong!
Dead wrong!
Now why not carry on!
They might listen
They might sense
Freedom’s ring
Over plummeting bombs

ThinkProgressFRIST

Bloomberg.com/Frist

TOM

"We are here to root out all aspects of
dehumanization that exists within us.”

They grow closer together each passing day
You know the vine I mean
The knitting of nature, green
Canopy aloft with life
Even when its not
They tussle together like schoolchildren
Holding tight the other's hand
Moving `cross the ground, trees
Weaving a needlepoint of intricacy
Tapping into new little worlds
Breathing time into tiny planets
The labor is far from over
Heavens hold lips in wait

UNDONE TREMBLING

Your words walk upon wobbly legs
And you’ve built a dictator in your tears.
Now you hope to stem the tide;
Let you seek truth, ingest veracity,
Speak against these, our captors,
Flail anarchy of your words, pulsating
And shuffling walls of sand and bone,
Quiet forced armies frigid onslaught
Now caking boots with blood
For the belligerence of tyrants
Strutting out preposterous slack jawed death.

O! In this smooth-tongued frozen creation
Let you retrieve the broken language
And assemble that oft idle courage,
Remain ever graceful
Eye to eye and with not a wisp of hubris
Erect in you your desirable fortitude.
Strike hard, whip-fast within,
Wallop and wrangle our minds
With red-hot American conflagration.
We're needing courage summoned
For all our trembling. It is time!



HUFFINGTON POST- Sandra Day O'Connor

ODE TO A CAPPER

O! Capper!
O face within the heavens
Soul upon the harvest
Laughing with merriment
In all things kind

Glint of light
Sparkle of expectation
Alongside your friends
And all things magnificent
Your passing stays within

Take your place
Next to laughter
And your reminding
Our bright red flower
To open and greet the sun

Rest in peace Bert Tilley...

WHERE'S THE BEAUTY OF IRAQ?

First the storms… silence
Shards of glass, bone, blood
Where’s the splendor?
The soul of Iraq?
Have we forgotten;
The narrow lines
The pristine shape
The rightness
The beauty?

The land, sun, sky, waters;
Yes, then trees, mountains, waves
And rain, rain… the rain?
Faces of the children and mothers
Hands of the fathers and brothers
Backs of the aunts and uncles
Feet of the traveler
Ears of wonderment
Eyes of desire?

It comes into you, a violent flow
Resting near you, your craving, hope.
It sidles up to you, breathing.
Its child takes your hand
And leads you quietly there;
Standing before you, a sculpture
Paintings pirouette
Photographs smile
Poems enfold you.

First the storms… silence
Rubbles of art and story; beauty.
Iraq takes hold your heart
Leads you to the truth of her;
The people, the sand, the sky
The theatre, the dance, the dream
The pristine shape
The rightness
The majesty…

Have we forgotten?

... wasfiakab ... Delair art ... Ali al Tajer
Absolutearts.com ... Iraqi Artist alsafiart ... iraqiart.com

AWKWARD MOMENT

The tightening stroke.
Patrolling the wounded ground.
The shattered glass.
Instability in central parts.
Eerily forsaken streets of Baghdad.

Awkward moment.

Start again.
Green Zone in desert sun.
Firearms lifeless seize.
Why am I here?
Why war?
Why couldn’t it be peace?

Awkward moment.

Start again.
Infection of brutality.
First we murdered their children,
Now they carry death
Wrapped in shrapnel.

Awkward moment.

Start again.
Perhaps I will hug my mother.
Will yearning yearn?
Will hope be hopeful?
Will carnage turn inward?
Will the power of the sun arise?
Will the sway of good prevail?
Will the soul of man avoid its own demise?

Awkward moment.

Start again.
Tightening eyes.
Moving toward upon wounded ground.
A distant explosion.
It would be easy to turn and run.
But why am I so damned afraid?
Because they are Iraqi?
Brown skin and eyes?
I will stay and greet them.
Will they wave and smile at me?
Will evil have my face?

mrp

Citizen Soldier
A Soldier's Thoughts
E-Rocky-Confidential (soldier blog)
LewRockwell.Com (soldier blog)

CLICKETY CLACK

"A word of advice, always capitalize the big concepts; it guarantees their self-destruction.
The quest for Freedom ends in oppression;
the quest for Prosperity ends in impoverishment;
the quest for Truth ends in dogma;
the quest for Art ends in over-priced kitsch.”

Belacqua Jones



Clickety clack! Bam and boom!
We’re stuck in war’s
political vacuum!

Bam! Boom! Learn the lesson!
When freedoms end
in oppression!

Boom! Clang! Nothing is free!
Prosperity masticates
upon poverty!

Clang! Slam! It’s time to bleed
when lies trump truth
becomes the creed!

Bam! Boom! Count to three!
Implore that our talents
might set us free!

Clang! Slam! Boom! Bam!
Clickety clack and
a rat a tat tat...

Open Letters to George W. bush /A word of advice...

Picasso Dreams
US Seeks Further Pressure on Iran
Iraqi Rights Abuses Increasing
Iraq Edging Toward Precipice
Hunting for the Varanasi Bombers

NEW SHOES

A young Christian woman
Was given a new pair of shoes.
They were made of cowhide
And needn’t tying or polishing.
She wore them for days on end,
Obediently walking in tow
For what seemed an eternity,
Until she was standing at the
Beautiful brown feet of Allah.
“You must give the shoes back now.”
“To whom?” she asked.
God then motioned downward
Toward a group of young patriots
Weeping plaintively.
“There. They need them now, Jill,
So they might go home.”
She then removed the new shoes
And dropped them from the sky
…like a bomb.


mrp

CSMonitor / Jill Carroll
MSNBC / Jill Carroll
MetaFilter / Jill Carroll

AT LAST!

George! Yes! Yes! Yes!
You've dredged down from the top
Lies!
You've amassed disapproval around
The globe!
Yes! Oh! Yes! You have done it at last
(Again)!
Strangled out freedom and shambled
Lives!
Toward brink of that sightless abyss
Hell!
Drink up! Job well done! And hooray!
Death wins!



mrp

LETTER TO GEORGE

Targeting Hamas PM

Indian temple city hit by blasts

Europe's angry Muslims

Top US official denies 'torture'

India's PM defends nuclear deal

Iran issues warning

STOP!

UNKNOWN LIBERTY

"Beneath this stone rests a soldier of Washington's army who died to give you liberty."


As we now peer over the congregation of the dead
Let us walk reverently past Potter’s Field;
Dim all the lights `round Liberty’s crown,
Fade then upon the Unknown Soldier.

Let us anon shine our light upon nameless patriots!
For to remember the sacrifice, the blood,
We mustn’t destroy; infest with agony
The shadow of a world ready of love.

For they arranged a sea that has lost its mariner
And their nobility granted us with mighty oar
Which we’ve cuffed upon the world
Encased by grave at torment’s door.

If any look upon us, asking why we kneeled down,
Can we not say we acted with all our power
To rid us this murderer of countless man
Whose sword slaughters from within?



"There are chilling signs that the lessons of Abu Ghraib have not been learnt."


Tomb of the Unknown Soldier

BEAUTIFUL MIND

Is your mind so beautiful,
your soul so considerate,
so very fragile,
as butterfly wings?
Is your mind too beautiful
to submit most free, truth?
Too liberal
as the eagle’s wing?
Will praying have a prayer?
Will the sounds of evil quiver?
Will the truth of man prosper
spanned wide in reverence?

Is your mind not capable?
I believe in truth, Barbara.
Is your soul not stirring
in peace, Barbara?
Is your heart lacking truth
in hope, Barbara?
I do not believe in your son!
I do not believe even you!
Will praying have a prayer?
Will the stench of death explode?
Will truth inside you grow
exposing war’s blood at home?

mrp

Rising Hegemon

Commondreams.org

Huffington Post... "Arena Priviledges"

MIRRORS AND SMOKE

BBC News: Moscow urges Hamas to transform
--The talks mark a break in ranks between Russia and other members of the so-called Middle East peace Quartet.
Israel has expressed anger at Russia's invitation to Hamas, with one minister calling it a "stab in the back".--



Today the blanket was cleaved from off the bed
As America leaned toward self destruction
Hunkered down in perplexity
Caused her to backslide
And trip tongue
In her early hour

Hamas, some said, need voice to pop and spatter
As America slouched over its liberty trough
Parched for breath- and sanity
She measured her creed
Giving a wink overseas
In her early hour

Today the blanket was ripped away from her
As America shivered now bare- and barren
Her promises (or mirrored fears)
Caused her to slip back
Ponder the reflection
In her early hour

Moscow gripped the corner and hauled it off
And America cowered away from the light
Bent in painful despondency
While worlds erupted
And slipped the knot
In her early hour

BBC