EMPIRE'S COFFIN
US generals ‘will quit’ if Bush orders Iran attack
SOME of America’s most senior military commanders are prepared to resign if the White House orders a military strike against Iran, according to highly placed defence and intelligence sources.
Tension in the Gulf region has raised fears that an attack on Iran is becoming increasingly likely before President George Bush leaves office. The Sunday Times has learnt that up to five generals and admirals are willing to resign rather than approve what they consider would be a reckless attack.
“There are four or five generals and admirals we know of who would resign if Bush ordered an attack on Iran,” a source with close ties to British intelligence said. “There is simply no stomach for it in the Pentagon, and a lot of people question whether such an attack would be effective or even possible.” (More...)
SOME of America’s most senior military commanders are prepared to resign if the White House orders a military strike against Iran, according to highly placed defence and intelligence sources.
Tension in the Gulf region has raised fears that an attack on Iran is becoming increasingly likely before President George Bush leaves office. The Sunday Times has learnt that up to five generals and admirals are willing to resign rather than approve what they consider would be a reckless attack.
“There are four or five generals and admirals we know of who would resign if Bush ordered an attack on Iran,” a source with close ties to British intelligence said. “There is simply no stomach for it in the Pentagon, and a lot of people question whether such an attack would be effective or even possible.” (More...)
a burial plot of shattered lies,
and within its quagmire of bleached bone,
warriors lurch from its grasp
making a mess
out of the flesh,
the living disturbed,
torn away in the streets.
Instead of guns the warriors are using dissent,
breaking ranks, deciding for themselves.
Their decorated humanity opens fire
on the puppet master’s strings,
shouting down the noise machine
with brazen dispute.
The red cackle of life’s rising up
with a screeching horn to its lips
leading us forward, tongues wagging.
High above the newly lifted ground
the warriors are sensing movement.
Upon the surface, the wet ground,
feet have begun to move,
eyes to open.
All this commotion,
tap-tapping under hopeful skies
filled with clouds made of string.
the living disturbed,
torn away in the streets.
Instead of guns the warriors are using dissent,
breaking ranks, deciding for themselves.
Their decorated humanity opens fire
on the puppet master’s strings,
shouting down the noise machine
with brazen dispute.
The red cackle of life’s rising up
with a screeching horn to its lips
leading us forward, tongues wagging.
High above the newly lifted ground
the warriors are sensing movement.
Upon the surface, the wet ground,
feet have begun to move,
eyes to open.
All this commotion,
tap-tapping under hopeful skies
filled with clouds made of string.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
ANOTHER (BAPTISM OF HASTE)
Karl: But [British Prime Minister] Tony Blair recently said that the only sensible solution to this crisis is diplomacy. Do you agree with that?
Cheney: We hope that we can solve the problem diplomatically. The president has indicated he wants to do everything he can to resolve it diplomatically. That's why we've been working with the EU and going through the United Nations with sanctions. But the president has also made it clear that we haven't taken any options off the table.
Karl: Now, Tony Blair seemed to be suggesting that military action really isn't an option by saying the only sensible solution here is diplomacy. Is there realistically a military solution to this?
Cheney: I'm not going to go beyond where I am, Jonathan. As we've said, we're doing everything we can to resolve it diplomatically... but we haven't taken any options off the table.
These words glow dimly, palely, slowly
Upon this; our sweltering sphere,
In their imposing haste
They scurry near
Our worship.
The words descend too easily upon us
Baptizing our sodden counterfeit,
Whose dark black throat warbles
Puffed in contempt;
Our warring.
Conflicted of their malignant meaning
We, the congregation, bow down
And return again to madness;
Our fixed arrogance,
Our waste.
The discourse of our grand reprisal
Has yet to find its untidy rest
Within the bellicose shores.
"...we haven't taken any options off the table" ,
Its refrain.
Forebodingly we examine the hours
Of our vast encounter with death
And attend to the war cries
Of "I'm not backing down."
Again and again and again and again.
O! Die away this your everlasting babble!
We’ve enough of your squalling!
It is not time to endure madness,
It is time to abscond,
Enter freedom!
These words glow dimly, palely, slowly
Upon this; our sweltering sphere,
In their imposing haste
They scurry near
Our worship.
Previous Post - WE ROAM HERE TOGETHER
Cheney: We hope that we can solve the problem diplomatically. The president has indicated he wants to do everything he can to resolve it diplomatically. That's why we've been working with the EU and going through the United Nations with sanctions. But the president has also made it clear that we haven't taken any options off the table.
Karl: Now, Tony Blair seemed to be suggesting that military action really isn't an option by saying the only sensible solution here is diplomacy. Is there realistically a military solution to this?
Cheney: I'm not going to go beyond where I am, Jonathan. As we've said, we're doing everything we can to resolve it diplomatically... but we haven't taken any options off the table.
These words glow dimly, palely, slowly
Upon this; our sweltering sphere,
In their imposing haste
They scurry near
Our worship.
The words descend too easily upon us
Baptizing our sodden counterfeit,
Whose dark black throat warbles
Puffed in contempt;
Our warring.
Conflicted of their malignant meaning
We, the congregation, bow down
And return again to madness;
Our fixed arrogance,
Our waste.
The discourse of our grand reprisal
Has yet to find its untidy rest
Within the bellicose shores.
"...we haven't taken any options off the table" ,
Its refrain.
Forebodingly we examine the hours
Of our vast encounter with death
And attend to the war cries
Of "I'm not backing down."
Again and again and again and again.
O! Die away this your everlasting babble!
We’ve enough of your squalling!
It is not time to endure madness,
It is time to abscond,
Enter freedom!
These words glow dimly, palely, slowly
Upon this; our sweltering sphere,
In their imposing haste
They scurry near
Our worship.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
WE ROAM HERE TOGETHER
The battle for the soul of the Democratic Party is under way. And the outcome of this battle will likely not be determined by any one of the rising number of candidates for the party's 2008 presidential nomination, but rather by the Democratic leadership on Capitol Hill.
The House of Representatives passed important legislation designed, at least politically, to focus on the needs of our middle class, beset by stagnating wages, failing public education, destructive so-called free trade policies, skyrocketing health care costs, out-of-control illegal immigration and the soaring price of higher education.
So in Congress' self-proclaimed first 100 hours, speaker Nancy Pelosi delivered on her promise to have the House pass bills raising the federal minimum wage, cutting interest rates on student loans and helping bring down the cost of prescription drugs. But none of that legislation has passed the Senate. (More...)
The House of Representatives passed important legislation designed, at least politically, to focus on the needs of our middle class, beset by stagnating wages, failing public education, destructive so-called free trade policies, skyrocketing health care costs, out-of-control illegal immigration and the soaring price of higher education.
So in Congress' self-proclaimed first 100 hours, speaker Nancy Pelosi delivered on her promise to have the House pass bills raising the federal minimum wage, cutting interest rates on student loans and helping bring down the cost of prescription drugs. But none of that legislation has passed the Senate. (More...)
We roam together in this; our riveted unknown
And witness the same startling things;
The wonder of the primordial heavens,
The splendor of free will,
The blemish of a child’s perfection,
The rousing opera, the sprinkles of dream,
The ambush of cruel impostors
Standing in their steel towers
Watching our malevolent worship.
We lounge about in our sightlessness
Paying no heed to the bright and living carnage.
Our joyless lips will soon sound off
In self-made caverns of want
While our souls, on crutches made of profit,
Fall headlong into the throes of extinction.
We all see the same cruelty in this unknown,
Yet we’re lashing our mottled resolve
To the limbs of boneless villains.
So why do we stand agape,
Flop-jawed in eyeful dread
When our flowers bloom
With petals shaped like chains?
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
NEW YORK (CNN)
Previous Post - TAKE ACTION!
THUMP `n MUTTER
.jpg)
Holy Mutter o’ God, George…
What de hell ya doin’
sendin’ uniform folk to Iraq
ta get dey limb lopped off `n such
only ta come back to
de land o’ de freer `n fearless
an’ feel like a God-empty piranha?
Chopped to de nub
only ta see demselves reflected more a leper
`n a full-fledge-flag-wavin’ conqueror!
Don’ ya know dat dis ain’ de bes time
fo’ you to appear weak on de troops, even if you is?
Lordy, George…
It don’ take no brain sturgeon
to figger dis ain’ gonna look no good…
Didn’ yo daddy teach you nuttin’
‘tween de coke `n de oil?
He may not be de sharpest knife in de drawer,
outside o’ de House o’ Bush, dat is,
but he’d sho’nuf figger a way
to snuff dis one unda de rug
`fore it get all dusted up
`n cause a complete flushin’ o’ you numbers.
Fo’ God’s sake, you de rock solid man!
De war, war, war president!
De take-no-crap-commandeerer!
You bes’ git a grip on de course you’s a stayin’
`fore de whole roof come t’ crashin’ in
`n drown you in you rose color castle.
If’n I’s you I’d batten down all de hatches
`n prepare fo’ de trumpet t’ blow,
`cause dis here storm
seem ta be pickin up a noggin’ o’ steam.
Ya best hone up on you “madman chuckle”,
You “heh heh heh” with a nudge `n a wink.
You gonna need to call out de Karl-train
An’ de swif’boatin’ cap’ain,
and de bible smackin’ god-shitters
to pull dis one off.
Buckle up `n hold tight
ta dem money lenders o’ yurs
`n remember ta put on some clothes
`n git geared up in you flight suit
cuz you `bout ta come face to face
wit’ de limbless ire o' de warrior!
© 2007 thepoetryman
SMITHEREENS
They’d make us believe our problems aren’t theirs,
That your dilemma is alien to them,
That the warrior and the war are strangers,
Unknown to one another- sick, broken, lifeless.
Unconnected.
Of course the warrior is not the war,
Yet with war inevitably surfaces the warrior.
Why don’t we see the obvious in this?
We allow the fully soiled, homicidal racket of war
Without a word of objection;
Nuke `em, kill `em,
Blow `em all to smithereens!
Send the young drones out to slaughter
To annihilate some artificial fear of the moment,
To lie, cheat and swindle the breath of days,
To stink up the earth with the fragrance of failure
At the bidding of the people;
Loose fitting, fleshy corpses
Knitted to wave as flags.
So, as to be expected, upon your sacrifice you return unknown,
Unrecognizable to our guilt ridden reckoning;
Pitiless schemers grasping for a fix!
Why don’t we see this for what it is?
What could you, or I, have expected?
We are not responsible for your actions!
Your choices are yours
We’ve nothing to do with them!
You can’t lean on anyone now!
You can’t expect anything from us!
You’ve made your bed
Now you’ll damn well lie in it!
The responsibility for the betrayal of our humanity
May not be yours alone to hold,
Yet we will make damn sure to snap your back with it!
We no longer recognize you! You are dead to us!
We do not know the sort of monster you are,
All we know is our pitiless scheming…
~
And this;
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...(More...)
Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman
Soldiers Face Neglect, Frustration At Army's Top Medical Facility
Expose: Wounded Soldiers Coming Home to Neglect at Walter Reed
WHAT WOULD THOU WANT US HEAR
.jpg)
What would thou want us hear;
Blind demons squat above us eyeing this sacred world,
Barefoot giants swim our streets and forests unnoticed,
Gigantic godheads kneel `tween our standing worlds,
Medusa rises to greet us with a droll, frowning death,
Arab snakes coil `round snowballs along the Tigris,
The deceased will shake themselves upright again,
The bloodthirsty saints stride near our latent sleep,
The shadows of beasts come too distant our own,
The knotted rope hangs slack in the rigid wind,
The weapons of destruction are pointed inward,
That another madman’s `bout to happily kill,
Stone horses mount the fury of passive death,
Day’s light looms large upon our darkness,
Or is't that the blue faces of deceit are smiling
upside down?
copyright 2006 thepoetryman
I AM SPARTACUS
I'm (or I am) Spartacus! is the catchphrase from the film Spartacus.
A famous scene of the movie has the recaptured slaves being asked to point out which one of them is Spartacus in exchange for leniency. Instead, they each proclaim themselves to be Spartacus and thus share his fate. A similar scene or event is sometimes called a Spartacus moment in reference to this particular scene.
Spartacus: And maybe there's no peace in this world, for us or for anyone else, I don't know. But I do know that, as long as we live, we must remain true to ourselves.A famous scene of the movie has the recaptured slaves being asked to point out which one of them is Spartacus in exchange for leniency. Instead, they each proclaim themselves to be Spartacus and thus share his fate. A similar scene or event is sometimes called a Spartacus moment in reference to this particular scene.
chained themWe had gone from being free to wallowing in the soft oppression of truth.
It was quiet at first; they’d shelled them
and we into submission,
and we to the oppressive floor of callous cruelty
in blood-spattered wordless dungeons
where screams renounced their living.
Time had come...and
It shattered open the heavily breathing door
that hid the marriage of empire and religion.
Cloaked in the counterfeit-king’s fury
we’d forgotten his deliberations,
forgotten kingdom’s bloody thrust…
and this; I am Spartacus!
Do not permit your scream go quiet in the ground…
Spartacus: When a free man dies, he loses the pleasure of life. A slave loses his pain. Death is the only freedom a slave knows. That's why he's not afraid of it. That's why we'll win.
Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman
Driftglass is Spartacus
Blue Gal is Spartacus
thepoetryman is Spartacus
Are you?
Driftglass is Spartacus
Blue Gal is Spartacus
thepoetryman is Spartacus
Are you?
DEEPER IN THE SAND
Same as it ever was
As we stand contented, safe.
Clear of harm from the desert
Death makes its sordid plans
To seek its steel elsewhere
Deeper in the sand
Nearer the sea.
Patiently it runs its fingers
Over the necks of the people.
Eastward it courses...
COORDINATES (2/13/07)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!
RESET COORDINATES (
Wednesday, February 14, 2007 V-Day) ZERO HOUR: (Iran)
The birds have thus gone silent in the gray sky,
Nothing flies between this life and this death;
Solid ground and space and breathing flesh;
Naught hovers now but the murderous device.
Latitude 33 modify to latitude 35.
20 minutes north alter to 45.
Horror fails even our most tested imagination,
Thus we’ll not sense our own fluttering demise
Caught then, perched, set to firmly plunge
The feet, landing unhappily, upon the blade.
Longitude 44 change to 51.
24 minutes east to 45.
Only in catastrophe does hush go unnoticed,
As the smallest gasp of the smallest possible breath,
Only in the inescapable horror-show do they enter
Exhaling through our dreadful sinking exactness.
Lock and load! Goddamnit! Now drop that shell!
Let’s bang some brown flesh to everlasting hell!
Over a billion barrels of bobbing death await
Silent in the gray sky, zero hour knell!
Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman
Previous Post - TUMBLE DOWN (A short absurd play)
As we stand contented, safe.
Clear of harm from the desert
Death makes its sordid plans
To seek its steel elsewhere
Deeper in the sand
Nearer the sea.
Patiently it runs its fingers
Over the necks of the people.
Eastward it courses...
COORDINATES (2/13/07)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!
RESET COORDINATES (
Wednesday, February 14, 2007 V-Day) ZERO HOUR: (Iran)
The birds have thus gone silent in the gray sky,
Nothing flies between this life and this death;
Solid ground and space and breathing flesh;
Naught hovers now but the murderous device.
Latitude 33 modify to latitude 35.
20 minutes north alter to 45.
Horror fails even our most tested imagination,
Thus we’ll not sense our own fluttering demise
Caught then, perched, set to firmly plunge
The feet, landing unhappily, upon the blade.
Longitude 44 change to 51.
24 minutes east to 45.
Only in catastrophe does hush go unnoticed,
As the smallest gasp of the smallest possible breath,
Only in the inescapable horror-show do they enter
Exhaling through our dreadful sinking exactness.
Lock and load! Goddamnit! Now drop that shell!
Let’s bang some brown flesh to everlasting hell!
Over a billion barrels of bobbing death await
Silent in the gray sky, zero hour knell!
Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman
(PROUD MIND) BILL DONOHUE
+BILL+DONOHUE.JPG)
Your breath is atrocious
Crowding the air,
Your teeth, fanged relics,
Slanted, bent of intolerance,
And your proud mind
Fetches the face of wretchedness
With its leaching maw of foaming hatred…
After hearing you,
The first time,
I found my contempt unmasked;
You’re repugnant and false-hearted,
And most contemptible
For using your depraved dribble
To spackle the holes you’ve put in God...
Crowding the air,
Your teeth, fanged relics,
Slanted, bent of intolerance,
And your proud mind
Fetches the face of wretchedness
With its leaching maw of foaming hatred…
After hearing you,
The first time,
I found my contempt unmasked;
You’re repugnant and false-hearted,
And most contemptible
For using your depraved dribble
To spackle the holes you’ve put in God...
WAR WAR WAR WAR WAR
Iran to `hit back' if US attacks
Iran's supreme leader has given warning that his country will hit back at US interests worldwide if America attacks Iran to thwart its nuclear programme.
On Thursday, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei said: "The enemies [the US] understand well that the Iranian nation will give a comprehensive response to the aggressors and their interests worldwide."
In response, Gordon Johndroe, a US national security council spokesman, said: "Khamenei from time to time makes these unprovoked statements and we would certainly hope they are not directed at the United States because President Bush has made it clear we have no intention of going to war with Iran."
The US has said it wants the standoff over the Iranian nuclear programme solved through diplomacy, but it has not ruled out military action against Iran.
Khamenei said: "They should not intimidate the Iranian people with these things, since the United States has previously attacked Iran."
The Greatest Generation?
by Howard Zinn
They tell me I am a member of the greatest generation. That's because I saw combat duty as a bombardier in World War II, and we (I almost said "I") won the war against fascism. I am told this by Tom Brokaw, who wrote a book called The Greatest Generation, which is all about us. He is an anchorman for a big television network, meaning that he is anchored to orthodoxy, and there is no greater orthodoxy than to ascribe greatness to military valor.
That idea is perpetuated by an artillery barrage of books and films about World War II: Pearl Harbor, Saving Private Ryan, and the HBO multi-episode story of the 101st Airborne, Band of Brothers, based on Stephen Ambrose's book of the same name. And Ambrose has just published an exciting history of the valiant "men and boys" who flew B-24s.
The crews who flew those planes died in great numbers. We who flew the more graceful-looking B-17s sardonically called those other planes Bdash2crash4. I wrote from my air base in England to my friend Joe Perry, who was flying B-24s out of Italy, kidding him about his big clunk of a plane, but the humor was extinguished when my last letter to him came back with the notation "Deceased."
Those who saw combat in World War II, whether they lived or died, are celebrated as heroes. But it seems clear that the degree of heroism attributed to soldiers varies according to the moral reputation of the war. The fighters of World War II share a special glory because that war has always been considered a "good war," more easily justified (except by those who refuse to justify any war) than the wars our nation waged against Vietnam or Korea or Iraq or Panama or Grenada. And so they are "the greatest generation."
What makes them so great? These men-the sailors of Pearl Harbor, the soldiers of the D-Day invasion, the crews of the bombers and fighters- risked their lives in war, perhaps because they believed the war was just, perhaps because they wanted to save a friend, perhaps because they had some vague idea they were doing this "for my country." And even if I believe that there is no such thing as a just war, even if I think that men do not fight for "our country" but for those who run our country, the sacrifice of soldiers who believe, even wrongly, that they are fighting for a good cause is to be acknowledged. But not admired.
I refuse to celebrate them as "the greatest generation" because in doing so we are celebrating courage and sacrifice in the cause of war. And we are miseducating the young to believe that military heroism is the noblest form of heroism, when it should be remembered only as the tragic accompaniment of horrendous policies driven by power and profit. Indeed, the current infatuation with World War II prepares us-innocently on the part of some, deliberately on the part of others-for more war, more military adventures, more attempts to emulate the military heroes of the past.
To decide which is "the greatest generation" involves a double choice. One is the choice of a particular time period. The other is the choice of who will represent that time period, that generation. Neither is decided arbitrarily, but rather on the basis of one's political philosophy. So there is an ideological purpose in choosing the generation of World War II, and then in choosing the warriors of that time to represent "greatness."
I would propose other choices if we are to educate the young people of our time in the values of peace and justice.
We might take the generation of the American Revolution, another generation almost universally considered "great." I would not choose the Founding Fathers to represent it. Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Hamilton, Madison have had enough adulation, and their biographies clog the book review sections of the major media.
The Founding Fathers did lead the war for independence from Britain. But they did not do it for the equal right of all to life, liberty, and equality. Their intention was to set up a new government that would protect the property of slave owners, land speculators, merchants, and bondholders. Independence from England had already been secured in parts of the country by grassroots rebellion a year before the battles at Lexington and Concord that initiated hostilities with Britain. (See Ray Raphael's A Peoples History of the American Revolution, New Press, 2001.) It is one of the phenomena of modern times that revolutions are not favored unless they are led by people who are not revolutionaries at heart.
I would rather recognize the greatness of all those who fought to make sure that the Founding Fathers would not betray the principles of the Declaration of Independence, to make sure that the dead and maimed of the Revolutionary War did not make their sacrifices in vain. And so I would honor the soldiers of the Pennsylvania and New Jersey lines, who mutinied against George Washington and Mad Anthony Wayne. They were rebelling against the luxurious treatment of their gentry officers, and their own mistreatment: 500 lashes for misconduct, Washington decreed, and execute a few mutinous leaders to set an example.
Add to the honors list in that great generation the farmers of western Massachusetts who resisted the taking of their homes and land for nonpayment of exorbitant taxes. This was the Shays Rebellion, which put a fright into the Founding Fathers, especially as it led to uprisings in Maryland, South Carolina, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. That rebellion persuaded the Founding Fathers that a strong central government was needed to maintain law and order against unruly dissidents, slave rebels, and Indians. These were the true revolutionaries of the Revolutionary generation.
I submit as additional candidates for "the greatest generation" those Americans who, in the decades before the Civil War, struggled against the takeover of Indian and Mexican lands. These were the Indians of the Five Civilized Tribes, and especially the Seminoles, who resisted their removal from Florida in eight years of guerrilla warfare, succumbing finally to a combination of deception and superior force. And the dissidents of the Mexican War: Seven regiments deserted on the way to Mexico City. And the Massachusetts volunteers- that half of them who survived-who booed their commanding officer at a reception after the war ended.
And what of the abolitionist generation-the leaders of slave revolts, the conductors of the underground railroad, the speakers and writers, the likes of David Walker and Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass? It was they who gave honor to the decades leading up to the Civil War, they who pressured Lincoln and the Congress into ending slavery.
Why do we use the term "greatest generation" for participants in war? Why not for those who have opposed war, who have tried to make us understand that war has never solved fundamental problems? Should we not honor, instead of parachutists and bomber pilots, those conscientious objectors who refused to fight or the radicals and pacifists who opposed the idea that young people of one nation should kill young people of another nation to serve the purposes of politicians and financiers?
The generation of the First World War was not made honorable by Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson, by General Pershing and Admiral Dewey. What nobility it had came from the courage of Eugene Debs, Emma Goldman, Alexander Berkman, Kate Richard O'Hare, and the leaders of the Industrial Workers of the World, all of whom were imprisoned for opposing the entrance of the United States into the slaughterhouse of Europe.
If there is to be a label "the greatest generation," let us consider attaching it also to the men and women of the sixties: the black people who changed the South and educated the nation, the civilians and soldiers who opposed the war in Vietnam, the women who put sexual equality on the national agenda, the homosexuals who declared their humanity in defiance of deep prejudices, the disabled people who insisted that the government recognize the discrimination against them.
And I suggest that some future writer-not an anchorman, but someone unmoored from traditional ways of thinking-may, if the rebels of Seattle and Genoa persist and grow, recognize the greatness of this generation, the first of the new century, for launching a world movement against corporate domination, for asserting human rights against guns and greed.
Howard Zinn is a columnist for The Progressive.
WAR WAR WAR WAR WAR
Why do we use the term "greatest generation" for participants in war? Why not for those who have opposed war, who have tried to make us understand that war has never solved fundamental problems? Should we not honor, instead of parachutists and bomber pilots, those conscientious objectors who refused to fight or the radicals and pacifists who opposed the idea that young people of one nation should kill young people of another nation to serve the purposes of politicians and financiers?
The generation of the First World War was not made honorable by Theodore Roosevelt and Woodrow Wilson, by General Pershing and Admiral Dewey. What nobility it had came from the courage of Eugene Debs, Emma Goldman, Alexander Berkman, Kate Richard O'Hare, and the leaders of the Industrial Workers of the World, all of whom were imprisoned for opposing the entrance of the United States into the slaughterhouse of Europe.
If there is to be a label "the greatest generation," let us consider attaching it also to the men and women of the sixties: the black people who changed the South and educated the nation, the civilians and soldiers who opposed the war in Vietnam, the women who put sexual equality on the national agenda, the homosexuals who declared their humanity in defiance of deep prejudices, the disabled people who insisted that the government recognize the discrimination against them.
And I suggest that some future writer-not an anchorman, but someone unmoored from traditional ways of thinking-may, if the rebels of Seattle and Genoa persist and grow, recognize the greatness of this generation, the first of the new century, for launching a world movement against corporate domination, for asserting human rights against guns and greed.
Howard Zinn is a columnist for The Progressive.
WAR WAR WAR WAR WAR
O! In these times, this infant land; in our sour belly, the warriors
Of old and new are dying
To the filthy refrain of war, war, war, war, war…
Those that came before
Breathed toward a fresher world,
A sea green life in a globe drearier than this;
Yet we have cultivated the flavor of battle
Without actually pulling the joyful trigger.
Distanced ourselves from the entry wound.
Taken leave of the truth behind a looming void,
Ate of it so that we’ve dulled the senses.
We’ve lost the will to foretaste
And now stand agape outside our pleading hope
With no tools to dig our way to her;
Is this what we want of our love; suffocation?
O! In these times, this infant land; in our sour belly, the warriors
Of old and new are dying
To the filthy refrain of war, war, war, war, war...
A stranger at the door;
It is we,
Wringing our flesh of war…
Might we tunnel forth to rescue her?
Will the world lend us its many shovels?
Four Marines Killed; US toll now 3,114
It is no use blaming Iran for the insurgency in Iraq
OCCASION FOR ALL NATIONS (again)
We move swiftly to the call of our great nation
Past our half-empty-truths of an infant history
Balanced beyond the gaze of Lady Liberty
Inundated with the gape of knowing eyes
And the weight of truth under the murmuring sky.
O! America we are too immediate with judgment,
Overwhelmed in our wolf-jawed thinking
So harsh upon our dim view of the world;
A willfully ignorant Plexiglass shroud
Merciless to those deemed an axis of evil.
We do not much think of others, save for the dead,
Or the not quite living shells of our craving.
Have we not urged our soul toward the abyss?
To a reckoning if we ignore the plea of fellow man
And wet not the desiccated lips of our neighbor?
Are we not alive, tasting the future of blazing night,
Gazing in awe at the horrific bearing of our despair?
That we are estranged of our creation’s intent
Should give us bleeding thoughts of providence,
Striking our temples in agonizing white-eyed flesh.
Let the brown heifer search for the better meadow,
The flowers seek out their own seed’s beginning,
Waters time to heal of our most warred commodity,
Give occasion for all nations to mourn their dead
And daybreak to find its way through our mantle of night.
Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman
Past our half-empty-truths of an infant history
Balanced beyond the gaze of Lady Liberty
Inundated with the gape of knowing eyes
And the weight of truth under the murmuring sky.
O! America we are too immediate with judgment,Overwhelmed in our wolf-jawed thinking
So harsh upon our dim view of the world;
A willfully ignorant Plexiglass shroud
Merciless to those deemed an axis of evil.
We do not much think of others, save for the dead,Or the not quite living shells of our craving.
Have we not urged our soul toward the abyss?
To a reckoning if we ignore the plea of fellow man
And wet not the desiccated lips of our neighbor?
Are we not alive, tasting the future of blazing night,Gazing in awe at the horrific bearing of our despair?
That we are estranged of our creation’s intent
Should give us bleeding thoughts of providence,
Striking our temples in agonizing white-eyed flesh.
Let the brown heifer search for the better meadow,The flowers seek out their own seed’s beginning,
Waters time to heal of our most warred commodity,
Give occasion for all nations to mourn their dead
And daybreak to find its way through our mantle of night.
Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman
GRIMACE
Grimace...
Grimace...
(You've written a play, Fool? For whom? The king?)
What is it that you know that we do not?
What is it that a scurrilous-faced fiend
brings to this; the pulsating light?
Why, at the
do you twist such horrible faces
and hurl such abandoned rubbish
upon the ominous lance of vanity?
You’ve neither the will
nor the bravery to soar,
dart yourself in and out of the absurdly pitched quagmire
of red-white-and-blue.
Your demeanor sops the very honey of life,
drains the usefulness of all that is good.
You’ve neither the mindset
nor the nobility to act heroically.
So why do you pretend?
Why do you make-believe
as if you’re anything but what you are;
an inept hack.
A fad.
A clown.
A fool's fool.
A know-nothing pawn.
Your play, in its final act, is a tragedy.
Tell us what you know that is unknown to the eagle?
What would you tell the fish darting in and out
the murky waves scornful of your oily laughter?
How purified things will be after you launch your grimace!
The fish, Ms. Malkin, fear the eagle’s shadow less…
Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman
Thanks to Sadly No and Crooks and Liars for the inspiration.
PITCHING PROVIDENCE
(A Poetic Justice Collage using a Ben Heine - Cartoon)Bomber kills as many as 121 in Baghdad
BAGHDAD, Iraq - A suicide truck bomber struck a market in a predominantly Shiite area of Baghdad on Saturday, killing as many as 121 people among the crowd buying food for evening meals, one of the most devastating attacks in the capital since the war started.
The attacker was driving a truck carrying foodstuffs including oil and flour when he detonated a ton of explosives, destroying stores and stalls in the busy outdoor Sadriyah market, police said.
The late-afternoon explosion was the latest in a series of attacks against mainly Shiite commercial targets in the capital. No group claimed responsibility, but it appeared to be part of a bid by Sunni insurgents to provoke retaliatory violence and kill as many people as possible ahead of a planned U.S.-Iraqi security sweep.
Hours later, mortars slammed into several predominantly Sunni areas in Baghdad, killing at least two people and wounding nearly 20, police said.
pitching providence
“Now goddamnit, now, as the burning flesh is fresh in our head.
Lord knows we can’t miss our darling reality flick of ineffectuality.
O god forbid we peer beyond the shrub and see death-death-death.
Oh no, can’t have us considering the child’s blood on our hands.
That’d mean we’d need consider our own pitching providence.”
…muttered the rain on the limb-strewn streets as we flipped channels.
Yes! Son of a bitch! Yes! I said “our own pitching providence”!
I say it that one might sneer, snicker and scoff such silliness!
I say it that others might think,
“That guy’s fanatical!”
“That man’s off his meds! This is America!”
“The greatest country on earth!”
“Ours is the sopping land of liberty!”
“The kingdom of all things divine!”
Yes! O goddamnit! Yes! I shout it for the dim-witted inundated in lies!
I utter it for the delusional crouch-down-toad deriding the spirit to speak!
I declare it for it’s in front of us screeching, bloody and boiling!
Look! Look! There! Descending the stairs is this awful something!
This thing, it pours all the magnificence and misery down upon us!
Descending the stairway dripping with the fresh blood of others,
It comes down dripping the hopelessness wrought of greed and arrogance!
Look! Look goddamnit! In its arms it carries the vanishing world!
One-hundred and twenty!
One hundred and twenty lifted by the tall indignity of empire!
Lifted apart by those waiting on god to intervene on their behalf!
We are fools! It is not on our behalf that god shall the earth render still!
It is not on our behalf that the long and towering indignity carts the world!
It’s because of our dishonor that humanity needs such nurturing at all!
Our apathy rivals any in the goddamned history of fouled indifference!
“Now goddamnit, America. Do it now you red-lipped whore of free will.
Start praising your miserable god now, America, now, as the burning flesh is fresh on our hands and we scoff at this; our pitching providence...”
Muttered the rain on the limb-strewn streets as we flipped channels.
Copyright © 2007 mrp / thepoetryman
Previous Post - SATURDAY SONATA
BAGHDAD, Iraq - A suicide truck bomber struck a market in a predominantly Shiite area of Baghdad on Saturday, killing as many as 121 people among the crowd buying food for evening meals, one of the most devastating attacks in the capital since the war started.
The attacker was driving a truck carrying foodstuffs including oil and flour when he detonated a ton of explosives, destroying stores and stalls in the busy outdoor Sadriyah market, police said.
The late-afternoon explosion was the latest in a series of attacks against mainly Shiite commercial targets in the capital. No group claimed responsibility, but it appeared to be part of a bid by Sunni insurgents to provoke retaliatory violence and kill as many people as possible ahead of a planned U.S.-Iraqi security sweep.
Hours later, mortars slammed into several predominantly Sunni areas in Baghdad, killing at least two people and wounding nearly 20, police said.
pitching providence
“Now goddamnit, now, as the burning flesh is fresh in our head.
Lord knows we can’t miss our darling reality flick of ineffectuality.
O god forbid we peer beyond the shrub and see death-death-death.
Oh no, can’t have us considering the child’s blood on our hands.
That’d mean we’d need consider our own pitching providence.”
…muttered the rain on the limb-strewn streets as we flipped channels.
Yes! Son of a bitch! Yes! I said “our own pitching providence”!
I say it that one might sneer, snicker and scoff such silliness!
I say it that others might think,
“That guy’s fanatical!”
“That man’s off his meds! This is America!”
“The greatest country on earth!”
“Ours is the sopping land of liberty!”
“The kingdom of all things divine!”
Yes! O goddamnit! Yes! I shout it for the dim-witted inundated in lies!
I utter it for the delusional crouch-down-toad deriding the spirit to speak!
I declare it for it’s in front of us screeching, bloody and boiling!
Look! Look! There! Descending the stairs is this awful something!
This thing, it pours all the magnificence and misery down upon us!
Descending the stairway dripping with the fresh blood of others,
It comes down dripping the hopelessness wrought of greed and arrogance!
Look! Look goddamnit! In its arms it carries the vanishing world!
One-hundred and twenty!
One hundred and twenty lifted by the tall indignity of empire!
Lifted apart by those waiting on god to intervene on their behalf!
We are fools! It is not on our behalf that god shall the earth render still!
It is not on our behalf that the long and towering indignity carts the world!
It’s because of our dishonor that humanity needs such nurturing at all!
Our apathy rivals any in the goddamned history of fouled indifference!
“Now goddamnit, America. Do it now you red-lipped whore of free will.
Start praising your miserable god now, America, now, as the burning flesh is fresh on our hands and we scoff at this; our pitching providence...”
Muttered the rain on the limb-strewn streets as we flipped channels.
FETID WAR
"NO PICTURE AVAILABLE DUE TO WAR"
US commander denies Iraq failure
The leading US military commander in Iraq has told US senators that Baghdad could be secured with less than the 21,500 extra troops being sent as part of a new strategy to end the sectarian violence.General George Casey also denied that US policy had failed in Iraq despite heavy criticism from the Armed Services Committee.
Casey told the committee on Thursday that he had recommended just two additional brigades would be needed for the Iraq capital, rather than the five brigades that have been ordered to Iraq as part of George Bush's new plan.
The new strategy will see more than 21,500 soldiers added to the 138,000-strong US force in Iraq and deployed mainly in Baghdad.
At Least 62 Killed in Iraqi Violence
By ROBERT H. REID Associated Press Writer
A pair of suicide bombers detonated explosives Thursday among shoppers in a crowded outdoor market in a Shiite city south of Baghdad, killing at least 45 people and wounding 150, police said. Bombs and a mortar attack killed at least 17 others in both Shiite and Sunni areas of Baghdad.
Overall, more than 100 people were killed or found dead across the country, reflecting the ongoing wave of sectarian and insurgency bloodletting as the U.S. military gears up for a major security operation to stem the violence.
The biggest attack took place in the center of Hillah, a city about 60 miles south of Baghdad. Police and witnesses said the two bombers strolled into the Maktabat market about 6 p.m. when the area was packed with shoppers buying food for the evening meal.
Dark Clouds Gather on the Distant Horizon:
The World Awaits George W. Bush's Attack on Iran
Alexander - February 1st, 2007
Dark clouds gather on the distant horizon - their presence trumpets the undeniable reality that something sinister is coming this way. As the light of truth and reality fades from the nation's political consciousness, between the flashes of lies and deceit is seen the foreboding outline of vultures awaiting tragedy and their chance to feast on the death it is certain to deliver.
The leading US military commander in Iraq has told US senators that Baghdad could be secured with less than the 21,500 extra troops being sent as part of a new strategy to end the sectarian violence.General George Casey also denied that US policy had failed in Iraq despite heavy criticism from the Armed Services Committee.
Casey told the committee on Thursday that he had recommended just two additional brigades would be needed for the Iraq capital, rather than the five brigades that have been ordered to Iraq as part of George Bush's new plan.
The new strategy will see more than 21,500 soldiers added to the 138,000-strong US force in Iraq and deployed mainly in Baghdad.
At Least 62 Killed in Iraqi Violence
By ROBERT H. REID Associated Press Writer
A pair of suicide bombers detonated explosives Thursday among shoppers in a crowded outdoor market in a Shiite city south of Baghdad, killing at least 45 people and wounding 150, police said. Bombs and a mortar attack killed at least 17 others in both Shiite and Sunni areas of Baghdad.
Overall, more than 100 people were killed or found dead across the country, reflecting the ongoing wave of sectarian and insurgency bloodletting as the U.S. military gears up for a major security operation to stem the violence.
The biggest attack took place in the center of Hillah, a city about 60 miles south of Baghdad. Police and witnesses said the two bombers strolled into the Maktabat market about 6 p.m. when the area was packed with shoppers buying food for the evening meal.
Dark Clouds Gather on the Distant Horizon:
The World Awaits George W. Bush's Attack on Iran
Alexander - February 1st, 2007
Dark clouds gather on the distant horizon - their presence trumpets the undeniable reality that something sinister is coming this way. As the light of truth and reality fades from the nation's political consciousness, between the flashes of lies and deceit is seen the foreboding outline of vultures awaiting tragedy and their chance to feast on the death it is certain to deliver.
What necessitates our despicable failings?
Brings neither eye nor ear toward peace?
Slings us down instead of skyward?
Hurls love into the decaying bowels?
Brings neither eye nor ear toward peace?
Slings us down instead of skyward?
Hurls love into the decaying bowels?
WAR! Fetid war is bringing the world to famine!
Neither kings nor subjects are nourished in wars grand feast.
The slender, flag-wrapped youth are starved of life
While round leaders drip and devour their stale plans
Leaving veteran men of reason drooling on themselves
To gibber-jabber-dribble maddening absurdities!
O! Goddamnit we recognize these things! We know them!
Complicity’s the pungent slope of life’s interment.
This; our indifference, coats the angels in fresh blood,
Their malleable wings dripping in dreadfulness;
They are massive, undulating and beautiful arcing things
Conjuring up the world’s looming storm.
Fetid war is bringing the world to famine!
To hell with it and all the Goddamned drooling cowards!
The slender, flag-wrapped youth are starved of life
While round leaders drip and devour their stale plans
Leaving veteran men of reason drooling on themselves
To gibber-jabber-dribble maddening absurdities!
O! Goddamnit we recognize these things! We know them!
Complicity’s the pungent slope of life’s interment.
This; our indifference, coats the angels in fresh blood,
Their malleable wings dripping in dreadfulness;
They are massive, undulating and beautiful arcing things
Conjuring up the world’s looming storm.
Fetid war is bringing the world to famine!
To hell with it and all the Goddamned drooling cowards!
Come angel! Thrust thy immense wings down upon them
Smashing their dread-filled plans...
And feed the world.
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(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)
Behind the wailing woods these words flow like blood coursing shrapnel
Within your mouth darts a lightless, dreadful language
Waiting upon your blur-eyed bidding.
Christ! It is marvelous this ignorance;
This thought that all is glowing and unbroken!
What are you so afraid of? What miserable blade awaits you? What despair?
Your world is not vacant of treachery! It is not empty of death!
Forty dead! One hundred dead! One hundred and eighty!
The half-starved lamb seeks you out, waits on your mouth to open,
To discourage life bleeding out as you unthinkingly blather.
The lamb’s tongue flops in the throes of death
And you put your insolent ignorance inside licking
To breathe, one bomb, one bomb, one bomb!
Behind the wailing woods your ill-bred words are perceived as truth
To those who worship and
Whose mouths will stand agape waiting on your tongue.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
Previous Post - WHEN THE CURTAIN MOVED