This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO

WINTER SOLDIER





From March 13-16th, U.S. veterans who served in Iraq and Afghanistan will testify to what is really happening day in and day out, on the ground in these occupations. To provide a preview, we've created this short film. The film features three members who will be testifying at Winter Soldier and includes videos and photographs of Iraq from their deployments. This video contains graphic content. We need your support to help make Winter Soldier a success. Find out more about Winter Soldier.




WINTER SOLDIER
a poem by thepoetryman


Immense shining chariots thundered across the heavens.
Ghostly hooves burst and collapsed the living homes
And the shock filled gasps of children could be heard...

...Years later a dole of doves is all that holds the world
And beneath the sand the shards of bone shift down
Making room for the next barren scratch of living’s cage.

Giant, fortified wheels of chain roll upon the streets now.
Death weary boots slog behind, eyes winked with caution,
Heavy loads of mourning strapped upon the back.

Such little gladness advances along this guarded pace
As something sinister skulks their heavy shadows
Moving in unison; each glance, each gun, each breath.

It stays upon them like a salutation from a viper’s kiss;
Throttling the lungs into a desperate breathing thing
That bribes the senses and kidnaps affection.

They cannot stay there knowing it surrounds them
And brings forth nothing worth killing for at their hands
Or dying for in their hearts.
Liberated mouths have turned downward with lips
That smell of death’s foul oppression.

Before the lurking beast might taste their dread
Or the fanged tempest descend with blinding dust
The winter soldier needs turn homeward;
Ahead of the treachery that smells of grief,
Ahead the echoes of a child’s gasp and mother’s plea.

Wounds may throb and ache and even heal,
...Death is not made that way.


© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman



IVAW members speak

This is war...

A Vote Vet ad courtesy of Army Dude

Veterans United for Truth

Veterans for Peace

Military Families Speak Out

Rolling along "C"...

Carta Blanc

Cest Moi Political Blog

Circle of 13

Coffee House Studio

Current Jam



FINAL JUMP (Dedicated to the memory of Lurch)



(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

GOODBYE, FRIEND

by Fixer


Today is a sad day in Blogtopia. We have learned, through a detective with the local police, that our dear friend Lurch has passed away. We didn't receive any details, the information is privileged for family members, but the cop was decent enough to give us that much.
I didn't know him that well, mostly through this blog and via email, but my wife and I feel honored we were able to break bread with him when he visited Long Island a year ago.

...What I know of his military service would fill a thimble, though I knew he served his nation with honor and distinction as an Army paratrooper during the war in Vietnam. Through his experience and study, he was one of the most knowledgeable people when it came to the workings of the service, strategy and tactics, and some of the best insight when it came to reading between the lines on defense issues. He was an invaluable resource as well as a friend. (More…)
~
I never had the pleasure of meeting the veteran named Lurch, but I was moved by Fixer's tribute to his friend and decided to write a poem in his honor...
FINAL JUMP

a poem by thepoetryman


Come trumpet!
Sound off and knell eternity swift!
Another soldier’s passed these ramparts
To soar over honor’s homeless tomb!

O! Stay the curse’d wars until our comrade’s home!
Lay down the gun and pack! Stay the onward march
And weep for a brother who duly wept for you
As death rolled steel dice and bravely down you flew…

The churn of destiny waits on no one. It moves down,
Breaking the silence within us. It brings no gift,
Is noiseless in its approach, aimed and steady, it comes,
So stay the noisy battle and weep, goddamn it! Howl!

To fair winds and following seas a final jump’s been made.
Honor your friend in arms and implore and plead and beg,
And pray you live as long, and like your fellow comrade,
Bridge the void... flanked by war and humankind.



© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
Alternative Brain


Operation Poem


Rolling along "B"...

Backstage w/Supak
Baghdad Burning
Ben Heine - Cartoons
betmo's corner
Blog for OurFuture.org
Blognonymous
Blue Gal
Blue man in a Red district
Blue Republic
Bob Cesca's Goddamn Awesome Blog! Go!
Bread Crumbs...
Burmese Bloggers without Borders


DOUBLE UP




You may want to read the previous post first
...


http://www.newsday.com/news/local/politics/ny-usdems0225,0,182939.story

Nader jumps in, creating stir amongst Dems
BY ERIK GERMAN
11:07 PM EST, February 24, 2008

PROVIDENCE, R.I. - Consumer advocate Ralph Nader announced Sunday he's running for president, a move that isn't likely to put him in the White House but that could shave votes from the Democratic nominee in November's election.
Nader, who ran as the Green Party candidate for president in 2000, announced his White House intentions on NBC's "Meet the Press" Sunday.
Hillary Rodham Clinton said Nader's bid would be bad for whichever Democrat ultimately faces likely Republican nominee Sen. John McCain in November
















JOHN

This is my Kodak® moment! Go away sorceress of ruin, you’re in my last light!

HILLARY
Stuff it you horses ass! I'm fed up with the way things are going as of late!

JOHN
You’ve only yourself to blame for your bowlegged service!

HILLARY

You’re one to talk of service; the better part of your wits are still caged in Vietnam!

JOHN
At least mine have a home! Yours flit with the emotionally charged winds!

HILLARY
You wet blanket, your principles are erroneous, indistinguishable, bought and bent!

BARACK

Just words?

JOHN/HILLARY
Shut up, ebony and ivory wordsmith! You’re absurd!

BARACK
You two sound like a dream played backwards.

HILLARY
Plagiarist!

JOHN
America’s not ready to pledge to you, Osama!

BARACK
It’s Obama, John... and the only thing you’ve both to fear is each other.

HILLARY
Plagiarist!

BARACK
I am not a plagiarist!

JOHN
I am! And damn proud of it, too! If it weren’t for pledges I couldn’t afford this!

HILLARY
Plagiarist, not “pledgerist” you imbecilic conformist!

JOHN
Oh...

RALPH

All of you are corporate pawns!

HILLARY/BARACK

Oh Christ! Nader! What the hell are you doing here?

RALPH

Spoiling your little party, I’d imagine.

JOHN

Hello, my old pal, Ralph! Welcome to the Rat race! Kisses!!!!

HILLARY

Shit…

BARACK

You've no more a chance than a black man at winning the Whitehouse!

RALPH

Precisely why I’m here, Obama.

JOHN

Osama!

HILLARY

Plagiarist!

BARACK

It wasn't plagiarism!

HILLARY

Was too! Was too!




GW
- None of you can do for the United States what I’ve done
for her
!








RALPH

You’re right about that, King George.

HILLARY

No dispute here.

BARACK

No dispute whatsoever.

HILLARY
Plagiarist!



JUST WORDS?




Clinton, McCain Push Experience Button
By LAURA MECKLER and JACKIE CALMES
February 21, 2008; Page A10


WASHINGTON -- Sen. Barack Obama is facing attacks on two fronts on one of the toughest issues facing his campaign: whether he has the experience necessary to be the nation's commander in chief.

Both Sen. Hillary Clinton, his rival in the race for the Democratic presidential nomination, and Sen. John McCain, the presumptive Republican nominee, are arguing that Mr. Obama, who has no military background and few foreign-policy credentials, is ill-equipped to serve as commander in chief. Both say he would stack up poorly next to Mr. McCain, a Vietnam War hero who has been involved in many foreign-policy debates during his Senate career. Mrs. Clinton also has some foreign-policy experience from her time in the Senate and as first lady.


MCCAIN
These feet have been unduly shackled to the ground as I flew!
I am the mighty warrior tromping with my gun melded to peace
As my limbs and brittle wits prowl the ticking wounds of clocks!

HILLARY
Well this back has grappled the brunt of hostilities acquaintance
While I made mother and wife of wounded man’s indifference
And my heart cried out and splattered new paths toward the sun!

MCCAIN
Oh! Well my back’s been beaten like a rug in a whispering house!
In this harsh sphere I’ve survived as the jig hung torture’s frame!
I’ve served my country with an honor seized only for imagined kings!

HILLARY
Ha! My intellect has endured kissing frogs upon the chauvinist’s granite,
Confessing my sins that swim tall under the waters of desiccated power,
Moving steel to thwart beasts and rise above evil’s shapeless reach!

MCCAIN
Bah! It is I that has sacrificed most and guided the flower to its color,
Felt the brush of monstrous talons light upon my wingless back
And held my puffed tongue as moonlight melted a steel saloon!

HILLARY
No! It is I who has devoted my being to the ram’s horn of service!
I’m the mother and daughter; surrogate nurse to fatherless country!
In my time I've witnessed the grave song lend its radiance to daybreak!

MCCAIN
This is my time! I’ve no more to offer after this, so stand aside and weep!
Let time consume the least of energy in a revival of war and casualty,
Bring the black bird to the seed and watch its plane ticket burst into joy!

HILLARY
Back off, old man of the air! My homeland calls out with a lion’s verse
And delivers quick her plea; tiny kisses of shame on lips of change!
I'll deliver the tall house and homeless box to the bending scratch of hope!

MCCAIN
The hell you can, witches portent! I’m the one that’s skilled in death!
You’re led to the river of dread by the almighty whisperer of misfortune!
Me! I can best guide us out the rooting swamp creeping over our night!

HILLARY
Empty promises are your forte! My occurrence is unpaid and bright!
Yours is tedious and owned by the highest bidder at doom’s auction!
It is mine that's ready, ripe upon the heels of our ill decree come lately!

MCCAIN/HILLARY
Me! Mine! Bitch! Bastard! Whore! Whore! Despot! Geriatric! Idiot!
My time! You lose! Louse! Twit! Nitwit! Leftist! Elitist! Doomsayer!
Screw you! No! Fuck you! Go to hell! Up yours! Miscreant! Commy!
Fuck off! Kiss my ass! You’re all ass! Pucker up! Die already! Gaywad!
Effeminate! Whore of Babylon! Fluff! Powder Puff! I! Douchebag! I!
Mine! Me! Cackling old hen! Babbling old toad! Fuck! Suck! Rat! Nimrod!

OBAMA
Just words?

Education Action Campaign


DOUBLE UP

© 2007 mrp/thepoeryman


WAITING FOR IT



Arundhati Roy on the Palestinian / Israeli Conflict


(Ben Heine - Cartoons)WAITING FOR IT
a poem by thepoetryman


Why do they stay there, between war and peace?
Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks
While flesh and bone swim away from the ache
Yet live on as the food for the murder of peace.

Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre
While death makes a home inside their living
And war dispatches a raven to their door,
Smirking with the teeth of empire?

Why do we wait, stooped for another wink?
The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues;
Peace is breathing in harmony with war.
(Roadmaps are useless to blind leaders.)

Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom?
Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement
Needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored
When we fill its trough with blood?

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman



PRESIDENT'S DAY (THUNDEROUS CAUTION)



(Ben Heine - Cartoons)


We, the mighty union, corporate suckling’s, do love this casualty, our blindness,
our termination…
We, the sycophantic mass, entrust this day to loyalty with an arched and listless celebration, a trivial breath and national arrogance in endless parade of glory’s
trampled rag…
We to that yawning nation born must eulogize her leaders in ire filled mantras
to cleave `way our decaying conscience, and the pliable children the taunt
of certainty…
We must send out a message to the world that we’ve no intention of yielding;
a thunderous caution `neath the mantle that shall end the stumbling arsenals
of horror…
A dragon’s teeth so magnificent that no enemy’s voyage can come crashing
through our streets of gold to murder our forgotten hope and steal the last light
of our imaginings…
We, we the people, surely have more ruthless and wretched warring in us?
More upon this national celebration, hunkered down `neath our sovereign date
of leader's praise...
We are shock and awe, mighty Ares; distrusted and unpredictable aggression.
We’ve our fear to instill, reckoning to transport; warfare’s Goddamned glee;
a world to sacrifice…


© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman


Dizzy Dayz and Uncle Jay on President's Day



MAN IS STANDING AT THE GATE THAT OPENS TO WAR



(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

The Death Mask of War (Ad Busters - the magazine)
War is also the pornography of violence. It has a dark beauty, filled with the monstrous and the grotesque. War allows us to engage in lusts and passions we keep hidden in the deepest, most private interiors of our fantasy life. It allows us to destroy not only things but human beings. In that moment of wholesale destruction, we wield the power to the divine, the power to revoke another person’s charter to live on this earth. The frenzy of this destruction – and when unit discipline breaks down, or there was no unit discipline to begin with, frenzy is the right word – sees armed bands crazed by the poisonous elixir our power to bring about the obliteration of others delivers. All things, including human beings, become objects – objects to either gratify or destroy or both. Almost no one is immune. The contagion of the crowd sees to that...
a poem by thepoetryman

Man is standing at the gate that opens to war
Man is standing at the gate that opens to war
Man is standing at the gate that opens to war
Man is standing at the gate that opens to war

War waits- naked and hemorrhaging
The pornography of aggression
The thrashing weaver of failure
The forswearer of civilization

This filthy image we cannot fathom
Our appetite for unfastening death
Like a fish snared and bloody
Or a cockroach scurrying down the dark

Warmongers tilt their eyes to the sun
And see fire unquenched
The bombed tilt their eyes to the sun
And see vengeance

Man is standing at the gate that opens to war…



© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman




NUMBERS

(Ben Heine - Cartoons)
from

Dear George,

Just as the sight of crocuses peaking through the soiled snows of March are harbingers of spring, so is the dealing of the Terror Card the harbinger of another election cycle. Once again, you are trotting out the strategy that has kept you in office for so long: If you scare the chickens enough, they will vote for the fox.

It is a thing of beauty. First you create imaginary shadows, and then in every imaginary shadow you hide an imaginary terrorist skulking down Main Street America, ready to blow up the local soda shoppe where America’s clean-cut teenagers hang out.

Your Director of National Intelligence Mike McConnell says it so, so it must be so. And we must believe it is so, and our faith must be perfect, untainted by doubt, because if our faith is not perfect and it we allow the 935 lies that led up to your Iraq enterprise plant to a seed of doubt in our minds, we may wonder if the next utterance that comes out of your administration’s collective mouth might not be lie number 936.

National Security demands perfect faith. Just as the Rapture shall come; so are droves of terrorists rowing across the Atlantic in route to Main Street. (MORE...)


NUMBERS NEVER LIE
a poem by thepoetryman

O, now your voice is that of truth?
What happened to yesterdays street lamp that the swimming fog
painted with terror,
and the plane upon the sky
with brown men wielding loss; what’s come of their design?
What of the bell ringing with freedoms magnificence
where freedom was and freedoms no more?
Where do you think these numbers fit, brandishing such menace?

O where is the mighty hero, the soldier child, the marine
whose breath wafted over the border pleading to pass on,
wailing in grief the loss of life in the sand
as talons lash his ankle to the very ground he guards?

These numbers speak a blood-spattered speech
and call forth an acrid air that fills the lungs
with its seed and it hemorrhages and bleeds
over your torture bending our will!

Why must you again with your slump of thievery
trudge upon our malleable expectation?
Why have you entered such dismal days
as to end our breathing?

To the apathetic hordes hearing, sensing nothing,
to the naked and dead calling their voices down,
to the mystified living worshipping your words,
to the angry and vengeful whose lion is pacing,
to the bitter and downtrodden without a voice,
to the hopeful and wishful locked away praying,
your belief’s as empty as its messenger.
Your savior’s a swaggering sham,
nine hundred and thirty-five...
Like dread he comes again!
Numbers never lie.


© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

LAST LOOK



(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

BAGHDAD, Iraq (CNN) -- The images in the Basra police file are nauseating: Page after page of women killed in brutal fashion -- some strangled to death, their faces disfigured; others beheaded. All bear signs of torture.

The women are killed, police say, because they failed to wear a headscarf or because they ignored other "rules" that secretive fundamentalist groups want to enforce.

"Fear, fear is always there," says 30-year-old Safana, an artist and university professor. "We don't know who to be afraid of. Maybe it's a friend or a student you teach. There is no break, no security. I don't know who to be afraid of."

Her fear is justified. Iraq's second-largest city, Basra, is a stronghold of conservative Shia groups. As many as 133 women were killed in Basra last year -- 79 for violation of "Islamic teachings" and 47 for so-called honor killings, according to IRIN, the news branch of the U.N.'s Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs.

"When I came to Basra a year ago," he says, "two women were killed in front of their kids. Their blood was flowing in front of their kids, they were crying. Another woman was killed in front of her 6-year-old son, another in front of her 11-year-old child, and yet another who was pregnant."...

...After the fall of Saddam Hussein in 2003, Sawsan says, the situation was "the best." But now, she says, it's "the worst."
"We thought there would be freedom and democracy and women would have their rights. But all the things we were promised have not come true. There is only fear and horror."

LAST LOOK
a poem by thepoetryman

They scatter me over the solemn ground.
They wipe my death on the walls before my child’s eyes.
My body is lifted from me and never returned.
My eyes move to my child as the soil swallows my limbs.

This; my death, pays no tribute,
Serves no purpose,
Only brings my child to hatred.
Maybe that’s it-
Teach children to kill; vengeance;
One tormentor spent, sold for oil;
This won’t wash away to befall something better.

I descend with a last look at my child,
Eyes swathed in dread following me down,
An ashen face and vacant eyes pleading
As I pass beneath the surface
Observing the insipid reach of hatred.

I know war only honors the things of beasts
As I am grown in the ground like a seed for tomorrow.


© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

...Violations of 'Islamic teachings' take deadly toll on Iraqi women

Iraqi Women in Constant Fear - Moxie Girl

Baghdad Burning - Girl Blog From Iraq

Liberating the Women of Iraq - The Crone Speaks

AlterNet - Wave of Violence on Women of Iraq



ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE DAY OF OUR SHAME



(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)
Our Day of Shame

On the anniversary of the day of our shame
When homes rupture into flame
And the warrior meets the peacemaker
Will it not be a humble reckoning?
Will not the nobility of man shine down upon us?
Will this light not rumble at the door of freedom,
The will for excellence and splendor come forth,
Be a splendid ballet upon the stage of governance
Pirouetting over all the ornately cold and corrupt?

O! Our day of shame
Be gentle that our swollen eyes might shut

Our day of shame
Bring our souls `round to enchanting music

Our day of shame
Spring a fountain of hope and a child’s joy

Our day of shame
Offer wine instead of overflowing blood

Our day of shame
Be a voice to the sky hovering in the heavens

Our day of shame
Be a builder, a carpenter of love and elation

Our day of shame
Be a consoling hand and offer it willingly

Our day of shame
Be a martyr of peace with strength and will

Our day of shame
Emerge as peacemaker, not ravenous warrior.

On our day of shame
Explode not in shrapnel to create shards of gloom,
But bring with us a hope unwrapped and bursting,
A magnificent gift teeming in truth and radiance
With stars bowing their silent expressions upon all
Lighting the paths that lead back to human charity
Where the cities of paradise lift their breathing souls-
Or be done with it…


Copyright © 2008 mrp / thepoetryman



AND ANOTHER AMNESTY!





The soft wings of angels
Move me toward justice,
A justice whose embers are ready
To burst forth of our mystery
Crumbling `neath our feet,
Wet and full, awash over borders
And the citizenry of this world;
Faithful, thinking, ready for healing...
Might this be dawn of a needed peace;
Less for sorrow and flag
And more our song of kinship;
Human love?

AMNESTY! AMNESTY! AMNESTY!





Surrounded by beauty
Nestling near the unfound
In grandly penned rebellion
With such tempered existence;
One, a visionary
The other, merriment
Ensnaring the mind with raging-
Thus plummets a star...


BRIDGING WORDS



(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

There is going gradually insane

There is even shelter from time to time
Maybe a canopy for the truth
(plagued by frauds)
Which is no one’s fault
They’ve only themselves to blame

Then there’s underneath the bridge
Which can be made to stay longer on the way
This particular variety’s imaginary
The idea is (was) to get homeless and insanity
To sound like the other
The words themselves to feel like the other
Roll off the tongue unnoticed
That way it’s easier to press closer
And everyone sounds mad

Then... create a subjective world
Where insanity is like apple pie
And only stares upon the grunt

The powers that be manipulating the machinations
Shall inevitably end up completely insane themselves
But with such influences upon language
They’ll continue to mock the destitute

Then… when all are reasonably and completely insane
We’ll not be able to tell the damn difference
This madness is the only kind we know


© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

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