TWO...ONE...FORTY
Two wars- forty years reminded
One nation- still blinded
Two men- forty years aloof
Words- forty years removed…
This world thrashing in sleep
recoils of such flattering speech
in the hell of man’s making.
A nameless, penniless peace
stands weeping at the purblind raking
of histories misguided providence.
Howling as the dying howl,
alone and hopeless in the faint gorge,
unmoved by the useless patter of war,
nodding in disbelief,
she begins her throbbing journey
unnoticed, lunging into the throes
of such frequent pursuit.
She thinks she glimpses light ahead
bending on the way to her throat
and lets slip hope in harmony’s sky…
© 2008 mrp/tpm
JOHANNESBURG BLADE
Some 6,000 people have fled a wave of attacks on foreigners in South Africa, which has left at least 22 dead, aid workers say."This is a classic refugee situation," Rachel Cohen from Medecins Sans Frontieres (MSF) told the BBC.
Many of those who have sought refuge in police stations, churches and community halls are Zimbabweans, who have fled violence and poverty at home.
Up to three million Zimbabweans are thought to be in South Africa.
The BBC's Caroline Hawley in Johannesburg says the immigrants have become a scapegoat for social problems, such as unemployment, crime and a lack of housing.
(Read more...)
JOHANNESBURG BLADE
They arrived that morning, in their ragged and born souls,Slipping through the tall grassland like murmuring insects;
Fearless, save for that which remained hidden, voiceless,
The glowering grumble of an unconvinced horror,
Clanging sabers, improvised tools, a honed blade
To tap between the fleeing bone and the undead.
From this drab symphony arose an ancient isle’s composition
Clanging steel hastily moving inland among the murmuring tone
Of fleeing edges desperation. The thing being chased was nearing
With each footstep, with every marauding and rumpled lust,
It closed in on the whispering blades and raging hearts,
Near enough that they tapped into their own flesh.
© 2008 mrp/tpm
(Gil Scott Heron - Johannesburg)
Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto No.2 (Isle of the Dead) (above)
Rachmaninoff's Isle of the Dead Symphony (link)
Rolling along "K"...Karmalised - Katrinacrat Blog - King of Zembla - Kommandos Project
I WAS JUST THINKIN' THE SAME
(After listening, I was inspired to write a song.)
O I was just now thinkin’ the same
Things, O things’ve gotta change
O yes I was just thinkin’, thinkin’
Things, O things’ve gotta change
Man, man, man stepped upon the moon
Now he’s just waitin’ for somethin’ to change
Man, man, man, man, man, man, man’s
Just waitin’- lookin’ up, waitin’ for some change
O we the people, people, we've been lookin' up
Lookin' up `n lookin' up ‘n thinkin' it ain't happenin'
O we the people, people, we've been lookin' up
And we're still a lookin’, just lookin’ up `n waitin’
O I was just now thinkin’ the same
Things, O things’ve gotta change
O yes I was just thinkin’, thinkin’
Things, O things’ve gotta change
Man, O man invented, man invented man
O he’s imagined, we’ve imagined that he can
Man, O man’s imagined, man’s imagined man
While lookin’ up ‘n stumblin’ through the sand
Man’s a nearin’ doom a stumblin’ headlong
Never lookin’ down, too busy starin’ up
Staggerin’ a staggerin’ man’s almost gone
Man’s a staggerin’ n stumblin’ right along
O I was just now thinkin’ the same
Things, O things’ve gotta change
O yes I was just thinkin’, thinkin’
Things, O things’ve gotta change
Just the other day a neighbor got some news
When the white car pulled up's when the pain began
They said he didn't suffer, neighbor said it hurt like hell
His son over there a stumblin’ through the sand
Lookin’ up, lookin’ up instead o' lookin’ down
The pain stayed as the white car pulled away
And his knees went to bucklin' to the ground
O the moon, the moon was nowhere to be found.
O I was just now thinkin’... the same...
© 2008 mrp/tpm
GEORGE'S "GULF" HANDICAP
President Bush says he gave up golf to be in “solidarity” with the fallen troops...
"I don't want some mom whose son may have recently died to see the commander-in-chief playing golf," he said. "I feel I owe it to the families to be in solidarity as best as I can with them."
My muse saw this yesterday and brought it to my attention by clanging two metal trashcan lids together very close to my ears. She did this until the hair on the back of my head stood up on its own. If your short on hair gel or mousse, might I suggest this as a stand-by lifter. Its hell on the ears, but, even after shampooing it three times since, the hair on the back of my head, between my bleeding ears, remains at full attention!
"I don't want some mom whose son may have recently died to see the commander-in-chief playing golf," he said. "I feel I owe it to the families to be in solidarity as best as I can with them."
My muse saw this yesterday and brought it to my attention by clanging two metal trashcan lids together very close to my ears. She did this until the hair on the back of my head stood up on its own. If your short on hair gel or mousse, might I suggest this as a stand-by lifter. Its hell on the ears, but, even after shampooing it three times since, the hair on the back of my head, between my bleeding ears, remains at full attention!
After my muse was going for her third clang I said,
‘YOU KNOW THAT AFTER THE FIRST TWO TIMES ANY FURTHER ‘CYMBAL’ CRASHING IS RATHER POINTLESS. I’M DEAF IN BOTH EARS, SO WHATEVER IT IS YOU WANT FROM ME YOU’LL HAVE TO WRITE IT DOWN IN YOUR NOTEPAD AND PUT IN FRONT OF MY FACE.’
To which she countered with somewhere around thirty further "cymbal" crashes! It could have been more. I mean I can’t really be sure since I had gone deaf in both ears already. I’m still a bit disoriented, like I’m in a deep well.
The following is what my muse wrote on a piece of paper and violently shoved in front of my face-
GEORGE BUSH, FUCK YOU! YOU ELITIST AND EVIL BASTARD! YOU ABSOLUTE INCOMPETENT, NO GOOD, IGNORANT, GODDAMNED RICH, LOWLIFE, SILVER SPOON-FED FOOL! FUCK YOU, YOU ASSHOLE! GO STRAIGHT TO HELL YOU PATHETIC, WORTHLESS, ILL-MANNERED, WARMONGERING SWINE! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! AND FUCK YOU!
I said, ‘I understand you’re angry, my dear, but I expected better from you. I did. I thought you’d have channeled your anger into a heartrending, earth-shattering, piercing poem or something like that...'
She furiously grabbed the notepad and began to write like she was possessed.
I stood aside and patiently waited. I passed the time by dabbing at the blood that trickled from my ears and marveling at my newly rendered coif.
It wasn’t long before she again shoved the notepad in front of my face-
-a poem titled "George's Gulf Handicap"-
GEORGE BUSH,
FUCK YOU!
YOU ELITIST AND EVIL BASTARD!
YOU ABSOLUTE BASSACKWARD,
NO GOOD, IGNORANT, GODDAMNED RICH,
LOWLIFE, SILVER SPOON-FED SONOFABITCH!
FUCK YOU, YOU FETID, ASS EATING WHORE!
GO STRAIGHT TO HELL
YOU PATHETIC, WORTHLESS TO THE CORE,
ILL-MANNERED, WARMONGERING SWINE!
FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!
FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!
AND FUCK YOU UNTIL THE END OF TIME!
She then began to cry uncontrollably.
© 2008 mrp/tpm
Rolling along "I"... I Was Just Wondering - Ice Station Tango - If I Was God I'd Cry Too - Impeach George W. Bush - ImpeachBush - Indict Dick Cheney - Informed Voters - Intrepid Liberal Journal - Iraq Body Count - Iraq Today - Iraq Veterans Against the War - It's Morning Somewhere - It's My Right To Be Left Of Center - I'm Jus' A Lil' Dizzy! - I'm Sorry World
And We Stand Still
And we stand still,
Seemingly unmoved by it all.
And we stand still,
Force the broken rubble together,
To the crimson clay and gray maggots we leave our breathing,
Feet stuck down in the red earth.
Do we know what it is that we have done?
Forgive me... We know not...
Writhing limbs beneath the ground
Unmoved of the dulled shanking sorrow
Broken by the distant flow of murder
Dejected of all the slighted affections
Replaced by a programmable worry
Struck anesthetized of bone-shrieking pain
Vanished by the good God damned dash
Pushed back to the very dread filled end
Trampled flat by the gush of skin
Stopped short of inhaling lethal shame
Turned off from what’s not the same
Blinded by the inundation of labor
Wrought immobile by the last quaver
Succumbed to hunger and greed
Paled of piercing a blood-red deed
Do we know what it is that we have done?
Forgive me... We know not...
O the flesh and bone and blood, and blood and blood-
Murderous days and nights
Of the world’s child
By our conscious monstrousness!
Again and again, without moving,
Planted there in the earth!
We are living and breathing
Yet we might as well die away,
Pass on down, end, vanish, fade...
Who could possibly want what we have;
Freedom with feet wedged beneath the ground,
God without a miserable mince of goodness,
Equality with white-faced conditions?
Hope is a four letter word.
Writhing limbs beneath the ground.
What? What? What? Goddamnit! What?
We’re not alive, at least not our senses; reality.
Why not place our bodies entirely under
If we’re just going to stand so unhappily silent?
Surely we’ve nothing worth continuing for,
Surely we’d be better off if we sunk complete,
Better than remaining red-faced, horrifyingly immobile
With no weight to bear from such empty spirits...
© 2008 mrp/tpm
MOTHER'S DAY, MAY 11th, 2008...
Happy Mother’s Day…
Much of what has been given I’ve taken for granted,
And yet your arms have remained open like the oceans.
Moonlight dances on the water and asks for nothing in return
And all I can do is stand slack jawed at its mystery.
In my hurry, this truth has oftentimes been forgotten,
Lingering near everything that had made me.
Only as I sought my heart’s beginning,
Vanquished of its ego, did I
Ever truly understand this brilliant gift.
Yesterday’s come and gone,
Ocean tides moved without notice
Underneath the light, I see you clearly...
~Wife
Many a time I have marveled at you,
I’ve not the imagination to reach such
Completeness, such commanding triumphs
Held within your astounding spirit.
Each time I dream of trying I’m
Left with a certainty; your unshakable
Love is indeed my greatest gift,
Evermore I shall cherish the truth of this.
Happy Mother’s Day.
I love you,
Mark
~Daughter
Child of ours, mother’s joy,
Heaven stirred when you awoke, with
Each breath contentment took wing,
Love elevated near exactness,
Spirit born of yearning…
Earth’s indelible soul
And embrace of mother to child.
Wonderment never lifted thus or
Equaled a journey so stirring.
Love, your son, our grandchild, will know
Of this joy, see this; ours for his mother,
Vibrant will be such devoted hands
Each time we hold him close.
Your joyous creation and happiness brings
Our own smile, our own merriment, skyward,
Upon this, your remarkable day.
Happy Mother’s Day…
~Sister
The earth doesn’t move us each the same,
Everyone feels, smells, touches it differently,
Reacts to its wonderment, its motion,
Each person bringing to it its own taste.
Something, the only thing that can rival this
And exceed its power, only a child can say.
“Happy Mother’s Day”...
~Sister-in-law
Your soul is one of craving,
Only it can desire as much,
Love as much,
Affection equal to itself,
Nothing else, save for your children,
Doting on your kindness
And gentle spirit.
Happy Mother’s Day...
© 2008 mrp/tpm
Rolling along "E"...Ebullient Skepticism - Enigma4ever - Evil Bobby
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