This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO

AMEROTICA...

(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)

Of this moment what is it that you want?

Her gallant nakedness clutching at flowers
and shaking herself upright again.

Her margins and chest filled with grand laughter
at the things she’s most ready to do.

Her eyes reading wonderfully tall and magnificent letters
dispatched from all points of her reach.

Her lips coursing a voyage over freedom with a blazing hope,
shaking the limbs of all dread-filled faces.

Her émigré colors moving together; loving, holding
one another in luscious, tender whispers.

To witness her thighs draped over our ready shoulders
as we seek out her yielding flesh.

The winged creature with her supple neck bent down,
smiling upon her just desserts.

Her rebellious shape hovering over the people’s hunger,
steadying herself for eager tongues.

That she rise up now, and with her flesh, wet and yearning,
Touch upon those most in need.

Her long and loving hands opening up to us in freedom,
lifting our sleepy faces to the sun.


© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman



THIS DAY'S BIRTH (an invocation for Barack Obama)



Through flood… and quaking earth
And winds, those before our grand machinery
Anointed the solemn granite
With our foundation, left great trust in the future
Of their manuscript here
Upon our country's doorstep,
That such swaying of the pillars toward failure
Be remedied in the steadfast parchment.

On this day of days
Let us consider love,
Compassion, freedom, hope.
The sky, ocean, seas, soil,
Home to our limbs and joy
Long misplaced and low,
A glee sunken in our brow
Like the whisper of our end
Bending the corners of our mouths

Misplaced in the shadow of sand and war.
Let this day be remarkable with its coming,
Daring our better selves to stand upon
The shoulders of history and predict our future
With its smiling on the children of peace

In one long, joy filled stride.
We have but to embrace ourselves; the wish
We formed at this day’s birth
Beneath the sun, reaching down to us, above
The staining of men in trenches
Whose lives wait in favor of ours.
Holding for a rise from ashes,
To cleanse this; our foul-bred hunger.
Equipped with mercy

And kindness
The prayer need rise out of us, but no further
Than we might travel among the poor.

No further than the broken,
The weary, hunkered down, begging
Of our hands to fetch them up.

All of us, our strength, a sturdy column
Unbent by the weight of courage,
Tempests in the empty halls of power,
Rumbling a refrain of unity
As we break open the shackles of misuse
Long left to fester on the people’s steps,
Find that this dawn is upon our shoulders,
It is we, who now negotiate with our own death,
Our girth of indifference.

Rise now to greet this day,
Our moment elevated from spirit,
Breathing, throbbing, ready,
Not for one, not for country,
But for love.

Use it for more than our self-seeking,
Use it as if it were the breath of mercy kneeling down.
Indulge its hunger, it has been waiting so long,
Hunkered down, bound and bleeding, ready
For our rising shoulders to hoist it tall again.

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman



Visit...The Alternative Invocation to read them all...

WE ARE YOURS!

The wormhole, paradise, hauls its wave above the injured in my spirit.

His soldiers, with their blistering certainty marching forward with their
cleansed bodies, upright breasts, asses and protruding masculinities,
look down and see before them a naked and lifeless child on the floor.
God, they imagined, placed the infant there as sign,
glint of light shining down on the divine churches golden base.

A few cradled the dead child while others built a pyre at the foot of their Christ.
They laid the eager body upon its cradle and declared, “We are yours!”
and lit the brittle timber.

Falling to their knees and repeating their mantra they watched their sacrifice melt.

First the soft hair of the child curled up with the flames, then sparked by the heat
it ruptured into ash.
Then came the tender flesh covering the ears which melted like wax,
dripping down into the flame it sizzled and popped
and drooped to its loss.

Then the skin on the palms of the hands and the heels of the feet oozed down onto the embers and the babies tender bottom and back and shoulders began to sag into the fire as the eyes melted into the skull, feeding the fire into the brain, and the soldiers of Christ still moaned and prattled their pledge.

Soon the liquefied skin had formed a cocoon around all that remained-
the lungs, heart, liver, kidneys, gallbladder, pancreas, and brain-
the stomach, spleen, colon, small intestines, bladder and bone.

A rancid smell filled the church as did the warrior’s blabber and moan
floating out of the fire of God’s blessing.
As the noise of sacrifice grew louder still, the child’s body grew white-hot and began to quake! The revelers saw this and became so frightened that they ran like a herd of cattle from the church.

When they were all gone, and the church was silent of fear, the baby suddenly burst open with the breath of peace upon it…



© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

CHILD SOLDIER WITH DARKNESS, FUME AND FLAME

Six days after the inauguration of President Obama, the U.S. is scheduled to begin the first trial of a child soldier accused of war crimes since World War II.

About the Video +/-


This video shows why President Obama must take swift action to end the unconstitutional military commissions, and why he must bring the United States back in line with the treaties it has signed regarding the treatment of juveniles who have been recruited or used in armed conflict.

Here is some background to the trial set for January 26: Canadian citizen Omar Khadr was 15 years old when he was captured in Afghanistan in the midst of a firefight that seriously injured Khadr and resulted in the death of a U.S. solider. Khadr was sent to Guantanamo where he was been held for 7 years -- one-third of his life. He was beaten, subject to painful stress positions and even used as a human mop after he urinated on the floor during one interrogation. Under these conditions, the prosecution of Khadr raises grave concerns about the rule of law and underscores how unconstitutional the military commissions are. President Obama must end them as he has promised.

Doing so will spare ACLU client Mohammed Jawad from trial in an illegal system. Jawad was sent to Guantanamo after he was captured at about age 16 at the scene of a grenade attack in Afghanistan that injured two U.S. soldiers. Afghan authorities threatened Jawad with his death, and that of his family, if he didnt confess to the attack. Based on the resulting false confession, Jawad was transferred to U.S. custody where he was further abused. Among other forms of cruel treatment he suffered at Guantanamo, Jawad was subjected to the so-called frequent flyer program, where he was moved every few hours -- 112 times over two weeks -- to deny him sleep. His trial date under the military commissions has not been set because the Bush administration has appealed the military judges decision to suppress torture-derived confessions. The appeals court decision is pending.

Join the ACLU in calling on President Obama to immediately shut down the military commissions operating at Guantanamo.

Featuring ACLU's National Security Project attorney Hina Shamsi and Human Rights Program researcher Jennifer Turner. It was produced for the ACLU by Joel Engardio.


VIDEO AND POEM +/-






CHILD SOLDIERS


When darkness, with its talon of fume and flame,
And a child’s shattered courage are joined,
Will radiance crack open of love
And will the nobility of man
Seek its breast,
Suckle truth?
Shall the good rumble at the gate,
Dance and revel and bellow,
Flatten the stolen seats of power?

Lick at ravenous sores,
Swill the idols,
Bend low,
Consume,
Expire,
Vanish,
Die,
Pleads the dark,
Prays the child.


© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman


ACLU

sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)
My toothpaste, toothbrush, shavers and shaving foam. The clothes I'm wearing, the cough medicine I'm using to get rid of a persistent cough, the cigarettes I bought for Ahmed, and some tobacco for my arghile. My cell phone, the laptop onto which I compulsively type my eye-witness accounts from the hell surrounding me. All that's needed for a modest, yet dignified existence in Gaza comes from Egypt, and arrives on the shops' shelves through the tunnels. These are the very same tunnels that the Israeli F16s hasn't stopped heavily bombing in the last 12 hours, destroying along with them thousands of Rafah houses near the border.


A few months ago I had three teeth dodgy fixed, and at the end of the operation I asked my Palestinian dentist where he'd gotten all of his dental equipment from – the anesthetic, the syringes, ceramic inlays and all the other tools. With a sly look on his face, he'd made a certain gesture with his hands: from under ground. There's no doubt that through the tunnels underneath Rafah, explosives and weapons were also smuggled, the very same that the resistance is using today to try and contain the terrifying advance of the armour-plated Israeli death-machines. But it's next to nothing compared with the tons of consumer goods flowing into famished Gaza under this criminal siege.
It's easy enough on the internet to find photos documenting how even livestock comes in from Egypt through the tunnels. Sedated, strapped-up goats and cows are lowered into an Egyptian well, re-emerging on this side to provide milk, cheese and meat. Even the main hospitals in the Strip stocked up surreptitiously at the border. The tunnels were the only resource allowing the Palestinians to survive the siege, a siege which long before the current bombings, was the cause of a 60% unemployment rate and forced 80% of families to live off humanitarian handouts... (Read more at Gab's blog)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason
to carry death there.
Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just
the sons of Abraham?

O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to
their stiff-limbed sleep
as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet,
children dying there.

I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow
of the patriarch,
asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and
leave our flesh to time?


© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman


Please visit Gabs at her wonderful blog...
Jewish Texts ("Turn backwards and you will see him.")

SECOND HAND


Odd is it that I should think of clothing
While looking at the horrific picture above.


What ragged soul bore the tattered shirt I wear?
What insistent thrashing from the fuming globe
Did the arms in these ragged sleeves undergo?
Of their troubles... might I know?


A second hand story, a second hand building,
Second hand smoke curling allegiance to breath,
Second hand food, second hand clothing.
...Death.


Every piece of clothing I own has a hole in it somewhere;
A tear, a stubborn thread, shrunken look, sedated color,
A missing button, a snag, a raging crinkle, or furled collar,
Not unlike my heart over the genocide of a people.


© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman



1. U.N. halts Gaza aid deliveries, blames Israel
2. The Green Prophet
3. U.N. Suspends Gaza Aid Operations
4. The Daily Banter

THE SONG I'VE BEEN LOOKING FOR


Song: 'Hero Of War' by Rise Against







This is the song I've been looking for;
A cry about more than the scrape of battle
Or wars forlorn lessons
Drumming the ears of my clamor…

Within it, my hunger for its roar;
My gasping, a wounded animal
Whose blood pours over the trap
Sucking metal through the lungs…

(When’s the lesson to come shattering;
Tall shrieks of mortally wounded flesh
Pulling down the sun’s wagging fingers
Cremating the mounds of faded bone?)

Within it, my craving for its plot;
A thirst like a stream of broken rock
Whose dreary harbor offers no relief
From the weight of an eager famine…

This is the song I've been looking for;
A cry about more than the scrape of battle
Or wars forlorn lessons
Drumming the ears of my clamor…

Truth spilled from a bleeding warrior;
Fangs bared to ignite empire’s pennant
And confirm to the world an apparition,
A tragic ghost slumping over the sand…




© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
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