Showing posts with label US. Show all posts
Showing posts with label US. Show all posts
MARCH BANG BOMB
march march march
bomb bomb bomb
work work work
bang bang bang
enslave yourself
to mankind’s bane
march march march
onward now
in rhythmic chains
stepping now
forward once
then twice back
bomb bomb bomb
truth now split
hope gone flat
march march march
toward the tower
toward your god
work work work
this; our drum,
it must not stop!
bang bang bang
bomb bomb bomb
march march march
march march march
march march march...
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
OCCASION FOR ALL NATIONS
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.
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 © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND
The Americans can't return the three years that Abdul Rahim Muslim Dost lost, locked in a cell in Guantánamo Bay. But they could at least give back his poetry."Please help," said Dost, who says he penned 25,000 lines of verse during his long imprisonment. "Those words are very precious to me. My interrogators promised I would get them back. Still I have nothing."The lost poems are the final indignity for Dost, a softly spoken Afghan whom the US military flew home last year, finally believing his pleas of innocence... (More)
A tiger made of thoughts crouched in rancid chamber
And penned enslaved words of his freedom’s famine
An enormous head wobbled over the prison barricade
Wagging blackened tongue to lap the tiger’s mane
The cat roared and spattered victory on paper cup
Young soldiers, frenzied with the folly, explode
The tiger makes note of their cackling redness
Licking the last drop of bittersweet verse
White jaws seized his twenty-five thousand odes
Yet the cat still runs open these guarded prison walls
Verse stolen of peace, hope, dignity and redness
Gitmo Inmates Share Ordeal
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My comment-
A play worth watching and remembering sounds like to me... Being a theatrical person I can say that the bit about history is more than just self-obsession...in most cases it is the way it is. Poetry, theatre, film, music, prose...somehow, some way, it all trickles down and into an artist's hands... Pompous sounding on the surface, but of what I have seen in my lifetime, it is the voice that at large would be unspoken, for, in many an instance, the words won't come out due to fear, pain, or intimidation... To hell with "patriotism" and all its foibles!
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BAGHDAD BURNING...OUR THROATS
In the shading of your persistent speechless death
We cannot help be unsettled by your passion.
Now, just as the world boils, increased in suffering
Do we begin to sense brittle-boned-humanity.
A drama worth its ink, recoiled, unfolds inside us,
Leaping in our throats, coursing through our veins,
Diving deep, like a jilted lover’s plea, it swims through.
Wounded and yelping it tosses inside our existence
Telling us things we’d never tell ourselves...
The drama says, bring forth your lies
For they'll not penetrate truth.
Bring forth thy warmongering spirit
For it shall not dance.
It will flounder here... dreadfully.
Treading upon the boards, characterized as horrific,
Slumping; a dreadful creature, writhing, sweating
`neath the canopy of light.
The drama says,
Look! Look!
There you are, lumbering in final breath!
You coward!
You defiled wretch!
Bedraggled death!
Your countenance now but a shadow
As the lights begin to fade.
You may come cloaked in dream
But you’ve been seen
And we’ve felt your sodden breath upon our soul
From a city where no-one knows
If they will see another day.
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
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Baghdad Burning On Stage C&L
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