This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO
Showing posts with label bomb. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bomb. Show all posts

THE WEIGHT OF IT




Put a single bullet in the palm of your hand…
It lays there, obedient, glistening, motionless,
Weighing no more than a thought.

Sew all grenades into the sleeves of white dress shirts
Making sure to leave the pins fully engaged
And they shall never again need ironing.

Gently lower all IEDs to the furthest depths of the sea
Among the amazing and peculiar mysteries of the deep
And strange creatures shall dance to their silence.

Place all the military tanks on the planet into large pots,
Stoke all the furnaces and melt them down into a liquid
And from them erect millions of rolling libraries.

Hang all rifle
s and handguns from the surface of the moon
Like an airplane mobile or a holiday tree ornament
And listen to the wind make a joyful noise.

Sculpt all manner of bombs into enormous statues,
Whose eyes look down and whose brows are furrowed,
And merrily stare back into their dreary faces.

Place a world of peace in the palm of your hand…
Feel it gently breathing, exhaling through your fingers,
Weighing no more than imagination.



© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

Rolling along "M"...

My Past, My Present and My Future

Mad In The Middle

Main and Central

March 19 Iraq War Blogswarm

Martha, Martha....

Mccs1977

MeInAction

Miss Welby

My Page Was Too White

My Past, My Present, My Future



"MOVE ALONG"

Is It For Freedom? Sara Thomsen (3:45)

(After watching this video I was inspired to write my own song.)

WHO PAYS THE PRICE

As you and I sit idly by
And watch America
Eating from the trough,

As you and I sit idly by
And watch America
Drinking her indifference,

As you and I sit idly by
And watch America,
A pill of greed upon her tongue,
While children starve outside our homes
And others drown inside their own
While people of the world are bombed,

Will we close our eyes
And swallow the pill
When we're told "we don't belong"?

Who then pays the cost
Who pays the cost
For America’s freedom land?
Who then pays the cost
Of our eating from the trough
While all the bombs
Are falling from our hands?

Who pays the cost for apathy?
Who pays the heavy price?
Who pays when we close our eyes
And we're told to "just make nice"?

Who pays the cost for that?
Who pays the price
When our planes have bombed their last?
Who pays the heavy cost
When we buy a tank of gas?
Who pays a price as we devour
While so much more is lost?

As you and I sit idly by
And watch America
Eating from the trough,
While children starve outside our homes
And others drown inside their own,
While people of the world are bombed
Will we close our eyes and swallow the pill
When we’re told to "move along"?

Will we close our eyes and swallow the pill
When we’re told to "move along"?

Will we close our eyes and swallow the pill
When we’re told to "move along"?


© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman


Thanks to Elowehi25 for the video

Previous Post - RAWA



PITCHING PROVIDENCE

READ THE POEM +/-
(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

NO POETRY

READ THE POEM +/-



The white hot lie beckons of rationale
Yet veils its heat so children might yowl
In everlasting conflict with reality.
Boom!
Counterfeit words tumble through teeth
Eye to eye in emblazoned speech
To a sycophant prophetic acclaim.
Boom!

Thundering plainly, blindly to genuflect
At the blood-spattered feet of death
And propel air-sucked sin upon them.
Boom!
No poetry in the lopped limbs of despair
And no verse reckons their woeful prayer
But words oft shout down their plight.
Boom!
No prose in the whistling bomb’s release,
No hope in a child’s explosion of grief
Save for strapping `round vengeance.
Boom!
Turn, heavy and blistering irons! Retreat!
Be done with your contemptuous deceit!
There is no poetry in it,

None...




Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

MARCH BANG BOMB

READ THE POEM +/-


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

WAITING ON THE RAIN

It is time to bring `em home.
Time to call it what it is,
What it's always been
And will remain.

It is time to bring `em home.
Occasion is now not later.
Later's mere deceit
Waiting on the rain.

It is time to bring `em home.
Bomb no more, unlock,
Unload their weapon
And to us return.

It is time to bring `em home.
To terminate our mourning,
To heal our grievance
And say lesson learned.

It is time to bring `em home.
That our love might come
Yet again upon the dream
And embrace our soul.

It is time to bring `em home.
To air the people’s voice
As one of peace and joy
And unite the breathing fold.

It is time to bring `em home.
Time to call it what it is,
What it's always been
And will remain.

It is time to bring `em home.
End our hold upon Iraq.
Later's just a parade
Waiting on the rain
.




Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman


One of the Many Reasons to Withdraw

Related Posts with Thumbnails