THE ENTHUSIASTIC

O disheveled souls sent out to butcher spirits,
Sightless boys placed down in suffering’s arid grasp,
Do not go out unaided in this churning despair
With its tall and fickle beast slung over your shoulder,
Its eyes within you ill equipped at channeling peace.

The blood, reaching high enough, will sting your eyes
And your host will move you in front of dread
Directing you toward a manacled liberty unaware,
Its love set to rip the flesh that holds your frown,
Prepared to gleefully declare that peace is dead.

The beast has its place, I suppose.
War.
Rattling war.
Without end.
What has been done.

The carnage laid siege to the cities
The way monstrous death inhales,
Corpses growing into the soil like freshly sown seeds
With the enthusiasm of young men.

That is the thing that is most troubling.
The eagerness, the unbridled pleasure.
The significance of this
May well be our ruin.

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman


H/T to The Fanonite for the video "Home of the Brave"

Rolling along "K"...

Karen AK

Karmalised

Katrinacrat Blog

King of Zembla

Kommandos Project

THE VIRGIN AND THE SEASONED

Bush just playing us with 'troop withdrawal'

Olbermann: "President Bush told troops in Iraq some of them may be able to come home. To a country dying of thirst, the president seemed to vaguely promise a drink from a full canteen -- a promise predicated on the assumption that he is not lying. Yet you are lying, Mr. Bush. Again. But now, we know why. "

"...Everything you said about Iraq yesterday, and everything you will say, is a deception, for the purpose of this one cynical, unacceptable, brutal goal: perpetuating this war indefinitely."
(full transcript)

THE VIRGIN AND THE SEASONED

Right after the sky had seemingly dumped all its gloom upon this world
And sunny days lay ahead of us… some of us… maybe some lucky son of the rich;
Just when the world could use some talk of peace and healing of wounds
And unruffled reflection allowed to descend… or shine… or sidle between dry lips;
O! That this world could make use of silence or a hushed and soothing reverie
From the heavy chains knotted `round our breath! The tongues are corroded over
With idols and liars and hordes of impish drones and toadies and criminals;
A fine mess we’ve made of it! A fine mess we’re into now; a world in disarray!
And someone’s going to stop breathing tonight! A father’s going to cry, kill or pray
As someone else will sleep far away from his grief. Sleep roundly without sorrow.
The moving sand and running streets and flying steel pilfering the radiance
Will send a messenger, a virgin warrior, with tidings of community and expectation,
Only to return with news of a lifeless planet with lifeless inhabitants; dull and jaded.
Another more seasoned warrior will then be sent with reports and bags of gold,
Only to return with news of an insensible planet with insensible and terrified patrons.
Then it will be time to send the General, a gallant, fearless stag of impeccable servitude
Armed only with the kings dangling gaze hard upon his back. The news is good!
The planet breathes! The previous, now lifeless dispatches were two-faced traitors…

Right after the sky had seemingly dumped all its gloom upon this world
And sunny days lay ahead of us… some of us… maybe some lucky son of the rich;
Just when the world could use some talk of peace and healing of wounds
And unruffled reflection allowed to descend… or shine… or sidle between dry lips;
A command was given to cease all opposition and to run crying for shelter!
Come warble your dissent! Whimper in anger! Snivel in disbelief and comfortless drivel
Until the soil trembles with your quaking of our liberty that is the world’s torment
For the virgin and the seasoned have been silenced and all that remains is monstrous!
O! If the rivers could but sing of this time they’d flood the world in sorrowful verse.

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

BOTTOMLESS APPETITE

Bill Moyers: Surge in Bushco Propaganda Denies Reality on the Ground

Then at last the wolves began to devour one another
They ripped into the other’s flesh relentlessly
They said nothing of their brotherhood
Nothing of humanity
They said nothing
Just engraved flesh to bone

And to their loved ones
It was told they had become ill
Or a roadside trap had sunk their haunches
A martyr for the cause
Blossoms of more beautiful death moving over their shoulders
And to the country wolves
The safe
The listless
The counterfeit freedom lovers
To them it all seemed
A natural progression of the ferocious world
Enviously seeking their freedoms
Their riches, their dreams

Soon the blossoms wilted
And a rancid stench drifted over the Sunday service
Until their worship turned outward
And pounced upon its host

© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman

Back to the Future

Want to know what was on my mind one year ago today?

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 to be slain.

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