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
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of the civilized world."
The Torture Garden--Octave Mirbeau
All Things Considered, November 1, 2006 · The term "war on terror" is ubiquitous, but the meaning of the word "war" has evolved.
For most of the last 2,000 years, war has meant something very conventional and traditional. The current war on terror, however, is a completely unconventional, non-traditional type of conflict.
Georgetown University historian Bruce Hoffman says unlike traditional wars, the war on terror does not have a clear beginning and an end.
"[War] ends with the vanquishing of an opponent, with some form or armistice or truce -- some kind of surrender instrument or document," Hoffman says.
But in the war on terror, there's no specific battlefield and the enemy isn't an army.
"It's a war without boundaries," Hoffman says. "It's a war directed against multiple enemies, not just one adversary."
(metaflower by Ben Heine - Cartoons)
OUR TORTURED GARDEN
Too ashen! Too hidden!
Like some plodding prayer
Mouthed under sultry breath,
Lobbed skyward beneath
The demoralizing weight of gravity
Reluctant of its dulled and hollowed plea.
The shoddy wilt, the red droop
Of oppressions scope, maudlin loyalty.
Who the hell needs an optimism
Carrying a loaded M21 Horizon,
Or a prayer with the weight of a tank?
“It’s too massive!”, cried the saint.
The gates of life swing wide
For caskets draped in flags!
Who the hell needs this hope
So weighted down with loss?
Prayers with the dead weight of children?
“It’s too distressing!”, cried the angels...
The tortured garden! Insatiable craving
Of the hideous instruments of ruin
Planting young seeds too early
In the loud, bone-dry ground
Cultivating, not life, but odium.
“It’s too thunderous!” cried God.
Too ashen! Too hidden!
Like some plodding prayer
Mouthed under sultry breath,
Lobbed skyward beneath
The demoralizing weight of gravity,
Reluctant of its dulled and hollowed caress.
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
Inspired via Frederick MCCS1977