JUST WORDS?

Clinton, McCain Push Experience Button
By LAURA MECKLER and JACKIE CALMES
February 21, 2008; Page A10

WASHINGTON -- Sen. Barack Obama is facing attacks on two fronts on one of the toughest issues facing his campaign: whether he has the experience necessary to be the nation's commander in chief.

Both Sen. Hillary Clinton, his rival in the race for the Democratic presidential nomination, and Sen. John McCain, the presumptive Republican nominee, are arguing that Mr. Obama, who has no military background and few foreign-policy credentials, is ill-equipped to serve as commander in chief. Both say he would stack up poorly next to Mr. McCain, a Vietnam War hero who has been involved in many foreign-policy debates during his Senate career. Mrs. Clinton also has some foreign-policy experience from her time in the Senate and as first lady.

MCCAIN
These feet have been unduly shackled to the ground as I flew!
I am the mighty warrior tromping with my gun melded to peace
As my limbs and brittle wits prowl the ticking wounds of clocks!

HILLARY
Well this back has grappled the brunt of hostilities acquaintance
While I made mother and wife of wounded man’s indifference
And my heart cried out and splattered new paths toward the sun!

MCCAIN
Oh! Well my back’s been beaten like a rug in a whispering house!
In this harsh sphere I’ve survived as the jig hung torture’s frame!
I’ve served my country with an honor seized only for imagined kings!

HILLARY
Ha! My intellect has endured kissing frogs upon the chauvinist’s granite,
Confessing my sins that swim tall under the waters of desiccated power,
Moving steel to thwart beasts and rise above evil’s shapeless reach!

MCCAIN
Bah! It is I that has sacrificed most and guided the flower to its color,
Felt the brush of monstrous talons light upon my wingless back
And held my puffed tongue as moonlight melted a steel saloon!

HILLARY
No! It is I who has devoted my being to the ram’s horn of service!
I’m the mother and daughter; surrogate nurse to fatherless country!
In my time I've witnessed the grave song lend its radiance to daybreak!

MCCAIN
This is my time! I’ve no more to offer after this, so stand aside and weep!
Let time consume the least of energy in a revival of war and casualty,
Bring the black bird to the seed and watch its plane ticket burst into joy!

HILLARY
Back off, old man of the air! My homeland calls out with a lion’s verse
And delivers quick her plea; tiny kisses of shame on lips of change!
I'll deliver the tall house and homeless box to the bending scratch of hope!

MCCAIN
The hell you can, witches portent! I’m the one that’s skilled in death!
You’re led to the river of dread by the almighty whisperer of misfortune!
Me! I can best guide us out the rooting swamp creeping over our night!

HILLARY
Empty promises are your forte! My occurrence is unpaid and bright!
Yours is tedious and owned by the highest bidder at doom’s auction!
It is mine that's ready, ripe upon the heels of our ill decree come lately!

MCCAIN/HILLARY
Me! Mine! Bitch! Bastard! Whore! Whore! Despot! Geriatric! Idiot!
My time! You lose! Louse! Twit! Nitwit! Leftist! Elitist! Doomsayer!
Screw you! No! Fuck you! Go to hell! Up yours! Miscreant! Commy!
Fuck off! Kiss my ass! You’re all ass! Pucker up! Die already! Gaywad!
Effeminate! Whore of Babylon! Fluff! Powder Puff! I! Douchebag! I!
Mine! Me! Cackling old hen! Babbling old toad! Fuck! Suck! Rat! Nimrod!

OBAMA
Just words?

Education Action Campaign

DOUBLE UP
© 2007 mrp/thepoeryman

EARS SO MALIGNED

READ THE POEM +/-

Cameleon (Ben Heine)


"At this time I wish also to add that I am deeply sorry for the reactions in some countries to a few passages of my address at the University of Regensburg, which were considered offensive to the sensibility of Muslims," the pope told pilgrims at his summer palace outside Rome.

When have our eyes been thus put upon,
Our ears so maligned with righteous lies?
Are the quarrels made of stone,
Immovable mass,
Waves so commanding they’re unable to give?

What words are such that they collapse upon people
And crush them with their enormous weight?
Surely not truth... for is not truth pure light?
Now in deceit;
Darkness can hold such noise come of late.

When words hold more in their darkness
Than are capable in summoning of light,
Are not then the words composed of gloom
And of no use…
Save for encouraging explicit destruction?

Words are our thoughts, not some ancient history
When they are embodied in such a warring world
And discharged from the mouths of its leaders;
Presidents or popes,
It’s all the same to the demoralized and weary.




Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman


Pope's speech: Archbishop urges calm

Cameleon (Ben Heine)

Nun Forgave Somalia Killers

DEAR MR. PRESIDENT, GEORGE WALKER BUSH,

READ THE POEM +/-

(Due to the brutal and graphic nature of this crime scene and the ongoing investigation there is no picture available at this time.)


I’d like to take this opportunity to express my thoughts
and with all due respect, speak bluntly, Mr. President.
Nothing in particular really, just a random chain
of cognitive ideas wrought by your blundering
half-cocked-swagger-accented-“heh”-times three-strut
that tumbles out your Milli Vanilli cowboy giddy-up spittoon
wet with nothing coherent, or true, or resembling good English,
or honor, trust, strength, anything at all respectable,
or even within an nth of godliness, just a haphazard chain
of disingenuous spaghetti westernized one-liners
of insidious claptrap-twaddle-rubbish gurgling
and splattering projectile spittle out down
and on your never-been-man-enough-to-do-anything-on-your-own-without-daddy-or-mommy-or-your-team-of-sycophant-whispering-sweet-nukular-nothings-in-your-ear-of-never-had-any-real-character-to- speak-of and reflecting upon your heroes- Larry Curly Moe and the oft ignored Shemp- never contemplated anything greater than your own tired reflection and silver-spoon-fed-n-filled-hubris of self-righteous holier than thou too big for your wranglers pickup truck boot wearin’ horse trailer self absorbed selfish self-helplessness that splatters up down and `round your mindless yammering silhouette sauntering a black witless shipless hapless soul in-front of God and human-kind like a poorly written character in a yet to be written novel idea of an empty-headed nowhere to be home-schooled prick who never arrived on time and time again with fool tattooed on your foreheaded out the saloon door holding your six-shooter decider deciding your God before God can get a smote in edgewise and your not and you’ve never been but you’ve plummeted into the idea of failing and wailing and railing and it’s not getting hard and she needs you to satisfy her hunger and you don’t want to feel less than the man you know you’re never going to be so you wrench her arms behind her back and slam her face hard into the mattress and cotton blend sheets like so many times before belly down she whimpers face down muffled by the Slumber-Core Pillow prostrate in shame like so many times before feeling useless and angry and vengeful and old and that gets you peaked and madder and that gets you harder!
Hard as a reinforced steel tower!
Nothing’s gonna bring you down!
You’ve already gone too far-fetched the rigid-bone-of-your-dead-and-dying and you can’t won’t don’t let her know you’re a frightened peeing in your pants thumb-sucking lip-smacking rude adolescent as you drive it deeper and harder and more brutal and she cries for you to stop and she bleeds and with each thrust you drive it deeper and she bleeds more with every crashing descent penetrating her walls knowing that the enemy of self-knowledge can’t redeem your weakness and tearing flesh and delivery of pain and suffering so you slam into her with all your rotting might tearing her open rending her flesh and bone!
Watching the blood spill out of her you put on a grin knowing you’re the man you’re the drugstore cowboy clanking spurs proving your manhood
showing the world you’re not a faggoty ass faggot!
Hell no! You’re a man! "Man" the way God intended!
And you won’t don’t can’t stop pummeling her even as she screams that you’re killing her and she screams and she screams and you again feel your blood boiling from her battle cries! You grab her by the neck and thrust and choke and split and cut and spit and the blood on your hands clinches her throat! She won’t stop flailing! Screaming! So you give her a desperate yank! Again! Again! She stops moving...
Your vile semen and sweat
mix with her miles of blood and death
and heaven comes
and she leaves her body
and her oath
and rises from the basin
and barren
she lies there lifeless
eyes wide open
still you drive deep into her
proving, only to yourself,
that you’re not in your final throes
you’ve found a weapon of mass destruction
the evil you battle and pledge to kill
actually exists just outside the reflection
of your halfcocked arrogance and strut…



Sincerely,
thepoetryman



Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman

(For those that must see pictures of the attack,
although I can't imagine such voyeurism being so desirable,
you can see the crime at Ben Heine - Cartoons…if you must…)

Caution- acute intolerance and convoluted scurrility contained within.

Sexual Violence: Fact Sheet

The World Can't Wait

Raping the World