Showing posts with label protest poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label protest poetry. Show all posts
THE CLEAN SKIN...
More than some ashen membrane
Are the clean skin.
Tell me what they are?
Oh! How beautiful are these alien creatures!
They move with the wind
Under cover of night and sun.
Glowing and graceful they progress
Nearer my tenuous fear.
Seen and unseen,
Like I’ve just exited some dark room;
Under the sun everyone’s a ghost.
Phantoms, whose faces are washed away,
And whose hands are sickly white,
Blanched from unredeemed horrors,
Stand now, drumming rigid fingers
Across the consciousness
Under my clean skin.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
GRAND SPECTACLE
(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)
250 Protesters Arrested, Including Amy Goodman
Looking from the opposite side of this other world
Wondering what it is that they must truly think of us
The mind awakens to their jarring ovation
And thoughts swoop in like dark winged beasts
I see them calling, “God damns you to hell!”
They shouldn’t tell peacekeepers that their voices can’t soar
They shouldn’t try breaking those who see the ugliness of their fears
They shouldn’t damn an outstretched hand while offering raging teeth
in exchange
And smile as they bring such reckless blades to neck
Because we will not kneel down and wait
Lions charging across the plains
Feel their razor claws as they seek the fearful ground
And thrusting wild boars come crashing
A victim’s quivering lips that have turned their hearts pale
Of cradling fear held up like a frozen hand
And their god will return to find them this way
Rolling along "P"... Paranoia or Schizophrenia?Past, Present & FuturePatrick Dodd and Small RevolutionsPeace Arena Peace GardenPeace Is ActivePeace PalestinePeacenikPeople in the SunPermutations and RuminationsPhilly.com PhotomontagePicasso DreamsPissed on Politics Poetryman Productions Political DoodlePolitics Plus PoliTits Professor Zero Progressive Daily Beacon PT Cruiser Puppet.gov
SHRIEK
When the bodies need counting
Fall upon your knees, lift your eyes
Beyond the stars, the universe,
and plunge your fingernails into your sides
and howl! Howl above the red sidewalk!
Then stand up and shriek at every loveless thing.
© 2008 mrp/tpm
Katrinacrat Blog
King of Zembla
Kommandos Project
BREATHING ART
Ceaselessly giving.
Art opens inward
The generous spirit of the heart.
Art widens the eyes,
The soul,
Then seeks you within it.
Rigid and hot,
It needs freedom, faith
To consider where it’s taken you,
Like dipping your mind’s brush
Into the cleansing water,
Thoughts swim, breathing like fish.
Now given to, submerged,
Bathed in the shape of it,
What wrangles your soul?
If you find your breath full...
Think not of the artist’s truth,
Think but of your own;
Spirit and the heart of hope
Weep
And question why…
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
(BLOG AGAINST THEOCRACY) Twisted Sense
Guns steadied,
Sky’s sapphire,
Shooter shaken,
Under firmament.
Twisted sense…
If, in the beginning,
We’d have only sent more death-
If, in the beginning,
We’d have only sent more to die-
If, in the beginning,
We’d have simply and entirely strafed-
If only we’d have merely flattened them,
All of their lives…
Twisted sense…
Tell me, O mighty war,
That they did not suffer!
Tell me, O potent combat,
That they didn't needlessly die
For your mantle and plot!
O! Imposing fortitude! Reckless courage!
Noxious warfare! Collateral death!
Twisted sense…
Tell me all the victims
(Guns steadied)
Of our sleet and storm
Suffer less now for it.
That our hands floating
(Under firmament)
Over the distant water have not
Fetched agony and terror
More than before…
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
Previous Post - VIDEO (Twisted Sense)
Sky’s sapphire,
Shooter shaken,
Under firmament.
Twisted sense…
If, in the beginning,
We’d have only sent more death-
If, in the beginning,
We’d have only sent more to die-
If, in the beginning,
We’d have simply and entirely strafed-
If only we’d have merely flattened them,
All of their lives…
Twisted sense…
Tell me, O mighty war,
That they did not suffer!
Tell me, O potent combat,
That they didn't needlessly die
For your mantle and plot!
O! Imposing fortitude! Reckless courage!
Noxious warfare! Collateral death!
Twisted sense…
Tell me all the victims
(Guns steadied)
Of our sleet and storm
Suffer less now for it.
That our hands floating
(Under firmament)
Over the distant water have not
Fetched agony and terror
More than before…
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
More Blog Against Theocracy at APJ
CLEAN SKIN
Briton 'could stage another September 11'Interview: America's new homeland security chief tells Toby Harnden of his fears of 'clean skin' terrorists
• Toby Harnden's blog
• The godfather chaser
The United States fears that the next September 11-style attack on America could be launched by Muslims from Britain or Europe who feel "second-class citizens" and alienated by a "colonial legacy", according to the US Homeland Security chief.
In an interview with The Daily Telegraph, Michael Chertoff, who arrives in Britain tomorrow for talks with John Reid, the Home Secretary, said the US was determined to build extra defences against so-called "clean skin" terrorists from Europe.
Mr Chertoff rejected the idea that the Iraq war had made the world more dangerous.
"Those that are inclined to be radicalised will find a reason to be radicalised no matter what's going on in the world."
More than some ashen membrane
Are the clean skin.
Tell me what they are?
Oh! How beautiful are these alien creatures!
They move with the wind
Under cover of night and sun.
Glowing and graceful they progress
Nearer my tenuous fear.
Seen and unseen,
Like I’ve just exited some dark room;
Under the sun everyone’s a ghost.
Phantoms, whose faces are washed away,
And whose hands are sickly white,
Blanched from unredeemed horrors,
Stand now, drumming rigid fingers
Across the consciousness
Under my clean skin.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
THE DISTORTION OF EVE
(A Poetic Justice Photomontage)
BETMO sent me an email I thought I'd share... The inspired poem follows...
"Let's all shop at Sears!!! I assume you have all seen the reports about how Sears is treating its reservist employees who are called up?
By law, they are required to hold their jobs open and available, but nothing more. Sears is voluntarily paying the difference in salaries and maintaining all benefits, including medical insurance and bonus programs, for all called up reservist employees for up to two years. I submit that Sears is an exemplary corporate citizen and should be recognized for its contribution. Suggest we all shop at Sears, and be sure to find a manager to tell them why we are there so the company gets the positive reinforcement ! it well deserves. Pass it on.
So I, decided to check it out before I sent it forward. I sent the following email to the Sears Customer Service Department: I received this email and I would like to know if it is true. If it is, the Internet may have just become one very good source of advertisement for your store. I know I would go out of my way to buy products from Sears instead of another store for a like item even if it was cheaper at the other store. Here is their answer to my email......................
Dear Customer: Thank you for contacting Sears. The information is factual. We appreciate your positive feedback. Sears regards service to our country as one of greatest sacrifices our young men and women can make. We are happy to do our part to lessen the burden they bear at this time."
THE DISTORTION OF EVE
Upon the homeward rumble of unkind supremacy;
The breathtaking leap of winter, and black sky…
Our marching lions return from their stalking submission,
Arriving champions, thrashing and pining for quiet
To pull open drooping eyes against the use of this globe.
When the warrior sleeps, and the higher peace consumes
And wraps around their grip, freeing the feel of the trigger,
And they know the bird’s touching down upon home
The screech of gears jostles them out of their sleep;
The vision of the children’s scattered brown skin
Surges now their scope like some distortion of Eve.
The planes tires have the shattering cries of the fallen
Breathing their last and now the ears pierce with humming;
They think, better to be home, than pleading in the shadows,
Than pulling the action and cutting strangers in two
Or seeing their own legs lying next to them…
Home! Home at last!
No more angry fingers clutching at roadsides.
No more the rigid fists of quagmire their reaping.
No more exploding flesh. No more! No more!
Let the harvest stray in the sand of that land!
Now stepping off to the touch of home,
To a streaming banner of never again.
To flag draped visions rising up chanting `hero’.
To faces stumbling among the fleshy fragments
Looking surprised, uttering unintelligible dread.
And the lion scans the gathering, piercing past the flesh
To walk through, to feel the defeated fingers of home.
Now the air broken with music blasting the newfound peace
And the mob of tears and applause consume the humming
As families look for one another to hold close this discord.
The music faded, photo snapped, banner down, they march home,
And, as the lions drift easily off to the first quiet sleep,
The rumble turns into the voice of a dark pleading,
Asking, “To what end?” “Where were you going?”
“This cloth we use to mop up the oil, wipe shame across the sand?”
The use of this realm, these three-colored banners,
Is all better washed than flown, burned or buried,
Than waved down the broken streets of home.
Even the lions now to their busy, restless lives;
Complacent and lockstep with the re-fragmenting horde.
"No! No! No! Goddmanit! We’ve yet to heal!
We’ve only managed to cover our wound and our wounding!
There’s been no aroma of peace wafting here!
Cease your goddamned marching! Cease!"
Upon the whistling street tosses the signs of conformity,
The smiling empty faces of greed and blindness.
The horrific film loop of deceitfulness.
The casting agents are auditioning our children
As extras in war movies that bow to beasts.
Will we now sleep through the harvest?
March down Old Glory Street?
Oh! Lion…
Step off your plane to the hush of peace...........
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
BETMO sent me an email I thought I'd share... The inspired poem follows...
"Let's all shop at Sears!!! I assume you have all seen the reports about how Sears is treating its reservist employees who are called up?
By law, they are required to hold their jobs open and available, but nothing more. Sears is voluntarily paying the difference in salaries and maintaining all benefits, including medical insurance and bonus programs, for all called up reservist employees for up to two years. I submit that Sears is an exemplary corporate citizen and should be recognized for its contribution. Suggest we all shop at Sears, and be sure to find a manager to tell them why we are there so the company gets the positive reinforcement ! it well deserves. Pass it on.
So I, decided to check it out before I sent it forward. I sent the following email to the Sears Customer Service Department: I received this email and I would like to know if it is true. If it is, the Internet may have just become one very good source of advertisement for your store. I know I would go out of my way to buy products from Sears instead of another store for a like item even if it was cheaper at the other store. Here is their answer to my email......................
Dear Customer: Thank you for contacting Sears. The information is factual. We appreciate your positive feedback. Sears regards service to our country as one of greatest sacrifices our young men and women can make. We are happy to do our part to lessen the burden they bear at this time."
THE DISTORTION OF EVE
Upon the homeward rumble of unkind supremacy;
The breathtaking leap of winter, and black sky…
Our marching lions return from their stalking submission,
Arriving champions, thrashing and pining for quiet
To pull open drooping eyes against the use of this globe.
When the warrior sleeps, and the higher peace consumes
And wraps around their grip, freeing the feel of the trigger,
And they know the bird’s touching down upon home
The screech of gears jostles them out of their sleep;
The vision of the children’s scattered brown skin
Surges now their scope like some distortion of Eve.
The planes tires have the shattering cries of the fallen
Breathing their last and now the ears pierce with humming;
They think, better to be home, than pleading in the shadows,
Than pulling the action and cutting strangers in two
Or seeing their own legs lying next to them…
Home! Home at last!
No more angry fingers clutching at roadsides.
No more the rigid fists of quagmire their reaping.
No more exploding flesh. No more! No more!
Let the harvest stray in the sand of that land!
Now stepping off to the touch of home,
To a streaming banner of never again.
To flag draped visions rising up chanting `hero’.
To faces stumbling among the fleshy fragments
Looking surprised, uttering unintelligible dread.
And the lion scans the gathering, piercing past the flesh
To walk through, to feel the defeated fingers of home.
Now the air broken with music blasting the newfound peace
And the mob of tears and applause consume the humming
As families look for one another to hold close this discord.
The music faded, photo snapped, banner down, they march home,
And, as the lions drift easily off to the first quiet sleep,
The rumble turns into the voice of a dark pleading,
Asking, “To what end?” “Where were you going?”
“This cloth we use to mop up the oil, wipe shame across the sand?”
The use of this realm, these three-colored banners,
Is all better washed than flown, burned or buried,
Than waved down the broken streets of home.
Even the lions now to their busy, restless lives;
Complacent and lockstep with the re-fragmenting horde.
"No! No! No! Goddmanit! We’ve yet to heal!
We’ve only managed to cover our wound and our wounding!
There’s been no aroma of peace wafting here!
Cease your goddamned marching! Cease!"
Upon the whistling street tosses the signs of conformity,
The smiling empty faces of greed and blindness.
The horrific film loop of deceitfulness.
The casting agents are auditioning our children
As extras in war movies that bow to beasts.
Will we now sleep through the harvest?
March down Old Glory Street?
Oh! Lion…
Step off your plane to the hush of peace...........
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
العراق - ما من فراغ NO VACANCY
*Isn’t psychosis dynamic?
1. Oil is environmentally friendly.
2. We can achieve peace through war.
3. We build by destroying.
4. Our hungry are better fed than Africa’s hungry.
5. In a health care grounded in miracles, not medicine.
6. There is no difference between a dead child and a broken doll.
7. The Book of Genesis is a scientific document.
*Gen'ls to Bush: Soldiers not props
A trio of retired generals concerned that President Bush might use his scheduled appearance this afternoon at the Walter Reed Army Medical Center to try and score political points against Democrats, urged the president, via a teleconference with reporters, to focus strictly on the problems with military medical care.
The generals were spurred into action by news reports that suggested the president might use the event to take on Democrats as both sides clash over the Iraq and Afghanistan spending bills just passed by the Senate and House which include timelines Bush fiercely opposes for withdrawing U.S. troops from Iraq.
*Toll rises as Iraq attacks continue
At least 38 people were killed or found dead in bombings in Iraq on Saturday, taking the Iraqi death toll this week to almost 500 people.
The weekly death toll rose after Iraqi police announced that Tuesday's truck bombing in Tal Afar, northwest of Iraq, killed 152 people, making it the deadliest single attack since the war began
*Iraqi justice minister resigns
Iraq's justice minister says that he has offered his resignation to the prime minister as a series of bombings left at least 14 people dead across Iraq.
In the capital, Baghdad, on Saturday, a car bomb killed five people and wounded 22 others outside the al-Sadr hospital in Sadr City in Baghdad, police said.
*Iraqi towns bury violence victims
The Iraqi government says it is doing its best to stop Iraq reaching a "level of despair" after six days of violence that resulted in 508 people dead.
On Friday, marketplaces in Baghdad and in the towns of Tal Afar and Khalis - devastated by waves of bomb attacks - stood in ruins.
*Al-Sadr calls for anti-US protests
Muqtada al-Sadr has blamed the US for Iraq's current woes and called for a mass demonstration on April 9 to mark the fourth anniversary of Baghdad's fall.
The Iraqi Shia leader in a statement on Friday also renewed his call for an immediate withdrawal of US troops from Iraq.
"Fly Iraqi flags atop homes, apartment buildings and government departments to show the sovereignty and independence of Iraq," al-Sadr said in the statement.
"[Show]that you reject the presence of American flags and those of other nations occupying our beloved Iraq," he said.
العراق - ما من فراغ
There is no vacancy here,
You’d best move along.
No street musicians
Playing freedom’s song.
This country’s faded. Fetid.
So, let the red sun set,
The darkness strike.
Let it come running
Or bound at the wrist
Twisting in agony,
The truth hidden in gloom
And lies, their planning.
Let it enter strapped in might,
Plummet like a hawk,
Be over and done with,
Settled once and for all.
The laughter of oily whores
Spilling from the alleyways
With a siren’s throat,
Blow to blow the fist of men.
Let it come drumming,
Pounding like the heart of rage.
Let it be done.
Finish it;
The world’s sour blood.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
There is no vacancy here,
You’d best move along.
No street musicians
Playing freedom’s song.
This country’s faded. Fetid.
So, let the red sun set,
The darkness strike.
Let it come running
Or bound at the wrist
Twisting in agony,
The truth hidden in gloom
And lies, their planning.
Let it enter strapped in might,
Plummet like a hawk,
Be over and done with,
Settled once and for all.
The laughter of oily whores
Spilling from the alleyways
With a siren’s throat,
Blow to blow the fist of men.
Let it come drumming,
Pounding like the heart of rage.
Let it be done.
Finish it;
The world’s sour blood.
© 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
LAURENCE OF EURASIA
Oliver Laurence North (born October 7, 1943) was a member of the United States Marine Corps who achieved the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. During the Vietnam War he was awarded the Silver Star, Bronze Star and 2 Purple Heart medals. He rose to national prominence during the Iran-Contra Affair, during which he was a key Reagan administration official involved in the clandestine selling of weapons to Iran in order to generate proceeds to support the Contra rebel group in violation of the law — specifically, a provision known as the Boland Amendment.
Today, he is a conservative political commentator, and host of the Fox News Channel program, War Stories.
Ollie,
I loathe your covert rumbling,
Your mouth loud and as noxious
As the feces choking Iraqi toilets.
I detest the verge of your hatred.
And this war, always now, this war
Standing like the water fouled
As good people get rooted like pariahs
While you dance and make-believe warrior!
I loathe your clandestine fluency,
Your overrated worldly omniscience
Sidling along with your wily mentality
And damnable lack of olfactory senses!
Does the word “Iran” give you pause?
How about “Contra Affair”? “Hitz”?
Come on, Ollie! Even a blind rat knows
When it’s standing neck deep in it!
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
THE OLIVER NORTH FILE
PREVIOUS POST - COLLAGES 173 & COUNTING
CLIMBER
(Click on the photo to enlarge...)
1 Climber Found Dead on Mt. Hood; 2 Still Missing
December 17, 2006 • (AP) -- Rescuers looking for three missing climbers on Mount Hood found a body Sunday in the area where one of the climbers made a distress call a week ago, authorities said.
The dead climber had not yet been identified, said Pete Hughes, a spokesman for the Hood River County Sheriff's Office. The victim was believed to be one of the three missing climbers, authorities said.
They had taken off their clothes
And their naked souls dripped upon the snow
Covering the mountainside.
Each drop then filled with light
Forming an infant star.
Down the mountain, miles below,
Hundreds of small flowers blossomed
And we delighted in the fragrant colors.
Mankind sparkled, and mountains
Swayed in remembrance.
Hundreds of years away an eagle lifts off
And we delight in its gloriousness
Of flight under aged stars,
And those same flowers bloom
And we find delight in their nakedness.
Never let it be said that these men did not triumph,
For they've lit the sky and emboldened the world...
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
(Click on the photo above to enlarge...and see the "infant stars"...)
1 Climber Found Dead on Mt. Hood; 2 Still Missing
December 17, 2006 • (AP) -- Rescuers looking for three missing climbers on Mount Hood found a body Sunday in the area where one of the climbers made a distress call a week ago, authorities said.
The dead climber had not yet been identified, said Pete Hughes, a spokesman for the Hood River County Sheriff's Office. The victim was believed to be one of the three missing climbers, authorities said.
They had taken off their clothes
And their naked souls dripped upon the snow
Covering the mountainside.
Each drop then filled with light
Forming an infant star.
Down the mountain, miles below,
Hundreds of small flowers blossomed
And we delighted in the fragrant colors.
Mankind sparkled, and mountains
Swayed in remembrance.
Hundreds of years away an eagle lifts off
And we delight in its gloriousness
Of flight under aged stars,
And those same flowers bloom
And we find delight in their nakedness.
Never let it be said that these men did not triumph,
For they've lit the sky and emboldened the world...
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
(Click on the photo above to enlarge...and see the "infant stars"...)
PREVIOUS POST - Monty Python SHOP skits
CRIMINAL-WAR-CRIMINAL
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It's very simple.
If the Prophet -p- has been reported to have said that we (Muslims) and they (the Jewish people) are so alike that we are like two shoes of a pair, then what does that tell you?(More…)
If the Prophet -p- has been reported to have said that we (Muslims) and they (the Jewish people) are so alike that we are like two shoes of a pair, then what does that tell you?(More…)
“I used to think the wounded would someday rule,
but, sadly, methinks they’ve been ruling all along." -tpm
.jpg)
A bloodstained dagger stands before a mirror,A long mirror with deep, shimmering glass,
And the dagger, looking at its reflection,
Sees nothing less than flawless magnificence.
O! Mirror!
Mirror that stands before the world,
What would your eyes have us see?
“It’s blade, the righteousness of divine instrument,
It’s handle, the humble embrace of the ordinary,
And the blood, the fated sacrament to Him.
A guiltless and benevolent perfection; God.”
O! God!
God that oversees this swirling gale,
What would your eyes have us see?
“Avarice desire of power stems from hubris
And mirrors are useless to self-importance,
Save for thy reflection of a distorted character.”
O! Character!
True character that guides our hearts
What would your eyes have us see?
“The sadness that, even to the dagger, is invisible.
The innocent gutted by its blade is not manifest,
And the insignificance of its ignoble quest.”
O! Olmert!
Olmert, lounging with empire,
What would you have us believe?
“The blade is God’s will, His divine will and testament,
The handle assures God’s blade its steady slash,
And the blood is a corollary of God’s divine air."
O! God!
Again, what is it you would have us see?
"The mirror and the dagger… two shoes of a pair."
Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman
Olmert, Like Bush, Finds his Popularity Slipping - U.K. News
More Pressure on Olmert to Quit - Guardian Unlimited
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EARS SO MALIGNED
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"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
BAD APPLES
A tree with healthy roots will flourish.
A tree without, will wither and die.
The same may be said of anything;
the root is the soul of the tree,
the root is the heart of the flower,
the rain, the life spring of the river,
the source, the breathing core of civilization.
When we confront the knowledge of this
with the root of ourselves
we realize there is no alternative
but to strengthen blood's derivation
so we might grow
out of our seeking.
Our source
is humanity.
America,
the world,
we are
the
root.
Copyright © 2006 mrp
BOMBS OF WORSHIP
The liberated look like old faces,Wrinkled paintings slipped of their canvas,
Felled by ruthless, invading artists
Wielding hot metal brushes
With a king’s delight upon them!
Eye the people of this cherished land
Exploding in sovereignty's stroke,
Spitting in the face of tyranny!
See them as they lunge forth of liberty!
Hear them utter, “I detest you, America!”
“Look, America, what you’ve done!"
"We asked not for your renderings!”
“Damn you! Paint someone else’s life!"
"Make art of your own careless creature!"
Hear them utter, "No more of these, your blistering strokes upon our sovereign home!”
The liberated look like old faces,
Living draped hastily over death,
Red within their life’s breath,
White etched upon their anger,
Blue adorning their children’s hue...
mrp
MR. TAYLOR VS. THE DESPOT
I found myself riveted
Not by Mr. Taylor’s truths
But by the sycophant applause
And frivolous amusement
It was not nervous laughter
Nor awkward ovation I heard
It was righteous insanity
Madness ingratiatingly twisted
The cemented sycophantic spectators
Stooping to their bloody emperor
Upon despot in humanity's waiting
At once nauseating
Then horrifying
I have seen it many times now,
The ghostly vision of sweet nothing
Endearment to murderer
Admiration for tyrant
I have seen its image before
In the historically monstrous films
Grainy black and white illusions
Another naïve and willful ovation
We needn't applaud this man
Nor prop up his unholy command
We need swiftly stem it
Before our dismal film is made...
DEAR MAYOR
2004- "...when we were fooling ourselves about the danger of terrorism, we were actually in the greatest danger. When you don’t confront correctly and view realistically, the danger that you face, that’s when you’re at the greatest risk...."
2004- "The president was cautious the president was prudent the president did what a commander in chief should do. No matter how you try to blame it on the president the actual responsibility for it really would be for the troops that were there. Did they search carefully enough? Didn't they search carefully enough?"
2006- Mayor Rudy: The former mayor, who was sitting next to scale models of the World Trade Center in court, said:
"By the time the second plane hit, we knew for sure it was a terrorist attack."
He added that after the towers collapsed, it looked like a "nuclear cloud" was going through Manhattan, Reuters news agency reported. The scene at the World Trade Center site was "horrid".
"It was the worst thing I have ever seen in my life," Mr Giuliani told the jury.
"You could see parts of human bodies, hands and legs, a lot of injured... this was a war, this was a battle, we were attacked," the AFP news agency quoted him as saying."
DEAR MAYOR
I protest the manner of your speech,
Today and then, that America’s streets
Are hardened under our feet,
Matted with the dried hair of our children.
For cause, not unknown to us,
They were mislaid.
Of the souls perished in your fine city,
Of all the beautiful spirits lost of our horrible day,
I protest your roaring order of speckled speech.
Your words so easily slipped `tween brazen teeth
Of that day the planes found our America home;
The aftermath of storm, the rigorous oppression
Involving the true nature of this; humankind.
“Horrid” and “worst thing”
And “battle” and “attack”
And damnable “nuclear cloud”
And “troop responsibility”
And “parts of human bodies”
And “arms” and “legs”
“This was a war, a battle,
We were attacked!”
I protest your fearful language
Used to influence
An already predisposed jury!
Your words are nothing more than staged rhetoric
Meant to ignite, once again, the holy masses
Behind your failed leader upon his makeshift thrown!
These words conciliate nothing
But that the dried hair and life’s liquid
Needn’t be coined for emphasis absurd
Or exacerbate our rage and sorrow…
Peace…
Peace, my friend,
Is the missing sound.
Peace is not a pejorative
Unsafe to utter.
Let us make our exit of this stage!
Peace is what should have landed that day,
Not mockery of the spirit; virulent rage!
It is neither ours nor yours to throw!
Not your rehearsed version of events,
Emboldened to propel, to plunge
Yet another god-soul to death
In putrid eye for eye code!
Yes! Mayor, I protest your god-smack verbiage,
Your dance for another death,
For we all shall wander through this day’s ruin!
The world will now forever journey near the river,
Suicidal, empirical, regretful, sorrowful, and dead
Thinking that words need darkness to swim…
mrp
THE ALBATROSS
The great hand of time
Moves `round rumbling in the blue,
Vast whips of saturated choice
Lash the impertinent sails
and the howling of dissenters
Can be heard `neath the chiding oars
Speeding the hour upon the mottled shores
as the oily albatross glides the world
Commandeering the air and ground
In its slippery waddle and squawk of certain truth.
Our albatross; man’s intent
sullying the world in swift hegemony
Leaving time with all the wasters, the lethargic,
and the broken masses bellyaching `round the hours
Hunched and offended in their stale air.
The mournful scuff of muffled bitterness
Confiscates the heavens and the oil baron
Plunges the earth, hijacking forest and plain
and ocean in his dastardly trample and screech
Toward certain failure.
mrp
HUMANITY IN FREEFALL
O! Humanity flying down!Will thou not catch thyself and stay a while longer?
Can you not hear the music within you;
The sweet reverie of morning warble,
“Live… Live… Live…”?
Look to your sky not to your feet.
Look to serenity not to the eyes of oblivion.
Look to the children dancing in the night.
Look heavenward! Right thy journey!
See the bird’s wing aloft in splendid flight,
May not you be like her and stay a while longer?
O! Humanity slipping `way!
Do not forsake this world! Stay within her arms!
If you turn `way and face not the writhing truth
You’ll let slip a fragile magnificence
And her children will laughter end
mrp
A Poetic Justice Video (2min 37sec)
Caution- gut wrenching content. Music- Jennifer Athena Galatis- Voices of Rome--Jerusalem... Violin solo by Tariq Harb
WOUNDED GROUND
Each night I see the moon’s breath `neath the sand...
I sense God’s eyes penetrating the dense haze and brown hands groping openly, willful arms stretched wide searching for children’s eyes, finding those that whimper. Cold fingertips touch my face collecting tears for display.
Each night I hear shrieking of owl or nighthawk and I see resounding beams of an already forgotten light, dancing creatures under the sand, sounds of tin cups and plates rattling our ravenous music.
Hunger’s my medicated craving, not for rations, but for living, panting to glimpse the sun.
Each day a wounded ground walks within my night...
Why do the shadowy vapors tremble so? Have they the trampled spirit within their frail offspring of hope? Might it be the colossal God carrying the virgin jaws to my hour of darkness that’s within my hunger?
Each night I see the moon’s breath `neath the sand...
mrp
Casualties in Iraq
Iraqi Civilian Count
American Civilian Casualties
Casualties in Afghanistan
The Faces
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In your quest for power’s reach; supremacy.
In attendance with the things of flesh and bone
Entertaining themselves about you, you gab
Incessantly about the oily future’s bounding craft.
O the lackluster smirk of connivance!
The prattle of foolish analysis by a crafty fool
Honoring himself and his ravenous ambition
To usurp the throne of ungodly liar!
Honor, you’ve none. Craft, you’ve plenty.
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