On June 29, 1613, the Globe Theatre burned down to the ground. In existence for a mere ten years and the home to some of the greatest works of English literature the world would ever see, the theatre’s flames licked ferociously at the London summer sky. Reputed to have been set ablaze by a cannon misfiring during a performance, this was the story that was widely accepted. I’m here today to tell the “true” story of that fateful night.
On the morning of June 26, 1613, William Shakespeare sat quietly looking out his kitchen window at his rather sumptuous home at Stratford-upon-Avon. His mood was both contemplative and foul. He had grown tired of the act of writing. How could this be? His fuel, his passion for decades had been to place his thoughts upon paper, his creation brought to life for the multitudes who had witnessed his works. Now, that fire seemed cold, as though doused with a frigid and unexpected rain. His last few works had been a mildly successful collaboration with John Fletcher and, financially, he was secure. At age forty-nine, he was still in reasonably good health. History, its many varied players, their triumphs and tragedies, had consumed much of his thought and a great bulk of his writing. But it was always “someone else’s” history, not his.
Of course, there had been the prolonged battle in removing the stain of dishonor from his father’s, and by relation, his, name. The obtaining of the coat of arms had been an arduous affair and had taxed the limits of his patience. Yet, it had been accomplished. No, upon waking this morning, he had been besieged by visions which he might only conject were remnants of a previous night’s unsavory dreams. He now merely saw shadows moving amongst the trees. Specters of characters he himself had invented: Othello, King Lear, Hamlet. Poor tortured Hamlet. Could a man write so eloquently about the suffering of another human being and not be affected by it? Yet, he already knew the answer. The weight of murder, mayhem and madness lay as if stone pressed upon his person.
Can man mix poison with ink well and quill
Then step into sunlight … nary a care?
Do dreams come calling in nights deadly still?
Is madness reflection of love so fair?
I live in a world of my own choosing
Fleshed out my fantasies for all to see
Why do I so often feel I’m losing?
They see my creations … never see me
Immortality waits in roaring fire
All that is e’er known, shall go up in flame
My papers, my books, a trail lost in pyre
‘Tis I shall play final card in this game
All it shall take is one well-placed match
I’ll seal the enigma upon dried thatch
So William Shakespeare bade farewell to daughter, Susanna, and made his way to London. He was nearly half a century old in an age of quickened breaths and great uncertainty. He had many secrets locked into cabinets at the Globe; secrets which, if revealed, might, in the eyes of some, tarnish his reputation or, perchance, enhance it. He would leave no ambiguity to the matter. Personal letters of correspondence might indeed place his family at risk, for he had, God forgive his soul, written seditiously concerning the Queen and many of her court. Many of these “parchments of power” had never been sent yet still resided amongst his personal affairs at the Globe. This had been foolish, but in the declining age of chivalry, when men did so dare to question even a King or Queen, how could he, who had penned such courage, be such a coward as to not even use quill as his broadsword? He was well aware and vaingloriously proud, that through the machinizations of his work, he had exposed the hypocrisy of tyranny many times. But how much had been understood? Always forced to conceal his barbed comments in layers of cryptic clothing, he now was unsure how much had actually gotten through to the ale crowds who oft received them. Marlowe had taken the ultimate gamble and paid with his life. How often had he envied Marlowe and his death for that which he believed. Now, he, William Shakespeare, would join his literary pantheon of characters who performed noble deeds to save those that they loved.
He arrived, in heavy disguise, on the afternoon of June 29. He sat with his horse high upon a hill overlooking his beloved London. The Globe Theatre, of which he and the Burbages and fellow players of the Chamberlain’s Men had so been enamored, rested gloriously in the misty, stagnant air. The building was being readied for a performance and players and workers could be seen scurrying to and fro. He would wait until nightfall when the crowds had departed and then perform his act.
Consumed by fire … baptismal conflagration
Plays, poems, sonnets and most crucial … letters
Shame shan’t befall the next generation
Flames so searing my ink blotted fetters
As darkness fell upon old London Town
A man on horseback … alone unobserved
Rode most stealthily on much sodden ground
Eyes were now wet with the task now at hand
He recalled first days … much joy and sorrow
The first time they’d walked all planning the land
Match sword alit … the Globe, no tomorrow
As embers sparked high into starry night
A “Quill Warrior” rode tall … victory flight
Shakespeare’s legacy is secure today.
We have his sonnets, poems and plays.
Perhaps in his tomb, protected by curse
Lies the final chapter, the long sought-after verse.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Dead Man's Curve Ball
"Dead Man's Curve Ball"
I am an old man
I walk barefoot on shattered glass
Yet it’s my “heart” that bleeds
Automatic weapons fire tracers towards Orion
A twenty six year old woman changes diapers
in nearby tattered apartment. She has 13 teeth.
A kid’s head emerges from a graffitied dumpster
Half eaten slice of pizza in his mouth
Red, White and Blue Bunting
Hangs on a bank like a rapper’s trousers
A stern looking man appears on a huge video monitor
in garbage strewn park. Old Glory ripples behind him.
His words begin soft, a tenor totalitarian singing
A crescendo of carping castigation
CELEBRATE! He does so order
‘Tis “Bin Laden Dead Day”
I am an old man
I walk barefoot on shattered glass
Yet it’s my “heart” that bleeds
Automatic weapons fire tracers towards Orion
A twenty six year old woman changes diapers
in nearby tattered apartment. She has 13 teeth.
A kid’s head emerges from a graffitied dumpster
Half eaten slice of pizza in his mouth
Red, White and Blue Bunting
Hangs on a bank like a rapper’s trousers
A stern looking man appears on a huge video monitor
in garbage strewn park. Old Glory ripples behind him.
His words begin soft, a tenor totalitarian singing
A crescendo of carping castigation
CELEBRATE! He does so order
‘Tis “Bin Laden Dead Day”
The Last Apple
They hung the last public school teacher today
Pedagogy was now, blasphemous, heresy…and she had been warned
The coarse rope made a twisting, grotesque, fiber on wood sound
As the hellish wind and the crowd “oohed” together
Her young legs, slender, imperfect, full of life moments before
Now twitched…once…twice, and then a final time
A man…heavy of jowl and countenance brought forth the “Good Book”
‘Twas the “only book,” he sanctimoniously instructed, his voice
Now rising to fever pitch, as the crowd stood, muted, transfixed
Then, at the mere pointing of a corpulent finger, they moved in unison
Shuffling, murmuring they marched to nearby cars and trucks bringing forth “yesterday”
Crates of books…boxed civilization, the bound works of secular humanity
A pyramid of literary genius and history took shape, built beneath newly dead feet
The swaying, swinging body attached to the rope, fingers limp, stared unaware
The “library of lies” the now sweating, rotund man offered to rapidly darkening skies
“We shall all be cleansed by the fires of divine and omnipotent providence”
Gasoline was spread by one frenetic onlooker, then another and yet another
A match was thrown…the acrid smell of burning flesh spiraled maliciously aloft
And seven millennia of mortal innovation seared the nostrils of the faithful
A blast of wizened wind carried aloft a single page, singed, a mere scrap
Blackened letters, scorched symbols of yesteryear…”To be or not to…
To land in a small patch of unlikely, undisturbed, fertile earth
Now each spring, new flowers arise, a coronation of colors, a bed of…ideas
That will, once again, upon the culmination of mankind’s darkest hour
Inspire and elucidate those yearning for knowledge, testifying to power of pen
And to visions of tolerance and wisdom once treasured and soon to be
Awaiting rediscovery… somewhere, on the “ink stained” path of yesterdays…teachers
Pedagogy was now, blasphemous, heresy…and she had been warned
The coarse rope made a twisting, grotesque, fiber on wood sound
As the hellish wind and the crowd “oohed” together
Her young legs, slender, imperfect, full of life moments before
Now twitched…once…twice, and then a final time
A man…heavy of jowl and countenance brought forth the “Good Book”
‘Twas the “only book,” he sanctimoniously instructed, his voice
Now rising to fever pitch, as the crowd stood, muted, transfixed
Then, at the mere pointing of a corpulent finger, they moved in unison
Shuffling, murmuring they marched to nearby cars and trucks bringing forth “yesterday”
Crates of books…boxed civilization, the bound works of secular humanity
A pyramid of literary genius and history took shape, built beneath newly dead feet
The swaying, swinging body attached to the rope, fingers limp, stared unaware
The “library of lies” the now sweating, rotund man offered to rapidly darkening skies
“We shall all be cleansed by the fires of divine and omnipotent providence”
Gasoline was spread by one frenetic onlooker, then another and yet another
A match was thrown…the acrid smell of burning flesh spiraled maliciously aloft
And seven millennia of mortal innovation seared the nostrils of the faithful
A blast of wizened wind carried aloft a single page, singed, a mere scrap
Blackened letters, scorched symbols of yesteryear…”To be or not to…
To land in a small patch of unlikely, undisturbed, fertile earth
Now each spring, new flowers arise, a coronation of colors, a bed of…ideas
That will, once again, upon the culmination of mankind’s darkest hour
Inspire and elucidate those yearning for knowledge, testifying to power of pen
And to visions of tolerance and wisdom once treasured and soon to be
Awaiting rediscovery… somewhere, on the “ink stained” path of yesterdays…teachers
Jen's Dilem
“Do you love me?”
“Baby, I love you more than
The sails on a floundering ship at sea…in search of the ever elusive wind.
I’ve said it a hundred, a thousand times…I love you so much Jen.”
Lights dim…Lips press
Passions enflamed…Both undress
Jupiter arises…and the sun...burns hot
“I love you”…”I said I love you!”
“Yeah, baby me too…right now I’m looking for the beer you bought”
“Baby, I love you more than
The sails on a floundering ship at sea…in search of the ever elusive wind.
I’ve said it a hundred, a thousand times…I love you so much Jen.”
Lights dim…Lips press
Passions enflamed…Both undress
Jupiter arises…and the sun...burns hot
“I love you”…”I said I love you!”
“Yeah, baby me too…right now I’m looking for the beer you bought”
Gulag Ameripelago
Barbed wire…Incarceration
Tat on Tat…Prison Nation
Penurious aid…Gotta ration
Creating…Lost Generation
Wall Street Thugs…Safe in Bed
Non-entities…Lock-up dread
Military?…Bleed Taliban Red?
Come home stumped…Maybe dead
Outrageous…Price for college
Street Smart…Graveside knowledge
Opportunities abound…for elite
Poor get bite size Snickers…Trick or Treat
Tat on Tat…Prison Nation
Penurious aid…Gotta ration
Creating…Lost Generation
Wall Street Thugs…Safe in Bed
Non-entities…Lock-up dread
Military?…Bleed Taliban Red?
Come home stumped…Maybe dead
Outrageous…Price for college
Street Smart…Graveside knowledge
Opportunities abound…for elite
Poor get bite size Snickers…Trick or Treat
Chill Thrill
Flowers now blossom upon springtime’s hill
Birds sing and bees buzz as skies wax sunny
Yet my heart doth so long for winter’s chill
Bare trees and dark skies…raindrops a plenty
Icy cold mornings…the sight of one’s breath
The crunch of the frost beneath walking shoe
‘Tis on these days I feel furthest from death
Thinking of nighttime and snuggled with you
We gather ourselves round the old fireplace
My love and I share blanket… cats and dogs
Flames flicker soft lights on your sleepy face
As they do ancient dance on glowing logs
The embers fade black we retire and then
Each night I dream of next winter again
Birds sing and bees buzz as skies wax sunny
Yet my heart doth so long for winter’s chill
Bare trees and dark skies…raindrops a plenty
Icy cold mornings…the sight of one’s breath
The crunch of the frost beneath walking shoe
‘Tis on these days I feel furthest from death
Thinking of nighttime and snuggled with you
We gather ourselves round the old fireplace
My love and I share blanket… cats and dogs
Flames flicker soft lights on your sleepy face
As they do ancient dance on glowing logs
The embers fade black we retire and then
Each night I dream of next winter again
Double Feature: Tree Stumps and Speed Bumps
Another thousand trees…slated for the gallows
Yet some joker’s grandiloquence…”our canopy of trees”
Eighty-sixed our tree surgeon…urban forest slowly turns to fallow
Now mistletoe and negligence…have them on their knees
The current guy in charge…is “Stumpy” the Chainsaw Barber
Answered an ad in the Record… Stockton…”no safe arbor”
Yet some joker’s grandiloquence…”our canopy of trees”
Eighty-sixed our tree surgeon…urban forest slowly turns to fallow
Now mistletoe and negligence…have them on their knees
The current guy in charge…is “Stumpy” the Chainsaw Barber
Answered an ad in the Record… Stockton…”no safe arbor”
Gone at Dawn
Tendrils of gray dawn illume humble room
Remnants of dreams do recede from my head
Aurora soon brightens, biting the gloom
I instinctively reach…arm across bed
You are not there, not now…not today
Your pillow untouched…feathers unslept
Fog lifts from my brain…you are away
Back into our room…the murk has now crept
No soft, warm body to gently caress
The dangle of silk, known as your hair
I conjure up image…doing my best
Close my eyes softly…imagine you’re there
On man’s metal wings…you flew from the sun
Bring back blissful light…my sweet darling one
Remnants of dreams do recede from my head
Aurora soon brightens, biting the gloom
I instinctively reach…arm across bed
You are not there, not now…not today
Your pillow untouched…feathers unslept
Fog lifts from my brain…you are away
Back into our room…the murk has now crept
No soft, warm body to gently caress
The dangle of silk, known as your hair
I conjure up image…doing my best
Close my eyes softly…imagine you’re there
On man’s metal wings…you flew from the sun
Bring back blissful light…my sweet darling one
Compassion out of Fashion
I found it lying…on the street today
Bruised and bloodied, the spark of life fading
How many just passed by…I cannot say
Gross indifference…‘tis not abating
Stopping I held its forlorn dying head
Applied water to parched lips…a last drink
What once had flourished…now on roadside dead
As its last breath wheezed…I began to think
How had we become…so cold…so callous
So self-aggrandizing…blinded by greed
Hath the fragrance of roses…changed to malice?
Sitting idly by…as humankind bleeds
I speak, of course, the death of compassion
Language it spoke…clearly out of fashion
Bruised and bloodied, the spark of life fading
How many just passed by…I cannot say
Gross indifference…‘tis not abating
Stopping I held its forlorn dying head
Applied water to parched lips…a last drink
What once had flourished…now on roadside dead
As its last breath wheezed…I began to think
How had we become…so cold…so callous
So self-aggrandizing…blinded by greed
Hath the fragrance of roses…changed to malice?
Sitting idly by…as humankind bleeds
I speak, of course, the death of compassion
Language it spoke…clearly out of fashion
Pages
Saw a man on the corner shaking hands…with himself. He couldn’t seem to figure out who’d get “the upper hand.”
Saw a black bag hanging upside down on a picket fence. There were two holes cut in it. “White” eyes stared back at me.
Saw a man pushing a shopping cart, aka his “home,” on a busy street. Guy in a polished up BMW almost ran him down. The Lord will provide.
Saw a kitten dead on a road near my home. One little paw was raised in the air. A final and futile call for help in a world more smitten with "gettin’" than kittens.
Saw a White umpire call a Hispanic girl out at third base in what might be the worst call
I’ve seen in twenty plus years of coaching. He’d been calling her out for 500 years.
Saw a young girl, pregnant, sitting on a park bench, eyes nearly blank, kneading her hands.
Three thousand and a few odd miles away, millionaire politicians were deciding what she really needs.
Saw a young man sitting in a wheelchair at the local grocery store. He had two stumps where
his legs used to be. Two kids were walking by him arguing about who had the best tennis shoes.
Saw a Kingfisher at a nearby river, perched on a wire and wearing a crown on his head. A group of little Fishers were swooping and diving, foraging for food. The divine right of Kings.
Saw myself in a reflection as I passed a window while working in my backyard. Was an old man I’d
never seen before. Upon entering the house my wife told me how “pretty” I was. Always been glad
her eyes were blue…and blurry.
Saw a black bag hanging upside down on a picket fence. There were two holes cut in it. “White” eyes stared back at me.
Saw a man pushing a shopping cart, aka his “home,” on a busy street. Guy in a polished up BMW almost ran him down. The Lord will provide.
Saw a kitten dead on a road near my home. One little paw was raised in the air. A final and futile call for help in a world more smitten with "gettin’" than kittens.
Saw a White umpire call a Hispanic girl out at third base in what might be the worst call
I’ve seen in twenty plus years of coaching. He’d been calling her out for 500 years.
Saw a young girl, pregnant, sitting on a park bench, eyes nearly blank, kneading her hands.
Three thousand and a few odd miles away, millionaire politicians were deciding what she really needs.
Saw a young man sitting in a wheelchair at the local grocery store. He had two stumps where
his legs used to be. Two kids were walking by him arguing about who had the best tennis shoes.
Saw a Kingfisher at a nearby river, perched on a wire and wearing a crown on his head. A group of little Fishers were swooping and diving, foraging for food. The divine right of Kings.
Saw myself in a reflection as I passed a window while working in my backyard. Was an old man I’d
never seen before. Upon entering the house my wife told me how “pretty” I was. Always been glad
her eyes were blue…and blurry.
Dogpound Democracy
God Bless America land that we love
Stand beside her, and we shall guide her
From the Right, and with might from above
Down on Wall Street to your own Bedroom
In our decaying cities and forsaken towns
God Bless America, where our new motto
Praise Jesus…is to kick a dog…when he’s down
Stand beside her, and we shall guide her
From the Right, and with might from above
Down on Wall Street to your own Bedroom
In our decaying cities and forsaken towns
God Bless America, where our new motto
Praise Jesus…is to kick a dog…when he’s down
Avaricious - Delicious
Open the Skull…Remove the Brain
Place in Jar…Labeled Insane
Split the Ribs…Extract the Heart
Remember…it’s the smallest part
Do not shake, tremble, quiver
Tripe is Tripe…Save the Liver
Pare the Bone…Remove the Fat
Tenderize…with budget bat
Sautee’ in…decadent honey
Prepare for… the stench of money
Skewer the eyeballs…Cleave the toes
Garnish with dividends…Or tongues of foes
It’s as easy as fricassee…GOP De-lack-icy
Place in Jar…Labeled Insane
Split the Ribs…Extract the Heart
Remember…it’s the smallest part
Do not shake, tremble, quiver
Tripe is Tripe…Save the Liver
Pare the Bone…Remove the Fat
Tenderize…with budget bat
Sautee’ in…decadent honey
Prepare for… the stench of money
Skewer the eyeballs…Cleave the toes
Garnish with dividends…Or tongues of foes
It’s as easy as fricassee…GOP De-lack-icy
Pillsbury Pilfering
Humanity planned a bake sale today
‘Twas summer and the sun baked hot
They’d set up tables in the shade
And lay out all the treats they’d got
Of course there’d be pies and cookies and cakes
With all the breads the “peasants” could make
And please kind sir could you partake…
But business was dreadfully slow
For the key ingredient was in short supply
The “Antoinette’s”…had all the dough
‘Twas summer and the sun baked hot
They’d set up tables in the shade
And lay out all the treats they’d got
Of course there’d be pies and cookies and cakes
With all the breads the “peasants” could make
And please kind sir could you partake…
But business was dreadfully slow
For the key ingredient was in short supply
The “Antoinette’s”…had all the dough
Latte Fools
Rapacious, self-centered…all about “me”
Western individualism rejects the “we”
“Whatever” the code for upright middle finger
“No worries” the term where apathy lingers
Portfolios…Penurious, live round the corner
The former a mistress…the latter a mourner
Our Planet’s a bowl…grasping Goldfish on meth
Your investments have tanked…start gasping for breath
Western individualism rejects the “we”
“Whatever” the code for upright middle finger
“No worries” the term where apathy lingers
Portfolios…Penurious, live round the corner
The former a mistress…the latter a mourner
Our Planet’s a bowl…grasping Goldfish on meth
Your investments have tanked…start gasping for breath
Two-Faced Twistin'
Come on baby…Let’s do the Twist
Take a news story…And spin it like this
Flick on the big screen…sum spurious bliss
You go round and around and up and a down
And whoaaaaaaaaaa!......Again
In between spots for Levitra and Date.com
“I’m glad to meet ‘ya…the show’s on again"
So come on news junkies…let’s do the Twist
Mass media flunkies…they got a line ya’ can’t resist
And when it’s all over…Folks are making a fist
Take a news story…And spin it like this
Flick on the big screen…sum spurious bliss
You go round and around and up and a down
And whoaaaaaaaaaa!......Again
In between spots for Levitra and Date.com
“I’m glad to meet ‘ya…the show’s on again"
So come on news junkies…let’s do the Twist
Mass media flunkies…they got a line ya’ can’t resist
And when it’s all over…Folks are making a fist
Two-Tone Escape
Splotches of red, adorn sleek blackened wings
The red-wing blackbird sways on reed as he sings
Of what does he warble, of whom does he speak?
He calls for his mate, they met just last week
Soon they will mate, build a home nay a nest
And mom and pop blackbirds will so do their best
To provide for their young, who clamor and squawk
Feed me! Feed me! They eat, sleep and talk
The chicks are replete with soft downy feathers
And they mature in all types of inclement weather
Tiny crimson flecks appear on soon to fly wings
And the proud parents weep ‘tween melancholy bird sings
The family knows naught of the world’s ongoing strife
Save encroaching “progress”, intersecting their life
Parting soon comes, ‘tis now the reckoning day
I’ve no red, I’ve no wings…Fly little blackbird…’Tis I who shall stay
The red-wing blackbird sways on reed as he sings
Of what does he warble, of whom does he speak?
He calls for his mate, they met just last week
Soon they will mate, build a home nay a nest
And mom and pop blackbirds will so do their best
To provide for their young, who clamor and squawk
Feed me! Feed me! They eat, sleep and talk
The chicks are replete with soft downy feathers
And they mature in all types of inclement weather
Tiny crimson flecks appear on soon to fly wings
And the proud parents weep ‘tween melancholy bird sings
The family knows naught of the world’s ongoing strife
Save encroaching “progress”, intersecting their life
Parting soon comes, ‘tis now the reckoning day
I’ve no red, I’ve no wings…Fly little blackbird…’Tis I who shall stay
Quest Test
Hatred, Intolerance, Hostility, Prejudice, Insensitivity, Rapacity…War
And I, a melancholy poet, a lone infinitesimal speck in an ever-expanding universe
Firing salvos of sufferance into fevered, forever blinded, provocateurs of polarization
Forlorn, fighting futility…A thousand arrows of truth…to deflate one lie
Yet they march…like locusts on the antediluvian plains of Babylonia
My quiver runs dry…something…in mine eye
And I, a melancholy poet, a lone infinitesimal speck in an ever-expanding universe
Firing salvos of sufferance into fevered, forever blinded, provocateurs of polarization
Forlorn, fighting futility…A thousand arrows of truth…to deflate one lie
Yet they march…like locusts on the antediluvian plains of Babylonia
My quiver runs dry…something…in mine eye
Fourteen thousand ... and a few odd ... nights ago
Leadville girl, Leadville girl…
I sometimes wonder if you are
still in your elevated world.
Our first date, our last date, our only date
My hand shook as I knocked on your door.
Your Mom let me in.
You had freckles on your arms, on your nose, on your chin.
Particles of pigmentation,
islands of beauty, sparkling speckles,
eleven thousand feet above the sea.
A summer Tuesday night in Leadville, Colorado.
The sidewalks curled up and sleeping by eight.
A tiny movie theater and an ice cream parlor
the only buildings breathing.
The movie was bad, the ice cream good
and we walked, and talked, teen-age talk
and touched fingers for the only time.
You wanted out, to travel, to roam, to be free.
To live in California. Like me.
I had you home by ten.
I said we’d stay in touch. But we didn’t…much.
A few letters, too many miles in between.
But I thought you, that night, the prettiest girl…
Leadville had ever seen.
I kissed you good-bye, gently...knees slightly shaking.
You kissed harder back.
I drove home to my brother’s,
the Milky Way, my celestial navigator,
a zigzag path…through cloud nine.
In my mind you still look the same,
a dish of strawberries…topped with stardust,
thirty seven years, after our only kiss.
Leadville girl, Leadville girl…did you escape…your elevated world.
I found love and safe harbor…can you hear me?
...or are you still yearning
Eleven thousand feet…and fourteen thousand days
…forever young… in my memory.
I sometimes wonder if you are
still in your elevated world.
Our first date, our last date, our only date
My hand shook as I knocked on your door.
Your Mom let me in.
You had freckles on your arms, on your nose, on your chin.
Particles of pigmentation,
islands of beauty, sparkling speckles,
eleven thousand feet above the sea.
A summer Tuesday night in Leadville, Colorado.
The sidewalks curled up and sleeping by eight.
A tiny movie theater and an ice cream parlor
the only buildings breathing.
The movie was bad, the ice cream good
and we walked, and talked, teen-age talk
and touched fingers for the only time.
You wanted out, to travel, to roam, to be free.
To live in California. Like me.
I had you home by ten.
I said we’d stay in touch. But we didn’t…much.
A few letters, too many miles in between.
But I thought you, that night, the prettiest girl…
Leadville had ever seen.
I kissed you good-bye, gently...knees slightly shaking.
You kissed harder back.
I drove home to my brother’s,
the Milky Way, my celestial navigator,
a zigzag path…through cloud nine.
In my mind you still look the same,
a dish of strawberries…topped with stardust,
thirty seven years, after our only kiss.
Leadville girl, Leadville girl…did you escape…your elevated world.
I found love and safe harbor…can you hear me?
...or are you still yearning
Eleven thousand feet…and fourteen thousand days
…forever young… in my memory.
Last Red Cent
Year 2155…Place: Earth
Withered trees strain with shriveled roots
To reach subaquatic Utopia on the horizon
The “flower” of humanity replaced
By the fetid aroma of decay and death
Distant thunderheads pound atmospheric hammers…providing
Music for the coyote, vying for supremacy with the lowly roach
Upon this infecund wasteland, Humanity’s last two representatives
Struggle…a single gold coin between sanguine, slivered fingers
The last two words…spoken on the planet
Echo off cliffs and corridors, carved by Avarice and Ambition
Gimme, gimme, gimme…Mine, mine, mine
Withered trees strain with shriveled roots
To reach subaquatic Utopia on the horizon
The “flower” of humanity replaced
By the fetid aroma of decay and death
Distant thunderheads pound atmospheric hammers…providing
Music for the coyote, vying for supremacy with the lowly roach
Upon this infecund wasteland, Humanity’s last two representatives
Struggle…a single gold coin between sanguine, slivered fingers
The last two words…spoken on the planet
Echo off cliffs and corridors, carved by Avarice and Ambition
Gimme, gimme, gimme…Mine, mine, mine
Creed Bleed
Lady Justice…Arms bereft of scales
Spikes in one hand…a Hammer…the other
Soulless black eyes…Gold teeth razor sharp
Platinum $$+$$...Hanging from bloody ear lobes
Hoary feet…float down the Besmirched Carpet of Wall Street
Labor awaits…Tied to rough hewn cross
The Hammer falls…again…again…again
Screams vie with church bells…From sea to shining sea
America is dead…The dream bludgeoned, bled out
Parchment drops…From crimson skies
The “spiked” Constitution…Has at last…Arrived
Spikes in one hand…a Hammer…the other
Soulless black eyes…Gold teeth razor sharp
Platinum $$+$$...Hanging from bloody ear lobes
Hoary feet…float down the Besmirched Carpet of Wall Street
Labor awaits…Tied to rough hewn cross
The Hammer falls…again…again…again
Screams vie with church bells…From sea to shining sea
America is dead…The dream bludgeoned, bled out
Parchment drops…From crimson skies
The “spiked” Constitution…Has at last…Arrived
Above and Below the Picnic Basket
Dawn…a pyramid laborer watches
As sparkling jewels hung in an inky sky
Are replaced by the amaranthine migration
of the sun, linked by antediluvian strands of time
to a bridge worker on the Golden Gate
Forever seeing eyes from abstracted heavens
fade, once again, into nebulous, desolate obscurity
as Man, somewhere in perpetuum, and the infinitesimal Ant,
both and forever marching, dancing to the drums of hostility,
complete the inner circle, forging their eternal bond,
preparing for yet another day…of war.
As sparkling jewels hung in an inky sky
Are replaced by the amaranthine migration
of the sun, linked by antediluvian strands of time
to a bridge worker on the Golden Gate
Forever seeing eyes from abstracted heavens
fade, once again, into nebulous, desolate obscurity
as Man, somewhere in perpetuum, and the infinitesimal Ant,
both and forever marching, dancing to the drums of hostility,
complete the inner circle, forging their eternal bond,
preparing for yet another day…of war.
Treasured Time in the Land of Nod
Flickering flames…eyelids too
Sandman comes…I love you
Cats curled up…Dog on bed
The fire fades…embers red
Saturday night…wind is still
A Crescent moon…thru windowsill
Tick tock, click clock…Time to sleep
To hear you breathe…My slippers creep
Clock strikes twelve…its now today
Six more days…to Saturday
Sandman comes…I love you
Cats curled up…Dog on bed
The fire fades…embers red
Saturday night…wind is still
A Crescent moon…thru windowsill
Tick tock, click clock…Time to sleep
To hear you breathe…My slippers creep
Clock strikes twelve…its now today
Six more days…to Saturday
Box Trot
Music boxes…such teeny worlds spinning
Tinkle, Tinkle, Tinkle…just twist the key
Angelic sounds keep...an old heart grinning
Sounds to smooth a wrinkle or set you free
Small bears my precious darling… she collects
Varieties of poses…e’er holding hands
She claims they are “us”…I do so recollect
That they wear replica…gold wedding bands
When I’m gone I suspect…she’ll be around
And in darkness alone…she’ll twist a key
Tinkle, Tinkle, Tinkle…tears flow with sound
The bears will, whirl, dance…as “we” used to be
Old lady now treasures each music box
As our smitten hearts were…they ne’er bore locks
Tinkle, Tinkle, Tinkle…just twist the key
Angelic sounds keep...an old heart grinning
Sounds to smooth a wrinkle or set you free
Small bears my precious darling… she collects
Varieties of poses…e’er holding hands
She claims they are “us”…I do so recollect
That they wear replica…gold wedding bands
When I’m gone I suspect…she’ll be around
And in darkness alone…she’ll twist a key
Tinkle, Tinkle, Tinkle…tears flow with sound
The bears will, whirl, dance…as “we” used to be
Old lady now treasures each music box
As our smitten hearts were…they ne’er bore locks
Depravity 101
Johnny went to class that day a chip on his shoulder
Word was out and about that his woman went astray
Johnny packed a .45 slammed a slug like a boulder
At precisely 10:45 AM, the bitch would have to pay
Johnny walked into her class, knowin’ she was goin’ to die
Jenny looked surprised, it was usually lunch instead
Johnny aimed his piece right between her hazel eyes
He dropped her, she dropped her pencil, both were filled with lead
The class started screamin’ and Johnny kinda freaked
Started shootin’ everything that came into sight
He made a lot of holes, and most of them leaked
And one hundred miles away a legislator talked of rights
The other students were “lucky” that someone else was packin’
Only twelve classmates were shot, two were paralyzed
Spent casings in a classroom spells civility is crackin’
A regression not progression many can’t realize
The survivors live a nightmare that can’t be forgotten
Every day, every where they stand a kind of guard
The press and the public said that Johnny was just rotten
And the scars from that day will heal ever hard
Well, they buried Johnny’s lady on the tenth of December
Johnny sits in a cell where his life will end some day
And the state Senator, hell, the man cannot remember
The lines that he spoke in his tragic one act play
A young woman dead whose life had scant begun
A young man growing old in the shadow of a gun
Guns on College campuses? Has our country gone insane?
The answer lies with a daughter, with a bullet in her brain
Word was out and about that his woman went astray
Johnny packed a .45 slammed a slug like a boulder
At precisely 10:45 AM, the bitch would have to pay
Johnny walked into her class, knowin’ she was goin’ to die
Jenny looked surprised, it was usually lunch instead
Johnny aimed his piece right between her hazel eyes
He dropped her, she dropped her pencil, both were filled with lead
The class started screamin’ and Johnny kinda freaked
Started shootin’ everything that came into sight
He made a lot of holes, and most of them leaked
And one hundred miles away a legislator talked of rights
The other students were “lucky” that someone else was packin’
Only twelve classmates were shot, two were paralyzed
Spent casings in a classroom spells civility is crackin’
A regression not progression many can’t realize
The survivors live a nightmare that can’t be forgotten
Every day, every where they stand a kind of guard
The press and the public said that Johnny was just rotten
And the scars from that day will heal ever hard
Well, they buried Johnny’s lady on the tenth of December
Johnny sits in a cell where his life will end some day
And the state Senator, hell, the man cannot remember
The lines that he spoke in his tragic one act play
A young woman dead whose life had scant begun
A young man growing old in the shadow of a gun
Guns on College campuses? Has our country gone insane?
The answer lies with a daughter, with a bullet in her brain
Blind Bind
A new day brings on a sparkling sunrise
Identified are the objects of scorn
They awake renewed with god in their eyes
Another fight to protect the unborn
No bland thoughts about world situation
The “babies” are all that’s ever mattered
None profess of over-population
Their “mercy” mission ‘twill not be shattered
God will provide for next…generation
Woman’s duty is just reproduction
Fetal protection…sole veneration
Remiss of onrushing…Earth destruction
With perverse coerce…they “worship the womb”
Speeding mankind’s plunge…to eternal tomb
Identified are the objects of scorn
They awake renewed with god in their eyes
Another fight to protect the unborn
No bland thoughts about world situation
The “babies” are all that’s ever mattered
None profess of over-population
Their “mercy” mission ‘twill not be shattered
God will provide for next…generation
Woman’s duty is just reproduction
Fetal protection…sole veneration
Remiss of onrushing…Earth destruction
With perverse coerce…they “worship the womb”
Speeding mankind’s plunge…to eternal tomb
ThWill-a-Minute
Let’s take journey to sixteen double “O”
Frame like a game that “The Globe” had strobe light
Cat named Shakespeare inking plays don’t ‘ya know
“To… be… or… not…to…be”…Split?...Out-a-sight!
Down before the stage in place called the “pit”
Crowd gettin’ loud…waitin’ for the show to begin
Harlots, blacksmiths, sots, ale filled…pretty “lit”
Lights flash, players clash…igniting throng grin
Man! What a scene! Flyin’ high as a kite
Bits to Barded, I fly, Barded to Bits
Hamlet’s soul dissected…blink, blink bone white
Prince of Denmark dead…rabble babble fits
Sixteen double “O”…’tween flickering light
Dramalicious daze…by dude who could write
Frame like a game that “The Globe” had strobe light
Cat named Shakespeare inking plays don’t ‘ya know
“To… be… or… not…to…be”…Split?...Out-a-sight!
Down before the stage in place called the “pit”
Crowd gettin’ loud…waitin’ for the show to begin
Harlots, blacksmiths, sots, ale filled…pretty “lit”
Lights flash, players clash…igniting throng grin
Man! What a scene! Flyin’ high as a kite
Bits to Barded, I fly, Barded to Bits
Hamlet’s soul dissected…blink, blink bone white
Prince of Denmark dead…rabble babble fits
Sixteen double “O”…’tween flickering light
Dramalicious daze…by dude who could write
I Never Promised You a Rose Garden
Hope and Change…Pomp and Circumstance
Rose Garden Rendezvous…Pirouetting on Petaled Promises
Counterfeit Characters…Interminably Interchangeable
Pachyderms “hustling” with Asses…Wall Street Maitre Sleaze
Mules cajoling Elephants…Faux Pas Exhortations
Two “parties”…One celebration of ineptitude
Hot air balloons…Waltzes ‘round the Money Tree
Whilst Mr. and Mrs. America…Pluck thorns from bleeding fingers
Rose Garden Rendezvous…Pirouetting on Petaled Promises
Counterfeit Characters…Interminably Interchangeable
Pachyderms “hustling” with Asses…Wall Street Maitre Sleaze
Mules cajoling Elephants…Faux Pas Exhortations
Two “parties”…One celebration of ineptitude
Hot air balloons…Waltzes ‘round the Money Tree
Whilst Mr. and Mrs. America…Pluck thorns from bleeding fingers
May I have this ....
Out on Highway 88…a desolate stretch of road
Lies a grave upon a hill…or so I have been told
While passing by one windy day…I stopped and left my car
I trudged on up that steepish knoll…It wasn’t all that far
Before long I reached the crest…perhaps it took an hour
I found not four, not three, not two…but one withered black flower
The sun did not shine here…it seems there was a shroud
A weathered cross made of wood…rested ‘neath dark cloud
‘Twas old and near impossible…I strained my eyes to read
I traced my fingers across letters…that spelled out Mary Meade
As I stood on that forlorn hill…I transcended space and time
And from a place I know not where…I heard this little rhyme
“Yes, my name was Mary, I lived not very long
There was a boy named Robert, to him I would belong
As kids we played together…climbed trees, threw rocks at toads
How could I have guessed…we’d travel different roads
I grew up rather homely…crooked teeth and wispy hair
My body long, my legs too short…I wasn’t very fair
Robert embodied a Greek God, long eyelashes eyes of blue
I learned to worship from afar…what else was there to do
We attended the same school…which one day announced a dance
Through straw like hair I combed…knowing, there’s no chance
“Robert”, I said, with feeling of dread…”I’d, I’d love to be your date”
He laughed with sound I shan’t forget saying…”You’re about ten years too late”
I walked home that day, that last day…my world had now been shattered
I spoke to God of my intent…that only Robert mattered
My mother saw my red eyes…as she waited at the door
She mentioned she would speak to me…after I had swept the floor
Her words burned to the bone…like tongue delivered flame
And by the time she had finished…I hung my head in shame
She said, “Girls like me really must…accept the Lord’s decision
God makes ugly and God makes beauty…the latter with precision
I crept that night in pale moonlight…leaving home, my room, my bed
Then through a rope around a branch…and hung ‘til I was dead
The school, my church and all I knew…labeled me a blot
And placed my grave high on this hill…a barren, lonely plot
Someone, sometime I know not who…planted a single flower
But without love to feed and nourish…it too lacked beauty’s power”
The wind slowly simmered down…I could now hear myself breath
A ball of fire hung low in West…I knew that I must leave
As I looked down upon that ground…a tear escaped my eye
It fell atop that shriveled rose…and next there was blue sky
The inky rose turned sunflower yellow… opaque clouds no more
Then I retraced Mary’s name, with trembling finger…a most gratifying chore
Now once a week I climb that hill…to tend to Mary’s grave
I ask her to that bygone dance…”Mary, my name is Dave”
Lies a grave upon a hill…or so I have been told
While passing by one windy day…I stopped and left my car
I trudged on up that steepish knoll…It wasn’t all that far
Before long I reached the crest…perhaps it took an hour
I found not four, not three, not two…but one withered black flower
The sun did not shine here…it seems there was a shroud
A weathered cross made of wood…rested ‘neath dark cloud
‘Twas old and near impossible…I strained my eyes to read
I traced my fingers across letters…that spelled out Mary Meade
As I stood on that forlorn hill…I transcended space and time
And from a place I know not where…I heard this little rhyme
“Yes, my name was Mary, I lived not very long
There was a boy named Robert, to him I would belong
As kids we played together…climbed trees, threw rocks at toads
How could I have guessed…we’d travel different roads
I grew up rather homely…crooked teeth and wispy hair
My body long, my legs too short…I wasn’t very fair
Robert embodied a Greek God, long eyelashes eyes of blue
I learned to worship from afar…what else was there to do
We attended the same school…which one day announced a dance
Through straw like hair I combed…knowing, there’s no chance
“Robert”, I said, with feeling of dread…”I’d, I’d love to be your date”
He laughed with sound I shan’t forget saying…”You’re about ten years too late”
I walked home that day, that last day…my world had now been shattered
I spoke to God of my intent…that only Robert mattered
My mother saw my red eyes…as she waited at the door
She mentioned she would speak to me…after I had swept the floor
Her words burned to the bone…like tongue delivered flame
And by the time she had finished…I hung my head in shame
She said, “Girls like me really must…accept the Lord’s decision
God makes ugly and God makes beauty…the latter with precision
I crept that night in pale moonlight…leaving home, my room, my bed
Then through a rope around a branch…and hung ‘til I was dead
The school, my church and all I knew…labeled me a blot
And placed my grave high on this hill…a barren, lonely plot
Someone, sometime I know not who…planted a single flower
But without love to feed and nourish…it too lacked beauty’s power”
The wind slowly simmered down…I could now hear myself breath
A ball of fire hung low in West…I knew that I must leave
As I looked down upon that ground…a tear escaped my eye
It fell atop that shriveled rose…and next there was blue sky
The inky rose turned sunflower yellow… opaque clouds no more
Then I retraced Mary’s name, with trembling finger…a most gratifying chore
Now once a week I climb that hill…to tend to Mary’s grave
I ask her to that bygone dance…”Mary, my name is Dave”
Silk Sepulcher
Spider wages war…web ravaged by the wind
Man takes up arms…slightest provocation
Arachnid rebuilds…mankind doesn’t mend
Tribes slaughter tribes…nations destroy nations
Hostility hath…no special preference
Color of your skin…last name of your kin
Civilization…has strange reverence
Clash of steel, cannon fire, unceasing din
First tributary…man hath rocks to throw
Both sides needing…precious gift of water
Life giving fluid…’tis taken, blow by blow
Conflict derived death…Stone-age sons, daughters
Doth solution lie… with lowly spider?
Or war, man’s mistress…tears lie beside her
Man takes up arms…slightest provocation
Arachnid rebuilds…mankind doesn’t mend
Tribes slaughter tribes…nations destroy nations
Hostility hath…no special preference
Color of your skin…last name of your kin
Civilization…has strange reverence
Clash of steel, cannon fire, unceasing din
First tributary…man hath rocks to throw
Both sides needing…precious gift of water
Life giving fluid…’tis taken, blow by blow
Conflict derived death…Stone-age sons, daughters
Doth solution lie… with lowly spider?
Or war, man’s mistress…tears lie beside her
What? No Coleslaw?
Urban pollution…Overpopulation
Energy catastrophes…Seismic undulations
Expanding waistlines…Retracting intellect
Progress taking…Imbecilic circumspect
Plutocratic frenzy…Rapacious incubation
Oligarchic ministrations…Failed inoculations
Climate change…Endless wars
Water woes…Billions poor
Humanity inhales…Exhales final breath
There! The horizon…Perhaps we’ve cheated death
Fast food floating… portent at sea
The Colonel’s renaissance…three piece KFC
Energy catastrophes…Seismic undulations
Expanding waistlines…Retracting intellect
Progress taking…Imbecilic circumspect
Plutocratic frenzy…Rapacious incubation
Oligarchic ministrations…Failed inoculations
Climate change…Endless wars
Water woes…Billions poor
Humanity inhales…Exhales final breath
There! The horizon…Perhaps we’ve cheated death
Fast food floating… portent at sea
The Colonel’s renaissance…three piece KFC
Rootbound
I dream…one room away from where I was a kid
I’m at my old school…one fence away from where I was a kid
I stand…warming myself against a wall,
a football’s throw away
From where I was a kid
I walk the same sidewalks…I did where I was a kid
I touch the same gates…I jumped where I was a kid
I hear old/young voices…I heard where I was a kid
I wake upon damp pillow…one room away from where I was a kid
Visions of withering potted plants…reminding me of not being a kid
I’m at my old school…one fence away from where I was a kid
I stand…warming myself against a wall,
a football’s throw away
From where I was a kid
I walk the same sidewalks…I did where I was a kid
I touch the same gates…I jumped where I was a kid
I hear old/young voices…I heard where I was a kid
I wake upon damp pillow…one room away from where I was a kid
Visions of withering potted plants…reminding me of not being a kid
Friday, May 6, 2011
Cat Nipped
Knock, knock on my door…one cold, funky day
A Hairball announced…he was a runaway stray
Now I gotsta admit…’Twas quite a shock
To hear “Whiskers and Fleas”…and the way the cat talked
He told a forlorn…a most sad little tale
And cussed like a sailor…when I stepped on his tail
He said, “man, a cat like you and a cat like me
We was born to be famous…just wait and see”
Was given the largest…stage the town had
But I just had a feelin’…things would go bad
The crowd they believed…they all let out a “wow!”
But that straggly old cat…he just said…”Meow”
I took him on home…took away all his tuna
He said, “You a lowlife rat…I should have left soona”
I told him “hit the road jack…go someplace else to get fat”
He laughed saying, “make your own stash, what’d ‘ya expect
From a cat
A Hairball announced…he was a runaway stray
Now I gotsta admit…’Twas quite a shock
To hear “Whiskers and Fleas”…and the way the cat talked
He told a forlorn…a most sad little tale
And cussed like a sailor…when I stepped on his tail
He said, “man, a cat like you and a cat like me
We was born to be famous…just wait and see”
Was given the largest…stage the town had
But I just had a feelin’…things would go bad
The crowd they believed…they all let out a “wow!”
But that straggly old cat…he just said…”Meow”
I took him on home…took away all his tuna
He said, “You a lowlife rat…I should have left soona”
I told him “hit the road jack…go someplace else to get fat”
He laughed saying, “make your own stash, what’d ‘ya expect
From a cat
No Timeouts
The hummingbird hovers as well he should
The bee pollinates each untapped flower
The dog urinates against pile of wood
The clock ticks louder…nearer my hour
A man on a bike blows cigarette smoke
A girl on skates takes a fall from a crack
A woman pushing shopping cart can’t see the joke
Her clock ticks louder…’tis money she lacks
Our Earth is dying…we’ve inflicted grave wounds
Our Earth ‘twas the only…place we could go
The hummingbird, bee, dog…sense future tombs
The man, girl and woman…are too busy to know
Oh clock on the wall…why never stop?
Oh clock on the wall…no quarter from you?
That old clock now ticks louder…tired eyes drop
My day will end…will yours ever be through?
The bee pollinates each untapped flower
The dog urinates against pile of wood
The clock ticks louder…nearer my hour
A man on a bike blows cigarette smoke
A girl on skates takes a fall from a crack
A woman pushing shopping cart can’t see the joke
Her clock ticks louder…’tis money she lacks
Our Earth is dying…we’ve inflicted grave wounds
Our Earth ‘twas the only…place we could go
The hummingbird, bee, dog…sense future tombs
The man, girl and woman…are too busy to know
Oh clock on the wall…why never stop?
Oh clock on the wall…no quarter from you?
That old clock now ticks louder…tired eyes drop
My day will end…will yours ever be through?
Love Sonnet
Love…’Tis hugs in morning…kisses goodnight
A rose splendid red, crimson upon snow
Tearful “making up”…post bitter fight
Held hands at the hearth…two faces aglow
Joy felt to hear news…of sought after child
Love made in cool shade…on hot afternoon
Ardor engulfed, the day she first smiled
A wedding day planned…on fifth day of June
What of faithful dog, or favorite cat
May our animal friends…enter this realm?
Can love be the calm one feels at sunset?
Sails fanned with fervor…thy heart at the helm
Love is a star…a caressing soft light
Come with, my true love…we’ll find one tonight
A rose splendid red, crimson upon snow
Tearful “making up”…post bitter fight
Held hands at the hearth…two faces aglow
Joy felt to hear news…of sought after child
Love made in cool shade…on hot afternoon
Ardor engulfed, the day she first smiled
A wedding day planned…on fifth day of June
What of faithful dog, or favorite cat
May our animal friends…enter this realm?
Can love be the calm one feels at sunset?
Sails fanned with fervor…thy heart at the helm
Love is a star…a caressing soft light
Come with, my true love…we’ll find one tonight
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
News Flash!
This just in: Donald Trump has demanded to "personally" inspect the corpse of Osama Bin Laden. Claiming a possible ruse by the Obama administration, "the Donald" informed the White House that until HE does a formal autopsy, America cannot be convinced of the former terrorist leader’s death. Mr. Trump brought up the possibility of a Bin Laden clone and said he was "suspicious" at the timing of the killing. He then applied six-and-one-half cans of hair spray to his over-sized head and was last seen boarding a private jet bound for Italy where he was said to have granted the Pope an audience.
Osama is Dead
For ten years Osama Bin Laden was the "visible" face of our alleged "war on terror," the recruiting "poster boy" necessary in all conflicts. There's a whole new pantheon of possible replacements, even now, lining up in the Middle East. The only question left to answer is: who'll be the next Boogeyman?
O.K., so we've allegedly killed "Public Enemy No .1. It's time to pop the champagne corks. Short term memory, not politics, is the one thing Americans can truly share. Let's forget that there were NO WMD's. Let's forget we killed hundreds of thousands of INNOCENT people in what was really a neo-conservative quest to engage this country and its voracious MIC into perpetual war. Let's forget the millions of Iraqis who fled their homeland, their lives changed, perhaps, forever. Let's forget about the atrocities committed at Abu-Graib and elsewhere. Let's forget all the lies and distortions perpetrated upon us by the Bush administration. Let's forget the 9/11 truth commission's "hurry up" job at "closing the book" on the events of that day. Let's forget "Mission Accomplished" and the sight of our President sitting in a Florida classroom for over 7 minutes AFTER he'd been told thousands of his fellow Americans were being killed. Let's forget Colin Powell LYING to the United Nations and Tony Blair brown-nosing and Dick Cheney talking about how we would be greeted as "liberators." Let's all hang effigies of Bin Laden next to "Old Glory" in our yards and from the sides of our apartments. Let's metaphorically "bathe in the blood" of another human being and exalt ourselves at how clever and resourceful we are.
Let's forget that while we're "celebrating," forces are at work in our own country that will ultimately lead to enormous hardship and untimely death for millions of our OWN citizens. Let's forget the video I watched in '08 of a 10-year-old Iraqi boy sitting in a hospital bed, stumps where his legs used to be, playing an XBOX game given to him by a couple of U.S. Marines. In all reality, I don't believe I'll EVER forget that. God Bless America? Somebody please explain EXACTLY why that should occur. So let's dance around the fire of yet another "ritual killing", the flames flickering in our depraved faces, much as our antediluvian ancestors did and tell ourselves how "superior" we've become. To quote Ronald Reagan, another "great" American, "The sun shines on America today."
O.K., so we've allegedly killed "Public Enemy No .1. It's time to pop the champagne corks. Short term memory, not politics, is the one thing Americans can truly share. Let's forget that there were NO WMD's. Let's forget we killed hundreds of thousands of INNOCENT people in what was really a neo-conservative quest to engage this country and its voracious MIC into perpetual war. Let's forget the millions of Iraqis who fled their homeland, their lives changed, perhaps, forever. Let's forget about the atrocities committed at Abu-Graib and elsewhere. Let's forget all the lies and distortions perpetrated upon us by the Bush administration. Let's forget the 9/11 truth commission's "hurry up" job at "closing the book" on the events of that day. Let's forget "Mission Accomplished" and the sight of our President sitting in a Florida classroom for over 7 minutes AFTER he'd been told thousands of his fellow Americans were being killed. Let's forget Colin Powell LYING to the United Nations and Tony Blair brown-nosing and Dick Cheney talking about how we would be greeted as "liberators." Let's all hang effigies of Bin Laden next to "Old Glory" in our yards and from the sides of our apartments. Let's metaphorically "bathe in the blood" of another human being and exalt ourselves at how clever and resourceful we are.
Let's forget that while we're "celebrating," forces are at work in our own country that will ultimately lead to enormous hardship and untimely death for millions of our OWN citizens. Let's forget the video I watched in '08 of a 10-year-old Iraqi boy sitting in a hospital bed, stumps where his legs used to be, playing an XBOX game given to him by a couple of U.S. Marines. In all reality, I don't believe I'll EVER forget that. God Bless America? Somebody please explain EXACTLY why that should occur. So let's dance around the fire of yet another "ritual killing", the flames flickering in our depraved faces, much as our antediluvian ancestors did and tell ourselves how "superior" we've become. To quote Ronald Reagan, another "great" American, "The sun shines on America today."
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