TABLE OF
CONTENTS
Beyond the Crisis - John
Sweeney
Arctic
Elegy - Dylan Taylor
Hang in
there - Santanu Sengupta
Nature’s Splendour - Grant Jerome Fisher
Fannie
Harvey - Craig Harvey
Seeking
Truth - Michael Zerger
Poetry Rand-ified - Mark Norman
Unanswered questions - Maria Claudia Faverio
In Service
- Thomas Hadley
Year End
Poem - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Death
of a Punter - Sean MacNiven
Out On Me
- Quinn Tyler Jackson
God Bless the Zookeepers
- Paul Nachbar
Career
Choices - Jonathan Marin
SUR LA
DIGUE - by Pierre-Alexandre Sicart
Sångtext -
Stefan Lindberg
Hangman's
Nous - John Sweeney
Here We Lie
- Dylan Taylor
The
Fool Express - C.L.Frost
Artist's
Sole - C.L.Frost
Brain Rust
- C.L.Frost
Keyboard
Kitty - C.L.Frost
The Write Cat - C.L.Frost
Knows, No New News - C. L. Frost
On The
Beach - Grant Jerome Fisher
Beach
Therapy - Grant Jerome Fisher
Darkness -
Grant Jerome Fisher
The Victim
- Grant Jerome Fisher
Awake - Grant
Jerome Fisher
A Welcome to the Poets - Quinn Tyler Jackson
The Grammar of Poetry - Quinn Tyler Jackson
As the cowboy
said so eloquently, "Yup!" - Thomas Hadley
Spontaneous Drum Song - Thomas Hadley
Peace, war
- Quinn Tyler Jackson
Let
Me Have My Weed - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Gore
Your Own Ox? - Craig Harvey
Of Tomcats and Astronauts
- Jonathan Marin
Law for Some is Law for
All - Jonathan Marin
Ecclesiastes (Reprise) - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Preventative War - Sean MacNiven
Preventative War Reply - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Preventative War Reply Reply
- Sean MacNiven
Peace War Unilateral
Agreement - Quinn Tyler Jackson
On Peace
War - Quinn Tyler Jackson
I'd
Rather Poem - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Overqualified - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Next Breath
- Quinn Tyler Jackson
Middle
Class - Quinn Tyler Jackson
We
Live the Dream - Sean MacNiven
Arches -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Etchings -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Respectfully, I Bid
to Make Reply - Grant Jerome Fisher
Sonnet - Ottava Rima - Sean MacNiven
What Onus This
Poet's Laureate I Wear - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Hindsight's Sonnet - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Seeking
a Poem - Quinn Tyler Jackson
As Long
as it’s the Beginning of a Good Thing - Dylan Taylor
They, Far Too Lettered, Chew the Bubble Gum From Packs of Poetry
Cards - Dylan Taylor
Entropy -
Dylan Taylor
For
Brother Barry - Thomas Hadley
Lord of the Munchkins - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Primum vivere,
dende philosophari? - Maria Claudia Faverio
Fragile
theatre - Maria Claudia Faverio
Beyond the Crisis - John Sweeney
Look beyond the flash,
the flash that blinds
into obscurity -
reality, purpose, meaning;
for beyond the crisis,
a new beginning,
yes, a leaving behind
of the old,
to be reborn
into the arms of understanding,
confidence, regeneration.
Be not a victim,
but a victor
and stand triumphant
on yonder side
of this, your darkness
which is but a veil
through which, to a world unfolding
for you to claim,
that others like you,
with hope, be given,
for to you, a pioneer,
will they look.
For such souls then,
with despair, be burdened,
beckon them, show the way.
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Arctic Elegy - Dylan Taylor
Domed, organic blue sky
cradles
white amber ocean
Shadow creatures drifting
slowly northward
and cool breezes
lifting heavy hair
returning it softly.
The horizon teaches
the depth
of this beauty
the expanse
of this organism
with the virus
that is
my worship.
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Hang in there - Santanu Sengupta
The sparrow flies back and forth...
A twig each time in its beak...
Adding one more to the infinite...
The baby takes its first steps...
And inevitably falls... and cries...
Only to get up and keep tottering again...
The scientist locks himself up in the lab...
Myriad colored bottles his only friends...
Some break... some fumes escape...he goes on...
The Marathon runner reaches half the distance...
His tired limbs fail him... he still runs...
drawn to the finishing line like a thirsty traveler towards a
mirage...
Man dreams of being a bird...he tries...
He tries again.. and again... fails each time...
Till the Wright brothers do it the right way...
No dream is impossible...
No stone big enough....
Just hang in there.
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Nature’s Splendour - Grant
Jerome Fisher
The splendid beauty of this world astounds me,
Every moment that I pause to look
At any of God’s nature that surrounds me:
A tree. A hill. The wind. The leaves. A brook.
When I stroll up and down the endless country
And hear the sounds of horses at a trot,
I soon forget what troubles might confront me,
And suddenly am happy with my lot.
When I, alone, walk down a stretch of beach,
And watch with my own eyes, the red sun set;
The crashing waves, my great green friends, in reach,
Relieve me fast of any past regret.
How sad that with such magic wealth around,
It takes us so much time before it’s found.
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In Service - Thomas Hadley
in service to my country's institutions
i proudly swore a solemn oath
to defend Freedom's Constitution
against the tyrannies we so loathe
i suffered such stinging indignations
to my very spirit, to my human pride
standing guard in embittered resignation
shivering, yet unflinching in others' eyes
i'd look down upon my uniform, amazed;
"how did it come to this?" i'd sorely wonder
mucking through mud for days and days
"if i'm so smart, how could i so blunder?"
yes, each day was a week, each week
a month of endless, stupid repetitions
at the beck and call of morons, cretins...
always ready to jump into Perdition
yet, after all was finally said and done
and i had regained my sweet freedom
pride had in my heart surely shone
and i still stand strong, undefeated!
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Fannie Harvey - Craig Harvey
One hundred acres of trees,
no computers, no phones, no tv
Is how Fannie lived
Married to a preacher she didn’t believe,
Tennessee head bonnet-covered
Like a chef in Paris
Without the pretensions.
One hundred acres of trees
no computers, no phones, no tv
Left Fannie in sublime and rough
Isolation from the pain of others,
Had enough of her own.
Kept chickens in the closet
In winter. Humane, she
didn’t want them cold
Before sacrifice.
Por-ta-ghee, Black Dutch.
Almost parallel to a mulatto
Whose grandchild would marry
her own.
Hidden with Aboriginals.
A son dies in infancy.
Never the same.
Charles dies from the bottle.
Abishalom, my sons.
A log cabin with narrow
clapboard-covered
rifling slots--
her home, her life,
her 1930’s place of death.
The dirt floor always swept;
Fireplace stained with spat tobacco;
One hundred acres of trees,
no computers, no phones, no tv
Is how Fannie lived.
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Seeking Truth - Michael Zerger
Seeking truth, I learned the depravity of my neighbor and
myself.
Seeking reconciliation, I would not forgive.
Seeking vengeance, I am made the victim.
Seeking reparation, I could not afford the price.
Seeking change, I am immutable.
Seeking power, I became my enemy.
Seeking the guilty, I was numbered among them.
Do I dare seek justice?
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Unanswered questions - Maria
Claudia Faverio
Unanswered questions
fester
in amnesic sky
like dead moths,
barren as misers.
What is the use of questioning,
if questions don’t beget answers,
but doubt?
Flatness is less disquieting
than height,
towering, towering, towering
without ever reaching
the apocryphal comfort
of the top.
Beyond the illusory horizon
of planeness
are consummation of peace,
encompassing visions,
pillars of innuendoes
shaping themselves
into noesis.
Beyond the horizon
there are no answers
because there are
no questions.
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Poetry Rand-ified - Mark Norman
I know not of you, and care
not of opinions.
Not of their condemnations, nor
of their blessings.
I know what is good, for
it pleases me. The blue
pencil preserve, for
its marks be damned.
Meter, rhythm are my steel.
Emotions the furnace, fired
from the fuel of
experience.
With the purest of commodities,
love and vengeance, I toil.
My own two hands creating
what no man can tear down.
The exalted `They' say it must be
built upon the ages.
Good is what
good has always been.
I cry, "Fools open thy eyes to
the beauty of free form. Forums
of the ages be damned. The
Renaissance is now, today."
I will create until I
cry or laugh. For others
will too. Still others will
scowl at the dismissal of rules, so be it.
We are the true poets, the Roarks
of the twenty first century. Do not
bow to or stone us. Simply step
aside and let us create.
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Year End
Poem - Quinn Tyler Jackson
It's been my tradition
at each year's completion
to summarize it in verse,
as if one can fairly
each nigh-January
know the better or the worse.
I've had me some better
of both days and weather,
knocks harder I've rarely known,
but thank God that in there
a kindness and dime spare,
occasional kindness shown.
My pride and my stature
and high nomenclature
didn't spare me hidden tears;
Though my pride oft' towered,
My enemy cowered,
and hit me with my own fears.
The money ran sparely,
the cupboard full rarely,
it was rice instead of lamb.
But although I lacked gold,
it's not all, I am told,
so I'll settle as I am.
It's been my tradition
at each year's completion
to sum it up square and neat,
but this year was harder,
with its empty larder,
and doesn't feel quite complete,
so when the year's over,
and I'm in the silver,
then I'll tell you how it went,
but until that fine day
it shall not end this way,
e'en if space and time are bent.
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Death of a Punter - Sean
MacNiven
The light at the end of the tunnel,
Glares from the sterile neon tubes,
The sound of my soul as it drips
‘Pon the numerically dotted cubes
Gladdens me, maddens me…saddens me…
Fields of green tables roll on, and on,
Fortuna’s wheel whirls round and round
With a bing, flash and a tinkle,
I view the butts that lie on the ground -
Beating me, cheating me…eating me…
Hearts for the love of the game of life,
Clubs for the bouncers that beat me,
Diamonds for my suff’ring lady,
Spades thrown for the grave soon to meet me -
Mauling me, calling me…hauling me…
Run ‘Life’s Delusion’, never look back!
For though tonight was not your night
You’ll run again, though I shall not
I must now return unto that light
That bore me, that wore me…that tore me…
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Out On Me
- Quinn Tyler Jackson
fuddy bluck my life is muck
nothing in the fridge to eat
cuddy blunt it's all want want
and wet shoes on my feet
chrizuz jeest while in the east
they flart and fip their wigs
and plan to blow us all to frick
with jigs and jags and nuclear zigs
the rucking foof is dripping drap
as january rain the blucket bucking fills
the mortgage due is half of it
the other half is twice the pain
angst angst angst worm sturm gloom
it's not depression don't you see
it's just that god got real poff issed
and took his piss-off out on me
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God Bless the Zookeepers
- Paul Nachbar
God bless the Zookeepers one and all
Who provideth us with nice Cages
And encourageth us to keep them clean
Who are very clear in their instructions
That we play nicely and not mean.
God bless the Zookeepers one and all
Who giveth us their codixes of Rules
Our quotas of Rewards and Punishments
And our notions of some Higher Process
Which goes on behind their Proclamations.
God bless the Zookeepers one and all
Who giveth and taketh away our precious liberties
God bless the Zookeepers one and all
Who instruct us in the varieties of Disease
Which may affect our Necessary Functioning.
God bless the Zookeepers one and all
Who provideth us with our quota of Fun
And encourageth us not to take things too seriously
As if life were a battle where nobody had won
God bless and keep the Zookeepers everyone.
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Career
Choices - Jonathan Marin
Would you like a chance to shoot for the top,
Where you say a word and watch folks hop,
Where you just start goin' and never stop?
You surely want the inside track,
To set your jaw and cut no slack,
To be there when the deck is stacked!
Wouldn’t you like to be feared?
Wouldn’t you like to get things done?
To have a say in how things run
And load the dice for Number One?
Don’t you want a cellular'
To exert your presence from afar.
So if you lose track of who you are,
You can say to yourself: "I'm important?"
No.
I just want to go home
And be let alone
I don't even need a phone
Thanks anyway.
Would you like a home where you're the lord
With kids to threaten when you get bored
And teach success as its own reward?
Your kids could go to private school
And splash at night in your heated pool
While you thumb your nose at the Golden Rule.
Don't you wanna be a good Dad?
Are you ready yet to spend your days
In red suspenders and collar stays
Maneuvering to get a raise?
You can prey on folks who drop their guard
And battle ‘til your bruised and scarred
With staff to cut when times get hard.
Wouldn't you like to get even?
No.
I just want to go home
And be let alone
I don't even need a phone
Thanks anyway.
Wouldn’t you like to lay down flack
And stab your rivals in the back
‘Til you look in the mirror and it don't look back?
Don’t you want a royal wage,
And a private, windowed corner cage,
So if you’re downsized in middle age
You can say how you used to be Someone?
Would it turn you on to be a Voice,
To shut down peoples' range of choice
While you drive around in a big Rolls Royce?
Why don't you want what I have got
An I.R.A. and a cemetery plot?
These things sure do help me a lot
Say, have you got some aspirin?
I really need a couple of aspirin.
Sorry.
I just want to go home
And be let alone
I don't even need a phone
Thanks anyway.
Don't you want to be a winner?
Don't you want have a career?
Dontcha have any pride?
Haven't you got an ego?
Don’t you want to be tough?
Don't you want to be strong?
Wouldn't you like a future?
Don't you want to be normal?
Dontcha even want a shrink?
Again, about those aspirin.
I really need a couple of aspirin . . .
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SUR LA DIGUE - by Pierre-Alexandre
Sicart
PRESQUE LE SOIR DEJA en ces contrées reculées, trouées de soleil
par fugues
fugitives. Dégradé de gris du ciel, ses replis troublés d’un
ressac plus
ancien que les pierres. Nous passons ensemble devant le
cimetière, sis parmi
les ruines d’une cathédrale. Seule la flèche, déchirée, se tend
encore vers
le silence des cieux. Tu ne dis rien, je te regarde. Je ne te
vois pas.
Tu ne me souris pas. C’est le froid, c’est le vent. Tes regards
sont perdus
dans les brumes du temps. Tes regards, c’est la nuit, c’est tout
ce qui
m’aspire à toi. Parfois semé d’étoiles, scintillant et parfois,
mat et poli
comme l’ébonite. Sombres encore, tes cheveux s’échappent, te
masquent par
instants. Je te regarde.
Je te perds. C’est toi, tu l’as voulu. J’ai demandé, tu es
venue. Ton
sourire, ton rire même, tes promesses, tout cela réuni et figé
par la magie
noire et blanche ; nous sortions de chez le photographe, as-tu
le temps de
pousser jusqu’à la mer ? Nous marchons côte à côte. Images. La
jetée qui se
profile enfin, trop tôt, en bas. Marches larges, luisantes,
attention, je te
prends le bras.
Parfois. Ton rire s’atténue, reprend. La mer proche nous
parvient par
murmures. Tu as peur, un peu. La jetée s’élance, et c’est haut
et les
rochers affleurent, le vide t’aspire. Je jouis de tes angoisses,
je joue de
ta frayeur. Je grimpe sur le haut parapet, je me dresse dans le
vent, entre
deux précipices. Je veux que tu m’admires. Je le réclame. J’ai
peur, moi
aussi.
Je poursuis. J’ignore le vertige, mais ces vents-là annoncent
une tempête :
irréguliers, ils me secouent et le pied glisse encore. La mer,
en dessous.
Froide, frangée de neige mais limpide, les rochers se découpent
sous la
liquide pellicule de sel comme des ombres au réveil. Je rêve,
ton foulard
s’envole, vers l’onde, je plonge. Mauvaise idée. Tu n’as pas de
foulard.
Je suis sauvé. J’atteins à l’extrémité de la jetée, ma main
rencontre le fer
de la rambarde. Contact glacé, humide, rassurant. Tu es là, en
bas et
presque oubliée alors. J’emprunte l’échelle, je ris, tu me
prends et me
repousses, tu grimpes à ton tour ; je te suis et je te garde. Tu
voudrais
bien te moquer de mes bravades. Tu le peux, ne sont-elles pas
pour toi ? Je
n’aime pas le danger.
Mais toi. Dans l’instant, ton œil noyé à l’horizon, ta
silhouette une
eau-forte. Ton regard se reporte sur l’écume bruissante qui
lèche la jetée,
en contrebas, c’est ton tour, à quoi penses-tu ? Tes deux mains
t’assurent à
la rambarde, serrées, si frêles. La chute serait vertigineuse.
J’approche et
presque te pousse, je te presse un peu. Je retiens ton corps.
Brûlure réciproque. Cet instant connaîtra son écho, dans un
futur
improbable.
Parmi les ruines, assis ensemble dans un recoin de pierres, je
te dis, tu me dis, c’est là ton cœur que mime la mer. Encore un
soir de tempête. Tu
t’agites
en dedans, tu ne sais ce que tu veux. Tu veux être libre, tu
crains la
solitude.
Tu voudrais partager, mais ne veux rien donner.
Déjà ce soir-là, sur la digue, tu te dresses et sembles seule.
Je serre ton
cœur
entre mes bras. Tu ne m’appartiens pas, je le sais et tu sais,
je n’ai
jamais
voulu ça. Tu ne sais pas. Je n’ai jamais voulu que ça. J’ai peur,
moi aussi.
Je
te réclame et je t’admire, tu avais besoin de ce regard, qui te
souligne — t’illumine. Je ne fais qu’esquisser tes contours.
La mer frémissante trouble le ciel, l’agite d’irisations sans
mesure. Froissement translucide pour nous seuls, une écharpe
sans limites aux
nuances
nacrées, cette étoffe que perce parfois la musique d’un rayon,
brusque bourrasque de lumière qui te balaie le front, qui te
flatte, courtise cette
joue
que je convoite, que j’effleure sans trop y croire…
De mes lèvres bientôt, sur ces lèvres entrouvertes sur la nuit
de ton corps.
La
brume de ton corps se mêle à ma buée, deux organes se débattent,
de concert,
en
contrepoint. Harmonie factice, enivrante, du vent et du soleil,
et du froid,
et
ta chaleur, tout de nous ; par notre regard, tout est nôtre et
notre présent propre.
L’instant s’efface. Ton parfum, le goût de tes entrailles, cette
drogue me manque. Tu me souris, bien loin déjà. Je me retourne
et je me mouche, c’est ridicule. Je n’ai pas froid, mais mon
corps ne m’écoute pas. Je m’excuse, tu m’excuses ; je me sens
idiot, je fais l’idiot, j’enjambe la rambarde et me
tends
d’une main au-dessus du vide.
Si tu avais un foulard, je rêve encore, s’il pouvait s’envoler,
je pourrais plonger. Je n’aurais pas d’hésitation, je le sais !
Je l’ai échappé belle ;
je
suis revenu visiter cette jetée, une dernière fois, bien plus
tard. Les
rochers
étaient à découvert, alors. Même à marée haute, je me serais
rompu le cou.
Je
l’ai parfois regrettée, cette sortie-là.
Romantisme hypocrite. Amoureux, je le suis de la vie. Toi ? Je
partirai sans
te
quitter, sans oser te prendre, seulement prendre les distances
que tu me demanderas. Que tu les aies désirées ou non, comment
savoir ? Cela te surprendra. Tu m’as tout demandé, tout et son
contraire tour à tour et
parfois,
en même temps. Avoir à choisir, cela te terrifie.
Ferme les yeux. Tu m’as chaviré dans le tourbillon de tes
incertitudes ;
quel
souffle m’as-tu laissé pour profiter des miennes ? Je repasse la
rambarde,
tu te
serres contre moi. Instant unique dans l’univers, je me sens
chez moi. Moi
qui
jamais n’ai pris part au sol, au ciel de ma naissance, aux cieux
de mes errances, qui n’ai aîtres où reposer. Je vis là.
Dans ton étreinte je puise la substance de mon être, enfin je
vis — au
présent.
Tu m’as offert cela, et tu l’ignoreras. Comment exprimer cette
danse qui me dépasse, ce qui se passe en moi ? Nous ne pouvons
nous parler qu’à travers
une
langue qui nous est à tous deux étrangère. Nous trichons avec
nos origines.
Les miennes ne me retiennent pas. Les tiennes t’obsèdent, tu ne
parles que
de
retour ou de fuite. Combien de temps avant que je comprenne ? La
décision t’effraie, elle t’échappe. Je ne l’accepte pas. Tu me
rends si fort, je
crois
cette force en toi. Si j’ai tort, quel mal ne te ferai-je ? Je
partirai,
avant
le trop de peur.
Quittons la jetée. Mais ne revenons pas sur nos pas, pas encore.
Il est si
rare
que je t’aie tout à moi. Enjambées sur la plage, tu vacilles sur
les galets, entre les miroirs d’eau prisonnière. Je m’adosse au
roc, je te prends contre moi, dans les replis de ma chaleur, de
mon épais pardessus aux longues ailes noires.
Ces volatiles qui s’élèvent et s’abîment sous nos regards mêlés
— quelle
espèce
? — quelle importance ? Ta peau n’est pas la mienne, cela
t’importe trop. Tu frissonnes. Quelqu’un passe, est passé. Ta
nuque quitte ma poitrine, tu te retournes — je me perdrai, tu
sais ? c’est ce sourire-là. Ta main appuyée
contre
mon cœur pèse infiniment, You are not romantic !
Toujours au négatif, tous tes aveux, presque ; tu ne te seras
pas rendu
compte
du mal dont tu me caressais. Tu m’as pris, j’étais fort encore
d’ignorer
cette
soif que tu creuses en moi. Tu as brûlé dans mon secret les
idoles de papier
;
tu as pris leur place ; leur perte ne me regarde pas ! Je me
refuse à
savoir, si
tu te retires, que restera-t-il là ?
Tu as froid, il faut rentrer. Remontons, l’étroit escalier de
pierre nous
ramène
près de la digue, nous rejette au pied de cet autre escalier qui
mollement s’élève vers la ville. Mais attends ! Un répit, une
poignée d’instants, seul
à
seule sur ce banc, mon pardessus en couverture commune. Tes
lèvres, encore. Bientôt, je ne pourrai plus.
I love you, c’est alors que tu l’as dit, que je l’ai répété. Ce
mot que je n’avais jamais prononcé. Et j’ai si peur de te perdre
et je te serre, trop
fort,
je te demande de m’épouser. Mon erreur, mon errance doit
recommencer. Tu te réveilles et me repousses, il t’attend.
Qu’ai-je à t’offrir, à présent ?
Des promesses, des caresses, des incertitudes, des batailles à
venir. Jamais
le
calme, sans doute. Je n’aime pas dans le calme ; je manque
d’habitude, tout jaillira trop fort. Trop rapide, je t’ai fait
peur. Rentrons. Ta famille,
tes
amis, trop à perdre. Je demande déjà trop. Je manque de tout,
même d’argent.
Je
ne t’ai offert que ce que j’avais, tout ce que je suis.
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Sångtext -
Stefan Lindberg
Detta är inte dikt
det är upprepning
av ett landskap
som brutet av sjö
stiger upp ur minnet
som ur en sjö
och inte längre är ett minne
utan texturen hos ett landskap
som av det vita papperet omflutet
tillhandahåller fötterna en grund
där inget öga nånsin satt sin fot
betraktaren försjunker i sin vy
han och landskapet sammanflyter
till en Erfarenhet
och mikrokosmos är inte grå hjärnsubstans
utan världen i ett sandkorns facettrika Argusblick
seendet är alltid mer än det sedda
men seendet har inget språk
och hade det ett språk
skulle det inte handla om det sedda
Vad har du sett
Har du sett ett barnansikte
tala med bara munnen någon gång
med fixerad blick och vita kinder
är det ord eller tal
du ser bakom ansiktsmaskens stelhet
tankens koreografi
ett landskap med idel rara växter
som böljar likt en prärie
ett banér med världens alla flaggor
ett språk innan Babels fall, Guds tanke
eller är det bara din inbillning
är Språket ett tvåtusenårigt inbillningsprojekt
som vyssar till sömns den som ska väckas till insikt?
cikadornas sång ur nattens svalg
en nationalhymn utan land
ett löfte eller en suck från ett namnlöst barn
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Hangman's
Nous - John Sweeney
To the gallows, cupid!
with your sop and sentiment.
Your 'mills n' boon' I'd put to pulp!
For with the likes of you -
a double decade of my life, in vain
I did spend.
While I was in youth's yet unfurled bud,
my mind to me, was indeed a kingdom;
the wealth of imagination; was 'neath my hand.
Then fool was I, in ignorance, then to choose
to trade such riches for your cunning lure.
Down the trapdoor with your romantic trickery;
Your canker'd arrowheads, false, ephemeral, a mockery!
Glad am I, to forsake at last,
the mushy, silken bedchambers
of empty cheating romance,
to reclaim in triumph the realm of Nous -
the realm of Mind, paved firm with Logic, of Reason;
not the sop-mud of feely tear-jerk'd sentiment.
My true love is now the cosmos, her unfathom'd riches,
awaiting the key-turn of my hunger'd inquiring.
With the likes of Sir Newton, I can identify;
A great mind of science was he, who had also
the sense to scorn the silly games o' romance;
to penetrate instead, the deep darkness of Cosmos's womb
and bring to birth, her wonders,for mortals to behold.
I think; I imagine, I discover and learn again, anew;
My Mind; my self, a kingdom reclaimed.
- Therefore, I am!
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Here We Lie
- Dylan Taylor
Here we lie.
The smell of love upon my hands.
Insatiable.
And you, with beads
of emotion, curling down
around to your jugular.
We tell each other
that we love one another.
Here we lie.
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The
Fool Express - C.L.Frost
I ride first class on the Fool Express -
Let that excuse my mismatched dress,
My bleats and wails instead of "yes",
My pumpkin grin when I regress,
The sometimes largeness of my largess.
I jingle, jangle, would impress
You with the random music in my guess,
The glitter in my anything mess,
My balloon nose, my glow-wig ugliness;
I'm the Empress of Unruliness.
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Artist's
Sole - C.L.Frost
Cat's got my tongue and my sole.
Still I write rhymes when on a roll
With art and soul,'cause it's my role
To be unholy, whole without hole.
If art's got soul, the artist's sole:
Alone, singularity singing to the whole;
Single, communing with continents; bold
Signature, in cursive curses, linking new and old.
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Brain Rust
- C.L.Frost
My brain jangles as I jog.
Once it was iron, now it's rust,
Dusky dust clogs each cog.
I don't think unless I must.
But to run the world,
Run in the world and earn a crust,
I need only will and lust.
I needn't think, and that is just
How our world turns and churns,
And burns - and it that just?
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Keyboard Kitty - C.L.Frost
My cat once preferred the mouse.
Now he prefers the keys;
Leaps and lands and like a souse
Types a tippler's nonsense pleas.
Kitty's a computer pet
Who ogles at the internet.
Though of the wired generation
With wild-child couger concentration,
She'll take lap and nap over browsing
And virtual carousing.
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The Write Cat - C.L.Frost
My Tom's a bright and big boy -
He does it to annoy.
When he's lonely and he's
Ignored, he stomps upon the keys.
Should I teach my pet the alphabet
Hope he pats out witty prose?
Teach him edition and derision,
Hope each kitty ditty shows
He can add up what he knows?
Or will Cat, nipped by the rage
To peck pointless periods on a page,
Type no tyke teasers or hypotheses,
But pat out parades of parentheses?
Teach his protegee to nap upon the spacer
Just because he's cat-curious,
Add the nanoseconds until I'm furious
Enough to scream and chase her?
Teach kit to leap and race her
Claws without pause or erasures
Until white's stippled with a luxurious
Excess of "@g$*&mF09+!"ers?
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Knows, No New News - C. L.
Frost
eye in the sky, pie-witness
reports rewarded with a sweet;
myths have died but God's reborn
as a Timely photo who'd adorn
our dreams with pop-up ads
while angels thrum fudge jingles
above popcorn clouds, in a World-Perfect sky
coded blue in hexidecimal
booming blurting decibels
burning, boon-boxes advise
baptism in the green liquid currency
of this and now, be catechized
by black suited priests of enterprise
known now - no new news.
flourescent enlightenment, cubicle shrines,
corkboad altars, crucified calculations,
profit resurrected with a show of fax. Pent-up house
power surges and short circuits. The stars
were always glints off ice; our sun,
turned gold, no longer warms or shines.
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On The Beach - Grant Jerome Fisher
Sunday on the beach
Sunday on the beach
One day they can’t reach
me, with their clawing hands -
Friendly sun. Friends at hand.
Still, there’s something - on this sand -
I can’t quite put my finger on -
Something gnawing at my soul
Keeping me far from a whole
new world that’s somewhere out there -
Somewhere where the sea stays blue
Somewhere where the sun shines through
the leaves and branches, down a hill,
warming hearts and minds until
the light melts any tears and ice
inside my sunny paradise.
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Beach Therapy - Grant Jerome Fisher
Lost in a game of beach bats
The sand between my toes
Sweatdrops pouring from my taut shoulders
Cooled in the summer wind that blows
around …
Bikini-clad Sun-Goddesses
swarming toward the sea
And failing to steal my eye
From moments of pure glee
with each sweet shot
And Day and Hot and Dive and Jump
Faces watch and biceps pump
Sea and Sand and Waves and Surf
Sunshades, frisbees, towels and mirth
Sea-breeze, Salt and pounding heart
Breathing deep, Alive, I dart
Red-brown bodies. Sun-bleached hair
Summer-love. Designer-wear
And Palm Trees dance to each sleek step
Traffic drowned by Ocean’s Breath
The Here and Now, forever, kind
Inside my Soul, my Heart and Mind.
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Darkness - Grant Jerome Fisher
Darkness. The sun has gone to sleep.
His full day’s work now done, He’s earned His rest.
Brightness. The moon slowly awakes.
Just in time she shines up for the night-shift.
Night-time. The glim’ring stars are born.
Twinkling. Multiplying.
They join the sparkling moon to guard the night.
Dawn. The moon’s face grows pale.
The waking sky shoes her blue
as gentle sun raises His sleepy head.
Sunlight. The red morning sun grows yellow and strong
As He guides His congregation along
to their new day.
Daytime. The sun now godlike in His force
Warms the earth, and chasing the grey clouds off
Bids the flowers to stand upright
like green soldiers awaiting to fight
the fast approaching tears of blistering night.
Twilight. The weary sun nods off.
And loses battle to the twirling earth
As pink sky bids her day farewell
And dark awaits its birth
with the sky’s changing hue.
Darkness. The sun has gone to…
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The Victim - Grant Jerome Fisher
A green mind raped in a loathsome day
of obnoxious eyes
and deceitful grins
Men without hearts. Flesh without soul
words without care
for ripples of grief
A passionate dread for all that awaits
swells to its head
with each mundane task
And living for cups of coffee and smoke
praying to Day’s End, fast and painless
reduced to an engine’s cog
With bones in chains and heart aflight
a laughter of force
and a bold husk of shell
Crying for the peace brought by night.
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Awake - Grant Jerome Fisher
I lie awake
My heart beats on
The wind still howls outside my window
I try to sleep
I close my eyes
But slumber hides her selfish face
As I toss and turn
Beneath the moon
My past flies up to tease my brain
And wishing I could change what’s been
(And wondering what’s to come)
My life keeps passing by…
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A Welcome to the Poets -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
A welcome to the poets
who've entered our company.
Get your ink-filled rhyming pens
and write out your infamy.
A hi-hello, my brothers
and sisters in poesy.
Let us hope it never ends
nor ends our com'n artistry.
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The Grammar of Poetry -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
Poetry is a sentence.
Life term, no parole.
Poetry is a verb.
Something done, and done to you.
Poetry is a noun.
A person, place, disgrace, or sting.
Poetry is an adjective.
I object.
Poetry is an adverb.
Yea, verily.
The poetry my grammar read:
Stuff by Frost.
She had miles to go before she slept,
and prophetesses to keep.
Poetry is an object,
but rarely objective.
Poetry is a subject
we subject others to.
Poetry is a predicate:
true or false, or somewhere in between.
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As the cowboy
said so eloquently, "Yup!" - Thomas Hadley
i b'lieve we essay to grasp, to distill
with image-words
that which pedestrian prose beats senseless...
poetry, in its essentiality, evokes response
from our deepest consciousness
not merely our beta-wave busy-busy Brain...
the rapid interaction of Robin's imagination
is poetry in action in real-time
....he doesn't "write it", he acts it out
as a leaping limerick, a sassy sonnet, a Howl which echoes
Ginsburgs' now=preserved voice.
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Spontaneous Drum Song -
Thomas Hadley
i like to eat gobbets of meat
stripped steamin' from the bone
i like a fire burning bright
a nice and toasty, cozy home
i feel my heart shining light
when i leave my mind alone
i feel alive, i feel no fright
when i know i'm always Home
this Earth's confines are just a box
don't matter how grey Sages talk
it's all irrelevant you see
all you gotta do is Be
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Peace, war - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Peace, war,
I don't know anymore.
I am for peace
except in this case.
Saddam Hussein,
a madman by any name.
"No blood for oil"
Makes my blood boil.
Let's not forget the past
and the thousands he gassed.
Peace, war,
I don't know anymore.
But this I'll hazard:
Get rid of that bastard.
You can play peace
with a madman like this,
and though I love peace
I'm for war in this case.
(In memory of my wife's ancestral hometown -- which Saddam
destroyed long before he was "The Enemy". You want peace with
Saddam? Why not read my novel Abadoun? History has taught us
that "Chamberlain-ism" doesn't work with madmen.)
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Let Me Have My Weed - Quinn
Tyler Jackson
I do not have an algebra
to work the whole thing through,
no calculus to know the space
that under does accrue,
but I have this sweet cigarette,
no matter what the will come,
and though I've not the answer yet,
I'm dragging to the sum.
I do not drink of Dame Absinthe,
I do not pop green pills,
so, though you find my vice uncouth,
it's my pain that it kills.
When you go drinking too much wine
or acting all the ass
I don't ask you to pay a fine
so let my smoking pass.
I don't drop bombs on children's heads
or deny those in need,
so let me smoke these filtered sticks,
just let me have my weed.
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Gore Your Own Ox? - Craig Harvey
Fireants in unison can kill a sacred cow.
The fireants are coming;
We’ll miss it when it’s gone.
Complaining will give way to sadness,
Sorrow at such great loss
For those left, wishing
They had prayed for the cow.
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Of Tomcats and Astronauts
- Jonathan Marin
The house was Maurice’s quiet home base –
His place to loll in the daytime and nap,
Anticipating the adventures of the coming night.
For there were adventures every night.
For seven years he’d go outside
Every day at dinnertime,
And come home each morning with nicks and bruises
-- Medals he’d earned in tussles
With neighborhood cats.
The wounds were always superficial,
So minor as to leave no doubt
That Maurice was a winner,
Always a winner.
When Maurice’s fortunes started to change
He’d come home with nasty ugly wounds,
Slashed and bleeding,
Meowing in pain;
For his own protection we kept him inside.
But sounds and smells waft right through windows;
He knew when cats were prowling the yard,
Prowling HIS yard.
Maurice was desperate:
A cat has to do cat things,
Or else he stops being a cat.
And if he isn’t a cat, what is he?
We found his body next morning,
So badly mauled that a bear might have done it.
The neighborhood toms had settled accounts
Avenging their years of humiliation.
He’d died near the hedge,
At the boundary he’d made his life work to defend.
He died as a cat,
And that counts for something.
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Law for Some is Law for
All - Jonathan Marin
Law for some nations is Law for all.
Iraq has deadly chemical weapons?
So does Russia; So do we.
Iraq has weaponized deadly germs?
So has Russia; So have we.
Iraq is trying to get The Bomb?
So did Russia; So did we.
Let nations do what nations do.
There seem to be no grounds for war.
Law for some nations is Law for all.
But then there's the Charter of Nuremberg
Law for some persons is Law for all.
Leaders are personally criminally liable
For waging of aggressive war
(Against Iran, against Kuwait)
For war crimes against persons and property
(Torturing prisoners, torching wells.)
For crimes against Humanity
(The wanton slaughter of noncombatants.)
There seem to be no grounds for war
But lots and lots and lots of grounds
For mounting a police raid to arrest those depraved
sonsofbitches as criminals.
Law for some persons is Law for all.
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Ecclesiastes (Reprise) -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
I was born
bent and broken.
Ere I'd spoke,
I'd misspoken.
Paid my dues
in aching bone,
had to face
it all alone.
Waggish wink
and knowing nod:
These don't fool
Jehovah God.
Needed cash
to pay my debts,
empty pockets,
but gold regrets.
Tried to write
a cashier's check,
had no funds;
I'm go'n' to Heck.
Heck's a dream,
all fine and swell,
compared to
that place called Hell.
Try to laugh,
just can't fake it,
gonna die,
cold and naked.
But, you see,
that's no sin,
that's the way
that I came in.
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Preventative War - Sean MacNiven
It is the latest catchword
It promises a lot,
It opens up new markets,
To take what they have got.
In truth it's not the newest,
In the history of trends,
But it's certainly now shown itself-
And all that it defends.
It's the very incarnation
Of a host of other names,
From Democracy to Liberty,
To just downright "humane".
It doesn't serve the people,
Though it once served Rome,
It doesn't serve our high ideals,
But power is it's home.
It answers now to fluid wealth
To Dollar, Yen and Pound,
It knows no human suffering
Fears no battleground.
The USA's it's faithful serf,
That land of wealth and gold,
And it quickly flies to liberate
Those that aren't in the fold.
It sent Allende packing,
Installed old Pinochet,
Chile's not recovered,
Not to this very day.
Mossadegh once wanted
To nationalize oil,
Then it helped the Shah to "liberate"-
A tyrant was installed.
Elections in South Vietnam
Run for Ho Chi Minh,
Special troops and napalm,
Soon saved the West from him.
A quarter of a million,
Were slaughtered in Iraq,
Preventatively, Mr. Bush
Tried to "get IT back".
Sanctions brought starvation
To a withered million more,
And Daddy's little boy,
Wants to finish Daddy's war.
"Terrorists!" they cry today,
Terrorists indeed!
The USA has played it's role
To cultivate that seed.
It's tampered with the Latin states,
It's instigated wars,
It's been the anti-Robin Hood,
Stealing from the poor.
And yet we all are guilty,
Of the purchasing and sale,
Of leaders and of Benzene rings,
In our economies of scale.
We are consumers one and all,
We fuel conglomerates,
We really couldn't give a damn,
About people in Kuwait.
We want our Big Mac Meals,
We want high p/s cars,
We want to watch our Oprah,
And frequent fancy bars.
And Saddam is a madman,
And Arafat as well,
Indeed as is the Arab world,
Sitting on our wells.
But the Middle East has had enough
Of our multinationals,
And if we do not watch our step
They'll send us yet to hell.
War is not the answer,
But a humane policy,
Schools and food and shelter,
Knowledge is the key.
The only way to free the world
Of terroristic bands,
Is to take note of people's woes,
Not what's beneath their lands.
Stop meddling in their politics
Stop selling off their oil,
Stop paying them in peanuts
For 8 day weeks of toil.
The ministry of plenty,
Brings famine and brings death,
The ministry of peace,
Rides upon war's breath.
If the past has taught us anything
No conflict can be said,
To simply be reducible
To any one event.
Preventative War,
It's the catchword of the day,
We'll prevent those bastards,
From getting in our way!
We'll prevent those Arab states
From becoming too secure,
We'll keep them under a heavy boot
Until they're worth no more.
So let's fly right in and show 'em,
Not to mess with power's mate,
Preventative War is gonna
Show 'em they're too late.
And when we've stirred the hornet's nest
And war lies at our feet,
And everywhere's an Israel,
A deathtrap, every street,
Will we look upon this year then,
With a soft nostalgic air,
When fruits of war's prevention,
Lie shattered everywhere?
Now I'll fill a glass of Bordeaux,
And drink to all our health,
And bid the man who wants this war,
Go fight it by himself!
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Preventative War Reply -
Quinn Tyler Jackson
> It is the latest catchword
> It promises a lot,
> It opens up new markets,
> To take what they have got.
The promises of war
Are never lightly ta'en,
For, my friend, if they were,
They'd only promise pain.
> In truth it's not the newest,
> In the history of trends,
> But it's certainly now shown itself-
> And all that it defends.
What sometimes will forget
Those who sue for smooth peace:
Madmen will not regret
When they their gass release.
> It's the very incarnation
> Of a host of other names,
> From Democracy to Liberty,
> To just downright "humane".
Oh, home sweet home is home,
Were this another fool,
But Saddam's at the helm,
And terror is his tool.
> It doesn't serve the people,
> Though it once served Rome,
> It doesn't serve our high ideals,
> But power is it's home.
High ideals are moth'd silk,
When suckling babies choke
On their own mother's milk
Because of poison's yoke.
> It answers now to fluid wealth
> To Dollar, Yen and Pound,
> It knows no human suffering
> Fears no battleground.
He answers to no law,
His is the decreeing;
He knows no human flaw,
For he's no human being.
> The USA's it's faithful serf,
> That land of wealth and gold,
> And it quickly flies to liberate
> Those that aren't in the fold.
Those that aren't in the fold
Have not the true price paid,
They gather up the gold
That others' lives have made.
> It sent Allende packing,
> Installed old Pinochet,
> Chile's not recovered,
> Not to this very day.
Of Pinochet, I grant,
And Chile's plight, indeed,
But focus of my rant
Is not Chile's misdeed.
> Mossadegh once wanted
> To nationalize oil,
> Then it helped the Shah to "liberate"-
> A tyrant was installed.
Of Shah's and Kings, again,
I bow to your observe;
Now is now, then is then,
So why the time frame swerve?
> Elections in South Vietnam
> Run for Ho Chi Minh,
> Special troops and napalm,
> Soon saved the West from him.
You count on past transgress
To judge the current form,
Which spins the facts amiss:
Let's hone on current harm.
> A quarter of a million,
> Were slaughtered in Iraq,
> Preventatively, Mr. Bush
> Tried to "get IT back".
> Sanctions brought starvation
> To a withered million more,
> And Daddy's little boy,
> Wants to finish Daddy's war.
Let's not forget the fact
That much the damage done,
Saddam did to react,
And not some foreign gun.
> "Terrorists!" they cry today,
> Terrorists indeed!
> The USA has played it's role
> To cultivate that seed.
I do not want to foul
Your idealistic air,
But when people tremble,
That my friend, *is* terror.
> It's tampered with the Latin states,
> It's instigated wars,
> It's been the anti-Robin Hood,
> Stealing from the poor.
And so let Saddam rest
Upon his evil laur'l
Shouting at our best
A loud, "No blood for oil!"
When in fact, any blood
That will in end be spilled,
Is not for oil, but common good,
The price for all he's killed.
> And yet we all are guilty,
> Of the purchasing and sale,
> Of leaders and of Benzene rings,
> In our economies of scale.
I don't drive a damned car,
Or even take the bus,
So take a bit more care
When you speak of this "us". ;-)
[Note: All in the spirit of debate -- this is not intended to
imply I'm mad at my honorable oponent in this debate.]
> We are consumers one and all,
> We fuel conglomerates,
> We really couldn't give a damn,
> About people in Kuwait.
That thing that consumes me,
Right to my very core
Is the philosophy
That we should avoid war.
As I have said to date,
In general, war's wrong,
Of that, there's no debate,
Short war, cold war, or long.
We can't avoid the fact,
No matter how we feel,
We'll all be torn and wracked,
When Saddam's at the wheel.
> We want our Big Mac Meals,
> We want high p/s cars,
> We want to watch our Oprah,
> And frequent fancy bars.
I can't stand to eat them,
And I don't drive a car,
Oprah, just an "Ahem!"
I don't drink at the bar.
> And Saddam is a madman,
> And Arafat as well,
> Indeed as is the Arab world,
> Sitting on our wells.
Indeed he has gone mad,
He kills his own, you see,
If he the power had,
He'd kill both you and me.
As long as we can breathe,
We're targets for his rage;
What tangled webs we weave,
When peace is all the rage.
> But the Middle East has had enough
> Of our multinationals,
> And if we do not watch our step
> They'll send us yet to hell.
To send us all to hell
They'd first have to find time
And as for free time, well,
They're busy with their own.
> War is not the answer,
> But a humane policy,
> Schools and food and shelter,
> Knowledge is the key.
Let's send Saddam to school,
And feed the guy good food,
Just offer him the tool,
And he'll turn passing good!
Let's teach him how to read,
Let's teach him how to write,
And all his madman need
Will fade into the night.
Let's teach him to sow earth
And how to dig a well,
So he knows his self-worth,
And won't send us to Hell.
> The only way to free the world
> Of terroristic bands,
> Is to take note of people's woes,
> Not what's beneath their lands.
And woe indeed they have
With Saddam at the reigns,
For they are not the slave
For oil beneath their plains.
> Stop meddling in their politics
> Stop selling off their oil,
> Stop paying them in peanuts
> For 8 day weeks of toil.
They're paid not in peanuts,
But by their master's hand,
And, no ifs, ands, or buts,
He's owner of their land.
> The ministry of plenty,
> Brings famine and brings death,
> The ministry of peace,
> Rides upon war's breath.
Of your use of Orwell,
I commend your quick wit,
Double plus good, all's well,
Two's three, that well says it.
Two's three, because He says,
Big Brother a gun,
He says it, so it was,
When all the day is done.
Double plus good is Peace,
Double plus bad is War,
So Saddam, pretty please,
Don't kill your own no more.
> If the past has taught us anything
> No conflict can be said,
> To simply be reducible
> To any one event.
And any one event,
Indeed 'twould not be 'nuff,
5000 Kurds were spent
In one attack, one puff.
And anyone one transpire,
Indeed 'twould be too few,
How many wells on fire
Would count the events two?
And anyone one transgress
Indeed 'twould not sum high,
Just "one" event would pass,
For three ... how many die?
And any one mistake
Indeed 'twould seem too small,
For just four events to make,
Who's next against the wall?
Yes, any *one* event,
Hardly enough to jive,
How many lives are spent
To bring the sum to five?
> Now I'll fill a glass of Bordeaux,
> And drink to all our health,
> And bid the man who wants this war,
> Go fight it by himself!
I fight my wars with pen,
I am a novelist,
So, just read _Abadoun_,
And you will get my gist.
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Preventative
War Reply Reply - Sean
MacNiven
> > It is the latest catchword
> > It promises a lot,
> > It opens up new markets,
> > To take what they have got.
>
> The promises of war
> Are never lightly ta'en,
> For, my friend, if they were,
> They'd only promise pain.
'Tis pain indeed they promise,
Lightly ta'en or no,
And 'tis industry alone that wins
As history does show...
> > In truth it's not the newest,
> > In the history of trends,
> > But it's certainly now shown itself-
> > And all that it defends.
> What sometimes will forget
> Those who sue for smooth peace:
> Madmen will not regret
> When they their gass release.
In a healthy state I'll tell you,
Such enemies must bear,
The fact that unsupported,
There's no-one there to hear...
> > It's the very incarnation
> > Of a host of other names,
> > From Democracy to Liberty,
> > To just downright "humane".
> Oh, home sweet home is home,
> Were this another fool,
> But Saddam's at the helm,
> And terror is his tool.
And exploitation is the way
Our businesses are run,
We take away their livelihoods,
And hold the biggest gun...
We may not train up terrorists,
But Marines and MBAs,
An economic oligarchy,
Let the bastards pay...
I see no cleft definitive
Between their ways and ours,
We've terrorised with sanctions,
With military powers...
Take guns away from soldiers
They'll strike you with their stones,
Fight long enough in others lands
The war will soon come home...
> > It doesn't serve the people,
> > Though it once served Rome,
> > It doesn't serve our high ideals,
> > But power is it's home.
> High ideals are moth'd silk,
> When suckling babies choke
> On their own mother's milk
> Because of poison's yoke.
'Tis "high ideals" that drive this war,
Waged for "Democracy",
Lest Canada and Sweden,
Saddam's next targets be...
To claim it's nought to do with oil
Is to call a spade a heart,
To run with the emotional,
Devoid of reason's art...
For the decades strike the beat
Of the sinusodial,
And our conflicts find repeat,
And the coffers are refilled...
> > It answers now to fluid wealth
> > To Dollar, Yen and Pound,
> > It knows no human suffering
> > Fears no battleground.
> He answers to no law,
> His is the decreeing;
> He knows no human flaw,
> For he's no human being.
> > The USA's it's faithful serf,
> > That land of wealth and gold,
> > And it quickly flies to liberate
> > Those that aren't in the fold.
> Those that aren't in the fold
> Have not the true price paid,
> They gather up the gold
> That others' lives have made.
Tell me of the gold,
That other lives have made,
Of the top 500 companies
In the USA...
> > It sent Allende packing,
> > Installed old Pinochet,
> > Chile's not recovered,
> > Not to this very day.
> Of Pinochet, I grant,
> And Chile's plight, indeed,
> But focus of my rant
> Is not Chile's misdeed.
> > Mossadegh once wanted
> > To nationalize oil,
> > Then it helped the Shah to "liberate"-
> > A tyrant was installed.
> Of Shah's and Kings, again,
> I bow to your observe;
> Now is now, then is then,
> So why the time frame swerve?
We cannot turn a blind eye,
To the sires of our times,
For the past hath formed the present,
It's glories and it's crimes...
Just as you're the product,
Of your family and life,
So too the US and Iraq,
Must be viewed in that light...
> > Elections in South Vietnam
> > Run for Ho Chi Minh,
> > Special troops and napalm,
> > Soon saved the West from him.
> You count on past transgress
> To judge the current form,
> Which spins the facts amiss:
> Let's hone on current harm.
Once more to hone on current harm
A context must be set,
'Tis here we call on history
Lest we should forget...
There is no present action
Independant of the past,
Let us not let prejudice,
Better us at last...
> > A quarter of a million,
> > Were slaughtered in Iraq,
> > Preventatively, Mr. Bush
> > Tried to "get IT back".
> > Sanctions brought starvation
> > To a withered million more,
> > And Daddy's little boy,
> > Wants to finish Daddy's war.
> Let's not forget the fact
> That much the damage done,
> Saddam did to react,
> And not some foreign gun.
I do not deny that Saddam,
Is a fanatic and a crim',
But say the problem's roots,
Do not lie in him...
> > "Terrorists!" they cry today,
> > Terrorists indeed!
> > The USA has played it's role
> > To cultivate that seed.
> I do not want to foul
> Your idealistic air,
> But when people tremble,
> That my friend, *is* terror.
> > It's tampered with the Latin states,
> > It's instigated wars,
> > It's been the anti-Robin Hood,
> > Stealing from the poor.
> And so let Saddam rest
> Upon his evil laur'l
> Shouting at our best
> A loud, "No blood for oil!"
> When in fact, any blood
> That will in end be spilled,
> Is not for oil, but common good,
> The price for all he's killed.
Let Bush work for his family friends
Capture oil with lives,
Let little people say goodbye
To their kids and wives...
Let words like good and evil,
Spread indiscriminate,
Let's start throwing stones
In the greenhouses we've built...
> > And yet we all are guilty,
> > Of the purchasing and sale,
> > Of leaders and of Benzene rings,
> > In our economies of scale.
> I don't drive a damned car,
> Or even take the bus,
> So take a bit more care
> When you speak of this "us". ;-)
> [Note: All in the spirit of debate -- this is not intended to
imply
> I'm mad at my honorable oponent in this debate.]
no offence taken :-)
> > We are consumers one and all,
> > We fuel conglomerates,
> > We really couldn't give a damn,
> > About people in Kuwait.
> That thing that consumes me,
> Right to my very core
> Is the philosophy
> That we should avoid war.
> As I have said to date,
> In general, war's wrong,
> Of that, there's no debate,
> Short war, cold war, or long.
> We can't avoid the fact,
> No matter how we feel,
> We'll all be torn and wracked,
> When Saddam's at the wheel.
I doubt not your conviction,
To a fundamental peace,
But neither you, nor your land
Should play the world police...
The facts remain to be displayed
As to Saddam's new plans,
And if the UN finds it's gold,
We shall need to turn his hand...
But let "prevention's" reason,
Lie on sound foundations,
And not upon hysteria,
Or media efficacious...
> > We want our Big Mac Meals,
> > We want high p/s cars,
> > We want to watch our Oprah,
> > And frequent fancy bars.
> I can't stand to eat them,
> And I don't drive a car,
> Oprah, just an "Ahem!"
> I don't drink at the bar.
> > And Saddam is a madman,
> > And Arafat as well,
> > Indeed as is the Arab world,
> > Sitting on our wells.
> Indeed he has gone mad,
> He kills his own, you see,
> If he the power had,
> He'd kill both you and me.
> As long as we can breathe,
> We're targets for his rage;
> What tangled webs we weave,
> When peace is all the rage.
And your Government experiements
With W.O.M.Ds,
With dirty radiation,
And modified diease...
And half your fears rely upon
The research you have done,
To keep the Flying stars and stripes
In position number one...
[note: the use of the second person is meant as a general
expression]
> > But the Middle East has had enough
> > Of our multinationals,
> > And if we do not watch our step
> > They'll send us yet to hell.
> To send us all to hell
> They'd first have to find time
> And as for free time, well,
> They're busy with their own.
> > War is not the answer,
> > But a humane policy,
> > Schools and food and shelter,
> > Knowledge is the key.
> Let's send Saddam to school,
> And feed the guy good food,
> Just offer him the tool,
> And he'll turn passing good!
> Let's teach him how to read,
> Let's teach him how to write,
> And all his madman need
> Will fade into the night.
> Let's teach him to sow earth
> And how to dig a well,
> So he knows his self-worth,
> And won't send us to Hell.
If we'd done that in the beginning,
Half our problem'd disappear,
But the people look to radicals,
Where food is nowhere near...
As I said at the commencement
Of this second-round reply,
A people fed and sheltered,
Will never need to rise...
But we've helped to keep them hungry,
And the mass doth slowly stir,
And if we don't address their needs,
We'll soon their wrath incur...
> > The only way to free the world
> > Of terroristic bands,
> > Is to take note of people's woes,
> > Not what's beneath their lands.
> And woe indeed they have
> With Saddam at the reigns,
> For they are not the slave
> For oil beneath their plains.
Your focus is upon one man,
But his role in fact is small,
Powerless the man would be
If the people did not call...
> > Stop meddling in their politics
> > Stop selling off their oil,
> > Stop paying them in peanuts
> > For 8 day weeks of toil.
> They're paid not in peanuts,
> But by their master's hand,
> And, no ifs, ands, or buts,
> He's owner of their land.
> > The ministry of plenty,
> > Brings famine and brings death,
> > The ministry of peace,
> > Rides upon war's breath.
> Of your use of Orwell,
> I commend your quick wit,
> Double plus good, all's well,
> Two's three, that well says it.
> Two's three, because He says,
> Big Brother a gun,
> He says it, so it was,
> When all the day is done.
> Double plus good is Peace,
> Double plus bad is War,
> So Saddam, pretty please,
> Don't kill your own no more.
> > If the past has taught us anything
> > No conflict can be said,
> > To simply be reducible
> > To any one event.
> And any one event,
> Indeed 'twould not be 'nuff,
> 5000 Kurds were spent
> In one attack, one puff.
> And anyone one transpire,
> Indeed 'twould be too few,
> How many wells on fire
> Would count the events two?
> And anyone one transgress
> Indeed 'twould not sum high,
> Just "one" event would pass,
> For three ... how many die?
> And any one mistake
> Indeed 'twould seem too small,
> For just four events to make,
> Who's next against the wall?
> Yes, any *one* event,
> Hardly enough to jive,
> How many lives are spent
> To bring the sum to five?
> > Now I'll fill a glass of Bordeaux,
> > And drink to all our health,
> > And bid the man who wants this war,
> > Go fight it by himself!
> I fight my wars with pen,
> I am a novelist,
> So, just read _Abadoun_,
> And you will get my gist.
Well I wish not to repeat myself,
And leave you your reply,
May this honourable poetic joust,
Reach out to thinking minds...
Back to Table of Contents
Peace War Unilateral
Agreement - Quinn Tyler Jackson
You say tomAYto
I say tomAHto
You say potAYto
I say potAHto
TomAYto -- tomAHto
PotAYto -- potAHto
Let's call the whole war off.
You say police raid
I say war
You say criminals
I say settle the score
TomAYto tomAHto
PotAYto potAHto
Police Raid -- War
Let's call the whole war off.
Back to Table of Contents
On Peace War - Quinn Tyler Jackson
Well I wish not to repeat myself,
And leave you your reply,
May this honourable poetic joust,
Reach out to thinking minds...
I'd offer up response,
But this I only say:
For fear of 'pear a dunce,
I quickly say: Touché.
My students* call for mark,
Without them, they're annoyed,
For soon, they shall embark,
For soon, they are deployed.
They're trained to hold their gun,
And not shoot innocent,
So, when the day is done:
Let's pray they hold their bent.
I've offered up my word
On wars and tyrants, friends,
My aspect has been heard,
And now my ranting ends.
Back to Table of Contents
I'd Rather Poem - Quinn Tyler
Jackson
I'd rather poem
my own sour despair
with words I wrote myself,
but since you parted,
the only verses
are those that are said half.
And half spoken rhyme
gets a poet nowhere,
it steals poem's wealth;
it's like a book, dead
and unread, curses
the barren, lonely shelf.
Back to Table of Contents
Overqualified - Quinn Tyler Jackson
they said you're overqualified
you won't be happy here
i could have gone and outright lied
removed nine tenths to spare
the cv's long but life ain't free
account's an empty well
what are they afraid of from me --
