On a front-row-center throne
The Would-be King relaxes.
Besides him rests his Lady-Queen
In tsunamis of green satin.
He’s enjoying all the accolades
In the Hallowed Halls of drama
Surrounding their appearance,
Where the monkey trio entertains
And fashion marches to and fro
Clutching heavy bits of tinsel.
All is merriment and joy
Until the Jester makes a jape
That earns a queenly frown
Which stirs the King to wipe his smile
And stalk onto the dais
the Jester on his cheek,
And wearing traces of a smirk
Marches back down to his throne.
The Jester lofts a lame response
Into a sea of stunning silence
Then the air turns shades of Royal blue
And American TVs go deaf
For thirty-seven seconds
While across the seas the
Audience enjoys the
Braying of a *******.
Believing he’s impervious
Or maybe he is Sampson
The King pulls down the ancient walls
Of cherished film tradition
Reducing what was dignified
To a rank back alley rumble
Then later makes a fake obeisance
Awash with phony tears and snot.
All hail the King of Hollywood
They should take back his golden prize
To penalize his hubris -
And let him know rules still apply.
And cause some real tears in his eyes.
What do you say to such monumental arrogance?
(Why didn't this post day before yesterday when I first put it up?)
Innumerable . . . stars are
countless joys so immeasurably far
laughter . . . shimmering silently
or lamenting twinkling tears
mysterious messengers fluoresce
what wonders are wrought . . . so wordless
in spiral formulae undiscovered
inscribed by ancient seers
a murmuring quiescence pulsates
to a childlike sorrowful plea
eternity pauses to listen
to a prayer . . . from Gethsemane
wh gv Mar.16.2007
Selah babes Reborn
Inhumed in His bed of straw
now they sleep bloodless warriors
pandemonium stilled agony slain tranquil
death sanctified in rigid cartesian rows
honored for their sacrifice and selfless valiance
laid to rest beneath mourning grasses
where was the higher honor due them before war
are sacred vows to be profaned to be misemployed
do once verdurous lives lay cold and pulseless
as spatters of red petals tearfully fall
families breathing wistful flowers
distilling rue with lulling scents
all men who enact lies
dishonoring crossed graves
greed calibrating scales of injustice
bodies tilted high by tonnages of gold
Aurelian kisses vaulting wars riches
dishonor a warrior’s willingness to die
for bravados mouth is a soldier’s tomb
do not forsake truth and honor our only faithful ally
ask ten-thousand whys before one soldier dies
before the bugler's breath sounds death's lamenting cries
Contemplate war’s fiery womb
hatred born inextinguishable
good & evil indistinguishable
Look, what stillborn bones lie locked in battle
this fleshless monster we mis-named peace
Matthew 6:13 . . . deliver us from “evil”
Evil as translated in 6:13 is "Poneros" A name also attributed to Satan
Which means: "he is not content unless drawing others into the same destruction as himself"
(From Lexicon to the New Testament by Spiros Zodhiates, TH.D
won’t have a rib intact.
And its soul will be pulled out."
A line from Vladimir Mayakovsky's 1917 poem , Call To Account
“They made a wasteland and called it peace” Publius Cornelius Tacitus