Oh look, look again on what we see,
Another war on ABC and CNBC TV.
Black hooded thugs waving AK-47’s
Jam Packed into little Pickup Trucks,
Moving in, onto Bagdad street,
It all looks so very familiar.

What is it with we Human Beings?
Why do we continue to do such things?
Back in my day it was Viet Nam,
The suits made a case for war,
And we young answered the call.
3 million Vietnamese and over 58,000
Of us died in that mess,
All for what,
A Civil War?
Not our business.
Profits for Corporations,
Big and small?

Who are we to Police the World?
Who appointed us to that dire role?

Then it was “Desert Storm”
And we mobilized all over again.
Rolled over the sands and those
Third World people,
As if they were not even there.
It’s said 100,000 of them died.
But the guy that pulled their Strings,
That **** fool survived,
To play again yet another day.

The peoples in the Middle East
Hated us for our intervention,
And began to sing songs of revenge.

Fast forward 10 years of hate and
Resentment and some of them
Flew our own planes into our cities,
Killed our non combatant people
Without so much as a warning,
And absolutely no remorse.
Stealing our national innocents.

Excuses and lies were made,
Fingers pointed in the wrong direction,
Now it was us plotting revenge.
WMD’s in the hands of a Mad Man
We were told,
“Get him before he can use his missiles.
Him and them,
That attacked our Cities,
Killed our people.
How dare they do such a thing?"

Once again our young men and women
Answered the call.
And once again over a 100,000 of that
Dictator’s people died, along with
Far too many of our own children.
But the “Lie” made some big American
Corporations rich beyond belief.
And gasoline went to over
$4.00 a gallon and is still ascending.

Oh look, on further study and investigation,
That guy and his country had no WMD’s
And indeed may not have actually been,
Behind The Twin Towers tragic end.
Afganstan “They” now too pointed,
That’s the backward 3ed world place,
Harboring a rich Saudi guy named Bin.
He and his gang, they are the ones,
Run ‘em to ground and break their bones.
Suspend our laws and stretch the truth,
Get it done, forget the price,
Break some rules and ignore,
Our Constitution and even our laws.
Behind closed doors, they whisper,
“Need more men, mobilize the Reserves.”
“The little people will never tolerate a Draft”.

How many people die this time?
We don’t even know the price.
It’s not yet done over there.
Money spent over 3 Trillion,
More than spent to fight
The entire Second World War.
Yes I said “Trillion”
Now how many new schools,
Roads and bridges here,
At home would that buy I wonder?

We left Bagdad declaring things “done”.
Installed yet another Corrupt,
Puppet Army and Government.
Like Viet Nam,
Our Generals all said we’d won.

Be it an Iraq or Afghanistan,
Who can possibly rule a nation of Tribes.
Of people that can’t even agree on the
Same shared religion belief.
People that hate each other more,
Then they even hate us.

No one but an iron ****** ****** Dictator,
A Tribal Chief who enforces his rule with
Corruption, Brutality and Death
Can rule such people.
Too long ingrained is their
Mode of hating and living.
Too clouded and old
Their desire for revenge
And corruption.

So add it all up, too many deaths,
Trillions of dollars spent.
And in the end, has returned to
Where it all started again.

Political deceit,
Poor judgment,
Or Personal greed?
Why do our leaders
Keep making the same mistakes?
I don’t have the answer.

If I don’t end up in Gitmo,
Boarded, with water in my mouth,
Or locked up in the Pen,
For expressing my own opinion,
Perhaps things aren’t yet as bad
As things could possibly get.

I do however regret that all these years
With we little people answering the call,
With all the fighting, waste,
Needless ****** death and all,
It seems to have been for nothing more,
Than the egos and stupidly,
Of a few rich and high born men,
Big Corporation profits,
And lustful greed for the all mighty dollar.

You know if I am all wrong and there is
a heaven and some how I end up there,
I'm sure there will be three dogs waiting
right there for me.

Rommel my Rottweiler, ******* and tan face
and head, a body like a Bradley Tank, always
watching, always loyal. Liked to stick his big
wet nose up ladies skirts and sniff what they
were hiding there. And like his master, he never
met one he did not like. Self appointed Body
Guard to my little boy and me. Would run
through smoke and flames to protect our little
family of just three, Ian, Rommel and me.

Then there is Rocky, a Boxer breed,  the best
of the best. He never made a misstep, always
knew the way. Calm and intuitive in an almost
spooky way. Could read my mind, anticipate
my moods and moves. A tower of canine power,
gentle and loving companion and friend.
I could wade a stream, casting a fly, go for
miles and never wonder where he was, turn
my head and there he stood, on a boulder,
or up on a cliff. He would follow me anywhere
and never ever stray. He was a ROCK and
thus earned his name.

Then there would be Max. Steady as a summer
rain, gentle as a baby lamb. He displayed a
kind of affability seldom seen in man, or dare
I say, even beast. Soft eyes filled with love,
you always knew where you stood. He lived
only to be near to me and what ever I would do.
I dared not speak too harshly to him, as if my
words alone could actually crush his bones.
Far too sensitive for any dog or man. Gentle
and kind as a baby lamb. Open a door and
there he'd be, always waiting just for me.

And if I deserve another chance to join
their most exceptionally congenial company,
a very lucky man I would truly be.

And how could that place be anywhere but
"HEAVEN" ?

Look friends, this is a only a lighted screen.
On which people paint their dreams.
Spill out their fears,
Perhaps cleanse their souls.
Words printed not in stone,
Gone with the strike of a key.
Meaningless to all,
But perhaps their own creator.
Never intended to live forever.
As if they were wispy clouds in the sky,
Shifting, changing and then goodbye.
Does the maker of those clouds care
Who sees them there, need comment
of awe and splendor, an adoring audience
from below to lavish him with praise?
My guess is he does not,
Like our thoughts on this screen,
impermanent and fleeting,
His are flights of artful heavenly whimsy,  
A clear endeavor of self expression,
Not meant to last.
Put up there on his canvas,
Merely for his own enjoyment.

ask your blood
your limbs, your breathing feet
what Poetry is -
a phylogenetic anomaly
in light’s discontinuity

or just…
the strange yearning of hematopoiesis

ask the silence in your lungs
the bursting DNA, reinterpreted
how it allures memory inside your bones
how it treads conventions of sleep
with the weight of a sigh

if you ask me
what Poetry is
I’d say: breath calligraphy
a winged dream of depth
on enchanted retina
the bitter-sweet art of airy harmony

ask your hands
what Poetry is
perhaps they’ll take a moment
to bloom

As water is to cleansing rain
and heat as to burning flame,
so are you to me; the same.
My fiery rain.

Fill the gutter of my mind.
Fire the coal your heart has mined.
Burn me to the end of time.
Your fire does reign.

r ~ 4/1/14