Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nat Lipstadt Jul 2018
I spoke to Kissinger this week

~for C. C.   the reluctant poet~


read him your poem,

https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1933595/kissinger-on-park/

spoke of your reluctance
to write without the encouragement of others
(see below)

K. said poetry writing
very similar to decision making -
a single letter addition makes it into a wry thing:

writhing

but once you’ve published,
  once you have made the policy decision
then and only then begins the incision
that others cut upon your chest,
to fill with infectious assassination or
admiration,
at the risk taken

K. said: pray and trust that you reluctant fellow
and I
can non-disclose (hide) our internist discordance,
neath a sheen of stolidity that is a
pretense gravitas cover-up certainty,
for we wince when they shoulder tap you with
hindsight queries that you recognize
as retro grade F seeds
of inequitude

if you require recognition as encouragement, K. intoned,
prepare prepayments for your poems,
you have failed before even starting

please your self, lad, no one else,
reluctance is the chief ingredient in failure
do the work and pray for grace to do some
yeoman-well-enough to carry others upon the outgoing tide
of your burdened shoulders

this man who transmits my words
has been kicked off the fence, rejected,
a
frequent wrong road chooser,
for at least 25 years too,
stiff-necked like me, refuge survivor,
who leaves it all the way out
from no one nothing hiding,
freely acknowledges the policy errors of his wasted life,
can not be but the finest fodder for the retrospective historians
but he reminds us
loving children and animals is one way to say
I am so sorry for
the human judgments one must make when
first you sign your true and honest name
at the end of a
poem
or a war they call yours

reluctance is a luxury one can ill afford,
it seeps and permeates in the guise
of a sleepless temerity
and cracks the reflection served up
in the mornings first judgement,
that is,
if you dare to
reflect

<•>

~ a message from the Reluctant Poet~

“I'm a reluctant poet myself -
just started getting some
positive responses here recently,
which is ever so heartening.
I have three poems total posted!...
I'm just happy when
I can get deep down and say
what I want to say, and
hopefully give it a little beauty and
poetical magic for good measure.
The rest is up to the dear readers.”*

<•>
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1933595/kissinger-on-park/

Apologies for the delay in reaching
inside myself and pulling deep out
with some reluctance the thousand
poems you have intuitively commissioned

indeed,, started this child over and over,
most recently over two slices on East Fifty Second & 3rd,
but in matters of gravity, write in the situ appropriate
and so it came to compo-fruition intuitively reached
in the neo-natal nook where my best ones were birthed
then released to the sea breeze carrier free to roam,
tickle fancies, kiss new brides, release the hiding
reluctant to come forth, joining conjoining words and people,
becoming the hypotenuse of some others lives/
  

and I had to get ahold of Henry which isn’t easy
Matt Sep 2014
Oh Henry
What a star you are!
You always loved to be at the center of attention

Your accomplishments in diplomacy are well known
You brokered the peace treaty between Israel and Egypt
You effected detente with the Soviet Union
You opened up the way for Nixon in China
You negated the Communist threat in Chile

You said it yourself      
"Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.”

You have admitted that mistakes were
"Quite possibly made"
By administrations in which you served.

You have questioned whether, 30 years after the event,
"Courts are the Appropriate means by which determination is made".

And Cambodia Henry?
You were complicit
In the illegal carpet bombing of neutral Cambodia
Which sowed the seeds for the murderous Pol *** regime

Pinochet was indicted for human rights violations

Diplomacy is a ***** business
You did what you thought needed to be done

You remain cold and secretive
Do you have any remorse or regret?

The old Russian proverb is wrong Henry
Time does not heal all wounds

There is blood on your hands
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_depth/uk/2000/newsmakers/1952981.stm
Martin Bailes May 2017
Kissinger's in the House today,
trailing choking ****** fumes
kicking aside limbless tiny bodies
too, too innocent by far,
all dripping entrails & shattering
dry bones gladly underfoot
as he lopes horrendously
all death rictus grin & such
as he once again justifies
to St Peter at the gates
the millions crushed, obliterated
blown into tiny misty red fragments
as he played his all-mighty diplomatic
history lessons on a helpless, distant
once green & fertile land.

Forgiveness? Ha!
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;aopicho@yahoo.com)



In response to the United States versus European Union  deliberations on Ukrainian- Russian stalemate  that were concluded on 25th may  2014 at Brussels , in which President Barrack Obama looked at the Putin’s political  behaviour in global set up of the postmodern era as a weakness, I beg to take my position within my capacity as global citizen, to go contrary to this stand of Barrack Obama by positing that President Vladimir Putin is a fact of global urgency , but instead it is Obama who suffers from universal class intellectual deficiency often  observed as insensitive rhetoric but branded as unmatched eloquence.
Firstly, let me give the sequential enumerations of facts which validate my position and hence this discourse. Barely the facts are; Ethnicity, Islam, terrorism, Guantanamo prison, Sino-African relations,Arab-springs,politics and human psychology and American political culture as state and an international citizen.
President Obama has always refused and rejected his ethnic connexion with Africa, he always refer to Africa as the land of ancestors. This is a stand that has most irritated Africans. Both in Africa and in the diaspora. Obama never learned a simple pre-industrial wisdom that every man needs ethnic identity for positive reasons. Because as per now Obama still stands as a Kenyan and as well as an American. This connotes a political fact that he is neither a complete Kenyan nor an absolute American in terms of political emotionalism. The empirical position of all these abode in the fact that there are a thousand and one Americans who feel politically belittled to be led by a first generation African American. Thus, a leadership fact has to be indentified in this juncture by inferring that, their voter consciousness as Americans is not fit to be crystallized as emotional resource to be enjoyed by Obama politics. In a sharp contrast Vladimir Putin has acquired substantial political strengths from positive recognition of Russian ethnicity. Putin recognizes Estonia, Crimea, Georgia, Serbia, Moldova and all small and poor lands around Russia in terms of ethnic connection to Russia. He calls these lands as the dear burial grounds in which Russian military heroes were buried. In a comparison, America has a lot of racial connection with Africa, but president Obama has earnestly worn blinkers on this. He only looks at Africa skeptically as a land of injured civilization in which terrorists abode. He has been wrong. African folk wisdom has a lesson that, you may not need your tribe in peace, only to need it in war.
Why did president Obama masquerade as a Muslim when he was vying for his first term? Moslems feel that he duped them only to turn around and **** their leaders. In Islam it is a heinous sin to pose as a Muslim when you are not one. President Obama mobilized the plotting which had to occasion the killings of Muammar Gadaffi and Osama Bin Laden. These two incidents fuelled high strength in anti-American feelings among the societies of the Arab world. Reasons are that both Gadaffi and Bin Laden deserved fair trial the same way Henry Kissinger was not tried when he perpetrated macabarous mass killing in Vietnamcong war. Muslim community least expected financial and ideological funding of the political hullabaloo known as the Arab Spring, through which heroic Moslem leaders were killed, to come from Obama government. But the contrary was surprisingly a fact. The meaning of this is that , in this tussle of show of mental mighty between Putin and Obama, All African and Arab states are behind Putin, China is behind Putin. Maybe it is Tanzanian and Ghanaian presidents who are in Obama camp, but not the Moslems in Tanzanians and Intellectuals in Ghana. The perceived rationale for this positioning inter alias is that the Number of North African Moslems in Guantanamo prison is the highest of all the detained terrorist suspects.
China is all over Africa today; African schools are teaching Chinese languages with passion more than they do with English language. The University of Nairobi in Kenya, has established the most prestigious Kungu Fu tze institute. Students in this institute are more self-confident and hopeful than those in schools of English and literature. China has designed a special business city for Africans, known as the chocolate city. Africans are more dignified in this city than their counterparts in Chicago.Negroes in Chicago of today still taste a vestigial pepper of negative racism on daily basis. All these conditions have graduated into appalling status from George Bush high school to Barrack Obama state University. These at times confirm the Russian Joke that Barrack Obama is an avatar of George Bush without a Nobel Prize. A political condition not evident during the Reagan and Clinton administration. Obama did not benchmark the shrewd equation of Vladimir Putin; good politics is equal to putting people at center stage.
Psychology of politics has a theory that being eloquent is not a connotation of political effectiveness. It may be sheer rhetoric. This is not a necessary variable for effective policy formulation and implementation. History of politics also has a testimony in confirmation of the same. The French society goofed when it fell victim of Napoleon eloquence, same to the Germans when they became emotional captives of Adolf ****** due to the razor sharp garrulousness of Adolf ******, which he adopted when selling **** values to German voters. In Africa Tanzania is the poorest country without hope of initiating any development this century. And all this is a preposterous protégé of utopian communalism planted through eloquent tools of prosaic socialism wielded by the articulate Julius Nyerere. The American society has also gone into annals of history to have collectively failed in its political choices as a national society by succumbing to rhetorical but policy insensitive conference management knack of the one Barrack Obama. These have happened in a capitalist conduit in which capitalism is killed by its success, just the same way which ignorance is never murdered but at most commits suicide.


Alexander K Opicho, is a social researcher at Sanctuary Research agencies ltd., in Eldoret, Kenya.  He is also a lecturer for Governance Research Methods.
Lawrence Hall Dec 2023
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

        Henry Kissinger Has Left His Multi-Million-Dollar Apartment

The bodyguards, the security details
The long black cars, the cooing movie stars
The expensive dinner jackets tailored just so
The best cigars, the rarest of champagnes
The jeweled watches and those golden cufflinks
The many underlings awaiting his call
The fawning bishops at the Al Smith dinners
The publishers eager to print his latest screeds
The voice that commanded armies and fleets
And left presidents quivering in fear

The millions of corpses rotting in the sun




I live in the Managerial Age, in a world of "Admin." The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid "dens of crime" that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps. In those we see its final result. But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice. Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the offices of a thoroughly nasty business concern.

              -C. S. Lewis, Preface to *The Screwtape Letters
Kissinger
Homunculus Feb 2019
01/31/2019

Today, I learned the true extent to which I loathe the IRS. To be fair, I've always known that I hated them. I've had plenty of legitimate reasons for this in the past. For instance, every year, they casually extort our wage and salary, pretending to allocate it for the building of bridges, roads, and schools. While in reality, the infrastructure and educational system crumble, and defense spending grows without limit.
But then again, I do suppose that in a certain sense, roads, bridges, and schools are built indirectly with these funds; but only after the funds are used to blow these institutions to smithereens in third world countries, and private corporations like Halliburton are contracted to rebuild them for egregious profits. Profits, mind you, which are shuffled to dozens of offshore shell corporations, ensuring that they are taxed at a rate exponentially lower than the profits of the average working citizen.
But today, I experienced a type of hatred entirely novel to my conceptions of what is even possible in the realm of consciousness. A loathing so intense that it paralyzed my rationality, sending me into fits of rage and bewildered astonishment that I would wish on NO ONE . . . except Cheney or Kissinger, the ******* *******. For today, for the first time in all my 28 years of life, I filed my federal income taxes. I knew that one day the chore would inevitably arise, but I still consider it an accomplishment to have made it through an entire third or more of my life without ever actually dirtying my hands with the wretched muck. All that aside, the story goes like this:
I work as an “independent contractor” for a friend who runs a small business. I perform various services around the office, and he cuts me a check at the end of the week. I've been working there “on paper” for about a year, really a bit longer, but “what they don't know...” so goes the old adage. We had, the both of us, anticipated with tempered irritation, the arrival of this bureaucratic beast of burden. However, neither of us knew that the deadline mailing date for “independent contractors” comes nary two months sooner than for payroll employees. This information was sprung on us at the very last minute by his tax attorney who, from this point on, will be referred only to as 'G.S.' (grease stain).
As I was fulfilling my duties, my friend urgently beckoned to me “STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING. TAXES ARE DUE TODAY, AND WE HAVE TO FILE THEM NOW!” Naturally, I panicked. I had seen an income tax form . . . perhaps once or twice? . . .  much less filled one out . . .  maybe once at 17 during the employment process at a fast food joint? . . . Initially, we had thought it would be a simple matter of the W-2, the likes of which had been filled out automatically for me by employers in the past as a part of the hiring phase. Nonetheless, since my status of “independent contractor” placed me into a different tax category, I had to fill out what is known as a 1099-MISC. “Simple enough!” thought I, “I'll just fill in the relevant details and get back to work.” . . . “NOT SO FAST, CASEY JONES!” screamed the form, with all its talk of “fishing boat expenses” and “crop insurance” . . . “O...K?” “and what precisely has this to do with me?” thought I.
My employer, courteous as he can sometimes be, called up (t)rusty old G.S., who referred us to a site where the form could be understood more intelligibly. After a bit of head scratching and chin stroking, we figured it out. No matter, though! Because once we figured the form out, we couldn't figure out what to DO with the ******* thing. 'G.S.' was once again consulted, and he told us that we could simply print the form, and take it to an H&R Block office for submission. “Okay, simple enough!” thought I . . . but alas! It was not to be so. When we arrived at said office, the agent . . . who looked like a burned out caricature of William H. Macy . . .  reviewed the forms, and said that to apply the deductions I had calculated, he would require a $300 fee for his services, and that I would need to fill out a “Section-C.” This lanky, rasp-voiced, twig of a man then withdrew from his cubicle, at which point, my employer whispered to me “**** that, I've done Section-C forms hundreds of times, we're ditching these crooks”
At this point, we retreated back to the office, found what we thought to be the relevant forms, but were soon swept up in a vicious monsoon of bureaucratic legalese which, although it resembled English, bore few similarities other than word spelling and grammatical form. It is sometimes alleged that Kafka was haunted by ghosts which had an insatiable appetite for stories. The legend further has it that he would write for them to quell their unyielding wrath. Those of us who have read Kafka know intimately of his satirical preoccupation with the absurdity of bureaucracy. Perhaps these stories pleased the ominous specters which loomed over him like the fluorescent light beaming down upon me as I type these words. Some things can never be known for certain. If, however, this were truly the case, then it would seem that Kafka's ghost had now taken the role of writing MY story for his own amusement. Every cliché of the DMV and social services building was present in this ghastly affair. “Fill out this form; stand in this line; oh, I'm sorry, sir. You've got the wrong form. You'll need to file a (…) and take it to (…), their hours are MwAhMwAhMwAhMwAhMwAh” This futile circumlocution went on for SIX HOURS. All the while, thoughts of a perfectly wound noose, crafted of thick hemp rope, with thirteen pristine wraps forming a slipknot to be fitted as though tailor made around my neck filled my mind, as the acute stages of benzodiazepene withdrawal began to set it. Luckily enough, or so we suspect. We figured it out, and now I have only to wait for my return to come in the mail to see what I owe.
But once I got home, I got to thinking. There is a copy of 'Infinite Jest' on my coffee table. A literary epic whose magnitude cannot possibly be overstated. I began to think deeply reverential thoughts of the author of this book, and then something clicked in my mind: on that fateful day when Wallace took his own life  by the noose, he was in the middle of writing a novel about nothing less than the 1985 Tax Code in Illinois, and a group of IRS agents. Being the adamant researcher of all topics that he was, we can hardly imagine that he did not give this terrible ******* of language what he felt to be its due diligence. Of course, any responsible thinker understands that correlation does not equal causation; but as the admittedly ironic thoughts of suicide filled my mind over the course of this afternoon and evening, I can't help but be left to wonder if a mind so vastly superior to mine as his did not experience these ideas with markedly less irony as he reveled in the vile idiosyncrasies of bureaucratic jargon. Again. Some things can never be known.
I have begun keeping a journal. Not so much for the sake of documenting my daily experience, but more so to experiment with different writing styles and, perhaps to help clarify my own thoughts. I will also continue to write poems, of course.
Paul A Moon Jul 2016
Though you lose, thus becoming an intimate as a lover or friend, brother or sister, parent,
you will always lose through attrition or accident.
We know that 9/11’s are attrition and
love is always an accident, because
we reap what we sow, and never choose whom we love.
Attrition is the rain, forming
from pressure within the skies,
high and low temperatures at Armageddon:
yin and yang becoming earth’s tears.

Accident is the rain, vilifying
the evil of being from these two lessers of the skies,
love is sought but never found or found at odd places:
yin and yang becomes earth’s joy.

Thus, rain is a lie, liar, lying, saying
joy and love at the same time.

But love is not from this world. It is
not recognized, but named… “No” to the world’s belligerence.
We know love is expressed by this action, yes…
Thus, it’s not a lie. Love cannot be otherwise

or we would’ve never crucified the Savior
or our true loves for the world…

Love cannot exist naked.
It is always ready to be whipped, strangled, maimed
as Jesus or a twice victimed Iraqui,
the third world or as Salvadore Allende.

But I love the rain despite my self.
It is within the reach of definitions
but not confirmations. So, love
like rain cannot be held hostage
by human view nor divine postage.
I love as it rains, I rain as I love.
From here, in my prayer, let my love of rain be love.


Found in Voices of a People’s History of the United States, by Howard Zinn and Anthony Arnove, and the now canonical historical work of the United States by the same Howard Zinn’s A People’s History of the United States: “Watergate had made both the FBI and the CIA look bad---breaking the laws they were sworn to uphold, cooperating with Nixon in his burglary jobs and illegal wiretapping. In 1975, congressional committees in the House [of Representatives] and Senate began investigations of both the FBI and CIA…It was also learned from the investigation that the CIA---with the collusion of a secret Committee of Forty headed by Henry Kissinger—had worked to ”destabilize” the Chilean government headed by Salvadore Allende , a Marxist who had been elected president in one of the rare free elections in Latin America.” (pp.554). For a more balanced view on the complicity of Kissinger and his role in U.S foreign policy, moreover his role in the death of Allende, see or read the acclaimed movie or book: The Trials Henry Kissinger.
Who was the person in  Colonel Muammar Gaddafi
Was he a deadly Libyan tyrant as the west put
and dictator as the Western media and press
oftenly portrayed him  , here and there
as power voracios bent on assuming the leadership
of the Arab world and super sahara socialite
in the stamapede  of Gamal Abdul Nasser?
That Gaddafi was a driven and desperate man,
what a cruxificative tribe  of  question,

he gloriusly deposed King Idris
from the then rotting  Libyan throne,
President Habib Bourguiba of Tunisia
omenously  warned him that he had to stretch
  miles and whatever to go before he could claim,
to be un fettered  successor to Nasser's sceptre,


Gaddafi was a wildly and spotlessly  popular
among the Libyan masses,the earth's wretched,  
and even those in the rest of the revolutionary  world,
till the eyesore of his brutal ******,
  the tragics and haunting episodes,
of his life points clearly to the   truth of  truth:
  Gaddafi was a reasonless  hunted man
they way bin Laden was labbelled to be hunted,
for so he was a hunted man.

Gaddafi never had the time or the leisure
to do anything but run, but run and run
as an escape to hell, a clear testament
in his classical poetic, quilled properly
behind the dunes of the sahara desert,
His parting shots were true essence
of his compassion and generosity  to humanity,
a humongous  gift of a soccer stadium to Pakistan,
a plan to gift thousands of computers and laptops
to schoolchildren in  idyllic poor African countries,
and dollops of oil aid to poor Arab countries.

were these not totally dispassionate acts
For the Colonel was trying to build a support ,
and network throughout the  revolutionary world
because he was actively tracked and pursued
by the English and French dogs of ******,
tacitly supported by the United States.

The Western powers were committed to teeth,
to removing Gaddafi from his genuine power
lest he prove troublesome to currents of avarice
in furthering their interests in the oil imperialism,
for his daring rhetoric and outlandish capers
were sharp pedagogies to the oppressed.

western powers moaned and yelled doggishily,
for cheap Libyan oil well and item markets,
for  construction and drilling projects,
English and French origin companies
as well as American multinationals,
moaned daily  like female hyenas
when they  stood to lose  monetary gain,
if  Gaddafi remained entrenched in holy life
and  in power as the arbiter of Libya's destiny.

but that indeed was the holy  mandate
he had from the Libyan masses of peasants
even though it was imperially  questioned
by those of his cowardly enemies
moving in tandem  with cosmetics
of capitalism and burgeosie  development.

Gaddafi ****** the French presence in Chad,
as he did roundly criticize the United States
over its foreign policy of Bullish syndrome,
as he gloriously  shielded  the two Libyans
who were  accused without forgiveness
of plotting  and carrying out vietnam like bombing
of an American passenger jet over Lockerbie
in Scotland that led to Kissinger like  killings,
of hundreds of innocent civilians like in Vietnam.

History is yet to absolve Gaddaffi,
to glorify the dreamer with poetry in his eyes
who composed escape to hell in a desertly week,
exculpating him off false accussations,
of committing a crime of such magnitude,
good consicence must question the role of Jews.

It was only the status and stature
of Nelson Mandela as  a fellow comrade,
that managed to implore  the Colonel
to hand over the two accused Libyans
to the International Court of Justice
to face trial or even forgiveness,
The whole sordid drama of the Lockerbie bombing
is an enigma wrapped in mystery, jewish tricks center stage,
Sooner or later, posterity will  absolve out
with the truth and  save Gaddafi's name
and honor as leader of  the voiceless.

President Ronald Reagan did not even wait a little
before he launched those deadly missile strikes
against Libya,  against Gaddafi's private quarters,
to **** Gaddaffi's beggotten  daughter.

Was this not a base and cowardly
act unworthy of America and its great traditions,
Gaddafi, like Saddam, was a victim of labbelling
by  Western media who had painted his character
with satanic evil and malice , as if evil is alien to them,
even when there was no genuine evidence
to justify such a heinous depiction
  Gaddafi was seen to act irrationally,
was supposed to have mental delusions
why not  being mentally unstable!

Gaddafi's antics inspired acts of conscience
and a genuine and fitting response to a life
lived under mortal fear and terror  of terror
the fear of being tracked and hunted down
by Western agents who were out to eliminate him
with full backing from their governments.

Gaddafi, like Saddam  was not a criminal
although all sorts of demonic tendencies
were attributed to both leaders by the Western press,
All sorts of media scoops were ceaslessly  hatched
and all kinds of media blitzes  were  mercilesly launched
to create Muslim helots who overthrew Gaddafi,
and pursued him in armored cars and trucks
to his hometown Sirte deep in the Libyan Desert,
That he was killed with such horrible cruelty
with bayonets and gunshots,
pumped into his royal  head
such  is evidence that his assailants,
were  not  true Muslims whatsoever !

These enemies were petty paid murderers
and butchers who after the dastardly act,
proudly displayed Gaddafi's body
in a meat shop kept open for public viewing,
By committing these very desecrations
Gaddafi's foes had unwittingly revealed
their true un-Islamic and butcherous natures .

And what were Gaddafi's last pearlish words
to his assailants when he lay writhing in pain of death
on the ground unable to move because of the mayhems
of his injuries and wounds: WHAT DID I DO TO YOU?
Gaddafi had died like a Muslim Christ
on the American  cross with no words of abuse
or blame for his enemies, as they knew not
whatever the folly the were executing.

History will have to wait for generations
before another soldier and such a  leader
of Qaddafi's ilk and human  mettle surfaces
again  in the poor man's  world
to bravely  taunt the West
for its imperial perfidy and cowardice.
brandon nagley Dec 2015
i.

The governmental beast's
Plotteth right before thine sight;
As many art blinded
By the lies put in the night.

ii.

Making many believeth
Through their media puppet's;
Whilst big elite pulleth thy string's
Secret society member's push it.

iii.

Illuminati, Bilderberg's,
Skull and bones, some unknown;
Now spotlighted, being known
Martial law, to break thy home's.

iv.

All for greed, their new world order,
United Nations vehicles parked
In California; train's with guillotine's
Thirty-thousand that is,
Whilst the young protest
Ignorant bullsh....
Freedom's being taken
Before thy eye's,
It started by the taking
Of the natives land;
European suicide.
Blood shalt be spilt
In the land of the high
Because of the filth
Of rich men's ties;

v.

Rockefeller called it
Whilst Rothschild named it;
Henry Kissinger indugled it
Bush. Sr didst inflame it.
Training going on
Worldwide for this,
A complete takeover
An r.f.i.d chip.
A tracking device
For the forehead and hand;
Revelation thirteen dear poet, poetess, and man.
Revelation stated; (And he had power to give life unto the image of the beast, that the image of the beast should both speak, and cause that as many as would not worship the image of the beast should be killed.) Didst thou readeth that? Didst not get enough fill? Also goeth this. Revelation,
16And he causeth all, both small and great, rich and poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand, or in their foreheads: 17And that no man might buy or sell, save he that had the mark, or the name of the beast, or the number of his name. 18Here is wisdom. Let him that hath understanding count the number of the beast: for it is the number of a man; and his number is Six hundred threescore and six.
Readeth this again, no man may buyeth nor sell without the mark of this devil tempted man;
Already into act into Mr. Obama's healthcare law,
Bilderberg's saidst by the year two-thousand and seventeen they want their chip Into all,
Signs art showing, were coming to a close,
Awaketh to Christ's truth and his love Utmost.
Christ spoke: I am the way, truth and the life, no man
Cometh to the father but by ( me) Jesus that is the Lord and the king,whilst other's art found in tomb's- Christ hath holes in his hand's and his feet, millions of near death experiences- with only jesus didst they meet. Awaketh mine poet's, get out of slumber, An Antichrist is upon us, the demon's knoweth their day's art numbered. Taketh a look around: demonic influence. Satan's got a short time to killeth, And surely he wilt do it. A prominent Jewish Rabbi is telling his people in Israel he believed their Messiah is here, so art the Muslim leader's, what's wrong? Not clear? Them telling other's they believeth their Messiah soon shalt appear, just means the antichrist wilt show, and a Tribulation's near. Awaketh from slumber I telleth once again, these book's of Christ weren't a play or a myth for pretend. The heaven's art moaning, the earth tis in travail, prophecies hath come true as more art daily neath the veil. Many by the million's art having dream's of his return, please no comment needed if it's for making fun of or scorn, tis I want none to mourn but to open their sight's to truth. Be aware, payeth attention to that thing we calleth the news. Find Christ, if thou hath not, if so cometh back to him, I sayeth this as a warning. Poetess, poet's, beautiful friends...... For God is a loving God, waiting for thee and me to return, a new age of the slave, is waiting for it's turn.......




©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
In the book of Romans in the bible is states
Whosoever shall call on the name of the Lord ( jesus) thou shall be saved... If not saved I suggest the sinner's prayer to Christ and to truly trust him.... And be saved in Christ... For he is loving and forgiving though will you choose him or the world and the things of the world where you will have no peace nor rest? Up to you poet....
Allen Smuckler Jan 2011
If I could figure out the snit that I’m in now,
and understand the state, and how I got there
then perhaps I’ll get a sense of where I’m heading,
or at least from where I started this long journey.

My mind is shackled like a prisoner on the lam
and crashing out for freedom’s choice or bust.
I must admit I’m crazy from the fever,
and searching for the answers never found.

There was Martin, and John and Gandhi too
teaching love ins, peace and happiness.
We wrote and sang and made love in bushes
While celebrating Woodstock Nation.

But, we  had Tricky **** and Kissinger
insisting on a war that no one wanted.
The killing fields stretched cross the ocean
to my backyard and yours, remember?

So choose my brethren, choose between
a war of blood, dismay and  torture
or of peace and love and happiness,
and a place called Woodstock Nation.
December 23, 2010
Nico Reznick May 2018
(A follow-up to "Whimper", which was written in response to "Howl" by Allen Ginsberg)

I have seen the best insanity of my generation destroyed by the worst minds.
I have seen humans turn into robots and the robots turn to fascism
because of What The Internet Told Them.
I have seen the weaponisation of our most rancid fears and watched
in horrified fascination as our inner demons got their own agents.
I have seen and felt the horizon constrict so tight, it’s getting
hard to swallow.

You have to understand, this isn’t what I wanted.
You have to realise, this isn’t what I meant.

This isn’t crazy.
This isn’t pure, natural, spontaneous crazy.
This is synthetic madness, manufactured madness,
genetically modified, mass-produced, mass-marketed madness:
As Seen On Television; approved by test audiences;
none of the calories, all of the carcinogens.
This goes beyond the deplorable allure of a free red hat.
This goes beyond dinosaur-dodo-dumb nostalgia for a blue passport
and a golden age that never was.
This is why you hire Cambridge Analytica.
This is the Project For The New American Sentence:
The message is, “It’s chaos out there, people; do what the hell you want.”
And the echo chamber,
and the echo chamber,
and the echo chamber,
and even the rage…
even the rage isn’t real.

Mercenaries, not maniacs.
No more lunatic songs.
That howling you hear is only feedback:
an endlessly shrieking loop of absolutely nothing, broadcast on
every channel, into every dream, until the fillings in our teeth buzz
and our institutions tear themselves apart, as
component materials hit resonant frequency.

This is how the world ends: Not with a whimper, but with
static.

We got the message wrong, giving credence to people
whose hatred is their only art.  They taught us
to avoid such human folly as Ruinous Empathy, to
distrust painful, decaying love, when these were the
things that might have saved us.
There’s a poet I know, who served in ‘Nam, who thinks
he might have even forgiven Nixon.  
Field Commander Cohen has checked out of the Chelsea Hotel,
deciding we wanted it too dark for him.
Too many of our heroes have turned out to be monsters.  We're haunted by
historic *** crimes, Cold War ghosts and the knowledge that we
could have done things differently.

The message was supposed to be, “It’s chaos, be kind.”

There's no such thing as a stable genius, but we've got
fake news and alternative facts; we're discovering the side-effects
of living post-consequence.  We're hypernormalised.  We're
past shock; our incredulity stretched beyond its
elastic limit; we've broken satire and nothing is really funny any more.

Welcome to the Disinformation Age.  These are our Interesting Times:
Glee Club and Gun Rehearsal; bloodied blue uniforms;
tears for the victims of the Bowling Green Massacre;
an early by-election for Batley and Spen;
very fine people on both sides; Thoughts & Prayers, our
only surplus, the ultimate fiat currency;
poverty **** and the return of social ****** (71 dead at Grenfell, NHS black alerts, rickets making a comeback, lead in the water); Drink the Kool-aid; humans like Kool-aid - **** stars on polygraphs; Netflix and Kompromat; the portrait
in Kissinger’s attic; Ayn Rand for Beginners; Corporate cosmology
and casino capitalism; government by gaslight; constructive ambiguity
to preserve a kakistocracy; bring me
the head of Roger Stone!  #EndOfEmpire;
Windrush and Stupid Watergate…

I said we needed our madmen back, but not like
this.  Not
these posers, these gangsters, these Quislings…  
These are merely bad actors, playing to the crazy dollar,
but do not doubt their sanity,
which is icy and cynical and monstrous.  But,
in the cold fusion reactor of that sanity, they are unknowingly
forging a new generation of madmen, whose madness
will be righteous and real and burn with
a pure, perfect heat that cleanses and cauterises.  They
will know the difference between human
and humanoid.  They will be less afraid than us, less quick to
hate strangeness. They will use their craziness to
create, not destroy.  They have
already begun.

I know this because
I have witnessed six minutes and twenty seconds of silence that blazed hotter, howled louder than all your Fire and Fury.  I have seen
riot cops in Baton Rouge turn whiter and recoil in fear from serene, dignified, unarmed surrender. I
have heard the young sweetly whisper to the old,
‘Fine, but you’re wrong, and we’re right, and we will outlive you.’
You can’t hide that behind a wall.
You can’t say that life doesn’t matter.
You can’t filibuster the future.
Everything was forever, until it was no more.

Our madmen are gone, and they’re not coming back.  
But there will be others.
The best minds of their generation will not be destroyed by your sanity.
Follow-on to "Whimper", posted here: https://hellopoetry.com/poem/1513932/whimper/
it is great
to be well away
from those jousting women
all they ever do
is throw verbal bombs
at each other
that seems to be
their field of play
several nasty shots
were fired tonight
which wasn't
a very pretty scene
the ladies got into the boxing ring
which did disturb
some of the folk
a resolution to their feud
is looking
rather remote
a mediator
may need to be called in
someone
with Kissinger
negotiation skills
peace may then
be bought about
Henry Kissinger
is a man
of great diplomatic skills
he could quite easily
obtain a job
working in them there
rancorous hills
with Henry doing
the negotiations
there would be
an outbreak of peace
within those hilly
elevations
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
Financiers feel superior to farmers
and pundits have it over poets.
All to the good because if you think America's
doing just fine, don't skip to the poetry reviews.
Our enemies are barbarous, our allies duplicitous
but our smart bombs are smart - that's how they found you.

Dad said all wars are resource wars. Follow
the money. The world needs more order, nothing
less than Nazis, never may the anarchic man's thoughts
be my thoughts, each shove sends a ping,
shields urge on shields, helmets helmets, we can be
the reigning kings between the last empire and the next

or implement a vision of collective deliberation
and binding agreements. Can China's navy
be harnessed to ensure free passage through
the South China Sea? We'll see how
things work out in the next generation.
In the meantime should I read Henry Kissinger's meditations?

He who thinks poetry's effete
probably considers Darwin a geek and Einstein
a postal clerk. Containment means leaving space
for the passionate and zealous to face themselves
and giving them missiles that don't work.
Slowing everyone down until one thing's done well -

governance or sustenance or brotherhood.
When violence comes to the neighborhood
the hierarchy will hold or fold, it is then the peace work proves
      relevant.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching outer space
for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.

By that what is meant. Sitting still and thinking deeply
on the relation of anger to coercion,
systems for correcting the decisions of earlier presidents.
We're required to report incidents of depression
to a doctor because you're a valued member of of our community,
or so insignificant no one notices or cares.

How necessary the interface of war and poetry!
"If you think America is doing just fine, then skip ahead to the poetry reviews. If, however, you worry about a globe spinning out of control, then 'World Order' is for you."  --John Micklethwait

--Friedman, Thomas L., "What's Their Plan? Obama's Strategy for Fighting ISIS Isn't All About Us", New York Times, September 14, 2014
--Homer, "As when the winds, ascending by degrees", The Iliad, Book IV, trans. Alexander Pope, Penguin Books, 1996.
--Micklethwait, John, "As the World Turns: Henry Kissinger's 'World Order'", NY Times Book Review, September 14, 2014
--Ray, David, "To a Child of Baghdad", Music of Time: Selected & New Poems, The Backwaters Press, 2006.

www.ronnowpoetry.com
A Simillacrum Jul 2018
Pretty cool,
right?

It's not easy.
I know this one person
who knows a person
who knows a dog
that was once kept
by (insert powerful name)
Martin Bailes Mar 2017
So he's back ...
George 'Second Iraq
Massacre' Bush,

& I was wondering if or when
it would actually happen
this rising from the foggy
miasma of retirement,

& you do question whether
there's a publicist or it
was discussed around
the family table,
"Well .. its been 8 years now,"
"Is it time yet?"

& apart from a truly puzzling
dancing & swaying appearance
at a black-suit memorial where
he grabbed Michelle's hand &
looked more like a 5 year old
at a birthday party,
well, he's been very quiet,

but of course we've also
been granted the opportunity
to view his oh so charming
paintings,

to see him at work in his studio,
producing dog portraits & simple
naive sincerely primitive famous
people faces akin to art-day at the
old-folks home or a pre-school
honors wall,

& it seems no one wanted his opinion
on anything at all these last years,
but now, oh now he's with us again,
all bashful & "aw shucks" when he's
asked by some obsequious host
about his fondness for Michelle,
& becoming near front-page news
after a mild rebuke of Trump,

& no doubt soon he'll be on Late Night
& such, where Jimmy Kimmel can rustle
his hair & be all smitten & oh so grateful
for the privilege of his company,
& perhaps when Kimmel does chuckle
so sweetly at their dazzling repartee
that night someone could shout out
from the audience ... "Remember the
War Dead",

for its seems America soon forgives
& forgets & its war criminals &
Oliver North & George W. Bush
are allowed to grin & pontificate
& nothing is remembered & isn't
he just aging so well & don't we
just hang on every word & oh
how he matters still.

Next week maybe Kissinger will
come on to entertain us awhile,
sandwiched between cute pet
tricks & some giggling 20 year old
Hollywood starlet hawking her
new blockbuster.

America forgets very, very quickly
doesn't it,
so so quickly.
War criminal
Dr Peter Lim Mar 2019
He was the Secretary of State
President Richard Nixon's Adviser
he wanted to make America great
his favourite song was: 'I Wonder Who's Kissing Her'
Kurt Philip Behm Mar 2017
Joplin was to Southern Comfort,
  what Hendrix was to smack
Morrison was to masquerade,
  what Dylan never lacks

Woodstock was to 69,’
  what music was to time
Saigon was to those who stayed,
  what Auschwitz now reminds

Kennedy was to hopes and dreams,
  what nightmares were to some
Castro was to leftist thugs,
  what cymbals are to drums

Kissinger was to Nixon
  what Canada was to home
Dr. King to civil rights,
  what kings are to their thrones

Walter Cronkite was to news,
  what intention was to fact
Altar boys were to Priests,
  what pretzels are to snacks

58,000 were to die,
  what a wall was to proclaim
58,000 were to all,
  what conscience is to shame

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)
TOD HOWARD HAWKS Jul 2020
Today is July 4, 2020. There is not much to celebrate. **** Trump leaves us in a Polynicean gloom. Fireworks remind me of wars. I would rather, and therefore will,  listen to Rachmaninov's PIANO CONCERTO NO. 2 tonight.
I will celebrate beauty rather than killing. And I will give thought to Antigone as well, for she willingly gave her life for doing what was right. I shall listen to Yuja **** arpeggiate notes. I will again become fixated both by her light-
ning dexterity and the glorious sounds to which she gives birth. Humankind has this dual potential:  it can either **** or care. So why, I ask myself, does it always choose the former? On this national holiday especially, why do we now not celebrate Thomas Paine and Walt Whitman and Harriet Tubman and Eugene Debs and Martin Luther King Jr.? We do we not collectively ask forgiveness for all the covert, sinister, malevolent interventions into the affairs of other nations, resulting in unjust overthrows and war crimes aplenty? Fireworks? July 4th? We did defeat the evil of ****** and his unspeakable genocide. Let us be sure to give unending thanks to all those who lost their lives in this moral victory. But Viet Nam? The lives of 58,000 American soldiers lost for the lies of our leaders? And Kissinger and McNamara and the Bushes and Cheney and so many others in our government never held accountable for their war crimes? And yet tonight we have fireworks instead of Nuremberg-like trials. Antigone knew she would die if she buried her brother, Polynices, and yet she went ahead and buried him and died for doing it. And the 4,000,000 blacks who were slaves in 1861 and the 500 indigenous nations that covered for centuries from sea to shining sea what we now call America--did they have anything to celebrate on this day, on this date? Fireworks, that's all.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks
A graduate of Andover and Columbia College, Columbia University, Tod Howard Hawks has been a poet, a novelist, and a human-rights advocate his entire adult life.
Martin Bailes Feb 2017
America ... your soul is green. your fingers mint currency, your feet forge false ingots, your eyes see empty horizons, your legs march towards false dawns ...

America ... you've got your cheap tv, you've captured joy & containment, you've cornered the market, you've found all lost prophets, you've made sure of the final episodes ...

America ... you surely contain me, you ever so definitely horrify me, you each & every day lessen me, you overwhelm me, you reduce me ...

America ... the world becomes you, the people love you, the children envy you, the papas imitate you, the mamas just hope you ...

America ... your dollar excludes me, your banks deny me, your corporations just overlook me, your industries may soon destroy me ...

America ... your future awaits you, your poor folk haunt you, your rich folk dazzle you, your news just smokes & mirrors you, your understanding ... is beyond me.

America ...your closets are never too full, your wallets call you, your purses cry out to you, your credit cards whisper to you, & in secret your dollar bills make love to you ...

America ... your karma dooms you, your Kissinger is not funny, your Reagan dines with Satan, your preachers preach with poison, your Christians destroy you ...

America ... can you hear me? you don't answer my calls, do I have the wrong number? are you just plain avoiding me?

America ... you think I'm kidding? you think you can out-wait me? you think I'm all mouth & no trousers? you think your days aren't numbered? ...

America ... I'm tired of waiting, I'm now on a mission, I'll recruit my soldiers, I'll destroy your temples, I'll overturn your tables, I'll tell the end of your stories, I'll just plain overcome you ...

America ... you think I'm joking?


(With a nod to young Allen of course)
while he hulas through tábor Mandalay like a ***** minus *** ****
who, as bait to queer Maurice Povich, humps likee Constance Zōng
who, as wife to Marx-****-box Maury Povich, plays Connie Chung
Hank Helman Dec 2023
Tip
My parents gave up on abundance,
A depression cured them all,

We gave up on love,
Kissinger's madness began our fall,

Gen X gave up on friendship,
Dialogue as digits never could enthrall,

Millennials surrendered nostalgia,
When the past became a troll,

Gen Z smirks boldly at the truth,
Everyone a know-it-all.

Alpha's know a virtual world,
Could virtue re-install.

Be kind. Tis the moment to be jolly.
Season's greetings to you all.
Borges Oct 2022
Sincerely David,

lovely apparition for the man in me,

lovely decadence of the eagerly,
lovely poem lovely,
Kissinger and the dearly,

how often does one remember
how often of the off
off the membrane of the soft
off the remembrance of thy spine

love your poems and the manly woman

women are they eager of Shakespeare?
amsterdam
THE YARDS THAT GROW FATTER** do not to me matter while I
empty my urinary bladder on a sad day that can be no sadder for all
who harbor madder intentions towards ***** who'd straddle a ladder
Charles Sturies Aug 2017
There was the backfield tandem of Doc Blanchard and Glenn Davies on several West Point football teams of the UOS.

There is that power hitting duo of the modern day Yankees - Gary Sanchez and Aaron Judge.

There were those great power hitters of the 70s, I believe, that seemed to come in clusters like Mike Schmidt, Breen Downing, and yes, I believe, John Milner.

There was, of course, Ruth and Gehrig that stood out on the 1927 Yankees.

There's Hawke Leonard and James Harden, an unsung pair of the San Antonia Spurs and the Houston Rockets, respectively, in pro basketball that stand out.

There's Stephan Curry and Kevin Durant, a Mutt and Jeff combination in the Golden State Warriors.

There was a couple of gifted first to play on a University of Illinois basketball team African Americans that were tantalizing good at that time - Mannie Jackson and Governor Vaughn.

There was those 4 great old time Boston Celtics guards; Bob Cousy, Bill Sharman, K.C. Jones, and Sam Jones.

There was Bill Bradley and Dave Debusschere manning the wings of the New York Knickerbockers pro basketball teams of the late sixties, I believe.

There was Ron Kissinger and Glenn Becker, the keystone duo on the Chicago Cubs of the sixties, I believe.

There was Mainstay, reliable pitcher for the Casey Stengal dynasty teams - Vic Raschi and Allie Reynolds and there were great teamsmen of Vince Lombardi's pro football Green Bay Packers Super Bowl team like Dave Hammer, Forrest Gregg, and Boyd Dowler.
Charles Sturies
Check it out, soul blacker than an iron skillet, watch me **** it,
Dump steel skin, see the blood bath within, living amongst sins,
Yo we cant be friends, stash my endz, spinz the Benz,
600 rounds to go, yo what ya know,this brother flows,
Cold as nitro, freeze all my fans high head demands, make stans
Stand this the national anthem and, fools catch a glance,
Romance any girl out of her pants, got the james brown stance,
Papas been had a new bag, waves under the du rags, toe tag,
Ya body to the price of a jag, yo this soul brother never lags mags,
Always keep it ***** ***** word to my grit, harder than Birdie,
Oh heard of me, candy man hooks ya plan move like desert sands,
Across the land terrains, rain on ya brain, seasoned ya grain,
Check the concrete stains, from the blood yo it's insane,
Raw cut *******, switch from the slow to the fast lane, mayne
Rap chapstick, for my girls moisten their Pearl's all out swirls,
Doors I blow off the hinges , cringes the average forensics,
Ballistic, blessed by the styles of the gifted, lifted flip my biscuits,
Catch my shirt lifted, tattoos represent the htown zoo,
Third ward sucka, so what cha wanna do, bang nothing but *****,
Original player, **** the nay sayers true southern caters haters,
Silk purple suit, with the matching gators, floss my mater,
Keep it clean cut, starched down to a T, finesse Mahogany  
Ain't ya average G, gangsta monopoly stay busy,
Lemon twist with the henny,bottle party like no tomorrow,
Suckas gotta borrow, rhymes just to play they times signs,
Giving to me by the unruly, hard head since I was made in bed,
Ruck us, ****** us, blamed it on mama and father why bother,
Stuck like grenade under a cotter, pin see the flows in the wind,
Comprehend, no pretend see how many kills I could pin,
Kissinger savage with the Ella blues check the deja vue woos,
The average bugaboos, watch the bugaloos, snooze crews ,
Radio edit naw forget it, spend shots on credit deeply embedded,
Wedded to this raw ****, cabbage I twist, smooth finger tips,
Lick slow, penetrate temples love girls with the deep dimples,
It could all be so simple, more bumps to jams than a pimple,
Folks play ya, like the O'Jays lover of money, honey and its funny,
Folks only out for self, tryna gain team off of somebody else,
Naw I checked myself, before I wrecked myself my health,
Is more important to follow, hard to swallow, pride hyena stride,
Searching for blood on the bones, cast the black stones,
Natural high zone, out the ozone, see me flash and I'm gone,
Sound the gong, they say I'm wrong, stage infinite armageddon,
No more letting, off I'm dreadin, the scene hot box no sweatin,
What ya throwing on, girls legs over my shoulder stroking her,
With the XL ****, ping pong her through 70s love songs,


Mighty healthy 🤷🏾‍♂️

— The End —