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In Flight (Head-Line Poetry 11-9-09)


Hasan tied to mosque of 9/11 hijackers
These things scatter like shards of steel carried in the air, gaping jaws, flags, winged by the soaring flesh of gravity, memories leap up, piercing the hue of skin.

More troops needed for Afghanistan: U.S. General Casey
And while they’re airborne in that nameless sky, because only vengeance can offer them comfort while torture moves in chorus with their stillness, they shall go in any direction the sightless point.

For Opponents of Abortion, a Victory in Health Care Vote
Foul captivity swells within these rich designs as their victory aborts the revered manuscript and their dream unveils our snatched decline.

UK honors fallen as Afghan death toll rises
The song’s been bellowing for much too long on behalf of death and the pale memory of death, so what song shall we sing for the victims?
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ROOT OF

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........•SHRIEKING MACHINE•........                  •HEAD-LINES•                           •RIP•     ---(“Russian missiles blast Ukrainian military academy and hospital, killing more than 50, officials say”)---    There are no more lessons to learn here, no more beds to hold the human wounded, just missile’s shrieking their grotesque ode, The Death of Humankind! RIP, children of God…    ---(“Hundreds attend Mercer Island vigil, march for murdered Israeli hostages”)---    Dear mourners, this is the brutal vacuum of a genocidal, terror-filled, indiscriminate war-machine made of fear and we are all hostages to its deafening roar! RIP, children of God…    ---(“10-year-old allegedly confesses to fatally shooting 82-year-old man and his daughter”)---    I must confess, this is part of war’s shrieking, children lost with a we...
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sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

I have been witness to the four pillars and see no reason to carry death there. Doesn’t the world know that life moves for more than just the sons of Abraham? O! I see the stunned throats floating by in the dusk to their stiff-limbed sleep as metal rains down over the Jordan’s western prophet, children dying there. I am here, waiting, breathing in the dusk under the shadow of the patriarch, asking, can we again build the shrine inside the soul and leave our flesh to time? © 2008 mrp/thepoetryman
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