Showing posts from February 22, 2009

We, The Dead

"To the missiles chattering beam!" we bow. “O! To bombs dropping from heaven!” we bend. Such folly brings laughter and joyful eruptions from the winking throng of toadies (and the dead).

“To green and surrendering grace!” we groan. “O! To these foolish breasts adhere!” we drone. We begin to assemble loyal cities from under the rubble and erect love and honor of smoldering metal and bone.

“To our savior’s craft, give worship!” we entreat. “O! To metal-souls, children's breath!” we shriek. We carefully situate fingers and toes for bridges and roads leaving the best of the human frame for soaring metaphors.

“To leaders of machinery, give praise!” we beg. “O! To brazen chops, living’s wonderment!” we grant. We heave tanks and jets to fly over enemies of existence and, weeping, we shed the masks that veil our disgrace.

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman


Lay the war down, set it beneath the ground, do not pick it up again, lay the war down.

Lay the war down to it’s gravelly trough, left low forevermore, lay the war down.

Lay the war down, bury it under heavy clay and beneath massive rock, lay the war down.

Lay the war down suffocate its panting rage cut off its bloody head, leave it evermore.

Lay the war down forever without sound silent of its horrid screech, leave it underground.

O! Lay the war down!

© 2008 mrp/thepoetryman

TUESDAY (2/24/09)

Gabon’s Vast Rain Forests at Risk If you looked hard enough you could see their wings on the rain, coordinated with the wet leaves. Within a single year they will have flown such a great distance. Everywhere, but upright and green. They shall speak but briefly as they’re lifted away, making such awful noise underneath the ground.
A Letter From Ali Shafeya’s Sister O! No one upon this earth stays long- to heft such sorrow on the chest, death, is wrong. To spray the body like some liquid wall with the red and brown and blood of men and without so much as cause is sin.
Dispatches From The Front Lines Of Economic Crisis Around our giant orb there will be no bread to share, nor child spared in crimson misery here, as all is dust and spent and only those few left might say, What a wonderful thing was man.
Robert Gibbs vs Talk Radio Boom! Boom! Boom! Bang! Bang! Bang and a rat-a-tat-tat, and a thrum, thump, and squeak! War drums still aflutter after such absolute defeat.
Jayden James Sonnenburg