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Bearing Down (Head-lines)


Blagojevich convicted on corruption charges
Corruption’s like the school bully- he’s not liked and he’s certainly not loved, (save for his dear mother), his fear and our trembling is what brought dishonesty to such heights.

Corruption’s like a town drunk- he’s well liked, yet love eludes his gait, (even his mothers), his odor is spinelessness, his spleen’s that of death at any cost.

California ban on sale of 'violent' video games to children rejected
O! Children, come! Play games that needn’t split flesh with indifference, needn't smash bone to smithereens like it’s slate rock. The thin layers of forged love cascading along like fortune are a picture we alone paint, then destroy, as if rubbish. Violence has the somber bearing of the grim reaper, peace has the passageway of love nearest its center.

Choose…

Ex-Citigroup VP accused of stealing $19 million
A pittance to war. A smallness uncounted. A tank, a plane, a ship, a bomb... All of the starving children might get what their hunger calls for.

Sudan: UN authorises peacekeepers for Abyei
Send them in! Enter with love! Fear cannot rule our affections, it hasn’t the will, unless we summon it, it lacks kindness.

Hatred shrinks with compassion, it’s the ice on the sting, the arms of the mother.

Peace.

France nuclear power funding gets 1bn euro boost
Let my eyes be open to truth.

The bomb blasts away the spirit, so the spirit blasts away the bomb. All of this self-preservation won’t hold air, it is the embers strafing man’s footholds, from the fragile to the courageous.

Let my eyes be open to truth.


© 2011 by mark prime
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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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