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Shrouded Machinery (Head-Line Poetry, 9/5/09)


Why AP used photo of dying Marine
Next year the tombstones will be a skyscraper. We die there, we should not, waging, "we must win", against an unkind backdrop while icy winged nymphs shroud our eyes.

Afghan anger after scores die in NATO air strike
The fireball made dust of human flesh turned hearts inward. O death, what is your reason? Shame on you, death! Pitiful, steadfast claws scraping the inside of life with your machinery, bringing demise like maggots to rotten meat the weapon of powerful art used as murderer with a single stroke of the brush.

Panel Rules Against Ashcroft in Detention Case
Have we forgotten that all of the goodness was slain, as if love itself had been sucked out by the lips of hell and arrogant and depraved men grinned at the thought? Somewhere out there, a beast mumbles their names.

A Swine Flu Germ Factory
It is best we heed the call of the virus. Remain alert to its sway. We mustn't forget a thing. Make a list. Have we remembered everything? Vigilance, hope, caution, sanity?

Man Charged With Murdering Family In Mobile Home
It is as though he wanted to kill his entire family so none of them could stand before the court and say what a fine boy he used to be…

Israel may expand West Bank settlements
Move in with haste. Destroy all good will. Cinch the noose. Kick the child, shoot to kill. Watch them scream under the crush of a tank. Steal more of what was never yours to take! Soon, Israel, you will have it all for your own without one shred of goodness to speak of.

© 2009 mrp/thepoetryman

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sdrawkcaB nruT (Turn Backwards)

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Waiting for It

Why do they stay there, between war and peace? Sky’s tapestry doles out guns, bombs and rocks while flesh and bone swim away from the ache yet live on as the food for the murder of peace. Why do we hide from the truth as if it were an ogre while death makes a home inside their living and war dispatches a raven to their door, smirking with the teeth of empire? Why do we wait, stooped for another wink? The sky’s drapery has tossed down ample clues, peace is breathing in harmony with war. (Road-maps are useless to blind leaders.) Why do they hold there, hunched in the gloom? Hatred’s bird cackling with bereavement needs end. Are we not rightly dishonored when we fill its trough with blood? © 2007 mrp/thepoetryman
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