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Thursday, March 29, 2012

Hail To The National Security State


Dedicated to General Smedly D. Butler, USMC (1881-1940) ("Old Gimlet Eye")

Hail to the National Security State,
Our prosperity -
That's just some of what
That state ate.
We feed you quite well,
It's just never that clear,
Where we should stop,
That's our biggest fear.
You're not a bad fellow,
But the friends that
You're keeping,
Their not good for us,
They're not good for you,
Either.

They're always out trying
To fatten you up.
If we object,
They tell us to
Shut up.
As for peace,
That will have to come
Later,
"If your looking for peace,
You must be
A traitor."
Just ask a Chicken Hawk,
He'll tell you straight,
We must be an invader,
If we want to be great.

We're here to serve you,
Oh statelet of ours,
To keep you in business,
To  help you go far,
To serve up our youth,
To serve up our wealth.
Our kids will be different,
They'll be bleeding
Haze gray,
Or Marpat,
Or Multicam,
Whatever you say,
Unless,
Of course,
Their too good to fight,
Then they'll trade
Stocks and bonds,
And drink fine wine,
All night.


Copyright 2012 by Commander Gary L. Misch

All rights reserved - may not be reproduced without permission

Thursday, March 22, 2012

The Cherry Tree On The River Bank



How can beauty
Be so fleeting?
Her petals begin
To fall,
Drifting in
The wind,
Before the last
Has even bloomed.
Perhaps she wish'd
She might have been,
Fully dressed.

Haiku on Spring's Fleeting Prettiness



Pink tears in sunlight,
A cherry tree's too short life,
Beauty flees apace.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Ras Bir, 1976


Leave the town;
Not everyone can,
You need a camel,
Or a Land Rover,
(a real one),
And a driver
Who can infer
The road.
Take two spares,
We might be on
The moon's face,
Behind you,
Djibouti,
Ahead,
Rock,
Scrub,
A kind of
Desert.
To be lost,
To be stuck,
Is perhaps,
To die.
Why go?
To see the light;
Light houses
Call us.
It sits alone,
They all do,
This one watches
The Gate of Tears,
Flash-flash it says,
Then it rests,
Then flash-flash,
It works alone,
Its mates
Are ships,
Someday, perhaps,
There will be,
A real road.
For now,
The track is
Half imagined,
And the place?
Unchanged,
Unchanging,
As if we,
Had never come.


Djibouti, French Territory of The Afars and Issas (FTAI)