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

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.

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)