Haiku on The Storm of 29 June

We sit in darkness,
A wind of consequence spoke,
Behold the silence.

Memorial Day - 2012

Dedicated to the Memory of The Project for The New American Century and In Honor of The Foreign Policy Initiative

Where shall we go:

Next.

Our interests are,

So many.

Limitless,

It seems.

We must shape

The world;

Our defense needs are

So great,

All else must bow before

Them,

Widows,

Orphans,

Bridges and roads.

Well,

Let us not go too far,

Let us not stop that

Unbroken,

Critical,

March of pork.

But every other citizen,

Every other need,

All that makes us

What we are,

Shall bow before

Those

Armies of Think Tanks,

Overflowing

With men,

Comfortable men,

They must be Comfortable

To Think,

Brilliant men,

No doubt,

All most serious

Chicken Hawks,

One and all,

Their advice?

Send your children,

Not their children,

Send them,

Send them

Wherever passions

Percolate,

Lest they percolate

To our disadvantage,

Let us shape events,

Shape them,

Make things safe

From democracy,

A beast so few understand,

(And fewer every year)

Best perhaps instead:

Build a wall about

Our freedom.

For sharing it with those

For whom it is

Incomprehensible,

Is a dread disease

In itself.

Of course,

Those who've fought,

Nearly to a man,

Know better than

These wise men,

But,

We don't consult them.

Thank you for your service,

Yes,

Quite.

A Veteran's Memorial Day Thoughts - 2012

March silent by me

For I finally sleep.

In life,

They made me march to music,

And those who never wore my colors

Called me hero.

Now,

I'm thankful that

I needn't hear their voices,

For I live within a land

Of eternal sleep,

Where only truth lives,

So we call each other

Only by

Our rightful names.

A Meditation On The Death Of Osama Bin Laden

It's the first anniversary of Osama Bin Laden's death. A year ago, I awoke early to see, in the NY Times online edition, that Bin Laden had been killed. It seemed as if he'd been off our public psychic radar for a while, but not very far off, considering the unseemly demonstrations that broke out. At the time, I wrote and published this piece. The New Yorker, that bastion of superb, if incomprehensible poetry, understandably declined to publish it. I'm recycling it for the occasion.

Gotcha,

Sheik,

It took a while,

But most government

Jobs do.

You had a good run,

And died a lion

In many eyes,

Though a caged lion,

In a cage

Of your very own,

Behind walls of your own.

Didn't know

There was a breed

Of Seals

That went over walls,

Eh?

I wonder where

Your buddy Ayman went.

Perhaps it's safe

For him

To go home now,

Egypt,

Right?

Inshallah.

I saw the wild celebrations,

Outside the White House,

At Ground Zero,

At the Air Force Academy.

Once we had:

VE day,

VJ day.

We cheered then,

For the dying

Would stop.

What of VO day?

I thought VO was,

A whiskey.

The dying won't stop

For VO day.

What's all the cheering for?

Celebrating the death

Of one enemy?

As if we'd won

A war?

We should feel

Just a little dirty.

Let us thank

Those who did this

Most necessary deed

For us,

Then let us

Go about our business,

And leave them with

Their thoughts.

I think I'll stop by

The old Ebbitt Grill.

Maybe I can find

A chicken hawk,

To have a celebratory

Beer with.

Rest in Peace,

If you can,

Sheik,

With the fishes.

There are no virgins

At full fathom five.

Thoughts Upon a River Bank

I sat upon the river bank,

And stared,

Looking for my future

In a starlit sky,

Hoping to discern

My way,

The way to bring,

My fate to hand,

To arm myself

For what's to come.

Instead,

My tears wished

That my soul,

And all its troubles,

Might be washed away,

As the water that flows by,

So easy that

The Hand of God,

Might appear to carry it,

From here,

Down to the sea.

a place to go

i've had it with manhattan,

she said,

i'm moving to

wilmington,

delaware,

where the air is

rare.

well,

medium,

And a bit clear,

-er,

they have mini skyscrapers,

cute,

glassy,

pillars,

they don't reach

the sky,

they tower,

safely,

with us,

in wilmington,

it's just our size,

for now,

at least.

from an idea suggested by my wife while passing through wilmington

written on amtrak train 171, 23 apr 2012

The Northeast Corridor

(Thoughts on sights from a train window)


A loading dock unswept,
A parking lot that's etched in grass,
A thousand broken windows
Let the rain into
The empty
Fact'ry floor,

What is this place?
This lonely stretch
Of track?
The heartland of
Our Industry,
But with the Heart
Torn out.

The mandarins of
Industry
Have found a
Better way,
Made union with a
Harsher God
Across the sea.

Let us celebrate
Our loss,
Our loss means
Lower prices for
Us all,
A better life within the
Walmart World.

Listen as the men,
Wearing thousand
Dollar suits,
Tell us what is best,
And your neighbors
Sink,
Down where they have
Never been.

Listen as your friends,
Listen as your neighbors,
Offer up belief,
In promises improbable,
And offer up their faith
To gods,
Already proven false,
False beyond all doubt.