God Bless Our Dumbed Down America

owen brown nuclear option radical recommendations
galloway declares “not one thin dime”
oil for food or oil for blood?
Saudi oil rigged for nuclear blow-out?
al-Qaeda riots over desecration of their holy book
but not over the torture of their bodies in prisoned
who would doubt these extremists believe in their holy book
at least as much as extremist Christians?
(in Thailand prisons they torture their own)
live longer and happier if you go to church?
is that a half truth?
those that go to church were not out all night dancing

Marla Ruzicka 1977-2005

you are the Argentina i cry for
counting collateral damage
victim of a US occupied civil war
until you became one
a golden haired earth angel
now in heaven or are you among
the uncounted innocence now observing
man’s great inhumanity to man?
i would go to the church and pray but i am told
it is still full of money changers counting gold
they had their Joan of Ark
now we have Marla of Iraq.
Please pray for us.

“they got no class”

don’t you cry my little child
they may all have American pies
we still have the sun and moon
while worms play pinochle on their snouts

run off to play my little heart
the classy may hid rocks in mud balls
we still have trees and secret gardens
while blundering pilots scare their pants off

have a very fine day my beloved bumpkin
a tie is no evidence of soul sings River
we still have salt and feel the seasons
while they eat plastic with a side of oil.

Pablo Padres Peter Pan Prescription:
Pay The Piper.

Have You Seen My Walking Wounded Warrior?

pain soul deep
the visceral is spared
the safety net
heartbroken mended
songs still singing voices ringing
bell curves of blurted truths
“Be mindful of the reaction there of,”
some muse murmured.
Human totality of brutality
is a pyramid longly building.
“Look Dick,” said Jane,
“at all the symbolism
on the front and back
of a US dollar bill.”
But there is hope Louie
2% of the world’s population
took out of their lives
time and energy to protest war
plus the numbers who could not go
but strongly supported.
Is it a conundrum
to love life so much you can not bear to live
in this world of so much brutality
some choosing the shorter path of suicide
some the longer
addicted to a lifestyle or chemical survival
just a little longer
maybe another sunrise
another heartfelt greeting

down on the hill where reality sits
there sits cans of
American Spirit and Bugler
to the left one hand rolled cigarette
ashtray and coffee next to each
today’s count two more nails
(for coffins not crosses –
those lie elsewhere)
but this is mon day and sun day is over
i’m missing one son
the one that got away before
this sorry mother learned bonding
but saving is grace
and blessed is they still come
the silent heart learns listen
remember he who hated yes or no questions
became the essence of lightening movement
to next
solly now i’s tired
to bed spot!
good night Dick
good night Jane

Mother’s Day Ode to the Walking Wounded

I have looked at these things, these dramas, these

Games that people play from so many angles and different perspectives

That I have confused myself.

Writing about them in the third person, I’ve invented characters with pain so
intense only

Hell could relieve them,

Some of them are believers of political rhetoric and sinister propaganda

And religious dogma so inane that believing must be a sure sign

Of mental illness.

Walking in the park, or standing motionless in front of a spectacle that

They never notice, you can find them gnawing on

The bread of life, fingers dripping with the sticky entrails of their feast.

God, their god smiling over the endless fetish of their insatiable desire

Goads them on to

Conquest and empty absolution.

Sometimes they gather in rooms with gilded altars and raise their voices

In song, self absorption and vanity, soft little prayers

Floating slowly up to heaven on little, fluttering wings

But most are mired in the filth

Of petty self righteousness and tacky, meaningless, pretentious displays that

Fall over on the ground in the rain.

Then there are the ones who live in a world of plastic things

That don’t quite work.

They keep throwing them away and replacing them but each substitute is

More perplexing, and more expensive, the instructions

Make less sense, and the easy open packages only open

When chewed apart by teeth.

Out on the highway they feel the pulse of the world, they drive

Here and there but nowhere they ever get to is where they want to stay.

They chat incessantly into cell phones but most of what they say

Is never final, it only adds to the crazy chatter, the only constant,
intelligible word is more,

And at the end of the day more is never more, the more there is

The less the soul is full

Tomorrow they will try again to fill it up while it only empties its essence in

But then there is you with the center always holding

True to the simplicity, the essence, the aura

Simply predictable because truth never changes it stands fast

While fashion becomes extinct, styles one by one drop into memory

Some locked away in forgotten closets

Are resurrected and celebrated

For a little while.

In your little house there is always the real, there is

Black coffee and nicotine stained fingers the eagle’s view out your window

Close friends and family meeting and embracing on

Holidays and occasionally by accident, furniture well worn

And loved, the use not fading away the memories

Lodging intrinsically into the fabric of your surroundings.

You are an inspiration to me with your minimalist lifestyle and your

Disdain for the plastic and the disposable, your

Quiet patience with the great unwashed, you have traded the quest for the

For the essence so long ago that the road is now old and worn for you

But it is still going only forward,

Now there is only pain and loss ahead.

This is the way of the warrior, and now even in the golden years of living

Is the choice of a warrior to know that your most important work must

Be done in pain and hopelessness. To know that the desire for things is

All around you but to be dead to the earthy passion of it all.

To sense at the end of life that the love of the temporary is an illusion that
shields the heart from pain

Leaves one alone and small in the big unknown.

If you could see in yourself what I see you would know how incredibly beautiful
and special you are,

You would see the years of decision and childbirth, work, peace, love, loss,
pain, joy and soul changes

Emerging beyond it and looking in the mirror one day and asking

Is this really, really me

It’s never a question of what does it mean, in the end we all wind up wondering

How did this all happen?

As all things go, we are eternal, even when the hour grows dark

Dreams of death and agony and separation from love and comfort

Wrap their steely tongues around our dreams,

We must cling to our beliefs

I’ve thought about this a lot and I’ve come to believe

These things we have come to feel, these items that we’ve trusted to be true

Are in fact real.

– Mike Glover

the born again virgin

the Georgia lady does not have to die
to be reborn
to be again a virgin
the purity of love si
meanwhile in L. A.
the more than 500 days now trial
no one wants to believe
a boy can sleep with a 34 year old boy-man purely
but a 33 year old can be a born again virgin
is this a Christian Jihad
or a Muslim Crusade?
while Paula and the American Idol
have consensual sex?
Mother’s Day
in all it’s originality
the lady
gave us The Battle Hymn of the Republic
then proclaimed
a day for mothers to stand up and just say no
to taking their sons away to war
West Virginia country road take us home.

Southern Baptist House Divided

pat robertson come in Friday here
is it your intelligent design
dividing the Southern Baptist Church of God?
Louie Louie Lou eeeeee
Louie Louie Lou iiiiii
they could not understand the words but they were
sure they were amoral so they banned them
surely this is not the land of OZ
Muskogee or Kansas city
how did we get to this hell
of lopped off heads and back to the torture rack?
oh God is on your side you don’t say?
are you on God’s side?
do you follow in his steps
like feeding the poor not some poor
the poor did He say
there will always be poor
and under his breath I know
via human history
opulence is feeding a few poor
and starving the many
heaven is only something of
an atonement away.

Judge Pohl vs England vs Graner

England said she was guilty.

Graner said England did not know what she did was wrong because she was following orders.

Judge Pohl ruled it a mistrial.

England knows she is guilty and said so but we know she share the guilt.

If Judge Pohl sees to it that the truth of the illegal order comes out – the line the torture order
came down might be revealed…

…like the torture the Osma’s #3 man now captured is surely experiencing even as I write.

Abu Faraj al Libbi

human eyes of no return
kinda frenzied they are reporting
tighter airport security even with full evidence
of each and every attack more spectacular
or at most unique
who will not look will not see
abuse it and you lose it common sense

Abu Faraj al Libbi
who will abet your torture on the rack?
knowing he will say whatever they want
to make the torture stop
or not perhaps
like other torturers they want to break his resolve
with sexual temptations like Bill O’Reilly says is ok by him
all i am saying Bill
is how many martyrs to their cause are you willing to look into their eyes?
Ghandi showed the British how stenchful it gets…
Yes, please, call him a terrorist
and then listen
and yes
Regan did negotiate for the Iranian hostages
in history we call it part of the Iran/Contra episode,
or more simply, American foreign policy
i know Bill
you have been assigned to make a connection
between the coma man who is now talking after 9 and 1/2 years
and Terri Schiavo who by now for sure
would like a little peace..