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Date: Tue, 11 Feb 2003 10:13:31 -0800 (PST)
From: Party of Citizens <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
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Subject: [U-S-A] The Stench of the God of U-S-A
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Date: Tue, 11 Feb 2003 10:01:38 -0700
From: RADICAL PRESS <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
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To: RADICAL PRESS <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: [INGRAM] FW: [Fwd: Smells Like Guts & Glory ::: Poetry Against the
War]
This is an excellent collection. Do try to sign the petition found amongst
the poems below. Peace & Love, Arthur
***************************>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
From: Imaginal Diffusion Agency <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Organization: Planet 3 SolarPort
Date: Tue, 11 Feb 2003 00:33:55 -1000
To: PoetryTV <[EMAIL PROTECTED]>
Subject: Smells Like Guts & Glory ::: Poetry Against the War
A Collection of Poems Burning Bright
Please Pass them into the Light!
God bless America
Here they go again,
The Yanks in their armoured parade
Chanting their ballads of joy
As they gallop across the big world
Praising America's God.
The gutters are clogged with the dead
The ones who couldn't join in
The others refusing to sing
The ones who are losing their voice
The ones who've forgotten the tune.
The riders have whips which cut.
Your head rolls onto the sand
Your head is a pool in the dirt
Your head is a stain in the dust
Your eyes have gone out and your nose
Sniffs only the pong of the dead
And all the dead air is alive
With the smell of America's God.
Harold Pinter 2003
State of the Union, 2003
I have not been to Jerusalem,
but Shirley talks about the bombs.
I have no god, but have seen the children praying
for it to stop. They pray to different gods.
The news is all old news again, repeated
like a bad habit, cheap tobacco, the social lie.
The children have seen so much death
that death means nothing to them now.
They wait in line for bread.
They wait in line for water.
Their eyes are black moons reflecting emptiness.
We've seen them a thousand times.
Soon, the President will speak.
He will have something to say about bombs
and freedom and our way of life.
I will turn the tv off. I always do.
Because I can't bear to look
at the monuments in his eyes.
--Sam Hamill
�������������������������������
Refugee
*******
She sits outside, on a stool, her face closed
And still with the hopelessness of tomorrow,
Drawn with remembered anguish
As this day, empty of hope like all the days
Since she arrived, draws to its end.
The setting sun gleams, reflected from the tin
Bowl on her lap, half filled with rice.
Slowly two tears from her closed eyes
Move down her cheeks. They glisten
In the end of the day's sun. She does not eat.
What horrors, I wonder, has she seen?
Forced from her home, she and her family,
Fleeing from terror I can only guess at,
Bearing it with her yet as she sits there,
Motionless, a vehicle for grief.
Her suffering is outside my knowledge:
I have never beeen torn, like she, from
Living roots, herded, as cattle are herded,
By those who deal in numbers, not faces.
For they are good, the people of the camp--
They would break if they began to notice the faces.
All around her are alien people:
Alien voices speaking from an inknown
Culture with words she cannot understand.
Only the sun and moon and the stars in the night sky
Are the same-- they were there yesterday. And God?
A child approaches. He is about ten, and thin.
He looks up at her closed face, and into the bowl
She holds in her still hands. She opens eyes that
Are dark with the pain fo yesterday. But tomorrow--
Tomorrow is for the child. She gives him the rice
And he eats.
His eyes, refelecting the sun's last rays,
Smolder with dreams. Tomorrow he will be a man.
"Vengeance is Mine: I will repay" saith the Lord.
But the child does not hear God-- his heart is full
With hatred. It is he-- he who will repay.
This is his dream for tomorrow.
"Reason for Hope"
Jane Goodall
http://www.janegoodall.org
�������������������������������
Buying a Body Bag for the Future
I feel us being pulled backward in time
one of those dreams where no matter how
you try to escape you can't get ahead of it
running up the down escalator from some hell
All the centuries of struggle for our humanity
being pulled out from under us in an idiot's blink
while war machines drone overhead and flags
millions of flags hiding the grimy grey sky
A record repeating and each time more loudly
the emperor's new clothes a Wagner opera
screeching of sirens and beating of drums
a warmonger raging on the world stage
Lost in the tempo and terror of it we hide
but it's like a poison gas and seeps into us
smelling of funeral fires and death camps
and gasoline it invades our every tissue
Like barbed wire it is everywhere we turn
the fuel for the fires of hate and murder
choking off all paths to our sanity
filling our eyes with balls of flame
Who can make sense of it any more?
the dream descending into a deadzone
history no longer a question but a noose
dragging us toward a monumental pyre
Try screaming and waking the others
it's like a movie they will say and smile
while millions more flags are unfurled
and our children are given uniforms
Who are the shadows behind the curtains
able to digest entire countries in a night?
those behind warmakers and banks
who manufacture truth and power?
They are in our blood now as a germ
in our heads as the lights go out
repeating in our ears their news
someone must pay for evil deeds
No matter the cause or the suffering
damn the cost and the consequences
when the warlords rule our dreams
our past is forgotten and future forsaken
BZ Botani 2003
BZ Botani::: hybrid humanoid operative encamped on the volcanic island of
Hawai'i. Emissary of MetaMagic MotherShip & Imaginal Diffusion Agency.
Continuum Agent of MachineMatrix Omega and GaiaMind / PhotonicIntel via
Alien potentiators. DigitalPoetry & WebDesign orbitting at GlandSwell
Studios/HoneyHive Productions.
Access 808-969-3765
http://Metamagic.org
�������������������������������
SPEAK OUT
And a vast paranoia sweeps across the land
And America turns the attack on its Twin Towers
Into the beginning of the Third World War
The war with the Third World
And the terrorists in Washington
Are drafting all the young men
And no one speaks
And they are rousting out
All the ones with turbans
And they are flushing out
All the strange immigrants
And they are shipping all the young men
To the killing fields again
And no one speaks
And when they come to round up
All the great writers and poets and painters
The National Endowment of the Arts of Complacency
Will not speak
While all the young men
Will be killing all the young men
In the killing fields again
So now is the time for you to speak
All you lovers of liberty
All you lovers of the pursuit of happiness
All you lovers and sleepers
Deep in your private dreams
Now is the time for you to speak
O silent majority
Before they come for you
-- Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Caf� Nihiliste
Maragogype of lost luxuries,
Wendell builds rhapsodies
on the art of inhalation
in this shrine where he spends
the majority of his waking hours:
calculates the milkfroth
on bowls of au lait -
watches customers' eyes
as they lick the last bubbles
from their mugs of cappuccino,
knowing their growing obsession
will soon equal his own
as he sweeps leftover gold
across the scoured brick floor
and more accurately than a connoisseur
presses Guatemala, Honduras
Sumatra
Java
Colombia
Peru
Argentina and Kenya AA
between his hands,
and when he drops boiling water on a mountain
of fresh-ground Kalossi
each elusive mocha trace
black
erudite
expands -
erotic as a witch's brew until the climax
more spectacular than fireworks
numbs his senses.
Sonja A Skarstedt
Conqueror
*********
When they start to wear your clothes
do their dreams become more like yours
who do they look like
when they start to use your language
do they say what you say
who are they in your words
when they start to use your money
do they need the same things you need
or do the things change
when they are converted to your gods
do you know who they are praying to
do you know who is praying
for you not to be there
W.S. Merwin
�������������������������������
A Spinning Broken Cross
************************************
America the supersized land of the free
market of values melting pot of Mammon
boasting of greatness and oily excess
tossing all protest behind with our trash
revving the engines of our industry
in the face of a brutalized weeping world
Home of the brave few who dare to resist
an insidious slick conditioning of control
a war on the mind in the vacuum of soul
losing the world in the pledge of obedience
to spies and criminals and General Electric
a nation of fattened domesticated herd-apes
Always the same men with glaring eyes
larger than life and twice as mean
roasting the world with a roar of applause
and the waving of flags proudly held high
saluting of citizens and marching of men
shooting of cannons and broadcast of threats
Trillions of American dollars going into a war machine
who keeps track anymore and who even cares
where all this human energy and processed planet
ending in the bank accounts of whom and why again
we are blindly following behind these men for centuries
feeding their hunger for blood madness chaos and control
America has lost the war on the world before it has begun
conquered by the worms that escaped Nuremberg
sold our souls to dead presidents of the white race
followed a dangerous path carved out by the CIA
armoring ourselves with high-tech holocausts
feeding our overstocked supermarkets until spoiled
Once the war has begun does America believe it will win
with 5 billion opponents and not enough barbed wire
will our children be thanking us for saving their future
while the vast masses of mankind are cursing us
for stealing their possibilities and being so stupid
will we still be applauding the son of a Bush then
America, America man sheds his waste on thee
we call it progress and patriotism and pride
while the poisons seep into our skin and eyes
so we can not see the bloody stripes crooked stars
being soaked with the gore of our world at war
around a white circle and a spinning broken cross
BZ Botani & the
Hopeful Monsters
GlandSwell Studio
HAWAI�I
http://mutanex.com
�������������������������������
Ari Fleischer the President's spokesman says all Americans need to watch
what they say
it's easy for George W. to watch
when Ari is speaking for him
and for Ari it's easy to watch because
it's on the news later
but fulfilling this need
is harder for me
I devised a rearview speech mirror
and affixed it to my skull
but no one wanted to talk with me
while I watched what I said
in despair I abandoned the act of speech
and devoted myself to a life of text
I wrote: The President's appointment was illegal.
and watched
I wrote: Wilfully causing the death of others is the supreme failure of the
human species.
and watched
Ari, as my fellow American
I am watching what you say too
so far I haven't spotted
anything new
Gwendolyn Albert
American Wars
Like the topaz in the toad's head
the comfort in the terrible histories
was up front, easy to find:
Once upon a time in a kingdom far away.
Even to the dreadful now of news
we listened comforted
by far timezones, languages we didn't speak,
the wide, forgetful oceans.
Today, no comfort but the jewel courage.
The war is ours, now, here, it is our republic
facing its own betraying terror.
And how we tell the story is forever after.
-- Ursula K. Le Guin
�������������������������������
An Open Letter from Sam Hamill
Dear Friends and Fellow Poets:
When I picked up my mail and saw the letter marked "The White House," I felt
no joy. Rather I was overcome by a kind of nausea as I read the card
enclosed:
Laura Bush requests the pleasure of your company
at a reception and White House Symposium
on "Poetry and the American Voice"
on Wednesday, February 12, 2003 at one o'clock
Only the day before I had read a lengthy report on George Bush's proposed
"Shock and Awe" attack on Iraq, calling for saturation bombing that would be
like the firebombing of Dresden or Tokyo, killing countless innocent
civilians. Nor has Bush ruled out the use of nuclear weapons.
I believe the only legitimate response to such a morally bankrupt and
unconscionable idea is to reconstitute a Poets Against the War movement like
the one organized to speak out against the war in Vietnam.
I am asking every poet to speak up for the conscience of our country and
lend his or her name to our petition against this war, and to make February
12 a day of Poetry Against the War. We will compile an anthology of protest
to be presented to the White House on that afternoon.
Please submit your name and a poem or statement of conscience to the Poets
Against the War Web site.
There is little time to organize and compile. I urge you to pass along this
letter to any poets you know. Please join me in making February 12 a day
when the White House can truly hear the voices of American poets.
-- Sam Hamill, Founding Editor and Co-founder of Copper Canyon Press
http://www.poetsagainstthewar.org/
�������������������������������
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�������������������������������
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all
poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns
left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand,
nor look through the eyes of the dead,
nor feed on the spectres in books.
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from your self.
- Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
"If facts are the seeds that later produce knowledge and wisdom, then the
emotions and the impressions of the senses are the fertile soil in which the
seeds must grow."
-- Rachel Carson
"Until lions have their historians, tales of the hunt shall always glorify
the hunter.�
-- African Proverb
"Why not go out on a limb? That's where the fruit is."
--Will Rogers
RESISTANCE IS FERTILE!
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Wickedly Weird & All the Rage!
Now Featuring Fiore�s Flash: Exile TV!
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U-S-A = Usurers, Sodomites, Abortionists.
The U-S-A Cult is the ruling power over America-the-Good and now seeks to a establish
One World Government of Evil-Doers via the Afghanistan-Iraq domino effect.
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