Thursday, May 28, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
I've been writing about my father, and other male relations lately on other pages, and boards. Mostly in regards to their being Negro and fighting for the segregated U.S. armed forces during World War 2. Many revisionist ideologues, and black race nationalists are perplexed by this. Some to the point of being disrespectful of that generation that gave us so much.
It's so simple, they were Americans defending their country. Despite everything they, and theirs had suffered this was their country, and no one, not the Klan, not Tojo, not Hitler was gonna say it wasn't. I'm thinking back to the 1950's when I was a youngster, and my Dad, and my Uncles, combat vets all, towered over me like redwoods.
They were men, and sounded like men. There was a strength even in their softest words. I felt very safe in that forest of elders. They'd come back! They were home, and were setting about to make their country, their "home" better. They was no talk of going back to Africa, or any praise of overseas dictators or their blood splattered regimes.
They had after all just fought, and helped to defeat two of the most cruel, and evil dictatorships to appear in centuries. If those powers had won I would not be here nor would most of you. So-called political "progressives" should think of that the next time they call America the most "evil" country in history. They might want to read some actual "history" before they say such things again.
As to my elders they never spoke openly about what they'd seen, and done in the war. However we could see the road map of battles cut into their body's. When at the beach I saw war scars on my Daddies legs, and side. I saw burn marks on one Uncle, and shrapnel wounds on another. They didn't have to tell us we saw, and understood.
So on this early morning after July 4th, though they are all gone now, I say God Bless you Dad, Uncle Lee, Uncle George, Uncle Clyde, Uncle Owen, and thanks, thank you for giving us the World.
The above is a portion to an editorial I'd done for Pacifica Radio News a few years back.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Peter Rabbit was drafted into "Farmland Security" against his will. His sargent, a raccoon with a serious pine cone habit, was mean, and yelled all the time at poor Peter.
There was also an ugly rumor of sexual abuse as well.
The food was bad, and the other bunnies in his unit were emotionally distured special education dropouts that beat him up, and stole his carrots that his mommy sent to him special.
Oh, but Peter was still the sweet bunny that his Mommy, and friends knew him to really be.
Well okay he did shoot farmer McGregor, and his family, but you must admit that lot had it coming.
Also all the random shooting around the farm, and the unfortunate unintended casulties did make him a little sad. However Peter 'was' after all a rabbit,..though heavily armed, so he forgot most of what he'd done.
He peacefully hopped home to his Mama, and all his friends, and had a nice cabbage stew.
"Anything interesting happen on your way home from farmland national service Peter?"
Asked Mama rabbit giving all of her little sweet hearts second helpings of carrot pie.
"Um, no Mama",...said Peter.
"Well other that blowing that evil redneck, shit kicker McGregor to shreds, and jelly,..no"
"Good said Mama bunny" "That rancid turd killed your Papa, ate'em too"
Sunday, January 11, 2009
November 15, 2008. I guess the wars and petty hates of the world have got to me. I was sitting at home on a quiet evening, without any morose thoughts on the surface of my mind. Suddenly, out of nowhere came the first line and the compulsion to write this piece. I very strongly did not want to write it, but line after line was wrenched out of my soul, and I had to finish it. The further I wrote, the less I wanted to write it, and, truly, doing so was intensely painful. It had to come, I really had no choice but to write it, but, the title says it all. . .
I Hate This Poem
The corpses lie where you left them,
spread across the sands beneath the burning sun,
lying intermingled in the place where they once walked,
where they breathed and thought and laughed and loved,
lying breathless in the swirling dust,
lying lifeless as the buzzards come to feast,
lying in the mindless triumph of the way of death,
as the air fills with mourning,
and tears mingle with the pools of blood,
and joy and hope and celebration are no more,
their voices drowned in oceans of mad wailing,
in the empty keening of the hearts of love bereft,
and there they lie, the corpses where you left them,
where you dropped them when you had removed the life,
discarding all the dreams of things that might have been,
casting lovers and their love into the pits of hate,
and stealing gentle passion from the ones now left behind,
an offering to dread Mars the cruel god of war,
a sacrifice of ugliness to him whose radiance is dark light,
denial of the goodness that was placed below
the image of the brightness of the everlasting One,
whom you deny with sword and gun and bomb and lies of hate.
and still they lie, those corpses that you left to rot,
and you must look upon the works of your own hands,
and weep, lament, and wail in anguished sorrow deep,
and know the depth of horror you have brought to be.
Lament, repent, and seek release that you've not earned,
admit the dreadful pox that has consumed your soul,
and die within that you might live, and living strive to right the wrong,
the wrong that never in this world can be erased,
but can perhaps be caused to turn some hearts from evil ways,.
and lead to peace, the peace that you have so well denied.
They lie in the dust.
Remember: in remorse now turn your steps.
Renounce the darkness that so long has filled your soul.
Turn to the light and to the One who gave His life for light.
Leave the paths of death and now serve life.
As I just commented to poetreader below in the "Tiger's" post. I'm a sucker for a guy, man or boy, in uniform.
Peacenik tho' I sometimes am.
Toy soldiers are a particular male fetish. Indeed I once had a part time job at the "Toy Soldier Company"
Many years ago I needed some extra dough, and a pal put me in touch with the loons that ran that show. I was in pigshit heaven.
We sat around all day, including da boss, talking military bullshit, and model making.
Perfect job for a 13 year old,...though at the time I think I was 28 or so.
We had a ball.
Btw I still build models, and sometimes collect toy soldiers.