“They saw their injured country's woe;
The flaming town, the wasted field;
Then rushed to meet the insulting foe;
They took the spear, - but left the shield.”
―Philip Freneau
Monday, May 16, 2016
Relishing the Obama-Trump Interregnum...
Butcher the evil millionaire, peasant,
And leave him stinking in the square.
Torture the chancellor. Leave the ambassador
Strung by his thumbs from the pleasant
Embassy wall, where the vines were.
Then drill your hogs and sons for another war.
Fire on the screaming crowd, ambassador,
Sick chancellor, brave millionaire,
And name them by the name that is your name.
Give privilege to the wound, and maim
The last resister. Poison the air
And mew for peace, for order, and for war.
View with alarm, participant, observer,
Buried in medals from the time before.
Whisper, then believe and serve and die
And drape fresh bunting on the hemisphere
From here to India. This is the world you buy
When the wind blows fresh for war.
Hide in the dark alone, objector;
Ask a grenade what you are living for,
Or drink this knowledge from the mud.
To an abyss more terrible than war
Descend and tunnel toward a barrier
Away from anything that moves with blood.
A Leftist caught in doubt Lifts up his head to shout:
Your treatment is unfair, You bully! How you dare To question my veracity With cruel, hard-eyed tenacity I do not know. My views Which boldly you accuse Of being falsely ranked In truth are sacrosanct.
My thoughts are Holy Writ. Your thoughts are quite unfit; Based on selfish fears They inspire tears And dare to say the blame Lies squarely in the frame Of those whose failing lives Look to him who thrives And say: Your gold is mine, You greedy, bloated swine. You have more than you need. It's up to you to feed Me, the ill and weak, Else Heaven that you seek Will ever be denied.
And I will see your hide Shredded, tanned and dried. And hung outside the gates Of each neighborhood that hates The needy and the poor, Who soon will storm your door And drag you from your bed And then lop off your head. While the masses you denied Will ever take great pride Your ignominious demise Was effected in the guise Of condign righteous wrath Giving Bourgeois digs a bath.
With stolen food and goods We'll raze your neighborhoods And laugh to see you hurt Dying in the dirt. WE DO NOT CARE TO RISE: We live for your demise. We thrive on righteous hate. It is by now too late To make a plan to stop us End the Founder's opus. Our Marx destroyed your God. He's in - not on - the sod Feeding nematodes In their dark abodes.
With mockery and shrill Sarcastic gibes we kill. We drool with sheer delight At the thought of endless night. Where everything that's witty, Charming, gracious, pretty Slumps to the nitty gritty, As we revel in the dung Corrupting all your young.
For 'we are the little folk, we Too little to love or to hate. Leave us alone, and you'll see How quickly we'll drag down the state.'*
ReplyDeleteKIPLING'S LITTLE MAN
______ ~ or ~ _______
Bolshevism Revisited
A Leftist caught in doubt
Lifts up his head to shout:
Your treatment is unfair,
You bully! How you dare
To question my veracity
With cruel, hard-eyed tenacity
I do not know. My views
Which boldly you accuse
Of being falsely ranked
In truth are sacrosanct.
My thoughts are Holy Writ.
Your thoughts are quite unfit;
Based on selfish fears
They inspire tears
And dare to say the blame
Lies squarely in the frame
Of those whose failing lives
Look to him who thrives
And say: Your gold is mine,
You greedy, bloated swine.
You have more than you need.
It's up to you to feed
Me, the ill and weak,
Else Heaven that you seek
Will ever be denied.
And I will see your hide
Shredded, tanned and dried.
And hung outside the gates
Of each neighborhood that hates
The needy and the poor,
Who soon will storm your door
And drag you from your bed
And then lop off your head.
While the masses you denied
Will ever take great pride
Your ignominious demise
Was effected in the guise
Of condign righteous wrath
Giving Bourgeois digs a bath.
With stolen food and goods
We'll raze your neighborhoods
And laugh to see you hurt
Dying in the dirt.
WE DO NOT CARE TO RISE:
We live for your demise.
We thrive on righteous hate.
It is by now too late
To make a plan to stop us
End the Founder's opus.
Our Marx destroyed your God.
He's in - not on - the sod
Feeding nematodes
In their dark abodes.
With mockery and shrill
Sarcastic gibes we kill.
We drool with sheer delight
At the thought of endless night.
Where everything that's witty,
Charming, gracious, pretty
Slumps to the nitty gritty,
As we revel in the dung
Corrupting all your young.
For 'we are the little folk, we
Too little to love or to hate.
Leave us alone, and you'll see
How quickly we'll drag down the state.'*
~ FreeThinke (2007)
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* Rudyard Kipling