Showing posts with label terrorism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label terrorism. Show all posts

Friday, April 7, 2017

This grace


There is no such Disgrace.
I do not live inside or choose to
put my dwelling things
away there.

There is Here to one else,
while I cannot touch it with a tip
of glance-on accident
these matters made solid.

Their way does not cross
my own,
or break through my gait.
Thier way becomes unknown
with wind and soft feet.

There is gasping, a vacuous horror
at the senseless flexing to hold nothing,
constricting itself, There,
the worst that would be too atrophied
to rest here.

I do not dwell in Misery.
I do not consider
my self
part of
Disgrace.


Painting by Pierre-Auguste Renoir, (1870) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Friday, November 20, 2015

Blunting the News



(November 13th, 2015) Paris, France, along with the entire world watching, was violently terrorized by radicals. After recently reading an essay by George Orwell titled, "Politics and the English Language", originally published in 1946, I noticed Orwell was on to something. The author notes in his essay the abundance of cliched, trite, jargon and excessive emotive vocabulary particularly found in political writings, news pieces infiltrating the mainstream media's messages. Linked here in its entirety, it is a thought-provoking read 70 years later. Powerful, meaningful language does not lose potency (poignancy) with time.
The following poem was composed by using the text of a CNN article and omitting all excessive, (what could be construed as) vague, or frivolous, emotive words. Those eliminated, discarded words (sometimes strings) are presented in order here, in the form of a poem.


Blunting the News


The prevailing emotion is now fear.
Fear that anywhere and anyone could be a target.
A sudden noise, the air is thick with sirens.
Controlled suspect terror
took the lives.
The French capital is in a somber mood.
Dozens, tripling France’s ability to bomb,
sweeping powers were
rallied with massive demonstrations.
A celebration of diversity,
a coming together of faiths and ethnicities,
most cultural, but fractious.

A dozen leapt.
The landscape has changed.
Tens of thousands
of would be abandoned,
blighted by conflict, trekked.
Vast and also shown ever greater
ambitions beyond.
Now sounds much more menacing,
Erosion of trust.
Quiet, some in tears, queued
A subdued, eloquent, leading, loose, inflicted, sophisticated
and presumably financed and infiltrated.
Shocking display, young, wage, more disturbing still
at least four plots this year alone.
Candid about the security situation,
clear, have chastened.
Palpable episodes will follow
promised after months later.
Anxiety has been heightened the by comments,
according to United States officials, equipped concern,
exploiting products, reforms of intelligence, bear fruit.
The threat is immediate.
External borders, deflecting blame,
criticizing the border controls of others,
senses an opportunity, will bring terrorism.
Hoping to benefit mentality regional
sense of siege, perhaps best demonstrated by the declaration
passed almost unanimously, gives, allows,
invariably in the blighted banlieues that ring many towns.
Especially the young, divorced and disowned by society,
inhabit a world, become radicalized, shabby
neighborhood, placed whole, an hour’s drive away
looks down on the world’s media.
Holds surrounded, representing liberty, equality and fraternity.
The second time this year flowers are being laid-
perhaps ideals.




“…modern writing at its worst does not consist in picking out words for the sake of their meaning and inventing images in order to make the meaning clearer. It consists in gumming together long strips of words which have already been set in order by someone else, and making the results presentable by sheer humbug.” 
-George Orwell

Image of painting by Édouard Manet [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, At the Cafe, circa 1879. 

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

The Hairy Battle of Human Being


Why aren't we done painting the Art of War?
What are we still fighting for?

All the lands have been pillaged and conquered.
The air still reeks of the conflicts we've conjured.

This planets private properties have all be claimed.
Heritage and Historical sights have all been officially named.

Unable to agree that the moon is humanities joint territory.
Unstable people take a stand, repeating family memory.

Still, some do peddle deeds to stars.
The next exurb lots will be refi'd on Mars.

Sacrifice anticipates a victorious tomorrow,
inheriting the debt of our last generations sorrow.

Replacing freedom fighters with tyrannical terrorists,
dancing the limbo line, politico tango in religious trysts

Bad blood curdles staining with fear,
Hindsight is not visible when standing so near.

Death for Liberty, the sacrifice of being right,
betting it all on maybe's and might.

(somehow living in this moral servitude
feels more like rhetorical platitude)

Competitive fabric woven in narcissistic natures,
adaptive and reactive matrix of complex creatures.

Will we only be sated when there's nothing more to take?
Are we merely fated to feuding over pride at stake?

Predictably, in the year twenty fifteen you may find
and even agree, it is well past evolutionary time
that We can no longer be called a species of man-kind
The artists of making War, our masterpiece, a human crime.


Image of painting by John Singer Sargent (1919), "Gassed" Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons. 

Tres (trace)

Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...