POEM: NEWS OF THE WORLD #22

“But Dad, why can’t I set Mr. Bunnykins on fire?”

What is so radical now in our time?  

It's not in bonding, with all the same crime.

We'll snipe from our rooftops, towers and trees,

yet we would never dream of killing bees.

Some babies are dropped for making their noise,

while others are sloughed (unless they are boys) .

It makes you wonder just how far you’ll go,

when how far you've come is all you will know.

What is so radical about our time 

when the truth will ape and our passion mime?

…..

When soldiers, entrenched, are still in a trance,

when brave knights are benched and stilled by the lance,

when far too long has our gung-ho been gone—

we'll stifle our cries, but never our yawns.

And so for the folk that we've lost today,

for all the young rebels who’ve died since May,

we gift them the rose, whose colour is blood,

come after the war, come after the flood.

News From the Home Front: They’ve Chosen to Leave!

“We think it’s better than having to grieve.”

“The problem is spaceships—where do they go?

It’s either Hades or methane-green snow.”

So, like those prayers that are tossed on the wind

by children who don’t know which way to sin,

we’re all almost ready for our surprise—

it’s just a matter of choosing who dies.

…..

Like wayward Caesars caught taking the field,

we stand on ground that refuses to yield.

But battles fought here have never been won,

even in war games that are played for fun.

The Road to Damascus Has Grown Quite Long.

Some will get off, hearing Solomon’s song.

Most will grow weary while searching to choose.

(It’s not in the choosing that makes you lose.)

In lines of stone or by lines on the rock,

in the shapes of clouds or the calling cock;

in the colour of livers, whorls of gut—

are found such signs whereby giants now strut.

…..

If what you’re after comes ever, after—

don’t be surprised by all the gods’ laughter.

Yet, birds in the bush will trill ever-sweet,

if the dawns you meet are the ones you'll treat.

News flash! I just don’t know if this one is finished or not. It seems mostly about war and also choices and their consequences. Perhaps even fate or fatalism is in there. I’d been reading about Syria and Yemen, as those are two of the places where fighting is particularly brutal (through, really, take your pick—there’s plenty more where they came from.) The echoes of war and war-mongering seem everywhere these days. It's hard to hear yourself think, and you just want to yell stopstopstop! at the top of your lungs, but so few seem to listen.  

I also wanted to put in something about other current events, like all the civil unrest we’re seeing around the globe in Lebanon, Iraq, Chile, Bolivia, and Hong Kong to name some of the more prominent places where people are rioting against government corruption or austerity measures, or for freedom of expression. There seems to be a bunch of them recently, a trend that may continue for some time. Anger is on the wind. But I didn’t put them in this NoW. Nor is there a single mention of Trump or the political murder-ball being played down south. Thankfully, I didn’t mention Brexit, or the climate crisis or the financial crisis, or global inequality or pollution or you name it....

B-29s dropping incendiary bombs over Japan during WWII

I seem to be sticking mainly to war. So that’s it for this one. I don’t feel like tacking on anything else; war is more than enough for any poem. 

I wish I could establish a no-fly zone around my place—just a small one. Then I could move about without worrying whether I would be bombed or strafed, smart-bombed, droned, or whatever. I know where I'm currently situated on the globe, the chances of that happening are quite remote, highly improbable. In places like Yemen, Afghanistan, Gaza, Syria, Iraq, Libya etc., it’s entirely possible, even probable. So break out the champagne and let's toast geography! What would we do without it!? Or what wouldn’t we do?

Cheers, Jake.