You will find evicted children in the almost
December; their past has been pushed out
The front door. The rain is in-between
Freezing and melting. What better time
Is there for rummaging? The shoppers collide
Like people intoxicated, in slow motion
In the cause of thrift. Their fingers crash
Like winter thunder among wire hangers,
Unphased by cold or wet, or the world,
Weighted down with its losses. By chance
They will tease out treasures, try out
Their luck with an old fedora, or tug
At the tongues of dead men's shoes.
It's no cinch to beat melancholy, except
As you wonder at the whereabouts
Of a robin red-breast and his place
Of dignity on the bough, and his brisk,
Sweet whistling.
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Monday, November 26, 2007
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Guest Comment: The Horrors Of War
A comment by my old friend, DocRod, was so good I thought I should give it front page. Thanks Doc.
I think of how pathetic our situation has become since embarking on this greed inspired war:
4,568 dead from combat and non-combat action
28,500 wounded
250,000+ with serious psychological issues from combat
5000+ suicides by returning troops
I remember how desperate the situation became after Desert Storm ended. The psychiatric hospital I was working at was inundated with returning vets, and most of them had not even seen the front lines. War does unspeakable damage to the human soul, not only to the unfortunate few who are actually are forced to kill their fellow man, but to the support troops who bring up the rear to supply those combat groups also. They witness firsthand, the aftermath of battle by having to return their dead, dying, and broken comrades to this country. Now these brave souls are coming home and this administration is adamant about eliminating funding for mental health services to help them readjust to life in this country.
I am completely disgusted with every one of those treasonous SOB's in the White House and on Capital Hill. I listen while the Democrats give lip service to ending the war and the Republicans maintain our need to continue the war, simply because they haven’t stolen all of the money left in this world… YET! The worst offender in this mire is the Fascist Christian Nazi Right who continues to back the war because they long to experience Armageddon first hand. Well, I sincerely hope that these pseudo hand-waving Christian lunatics get their wish at the expense of their own children's lives. Their mock brand of religion disgusts me even more than those amoral greedy pit-vipers in Washington.
I don't have a clue which direction that this country will choose to go in the near future, I just hope that "We the People" wake up recognize reality in time to do the right thing. If memory serves me old friend, it was never quite this convoluted or morally corrupt during the Vietnam War. Our objectives seemed much clearer and well defined, or maybe I was simply too young and delusional to recognize it any differently back then. I fear the most for our children and grandchildren. We lost this war the day it began, and yet it seems to drag on and on into perpetuity.
Thanks for giving me a place to rant, Copeland. It is greatly appreciated!
Rod
Sunday, November 11, 2007
siegfried sassoon SURVIVORS
No doubt they'll soon get well; the shock and strain
Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk.
Of course they're 'longing to go out again,'--
These boys with old, scared faces, learning to walk.
They'll soon forget their haunted nights; their cowed
Subjection to the ghosts of friends who died,--
Their dreams that drip with murder; and they'll be
proud
Of glorious war that shatter'd all their pride...
Men who went out to battle, grim and glad;
Children, with eyes that hate you, broken and mad.
Craiglockart. October, 1917.
Have caused their stammering, disconnected talk.
Of course they're 'longing to go out again,'--
These boys with old, scared faces, learning to walk.
They'll soon forget their haunted nights; their cowed
Subjection to the ghosts of friends who died,--
Their dreams that drip with murder; and they'll be
proud
Of glorious war that shatter'd all their pride...
Men who went out to battle, grim and glad;
Children, with eyes that hate you, broken and mad.
Craiglockart. October, 1917.
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