The first entry on this blog 6 years ago…after a personal “Do it” from America’s greatest living poet.
After 51 years of harassment (Freedom of Speech, Dissent and great literature are pornography!)
by cops and city officials Lawrence Ferlinghetti (writer/ publisher and owner of City Lights Bookstore) was named as San Francisco’s first poet laureate (1998).
Lawrence nailed the frameless certificate to a wall in the Hypocrisy section of his store.
.
Speak Out
And a vast paranoia sweeps across the land
And America turns the attack on the Twin Towers
Into the beginning of the Third World War
The war with the Third World
And the terrorists in Washington
Are shipping out the young men
To the killing fields again
And no one speaks
And they are rousting out
All the ones with turbans
And they flushing out
All the strange immigrants
And they are shipping all the young men
To the killing fields again
And no one speaks
And when they come to round up
All the great writers and poets and painters
The National Endowment of the Arts of Complacency
Will not speak
While all the young men
Will be killing all the young men
In killing fields again
So now is the time for you to speak
All you lovers of liberty
All you lovers of the pursuit of happiness
All you lovers and sleepers
Deep in your private dream
Now is the time for you to speak
O silent majority
Before they come for you!
Kill for Peace by Tuli Kufenberg of the Fugs
Near or middle or very far east
Far or near or very middle east
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill, kill, kill for peace
If you don’t like the people
Or the way that they talk
If you don’t like their manners
Or they way that they walk,
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill, kill, kill for peace
If you don’t kill them
Then the Chinese will
If you don’t want America
To play second fiddle,
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill, kill, kill for peace
If you let them live
They might support the Russians
If you let them live
They might love the Russians
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill, kill, kill for peace
(spoken) Kill ‘em, kill ‘em, strafe those gook creeps!
The only gook an
American can trust
Is a gook that’s got
His yellow head bust.
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill, kill, it’ll
Feel so good,
Like my captain
Said it should
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill it will give
You a mental ease
Kill it will give
You a big release
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Kill, kill, kill for peace
Born in Sherqat, the first ancient city built by the Assyrians, Safaa Sheikh Hamad is an Iraqi essayist and translator currently situated in India. His home town was extensively ravished during the American invasion of Iraq in 2003 and still bears the aftermath of the war. He wrote this poem in English:
Thus sang the troubadour
March was an eye witness
And its nineteenth was the first to burn.
My little sister woke up in the early morning
She said Mrs. Mallaby of the yesterday’s bedtime story
Met her in a dream and was all alone
In her hundredth birthday,
There was no post card
No birthday cake with hundred candles
No umbrella for the rainy Sundays
No kitten mewed at her door.
March was an eye witness
And its nineteenth was the first to burn.
Apache
Cluster bombs
Scud missiles
White phosphorous
Were all death retailers in Mesopotamia
The little Umm Qasr under the flame
Reminded us of Leningrad
Sweeping the young dead bodies with a broom
Making heaps of souls
Preparing a meal for the ravens
Shock and Awe quaked the earth
Buttons unleashed death into the eyes
That is enough, said my friend and shut the radio off,
Tell them, I said to him
Tell them we had enough
Death
Shock
Awe
Tell them the Tigris had enough bodies of assassinated dreams
Euphrates vomited the sense of clarity
Shatt-al-Arab wept the death of the palm trees
The Gulf engulfed all the bitterness
Hugged the two rivers
Buried the bodies of the dead
Washed their blood off the salty beaches
And listened to the troubadour
Who was still singing,
Many men will die.
Many men will die.
March was an eye witness,
And its nineteenth was the first to burn.
June 22/03/10
NOTE: This is only the 2nd half of this poem. Read the rest at Poets Against the War
The Unknowns by Donald Rumsfeld
As we know,
There are known knowns.
There are things we know we know.
We also know
There are known unknowns.
That is to say
We know there are some things
We do not know.
But there are also unknown unknowns,
The ones we don’t know
We don’t know.
Department of Defense news briefing Feb. 12, 2002
what frankenstein’s monster told the wolfman…By Scott Wannberg
we must take our sacred medicine now.
the last victim has pulled into his parking spot.
a jury of your piers will now be swept out to sea
by an irrational storm’s impulse.
toxic doggy bags will become the new shangri la.
frankenstein’s monster was overheard on an intellectual cable show
telling the wolfman that the moon wasn’t always
shining on the up and up.
the wolfman didn’t reply, he was busy ogling
the new splendiferous anchor lady
he remembered her from catholic school
when altar boys weren’t altered too dramatically
her name used to be garrulous
but now when she attempts to chew gum
her incisors shrill.
we must bury the evidence by 5:45 pm
or the water bill will go up.
nasty men and women will check out all the worthwhile books
from the library,
and the thinker will come to life and
pummel dobie gillis beyond
recognition.
there’s still a few seconds left on
the shot’s clock,
but the syringe claims its on a first name basis
with your parole board.
this morning my senses were taken.
please return your emotions to the accounting office no later
than sunday, midnight.
time to dodge bullets, and heavy traffic.
time to soft shoe it through the spotless kitchen,
please refrain from making noise
or oblivion will serve you with a subpoena.
i used to be a village idiot
until the cutbacks sent me packing.
may i brew you some coffee?
may i have your daughter’s hand?
the left one will be just fine,
as right things make me nervous.
your ipod is on the prod and
the sounds of silence scream from the cheap seats
that not all acoustics give you a fair hearing.
last night a tiny wounded human
discovered gold in his navel.
authorities were vehement,
they poured single malt scotch over their heads.
frankenstein’s monster is editing a lonely hearts column.
the wolfman is now an anchor on CNN.
maybe you could send the chief justice out for
take home.
he’d no doubt eat half of it before returning with your change,
but we eat too much these days,
according to erudite scarecrows
who are also part time lifeguards
at the baths of bewilderment.
lunacy prevails in every testimonial
that hums its way into your spleen.
you too can avoid paying taxes,
take your shoes off and toss them at
the imploding make a wish upon a guest star.
take one last good look around
familiarize yourself with the mutating landscape
the club house will close its doors very soon
and you’ll be in need of a witness
who won’t garble the testimony
that just might get you clear.
tell mom and dad i’ll return the car
as soon as i drive it through the next wonderful new
year end sale,
at this rate the year will end and end and end and end
but frankly i trust beginner’s luck
especially when it’s false teeth
fly across the sky
looking for a tree limb
that will not be too much in a hurry
to
wither.
scott’s facebookpage
florence,oregon
4/04/2010
Riffing off Scott Wannberg’s
“what frankenstein’s monster told the wolfman…”
BY KEN TAO
the wolfman died last week and nobody even noticed
frankenstein’s monster came out of its agoraphobia
to write a heartfelt obit but the times wouldn’t print it
claiming temporary but serious economic downturn
now we’ll never hear from it again
the bad brain that never dies will simply
continue to watch dobie gillis reruns
behind that huge oak door with the magic marker
sign that says, “villagers, fuck off!”
maynard g. krebs just got the new iPad
they managed to sell him on the lie
that it’s not really work
he’s hoping he can use it to finally
accomplish his all time pet project
turning the thinker into a golem
count dracula is considering switching
from windows to linux
but he first wants to make sure
he can find comparable apps to those
that have always seemed to help ease
his insomnia and anorexia
i saw the bride of frankenstein
taking drive-thru orders at jack-in-the-box
she told me she needs that job to support
the hunchback of notre dame in the old folk’s home
don’t look now but the time is ripe for new monsters
and they won’t be near as nice as the old ones
SPAT by Ken Tao
Smack in the middle of WWI
Mr. and Mrs. God & Goddess
had a real knock-down drag-out.
Only a few folks in the outlying areas
of the more peaceful nations,
what with all the earthly fighting going on,
even noticed the fireworks in heaven.
God said He was washing His hands once and for all.
“I’m shutting the whole fucking thing down!” He bellowed.
“Damn Me, it’s just not worth it any more.”
“Now, dear, I understand how You feel,” said Goddess,
“but I can’t let You destroy everything!”
“The hell You can’t! Will You look at these assholes?
Tell Me with a straight face they’re worth anything.”
She shrugged. He had Her there.
“Yeah, I guess maybe the humans have to go,
but You’re talking about everything!
I won’t let You take My animals! My plants!
The orgone, for pity sake! It’s a beautiful system!”
“Which these morons are busy destroying
without My help, thank You very much.”
“But that’s the beauty of My system! It’s foolproof.
No matter what they do they can’t wipe out the whole works.
At best they could exterminate themselves.
Or, at least, come damned close.”
“Ah, for Christ’s sake, they’d probably fuck that up too!”
“No doubt. But, they’re an integral part of the system.
Despite their reckless behavior they’re necessary
for the healthy functioning of the whole.”
God thought it over.
“Shit! Well, I’ve got to do something to punish them.”
“What? Another flood?”
“No. That didn’t seem to get through to them, did it?”
“And You’ve already kicked them out of the garden.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
That’s when the light bulb came on over God’s head.
He spat
and we lost heaven.
Thank Goddess the animals still have one.
Ken’s facebook page
Published by Nick at 10:31 PM on September 12, 2010