Iraqi Freedom

In Honour of Nagasaki Day’s 65th

Retire War mentality;
Celebrate beauty
with *Starry Desires* Emerging Visions visionary art ‘zine. #18.
Enjoy and Share
but never forget:
Published on Tuesday, December 7, 2004 by
Hyping Terror For Fun, Profit – And Power
by Thom Hartmann
Sculpture of Mourning by Savannah Skye
War on the front lines
Indecipherable boundaries
Moribund soldiers encircle us
Dislimbed they wade through ground blood
In allegiance we push on
Quivering, bent down low
Entering enemy territory
Praying to God, hoping He’s on our side
Silence is all but left behind as we separate
Our minds quickly fill with disconcerting thoughts
That shoot through our discombobulated heads
As we lurk through land mined terrain
Pushing forward, we raise our guns
Moving beyond our own limits with
“Only the strong will survive”
As our mantra of meditation
Anger and rage have become our best friends
Because at all costs, including our own sullen lives
We must duly protect our country
Along with it’s long held freedoms
Suddenly the silence in our heads is broken
A round of shots has been fired
Red splatters my face, colors my uniform
I taste the smell of blood
I look over, my compatriot is lying face up
An open wound remains where his heart once was
His life has been taken by a enemy bullet
He is down for the count for good
His body lies still and lifeless
Below him crimson blood mingles with umber dirt
Organic materials left behind to create a sculpture of mourning
By orphaned hands of futile wars
– amor y paz – Savannah Skye aka Savvy…
Do you remember the Doonesbury strip after the Iran-Contra scandal came out in which one of the characters (I think it was Mark) was hiding out in his attic or some such and got told (I think by Zonker) about the Iran-Contra conspiracy? Both agreed that Zonker must have gotten it wrong.
I was just watching Nightline whereby I was reminded of this 25th anniversary of the beginning of the Iran-Contra, October Surprise, beginning of the US funding of Iraq as ally against Iran. History. They say if we don’t heed it we are doomed to repeat it. But the cycles spiral. The same themes in different guise, until we get it right and get to evolve into a new phase of discovery and frustration.
It was a watery U.S. election day this year. Sun in Scorpio (of course), Moon in flag-waving, security obsessed Cancer, the U.S. progressed Sun just gone into the collective emotional depths of Pisces. Emotions ruled the ballots. Watery, foggy, deception-laden Neptune squares the Sun. But who is the deceiver, who the deceived? Or are we all just playing out a cinema drama to support the computer-animated special fx?
Someone said to me today that the real scary part is that there was no election fraud — that the majority of U.S. voting citizens really want the status quo.
We are all frightened of a quickly escalating future for which we feel ill-prepared. It is all too natural to wrap ourselves in flags and the safety of believing that father knows best. It is too bad, in some ways, that change is inevitable, that we cannot remain safe by hiding our heads in the clouds.
I was explaining to a friend recently, in response to a local tragedy, that there is no guarantee of life: there is only the guarantee that we will all die, each of us at a different time in a different way. I don’t know that I would prefer the fate of Chiron, to be immortal yet in constant pain. Perhaps pain can be a factor in finding creative endeavors to work with change, to refine and synthesize the visions of the ideal into chewable bites of realizable action and interaction. Is that something we even want? Do we prefer to let our fears expand into prejudices that guide our choices?
Perhaps I am the one who has gotten it wrong. Really, poppa has it all under control. There is nothing to fear.
New American Anthem
After Shock and Awe
It’s a transitional time
Of untidiness
We bombed in Baghdad
Now we have no idea how
To clean up this mess
Forget peace on Earth
Let the common folk suffer
And not have a say
Since god is with us
Against the rest of the world
We’ll just have to pray
Not in Our Name
Nobody wins in a war
(well, maybe a few financiers of war industries, but)
Not us, not them, not humanity
Not the dead, not the living
Not the yet to be born
Not the land, water, air, our natural resources
Not the roads, buildings, pipes, utility lines, the infrastructure
Not love or peace or morality
Not human nature
Not Right
Not Justice
Not God
Not the battlegrounds or the cemeteries, or the unhealable wounds in our souls
Whatever we may hope to accomplish with war,
There are better ways.
Study War No More
What lesson can be applied?
When imperialist troops crash down upon a people’s pride?
When might as right meets the instinct to survive?
When Midas greed lashes out to destroy?
We’ve been here before, o my brethren, o my children —
repeating the fouled lessons poured into our thirsty minds,
pushing back the horror before our eyes with blinding rage
forged into weapons by mortal foes
who hide in plain sight.
The only thing I know —
The lesson repeating agony in all our souls,
Haunted by the pleading eyes and bloody hearts
Of the slaughtered sacrifices to malignant gods —
There is something vital here to learn.
War Games
More and more
get less and less
the best sacrificed
to great God Success
brick by bloody brick
Is it a surprise
(“Look! Into my eyes!”)
when the peasants cackle
resurrecting the guillotine
Raw power
hot metal shooting
making unmistakable mark
burning ragged skin and guts
and glory
Tell me a story, daddy
about before the war
when water flowed
in abundant freedom
when the air was pure
of the stench
of progress
when everybody had
a sacred right
to feel
and believe
and dance in the moonlight
when we could afford to be
young, untried, open
to possibilities not cut off
by a sacrificial knife
repeatedly deeply severing
vital organs
without regard to the waste
with no respect for place
or the people for whom that space
holds stories
Weapons forged in anger
built up shattered layers of
desperate pride, disrespect, grief
create festering wounds
poisoning the populace
unto the Seventh Generation
caught up in some grotesque
morality play
World Stage

endless young lives destroyed
by others’ misconstructions of reality
— wars of all sizes.
There must be a way to rise above,
to appear so large that the wanton destroyers
must listen,
must stop and hear and understand
that creation
is so much more glorious,
powerfully uplifting.
Love is not about hearts and flowers
and weakness.
It is breathing pure air,
drinking clean water,
eating delicious, beautiful meals,
but mostly
love is about learning from each other
all we need to know.
I know that hatred can feel pure
and strong and right.
It can give warmth on cold and lonely
solace through those long, empty nights.
Hatred comes easily to the spurned
and the deeply wounded
trying to emasculate the pain.
But love is the promise,
the hope of healing,
if only we can learn to move,
oh so bravely,
through the pain
into the gracious joys
of self-creation.

The Enemy

Hiding from bombardments.
Thick, black water;
no thirst is worth this
Running through rubble,
recently devolved
homes, commerce, community.
Extended families,
aunts and cousins,
good neighbors,
valued friends,
devolved to shattered corpses.
Wailing at a divisive wall in the name of
humanity, freedom,
chaotic prophecies whisper,
imprinting reign of Hell upon
modern Earth.
Policy statements fly
in protective formation
“We can not give in to
the enemy.”

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