Why Turkey's Not Chicken [Bonus News Poem, Feb 25, 2010]
“Dated from November 2002, shortly after the AKP won its first, landslide election victory, they include proposals for a number of actions intended to create the conditions for military intervention, including bombing two mosques in Istanbul and "arranging" for a Turkish air force jet to be shot down in a clash with Greece - all to create the conditions for military intervention. “
--Jonathan Head, BBC 20:48 GMT, Thursday, 25 February 2010
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/8537775.stm
What man who drove a tank could sleep with branches knocking on his wall,
When Stalin ruled the SSRs and thoughtful folk were worked to bone?
And Kennedy was almost shot by Generals who claimed his balls
Were blue like royal blood. They wanted nuclear war to keep their zone
On global maps from turning red. They much preferred to char a clan,
A town, a land—the map remains pristine and kids might learn the lies
That start the wars to come. Instead, somewhere in Washington, they plan
Another way to bilk those paying tax. Recruited working spies
They lied on television, tried to start a war and yet the Turks,
Not Yanks, prepare to punish those who dodged their duty, shirked their work.
We say America is special. Jerks. We're jerks with friendly quirks.
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Showing posts with label Generals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Generals. Show all posts
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Why Turkey's Not Chicken [Bonus News Poem, Feb 25, 2010]
Labels:
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Friday, February 19, 2010
The Hypocrite Twin [Bonus Poem]
The Hypocrite Twin
“—Hypocrite lecteur,—mon semblable,—mon frère!”
--Charles Baudelaire, Au Lecteur
In war, the image graved upon the face of foes
Is long remembered, after he's been slain...
Or she, just think of Chechen widows at that show
In Russia: gas-rebuttals to their pain.
I know enough to know that Hitler liked to rant
And own a room with arms and twitchy hands.
The purse of shouting maws—the same as his I'll grant—
On television: fake-debates with canned
Positions; canned, synthetic talking points
Preserved in fat—in sweat that still anoints
Some man of God and nation—holy—though his eyes
Belie a hungering for flesh. His guise?
A cannibal ex-general who lies
To so-called country-kin
And never cops to spin.
Enemies: they always win.
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“—Hypocrite lecteur,—mon semblable,—mon frère!”
--Charles Baudelaire, Au Lecteur
In war, the image graved upon the face of foes
Is long remembered, after he's been slain...
Or she, just think of Chechen widows at that show
In Russia: gas-rebuttals to their pain.
I know enough to know that Hitler liked to rant
And own a room with arms and twitchy hands.
The purse of shouting maws—the same as his I'll grant—
On television: fake-debates with canned
Positions; canned, synthetic talking points
Preserved in fat—in sweat that still anoints
Some man of God and nation—holy—though his eyes
Belie a hungering for flesh. His guise?
A cannibal ex-general who lies
To so-called country-kin
And never cops to spin.
Enemies: they always win.
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