The children of the world have a message for us . . .
Let us think twice . . . and once more, before we rush to war.
Yes, Bashar al-Assad of Syria seems to be the latest incarnation
of pure evil.
However, here’s a question to ponder: when was the last time
that firing missiles actually produced a positive outcome?
Destruction tends to breed resentment and a desire within
homegrown terrorists to strike (back) at us.
Granted, we cannot ignore the fact that Assad has used chemical
weapons against his own people. What we ought to do is try to
get Russia, China, Iran, etc. to freeze the assets of the Syrian
government. We ought to aim to hit Assad below the belt — in
his metaphorical wallet.
The point is, U.S.A., we have alternatives. Let’s not rush into
yet another one of these push-button, video-game-like, military actions.
Peace can only be achieved through peaceful means. And, the means
TAIL OF A RAT
Known as a rat tail
Feared in locker rooms
Special deadly method
of rolling up towel
Start with diagonal fold
Thick end, gripped
Thin end, wetted
Effect: like a whip
Purpose: inflict pain, raise welts
Target: back flesh on upper leg
Able to rip
a cardboard box
No, no joke
Zing! scorpion sting
Clean after shower
>THE MOCKINGBIRD SPEAKS
Listen to the wind
the mockingbird speaks
my kind of language
flecks of white under black wings
my own wings help me
to see this great city
as I soar
over the rich man’s domain
I crap like a pigeon
in their swimming pools
on their tennis courts
I peck at their mailboxes
the wooden flesh is weak
no match for my beak
I eat rattlesnakes for dinner
the poison is in my zip code
nine-oh-to, see the cauldron
with its cold free radical consommé
on a late great fashionable plate
go see, if it’s not too late
and hear, if a damn can still be given
have a close encounter
with an exacting mind
speak with tiny braille nipples
to the blind.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I have gotten into some bad habits.
For one thing, I like to bite our dog.
Sometimes I bite her on the ears.
My wife, Laura, doesn’t like it
When I make Lucy yelp in pain.
Somehow, I feel that biting
Is a language a dog understands.
But why on earth
Should I hurt the poor thing?
It’s not right,
And I need to quit it right away.
The toughest thing, they always say,
Is to quit cold turkey.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Howl busted the yawn wide open, broke it down
into the screaming hysterical hip hop city streets,
ran naked over the Golden Gate Bridge at dusk
and plunged into the icy cool stream of consciousness
of America worldwide.
Go Daddy! Big Daddy, go Sky Father
of the tiny pieces of paper with wings
Yo! Pop Daddy of the wide round mouth,
big and tall books, and large magazines.
Yo! Give it up for the Grandmaster,
the luminous name of the poet Allen G.,
the man, the one who laid it down
and laid it all out, yeah, the man, Ginsberg,
he who sang with a big voice, a huge brain,
and a giant heart, who sang for sex and pain,
for madness and truth, for life and the death
that spikes that crazy immortal paradoxical elixir,
yeah, who else could sing and rave,
rage and shake his fist at the tight-ass Five Stars
who overcompensate with Greek god missiles
for what they can’t give to their women at night,
yeah, Mr. A.G., that’s who (look it up in Who’s Who,
page 4 – 1 – 1), he who knew what time it was,
yeah, he who knew when to dis’ the establishment,
when to throw a bucket of splash
on the wicked witchy parliamentarians,
yeah, Allen G., that’s who, who else had the funk
to freak the system, to speak up and speak out
for peace, to open the eyes of the masses
and not pander to the pandemonium,
nobody else said it like him, with wisdom, serenity,
stone cold chutzpah, and a harmonium.
— H A L ☮ ♥