Verse-afire

American Digest banner -  “A poet more than thirty years old is simply an overgrown child.” – H. L. Mencken

Where did I put my tinkertoys

Who took my ball and glove

How dare I write of girls and boys

Too young to know of love

Throw out all your Rudyard Kiplings

That mildish childish man

Who wrote of war and Empire’d things

Insisting that you can

And what of songs that Tennyson sang

About fair Camelot

In words that down the ages rang

That will not be forgot

Of course I’m not a poet so

It’s all right if I rhyme

But if I’m just a child I know

I’ve been here a good long time

For many years we have been sending radio signals to the universe at large announcing, Here We Are, Come See Us! The assumption is that any interstellar travelers will be advanced liberal worlds that have foresworn violence and war, much like the liberals who run SETI, the Search for Extra-terrestrial Intelligence. I’m fairly certain those assumptions will prove incorrect should any space-faring people or beings accept our invitation to drop in. Non-aggressive types stay home; aggressive types roam the world or universe, taking what they need, taking what they want. When the winged ships come, they will not be bearing gifts. This planet’s history of what happens when a more advanced civilization meets a less advanced civilization has proved an unhappy one for the less advanced. And so it shall be when the winged ships come.

The mighty Zulu nation, mighty conqueror and king

Armed with amulet and spear and shield

When faced with British rifles and the discipline they bring

Were forced despite their bravery to yield

The Aztecs built their temples to their blood demanding gods

They held in thrall as slaves surrounding tribes

And then the winged ships came and young Cortes ‘gainst fearful odds

Demolished everything with Spanish jibes

Oh yes they had successes, Isandlwanda comes to mind

And Noche Triste cost the Spanish dear

But in the end the higher culture wins is what you’ll find

The verdict of our history is clear

So send your SETI memos out, announce your peaceful ways

But when the winged ships come don’t be surprised

When Cortes steps out of the ship that we’ve seen better days

And find that slaves was how that we were prized

The foreign policy of the Obama administration is centered on the concept of soft power, a shadowy, ephemeral mist entirely dependent on the persuasive powers of an increasingly shadowy and irrelevant president. Soft power, smart power, engagement - the insubstantial words drip from not quite visible lips, to drift away, into the mists, where sometimes is seen the shadowy shape of the President of the United States, intent upon his mission of change and hope. Lamont Cranston is not the Shadow, Barack Obama is. Cue the organ music - Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows.

Capable of clouding strong men’s minds

The Shadow drifts like smoke

Across the landscape where he finds

They think he is a joke

“Engagement,” whispers from the dark

“Smart power,” whispers back

The Shadow shifts from Drive to Park

Oft-times the safest tack

The press corps sits in massed array

The Great Seal briefly hid

A shadow drifts but does not stay

A murmur “It’s the kid!”

The open door to Air Force One

Starched honor guard erect

A fleeting shadow blocks the sun

Salutes of hushed respect

The engines rev, she starts to roll

No passenger to see

The crew though knows their current goal

Lies far beyond the sea

The Shadow knows his only chance

To save what he loves most

Is ask his partners one more dance

Then revel in the toast

That his success will surely bring

In bringing lasting peace

To all, both beggar and great king

By labor without cease

The Shadow knows that without him

The world would come to blows

Bestride the world, yet feebly dim

The Shadow always knows

We believe there is such a thing as objective truth, and there is, but that is not what we get from the media or our political and cultural betters. What we get from them is political truth. For instance:

POLAR BEARS – there are more polar bears now than there were 30 years ago, but that doesn’t fit the man made global warming narrative so what is true is not true for political purposes.

IQ – Hundreds of millions of IQ tests administered in the United States over the past 100 years have revealed quite convincingly and emphatically that some racial groups score better on the tests than others. Asians, for instance, score higher on IQ tests as a group than Whites score as a group, and Whites score higher as a group that Blacks score as a group. This does not fit the politically correct narrative that everyone is equal in every way, so what is true is not true for political purposes, and government social policy is predicated on the truth being false.

These are only two of many truths that have been rendered non-truth by the purveyors of political correctness, and accepted as truth by the vast majority of the public, who believe what the Left wants them to believe.

Oh polar bear you look so nice

Lying on the sun-baked ice

I hate to tell you that your floe

Will melt in thirty days or so

As global warming raises seas

And humans die despite their pleas

One hundred is the IQ score

That fits most people, maybe more

But some score higher, some score low

While others scoff, say it ain’t so

The scores are tainted, they would say

For culture surely rules the day

The thing is rigged, that’s what we find

That’s why some races lag behind

Simon Jenkins of MIT’s Sloane School of Management, and Peter Boone from the London School of Economics, say the party’s over, and that the world is close to its final bubble, after which comes world financial doomsday, le deluge. Sure looks that way. Maybe it’s time to just sing along.

I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles (1919)

Music by John Kellette

Lyrics by James Kendis, James Brockman and Nat Vincent

I’m forever blowing bubbles

Pretty bubbles in the air

They fly so high

Nearly touch the sky

Then like my dreams they fade and die

Fortune’s always hiding

I’ve looked everywhere

I’m forever blowing bubbles

Pretty bubbles in the air

Now we’re on our last big bubble

Soon the bubble won’t be there

It’s blown so high

Nearly touched the sky

Taken my dreams and made them die

My fortune’s gone in hiding

Can’t find it anywhere

Now we’re in our last big bubble

Soon the bubble won’t be there

Bankers love those great big bubbles

Bonuses just fill the air

Salaries so high

Nearly touch the sky

Too big to fail you hear them sigh

Their fortune’s they are hiding

Burst bubbles they don’t care

Wall Street loves those great big bubbles

Pretty bubbles in the air

Representative Alan Grayson (D-FL), famous for his bitter opposition in Congress to private military contractors, was rescued from a life-threatening situation in Niger by guys from Xe Services, formerly Blackwater, and when asked if the experience had changed his views on private military contractors, he said it had not. A similar lack of gratitude occurred when a British pacifist named Norman Kember was kidnapped by terrorists in Iraq in 2006, and had to be rescued by the British SAS, the Special Air Service. Kember not only refused to thank his rescuers, but the pacifist organization to which he belonged refused to give the SAS any information on his whereabouts. Alan Grayson and Norman Kember were and are distinguished by being culturally elitist lefty ideologues, and thus exempt from common courtesies, remaining surly and distinctly ungrateful for being rescued from certain death by people of whom they disapprove. I believe that next time there should be no next time.

If Saul of Tarsus had saved their arses

Would that acceptable be

Or would they squirm and remain firm

To ideology

If Robin Hood before them stood

And nocked his stout longbow

Would they then cry I’d sooner die

Than brutish force to show

Methinks that when such as these men

With arrogance unbound

Believe when they fall in harm’s way

That they must then be found

By folks with whom they have no room

To pass the time of day

It’s time say I to let them die

And leave them where they lay

Richard Fernandez at The Belmont Club has an excellent post on the various and contradictory reactions to the recent capture of Taliban leaders by the Pakistani military. Some believe the Pakistani military has finally concluded that the Taliban are a threat to Pakistan, and are weeding the garden, a garden they, the Pakistani military and Intelligence Services, have sown. Others are not so sure. Time, as they say, will tell. But if they are weeding the garden, there appears to be a not inconsiderable amount of noxious weeds need pulling out.

Mary Mary quite contrary

How does your garden grow

With silver bells and cockleshells

And pretty maids all in a row

Mullah Omar lost your Baradar

How does your garden grow

With IEDs sir if you please

And dead infidels all in a row

Paki Paki Talib lackey

How does your garden grow

With pulled up weeds and planted seeds

And good Taliban all in a row

Barack Barack on the attack

How does your garden grow

With silent drones and bleached out bones

And dead Taliban all in a row

Mary Mary quite contrary

How does your garden grow

With welcome scenes of brave Marines

And Predy raids all in a row

In 2072, in response to a Freedom Of Disinformation request, White House conversations between President Obama and Chief of Staff Rahm Emmanuel were released to the public.  Offensive language has been sanitized.

My new healthcare plan, Rahm

It’s (expletive deleted) beautiful, Mr. President

Taxes, rationing, price controls, Rahm

Your people (expletive deleted) love you, Mr. President

Was watching Fox News the other day, Rahm

(expletive deleted), Mr. President

And that hot blonde was on

They’re all (expletive deleted) hot, Mr. President

Yes they are, Rahm

And often now I wonder, well

How come it is I got Michelle

But to the biz at hand today

These tea party folks won’t go away

(expletive deleted), Mr. President

On top of that my health care plan

The public loves, but if they can

Republicans will kill it dead

And put their own plan up instead

(expletive deleted), Mr. President

And climate change is on the ropes

Just dashing all our fondest hopes

That cap and trade will trash the USA

I talked last night to Karl Marx

And what he said just struck some sparks

We’ll fight them, Rahm, and truly make them pay

The way it looks it’s less than firm

That I will have a second term

(expletive deleted), Mr. President

So ‘twere it done it must be quickly done

Just get our troops to fall in line

And after that we’ll be just fine

Just stomp ‘em, Rahm, and show them just who won

I fear we have no time to waste

We need a crisis and in haste

A big one, Rahm, so big I can declare

That next election be delayed

And once that happens mark it paid

That I’ll be sitting here and you’ll be there

We’ll hit ‘em high, we’ll hit ‘em low

Yes martial law’s the way to go

And then we’ll be in power for all time

Republicans will slink away

And cry and weep and sob and pray

And scream that what we did was such a crime

(expletive deleted), Mr. President

I’m glad we had this little talk

It’s always good to make them squawk

I value your wise words and sound advice

We’ll win this thing, just you and me

And then Republicans will see

That crossing me they’ll weep and pay the price

Just squeeze them, Rahm, and squeeze them hard

Just squeeze those suckers into lard

And squeeze those mothers at Fox News as well

And that reminds me, my old pal

That Megyn Kelly’s on right now

I’ll watch a bit then go home to Michelle

President Obama is ruled by contradiction. He claims to be fighting a war, but offers captured enemy combatants, who respect no rule of law, the full constitutional rights accorded an American citizen, an insane policy no nation, including ours, has ever employed. To get around the business of actually capturing anyone, the president has embarked on an energetic drone campaign, loosing lightning from the sky, thereby eliminating the need for taking prisoners. This keeps him pure in the eyes of the left, at least for a time. Another benefit of taking no prisoners is that President Obama does not have to send them to the country club facility at Guantanamo Bay, otherwise known to the left as that hell-hole Gitmo, an act that would enrage his leftist base and leftist world opinion. And so, the president, the pilot of the American state, must defend the country, something he would much prefer be done by the United Nations and the Human Rights Commission, and washes his hands, like another Pilate, absolving himself of the dirty business of waging war.

The brow caressed by laurel wreathes

The toga cleaned and pressed

Our punchless pilot softly breathes

And puffs his manly chest

We do things by the law, he cried

Not our law, which has failed

These killers will be fairly tried

And afterward impaled

We’ll close that horrid Gitmo down

That place of US shame

The cause of every lefty frown

Or might just change its name

I am the pilot of this State

The greatest land on Earth

And that is why I am so great

For years I’ve proved my worth

I don’t like everything I do

Our enemies I love

A Predator that roams the blue

Is but a gentle dove

The things I do in secret, yea

Of them I wash my hands

Then punchless pilot turned away

Not knowing where he stands

President Obama has ordered more drone hits in Afghanistan in the last six months that President Bush did in three years. Why is that? Is it because more drones are available now? Is it because it is cleaner and nicer to kill from ten thousand feet than ten feet? Israel relies more on human attacks, as witness the recent affair in Dubai, but which is better, man or robot? Which is better, the shot in the dark or the bolt from the blue? 

In nature’s balance, all would say

Is predator and prey

In Pakistan by night or day

It’s Predator and pray

In Israel it’s if I may

We have a different way

We show that terror does not pay

And leave him where he lay

Now who can say the better way

To bring the foe to bay

In truth I think they’re both okay

And dare you to say nay