Lord Dunsany wrote a number of classic stories, allegories really, about the collapse of civilizations that no longer had the will to defend themselves. One, the Sword of Welleran, tells of a shining city on a hill that came to the point where its walls were defended by marble statues of the heroes who once guarded the city from the barbarians, but who now were long dead, and the citizens unwilling to defend themselves. The statues were so lifelike that the barbarians believed they were the live heroes who had so often defeated them, but one day, on closer inspection, it was revealed to the barbarians that the guardians were not men but statues. And so the city fell. That is where we now are headed, should Obama complete his agenda of disarming and destroying the shining city that is the United States.

 

 

The sword of Welleran is sheathed

The scabbard green with mold

The land the heroes past bequeathed

Now shudders with the cold

As icy winds swirl round her face

And brigands on the sly

Bring foul dishonor and disgrace

With every feeble lie

But heroes are not merely ghosts

They live and always will

They walk yet still their weary posts

Their eyes on yonder hill

Where lurks the foe who would be king

And lead us to our death

And desolation on us bring

And sobs with every breath

He’ll not succeed, the sword’s unsheathed

The marbled ghosts are here

They gleam with light, and laurel wreathed

They say we’ve naught to fear

 

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The United States has enough oil within its borders and off its shores to make us completely independent of Middle Eastern oil, but the crazy environmentalists who control the Democratic Party will not permit us to drill for it, will not permit nuclear energy, and insist we return to the twelfth century. The question is not how do these nutjobs control the destiny of three hundred million people, but why are they so determined to keep us in thrall to Saudi Arabia and the rest of the camel lovers.

 

 

The Middle East has naught to recommend it

Not worth the bones of Bismark’s grenadier

They pump their oil and have the princes spend it

Not caring for the people they don’t fear

A backward dump of killers and slave raiders

Who build their cities of mud brick and sand

And have the self control of most third graders

Whose only loyalty is to their band

Without the oil that westerners had found there

They’d still be on the lowest bottom rung

Their taste in beauty camel piss to shine hair

And dinner cooked on sun dried camel dung

 

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The Italian government has announced it will not participate in the war against Libya beyond letting the UN use its airfields. And that leaves the British and the French wondering why the Americans, who started it all, are not there. The only ones with any sense in this senseless war are the Italians.

 

 

There is no reason to believe

Obamaman meant to deceive

When he said he had power and to spare

For anything the UN wants

And you would have to be a dunce

To think that he most surely did not care

For children threatened by the Duck

Or older folks down on their luck

A crisis looms is what he starkly said

A tragedy upon us now

He said with worried furrowed brow

A tiny tear, a wan shake of the head

Obamaman, Anointed One

Then walked away, his duty done

And said to NATO it’s your baby now

The French and British tried and failed

And as the ghost ship up and sailed

Italians lined the dock and shouted “Ciao!”

 

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Since Obama started the war against Khaddafi and then left it to the French and Brits to finish it, the French and Brits seem reluctant to see it through. There is reason to believe the French and British publics are wary of putting their soldiers in combat again. If we had lost the number of men the British and French lost in WW1, and the remembered horrors of WW2, I suspect we too would be loath to get involved in any war that was not of vital national interest.

 

 

There was a time, remember when

The Tommies and their pipers

Would fight the Krauts and die like men

At Passchendaele and Wipers

And at Verdun the poilu fought

For land the German treasured

The blood they paid, the time they bought

Could not in gold be measured

But that was then and long ago

A million graves abide there

It seems but just a song ago

Two generations died there

Nevermore, the women wept

While children cried at bedtime

And then again o’er them it swept

No singing then at dead time

Black Prince and Boney are no more

The glory days are finished

Cheering Tommies off the war

Is very much diminished

And Frenchmen too look well askance

At wars that do not bind them

They all know they’ve been to that dance

Now stay at home we’ll find them

 

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In the Ivory Coast, where rebels were trying to unseat the reigning president for life who had lost the last election but refused to leave, a group of rebel men were seen to be smashing a polished marble stone the president had set up in the town square, telling the people it was a magic stone that kept him in power. When asked why they were chopping away at the stone, the rebels said that only with the destruction of the magic stone would the president be removed from office. In the meantime, the bodies piled up as the two sides warred against each other, and no one cared, for it was far away Africa, and we had better things to do than care about people who believed in magic stones.

 

 

The power of the magic stone

Holds people in its sway

It boils the blood and melts the bone

It turns night into day

And curses all who dare to gaze

Upon its polished face

And counts the names and counts the days

Of each demolished race

But no one cares, for sad to say

They’re poor, and black, alone

They do not have the means to pay

No kindness have they known

The curse is riches, oil and gold

And not the magic stone

Who cares the bodies growing cold

I’ve got my new iPhone

 

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President Obama is hurt by the stinging remarks made that claim he has never had a job beyond being a rabble rousing community organizer. The president claims a community organizer is necessary to foster diversity and fairness in society, and so is an honorable profession. In a far ranging conversation about the meaning of the words “community organizer”, Obama explains:

 

 

To me the words are simply this

A Marxist organizer

Is one who thinks it not amiss

To act like he’s the Kaiser

And do by fiat what one might

Think highly most imprudent

So aid we must a neighbor’s plight

And more if he’s a student

Rebelling ‘gainst a Kaiser say

Or ‘gainst a foul dictator

Abandon him? There is no way

That we’ll say see you later

And so “community” includes

The very earth we stand on

That’s why we say to all bad dudes

Abandon what you planned on

Do not annoy me lest I be

Inclined to use my forces

Surrender now and best I be

Inclined to hold my horses

As president I know my role

Is organizer chiefly

Despite the fact the latest poll

Says I’m here only briefly

 

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The presidential election of 2012 will be here before we know it. Hoping for the best but preparing for the worst, Verse-afire took the Metroliner to DC to interview the president. After a meager lunch of foie gras, crackers and an amusing merlot, President Obama outlined his plans for the country after his re-election.

 

 

Firstly, let me make it clear

That it is my intent to steer

The nation on a course that takes it left

The many people now in need

The many children we must feed

Cannot in all good conscience be bereft

Of things that government can bring

To make our children laugh and sing

From bikes for tykes to what they all must wear

We’ll clean the air of CO2

The sky will once again be blue

And everyone will have Obamacare

The White House still will be the place

Where our friend Mao can show his face

On Christmas trees and mantles and on walls

Republicans will have to learn

We won again and it’s my turn

To show them it is I who make the calls

Fox News will soon be off the air

And hateful voices will not dare

To criticize my words or deeds or acts

The MSM that loves me so

We’ll subsidize so it will grow

And print what I point out are just the facts

Republicans in Congress will

Be quite allowed to pass a bill

That I will never sign so what’s the use

The next election won’t be seen

There will be no 2016

The people will obey with no excuse

Of course your notes will soon be lost

I can’t permit at any cost

My words to reach the ears of man or beast

And so, I truly much regret

That death must come for you, and yet

I’m pleased you learned the truth ‘ere you’re deceased

 

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Louis Farrakhan, the demented muslim black preacher who hates the United States in general and all white people in particular, has recently accused his brother Barack of hurting all muslims by his actions in Libya. One expects Farrakhan to defend Khaddafi, since Khaddafi has given millions of dollars to Farrakhan. Farrakhan has been around a long time, spewing his racial hatred, as have race hustlers like Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson. Why do black people give these shysters their money and their cheers? Why do black folks vote for the likes of Marion Barry all the time? Oh, I know. You’re right. It’s because we whites oppress them.

 

 

Why do Americans of skin color black

Follow leaders like Jesse and Lou

While Marion Barry and Al Sharpton’s claque

Scream racist while hatred they spew

Race hustlers and gangsters, they live off the sweat

Of people far better than they

Are these men the best that the black folk can get

Why don’t they just tell them go ‘way

Farrakhan wants all the white folks be dead

And if up to him we would be

And Jesse agrees but would rather instead

Leave a few of us to pay his fee

Yet taken together these men do not count

To most Farrakhan’s just a nut

He takes Daffy’s money, who cares what amount

Is this a great country or what

 

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The Muslims of Iran declared war on the US in 1979, not that we ever accepted it. We laughed it off. Crazy Iranians, we smiled. But the crazy Iranians are very close to having the bomb, and when they get it they will usher in the 12th Imam who will deliver the world to the Muslims, making everyone else slaves. And still we smile and say crazy Iranians. But one day Tel Aviv will be smoldering ruins, unless the Israelis act first and turn Teheran into smoldering ruins. Either way we are in for a long war, a war to the death, a war that has been going on for 1400 years, with a time out after Lepanto because the Muslims saw the West was too powerful to defeat. But now they sense we are weak, and they are taking their shot. But there was never really a time out. Winston Churchill wrote about his adventures as a young lieutenant at Omdurman, in battle against the Muslim army of the Mahdi, and how they had to kill them because they would not surrender. And that is what it will come to. Either we will eventually kill them all or they will kill all of us.

 

 

At Omdurman the Lancers killed

The army of the Mahdi

Whose amulets could not protect

From bullets through the body

The Dervishes thought that their God

Would help defeat the British

But when it went from push to shove

Then Allah was quite skittish

But that was many years ago

And still the Mahdis thunder

That Allah wills the Lancers die

It really makes you wonder

How long will be the endless fight

These stone age tribes will cling to

With first the Brits and now with us

With all the force we bring to

The fight when they begin to shout

And dance and scream and kill us

And blow up planes and cut off heads

Till such a rage will fill us

That one fine day the Lancers will

To horse and turn to flinders

The homes and shops and burn their towns

To never cooling cinders

 

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Alfred Lord Tennyson, who wrote such epic poetry as The Idylls Of The King, The Charge Of The Light Brigade and many, many others, wrote a poem called Flower In A Crannied Wall, in which he lamented that he could never truly know a flower. There are many things we can never truly know, including ourselves, much less a flower or a cat. But what is impossible for us may not be impossible for others. Could a cat truly love a flower, or does nature reserve love unto itself?

 

 

Tennyson could never know a flower

And I could never truly know a cat

Though once I had a talk with a meower

He told me go away and that was that

Another time I saw him by the window

I offered him a sip of sparkling wine

He shook his head but said he’d take some gin though

It’s better with the mice off which he’d dine

I asked him if he ever knew a flower

He smiled and said it’s better not to know

He said that if he ever had the power

He’d plant himself in ground and start to grow

She was so gorgeous standing in the sunlight

So fair, her petals soft and lush with dew

I know I could be with her if it’s done right

But I’m a cat and she’s a lilac blue

I left him there, eyes closed and softly crying

A love forbidden him by nature’s whim

I thought you just can’t blame a man for trying

But thankful all the while that I’m not him

 

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