It’s Memorial Day, and time to begin thinking of that great American ritual, High School Graduation. And so, to all shortly to be high school grads, Verse-afire offers some friendly advice. Celebrate, you’ve earned it, but not for long, for it’s time to think about the next step. College in the Fall. Study hard but have some fun while you’re there, for after college real life starts, and fun may be in short supply. Work, marriage and kids comes after that, and you will find that that is the great reward for all the hard work you’ve put in.

So here we are, it’s graduation

Time to think of what comes next

High school’s done, to much elation

Time to choose your college text

You’ll have to choose ‘twixt art and science

Math and English are a must

Lit and hist’ry in alliance

Without them college is a bust

Study hard and work your ast off

Get good grades and finish high

So when you leave your life will blast off

Career goals soaring to the sky

So get to school, don’t dilly dally

Take time out to have some joy

Go to every football rally

And there’s a girl for every boy

And if the rules sometimes get bended

Take in stride and have no care

That mom and dad will be offended

Because, you know, they won’t be there

Obama has placed the American forces in Afghanistan at great risk by putting them in a landlocked country with no way out. We will soon begin withdrawing our troops, at which point they will likely have to fight their way out. This will not be the first time. You will recall the great early Greek work Anabasis, by Xenophon, who led his ten thousand troops out of Persia, across deserts and through mountain passes, fighting all the way, at great length reaching the Black Sea, where they were finally safe. It is about to happen again. Late one evening, wandering the darkened White House hallways, sneering at the portraits of past presidents, Obama was startled to see a faint apparition standing in a doorway. When Obama asked who he was, the apparition replied his name was Xenophon, and he had come to give some advice to the president of the United States.

I too once marched in from the sea

The ghostly wraith began

Ten thousand men with arms alight

And how the Persians ran

Victorious we were but then

Good Cyrus fell in death

And then the ones we came to aid

Turned on us in a breath

Betrayed we were by one time friends

Clearchus cruelly slain

And so beset on every hand

We set out for the plain

That stretched to northward many leagues

Dry deserts, mountains passed

We fought our way out every step

Until we saw, at last

The sea, and “Thalatta!” we cried

And lay our weary bones

And prayed to god who answered all

Our laments and our moans

Take heed, my friend, of this our tale

Your army is in peril

Your friends will kill you like as not

And on your bones will hurl

The spit and venom that they feel

For all the likes of you

They smile but once you try to leave

The sky will not be blue

But black as storm tossed ocean with

But treachery in store

With ravens picking at your eyes

And death at every door

Oh yes, your men will reach the sea

“Thalatta!” they will cry

But many will lay in the dust

Yes many men will die

The lesson sir, is plain as day

Too late as you well know

Place not your men far from the sea

Surrounded by the foe

In 2001 Barack Hussein Obama’s literary agents circulated a bio of their client that claimed he had been born in Kenya. Such bio material is always forwarded to the agencies by the author, so Obama was either born in Kenya, and not Hawaii as he later claimed in a forged birth certificate, or he was born in Hawaii but lied about his birthplace in order to improve his chances of selling his book. I spoke to my Irish setter today and asked him why his AKC registration said he was born in Kenya, and he said it was a misunderstanding, he told them he was born in a kennel and they thought he said Kenya, but didn’t think the error was important, and besides, it gave him a one up on the other guys on the street, and the chicks all thought it was cool. He then recited some doggerel, which I reproduce below.

Yes my dad was from a kennel

And my mom from lines of bitches

So my DNA was mixture

And I hungered for them riches

So I fibbed about my birthplace

‘Cause I thought I could do better

And I told them I’m no mongrel

I’m a gorgeous Irish setter

Well they took me at my word and

After that the good life beckoned

All because my Setter blood line

Was a big one thirty-second

Then he wagged his tail and grinning

Said it really is a marvel

You can be just who you please and

That’s from president to larval

All it takes is just be gutsy

And the goofy left wing doters

Then will turn your rusty kennel

Into gold to fool the voters

Greek banks are on the verge of collapse, Spanish unemployment is at unsustainable heights, American college grads are finding that a Masters in black studies and women’s studies is no more useful on the job market than a Masters in necromancy, and possibly less useful. Are the generals stirring again in Greece? Is Franco still dead? Will the people with useless degrees but overwhelming student loan debt vote for Obama this time? No one knows. What we do know is that once the ship starts sliding down the ways it is hard to stop.

What happens when the banks run dry

What happens when your children cry

What happens when the jobs are gone

What happens when there’s naught to pawn

What happens when you’ve reached despair

What happens when no hope is there

What happens is the guillotine

Is shining nice and bright and clean

And tumbrels rattle through the streets

And history yes doth repeats

And horses then get painted white

To carry forth the saving knight

Who will restore the status quo

That’s what happens when it starts to go

The Hall of Mirrors glittered with candles and beautiful women. Louis danced to the applause of the courtiers, while outside, unheeded by those inside, the people were preparing the tumbrels that would take them all to the guillotine. And so Washington, trapped in its own version of Versailles, is sublimely unaware of the crisis coming down on us. The euro is about to collapse, Afghanistan is about to collapse back into Taliban tyranny, the Middle East is now in the hands of radical Islamists, Iran is about to get the bomb, Israel is about to prevent Iran from getting the bomb, and the Obama administration dances to the music only it hears, in its own candlelit hall of mirrors. The only thing missing is the guillotine.

Today, while writing verse I

Tried for words to rhyme with Versailles

But as things got worse and worse I

Finally gave up with a sigh

And turned my thoughts to Greece and

Argonauts and Golden Fleece and

Now there’s riots and police and

Time to say to Greece goodbye

As for Nicolas Sarkozy

Who once thought all things are rosy

No one voiced the thought, suppose he

Lost his next election try

Madame Merkel thought to straighten

Out the problems while she’s waitin’

For the Greeks to stop the bait ‘n

Switch that made her want to cry

While the dollar we’re debasing

And destruction we are facing

Same sex marriage is what’s racing

To the forefront in Versailles

The Left is running scared. The euro is about to come apart, and with it the Eurozone, that socialist monster that the Left imposed on Europe, and which has been a magic goose full of golden eggs for the Left ever since. But it’s about over now, and the Left is scrambling to retain its perks and privileges, trying to convince the voters that the way out of the mess the Left has gotten Europe into is more of the same.

The end is near and darkness falls

But no one hears the screams

For loudly come the siren calls

Of Lefty rescue teams

The Euro is just fine they claim

The problem is the Right

Who forced austerity and blame

Us Lefties for the night

Time darkness that is coming down

On Europe as we speak

And rioters burn down the town

In fits of righteous pique

There is no problem we can’t fix

No resource we can’t tax

And never will we say machts nichts

The Left has got your backs

In a recent interview with Verse-afire President Obama complained about the perception abroad that he has failed to deliver on his promises. The problem is, the man is a blank slate, on which everyone has been free to write his own words and draw his own pictures of the president of the United States. In Mogadishu they complain he has not yet made them rich, gays complain he isn’t gay enough, the Arabs think he doesn’t bend over far enough and so forth. No wonder the man is testy. Here is what he said.

I have not failed, I’ve kept my word to you

You see it all around you every day

If I were not in charge of world affairs

Then you would see that there’d be hell to pay

I’ve bought the Chinese off so they’d be still

Korea North is getting all our food

Iran will have the bomb now sometime soon

What happens then depends upon their mood

In Mogadishu clansmen say they wait

For that great day I make them just like us

My policies at home will do just that

And soon we’re Mogadishu West no fuss

My gay friends wonder if I’ve done enough

I’m for gay marriage now because it’s right

When Andrew Sullivan the White House came

The Lincoln bedroom’s where we spent the night

My European friends are much distraught

My Arab buddies think I’ve paid no mind

To their concerns that Jews beside them live

They wish as do we all to be with kind

And so my second term will see the world

More peaceful and productive than before

And so I say to all those on my case

Don’t let your ass get hit by slamming door

Nothing lasts forever. What cannot continue will not continue. Political philosophies are ephemeral, occasionally catching the tide of public approval, only to succumb to the inevitable decay into failure and irrelevance. The same winds of change that gave life to the current political philosophy now give life to its replacement. But that too shall pass, for the winds of change never cease to blow, and we can never know beforehand in which direction.

The winds of change are blowing

“Wear ship!” the Captain cries

As sailors race aloft the helm

Is thrown to catch the rise

Of ocean swells that batter hull

And force her head around

The lee shore looming in the mist

The surf a booming sound

Too late! The wind is rising now

To gale force and it knocks

The once great ship on beam ends

And then drives her on the rocks

To shatter all to pieces

Her proud timbers ripped and torn

And her masts and rigging tangled

In the surf where come the morn

Will be seen the wreck of folly

Cast up on the pebbled strand

Strewn along the highest tide line

As the winds of change demand

Detroit is becoming a ghost town. Outside Madrid an airport was built with runways and hangars designed for the giant Airbus A380, and the airport is now closed due to close to non-existent traffic. Chernobyl is abandoned, and many American cities are crumbling into disrepair. But this is the way of it. Cities rise and fall, civilizations rise and fall. Carthage has come and gone, Mycenae has come and gone, Troy has come and gone. And so shall we, in time, have come and gone. But there is always someone to take our place.

Archimedes’ Syracuse

The Greek Aegean states

Have long since ceased to pay their dues

There’s naught left on their plates

As well as Nineveh and Ur

Are gone and left behind

And in their stead I would aver

Came others of their kind

For cities come and cities go

Some live while others die

The why this is we do not know

We only wonder why

But life and death is surely part

Of Universe’s plan

When someone ends then others start

That is the way of man

The people of Europe have rejected the austerity plans put in place by the right of center in an effort to save them from the runaway debt and financial and cultural ruin the Left has left them with after three generations of socialism, by turning to the Left to save them from the very disease the Left has given them. Such is human nature. Like the Wildebeest, they know not what to do, so they do what they have always done, they run in circles, scream and shout.

We watch in awe the Wildebeest

In millions running every year

Across the plain in headlong flight

Driven by unyielding fear

That grass and water will not last

And so they must to highlands go

Across the wild unserried land

Into the wild run river flow

Where many die but some survive

To carry on the yearly flight

That is inbred in Wildebeest

Who act always the same from fright

And so it is with us as well

As crises rise with every sun

Like clockwork to bedevil man

And like the Wildebeest we run