The Saudi Arabian navy has established a blockade of the Yemen port of Aden to prevent the Iranians from resupplying the Houthi rebels attacking the city. Blockade. The very word conjures up images of square rigged ships beating up the channel in a blow lest the Frogs cross their yards and come out. Of the big black ships with 11 inch Dahlgrens enforcing the Anaconda. Of course the Saudi navy probably lacks a bit in seamanship and history, but give them credit. It can’t be easy, knowing Obama has placed a carrier battle group at their backs, and who knows whose side he’s on.

Through sleepy day and sultry night
The blockade holds its course
The ships and sailors want to fight
If Iran shows in force
We don’t know how that would turn out
Since neither has a clue
To what sea warfare is about
They aren’t Nelson’s few
Too bad the Mullahs turned away
Their forces did not close
But always there’s another day
When they could come to blows
But if they ever meet again
We ask of them a lot
To act like they’re the IJN
Come tearing down the Slot

Demography is destiny, and every single country in Western Europe has a below replacement birth rate, meaning that when the last native while European dies the land will belong to someone else, no doubt North African and Turkish Muslims. The world has seen many cultures and civilizations wax and wane, but few disappear entirely. And so, while there will always be an England, it just won’t be the England of Drake or Marlowe or Bomber Harris. The Somme is peaceful, and the Ardennes holds only shadowed ghosts among the silent hills and trees. It took a long time to change the worldview of Europeans, who don’t seem to care that their country is about to expire. Catastrophe piled upon catastrophe has a way of clouding not only the future but the past. The United States has not been visited by catastrophe, and the seventy year run of power enjoyed by the American Left has, like the Soviet Union before it, run its inevitable one generation course. The United States will rebound from Obama and his Marxist feminist administration of incompetent crones and children, and will again take control of a world that is, with few exceptions, not prepared or equipped to run anything more complicated than a Neolithic farming community. Let the Europeans forget their history, forget who they are, forget what they accomplished, and bask in the lengthening shadows of a glorious sunset.

Sunset sees the shadows lengthen
And proclaim the end of day
Dusk will see the darkness strengthen
And black night upon us lay
Some will see the new sun bearing
Golden shafts of warming light
Others waken beyond caring
Only to survive the night
Let them rest, enjoy the moment
Basking in the setting sun
Free of strife and war and foment
Let them sleep, their work is done

The Middle East is ablaze, bodies piled in heaps, and the Iranians have just stopped an American flagged ship and taken it and crew into port, the crew never to see freedom again. All is collapsing around the most incompetent or malicious president this country has ever had. The President of the United States of Obama looks out the Oval Office window and sees nothing but chaos, chaos he himself unleashed, but about which he can do nothing due to the large anvil made by the Ajax anvil company that is tied around his neck. The three red diaper babies stand beside him, congratulating him on the state of affairs.

Valerie in whisper says
That anvil weighs a ton
You can’t walk through yon tunnel sir
Though lighted by the One
Samantha says from what I see
And Tweety-bird concurs
That there will be no peace at all
Till cruel Sylvester purrs
The tunnel’s there, Obama cries
And on the other side
Is peace and love and it is just
A motorcycle ride
Then Susan says there is no light
And I’ve no wish to mock
But yonder tunnel entrance is
Just painted on the rock
They help him with the anvil
As aboard his bike he climbs
And smacks into the mountain
As he’s done so many times

A rickety ship filled with illegal immigrant men, women and children bound for Italy, has capsized and sunk in the Mediterranean after leaving Libya, with over eight hundred dead, most locked below deck, to drown like rats. Thanks to Obama and his all-female red diaper baby harpies, the once stable mini-tyranny of Libya is now a chaotic failed state, the scene of violent sectarian civil war and the staging point for the peaceful invasion and subjugation of Europe. In the view of the White House this hoped for outcome is a magnificent success. The drowning deaths of hundreds of women and children are a necessary and not particularly regrettable detail.

The fitful tossing wine dark sea
Has seen Phoenician sails
And Nelson and great Victory
And stormy wintry gales
She’d seen it all, this waterway
Between the West and East
Had seen Decatur and the Bey
Had seen it all, at least
Until the smugglers crammed the hold
With refugees from war
From horror, fear and dread untold
To seek a foreign shore
And there they die, the found’ring ship
Sinks screaming to her death
As slowly she begins to slip
Extinguishing all breath
And so the policy in place
The Arab Spring sublime
Has turned into a fierce run race
To see the greatest crime
Oh yes, the harpies see it all
And gleeful clap their hands
The Middle East begins the fall
Of white men on these sands
For chaos, blood, a drowning child
Will mean a Muslim world
The wine dark sea now storm-raged wild
The waves mast high and curled

Emily Dickinson says she never saw a moor, never saw the sea. I have seen the sea, and walked its boundary, late at night, counting the infinite stars.

The mathematician believes the universe is organized around, controlled by, and can be described by, numbers, and that understanding the universe is only a matter of discovering the correct equations. The mathematician is convinced that mathematics is the bedrock of the universe, that human minds discovered mathematics and teased out its secrets one number, one equation, at a time. A contrarian would say that mathematics was invented, not discovered, by the mind of man. A hunter-gatherer with no concept of abstract mathematics knew the difference between four apples and five apples.

Mathematics cannot fully describe a living organism, and the universe is a sentient, and therefore living, organism, though sentient and alive in a manner we can never know or understand. The center of our visible universe is wherever you are standing. Earth is at the center of a large bubble filled with light, with the radius of this light filled bubble defined by the speed of the expanding universe. When the velocity of expansion, as measured from Earth, equals the speed of light, we have reached the outer boundary of our vision. Our visible universe is simply one of an infinite number of universes. The visible universe of an observer standing in the middle of the Andromeda Galaxy is only slightly different from our visible universe, but it is not identical. To someone standing in the middle of any one of the infinite number of light filled bubbles we call universes that is beyond our limited vision, that observer’s universe is filled with stars and galaxies that are to us unseen and unknown. Does this prove the existence of God? Probably not, not of itself, but it doesn’t disprove the existence of God either. But it does suggest that the sentient and living universe is God, and we and everything in it a part of God. For were we not told, as children, that God always was and always will be? And what, in all the universe, fits that description if not the always was and always will be universe?

I stood one night upon a beach
The low tide surf quite still
And found the stars just out of reach
And so sought out a hill
I stood and waited for the dark
Upon the myrtled slope
While in the distance sang a lark
Fulfilling every hope
That on this dark and moonless night
I’d reach and touch the stars
And in my ecstasy take flight
And tread the sands of Mars
But I was young and full of dreams
Much later would I learn
That life was more than at first seems
And all must wait its turn
Perhaps the ancients had it right
Believing stars divine
And staring deep into the night
Should God vouchsafe a sign
But we look not for portents lest
They change our point of view
The words are now In God We Jest
The old gives way to new
But still at night I lie abed
And walk that silent beach
And know at last God is not dead
With stars within my reach

Known by many names, to many people in many places, the Triple Goddess was the uniting divinity of Greece before being supplanted by her son, Zeus. She assumed many forms, but ruled as Hera, the Earth Mother. She was also Aphrodite and Athena, Hecate and others, but never, until now, insofar as I know, was she known as Hillary. And yet that is what we have. The once great and powerful Democratic Party, the party of FDR and Truman and Kennedy, is reduced to putting up an elderly, female mediocrity, all in the interest of preventing intraparty civil war, all in the expectation that the only route to victory in 2016 is through the vagina.

Uniter of the fractious Left
Our Hillary, though less than deft
Will need more than her female cleft
To turn us into Greece
The goddesses have grown too old
And weary now where once were bold
With dreamless sleep or so I’m told
Please ma’am, desist and cease

Updated, and set in the United States of Obama, the time the past, the present and the future. Barack Hussein Obama Sr., a Kenyan Communist, bequeaths to his son, Barack Hussein Obama Jr., the knowledge of right and wrong, as perceived by those of the Muslim Communist faith. In pursuit of this faith, the younger Obama gains control of the sacred throne of the land of the Sleeping Beings, and now views himself as the all-knowing, all-powerful, all-directing implementer of his father’s dream of the destruction of the volcanic islands of the great Western Sea. To that end, President for Life Obama is now the owner, operator and dance director of the Dancehall of the Smiling Dead, the cool and handsome DJ with his grinning eyes and stack of 8-tracks. With the slowly rotating, multi-mirrored giant globe dancing multi-colored light upon his gleaming tux, Obama plays his air guitar to Good Golly Miss Molly, while the dancers, soothed by his comforting words, never realize that the flashing colored light is growing dim.

The dancers mingle, bodies sway
Though none can hear the music play
The night turns slowly into day
All hoping that the One
Will make the demons go away
With calm words all their fears allay
And hold the darkening night at bay
To glory in the sun
And yet they see, to their dismay
The rising sun turn slowly gray
And darkened skies that seemed to stay
Ghost voices shrieking Run!
And deeper yet the darkness lay
The dancers kneeling now to pray
Obama smiling It’s okay
My father’s work is done

Kaiser Wilhelm once presciently offered the observation that if and when the next war came it would come because of some damn fool thing in the Balkans. In the summer of 1914 the ordinary people of Europe had little inkling of what was to come. Yes, they had heard some Austrian and his wife had been shot to death by a foreigner in some foreign land, but what did that have to do with them? They watched, bemused, as an ignorant, arrogant and befuddled Austrian Emperor and his courtiers led them, all unknowing, to total destruction. Substitute 2015 for 1914 and an ignorant, arrogant and befuddled American Emperor for an Austrian, and we have glimpsed the future. The only question is, is the American Emperor as befuddled as the Austrian, or is all going according to plan?

Sarajevo, Serbia
Was nothing like suburbia
Each street had guys with guns out on the curbs
Just like those crazy Yemen guys
Who claim they’re selling lemon pies
But they have guns as well, just like those Serbs
Which brings us to our man, Barack
Who, while he’s sharper than a tack
Has lit the fire and supplied the oil
That set the desert all ablaze
While claiming there are better days
To come and meantime let the kettle boil
The desert or the Caucusus
Insert the Harfs and Baucuses
And you have difficulty thinking that
The Rices and the Powers who
Think strength is sending flowers to
Guys ordering you bow down to their hat
Where will it end, how will it go
Don’t ask a Harf ‘cause she won’t know
But as it all collapses she will smile
And say they have it all in hand
The answer is at their command
And Barack knew the ending all the while

Some things are so and some things are not. We have learned, over the past six years, that what comes out of the White House is not necessarily so, that we must look not at what Obama says but what he does. When he says you can keep your doctor, that is not necessarily so. When he says the Mullahs have acceded to his demands, that is not necessarily so. When he says victory is not an option, that one you can believe.

It ain’t necessarily so
That roses continue to grow
That horror and strife
Are not part of life
No it ain’t necessarily so

Obama has laid them all low
Al Qaeda is finished, you know
And ISIS is done
Because of the One
But it ain’t necessarily so

Iran says its nuke set to blow
Barack wags a finger, says no
And the Mullahs back down
At the sight of his frown
But that ain’t necessarily so

Barack wants the US to go
In flames down to Hades below
He’s left us no doubt
What he is about
And that is necessarily so

Many, including former vice-president Cheney, have raised the question of whether the actions of President Obama show incompetence or malice. Have we considered the possibility that Obama is simply destined by the gods to destroy us, as Carthage was destined by the gods to be destroyed? In the Aeneid, Virgil tells us that the Trojan God Aeneas, instructed by his mother, the goddess Venus, to found Rome, was shipwrecked by a storm onto the North African shore, where he met and fell in love with the founder and Queen of Carthage, the goddess Dido. Venus, however, commanded Aeneas to fulfill his destiny, and he left Carthage, where a vengeful and abandoned Dido placed a curse on Rome, declaring that Rome would find eternal war. So Virgil blamed the destruction of Carthage on the gods, which made sense to the Hellenic world of Augustus. A few years after Virgil sat down, pen in hand, a Roman governor washed his hands and asked rhetorically, “What is truth?” Do we know for certain what the truth is? Can we know for certain what the truth is? About anything?

Aeneas, truth and Dido
So just where does a guy go
To get the truth of this and many things
From conquest and invasions
Historical evasions
And words and deeds of cabbage and of kings
Are gods of old still with us
Their stone gaze monolith us
And we all at the mercy of their whims
It’s certain that such scenes were
As real as the Hellenes were
And sung in temples to Augustan hymns
But if we all are destined
To have our free will questioned
I much prefer the gods to be my own
The cold, dark northern forest
The night sky filled with star mist
With Wodin sitting on his pine bark throne