Category Archives: Verse

Omdurman

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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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The Poet And The Puddycat

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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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Into The Wind

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A writer named Steven Metz has written an article for The New Republic that tries to explain Obama’s bewildering actions in Libya. Metz says it all may just be a lot more brilliant than given credit for; that keeping y all your options open means the door never closes behind you, and that if you don’t call it a war but call it a kinetic adventure or some such you cannot be blamed for losing a war if you lose, and if you win you can always say of course it was a war, and we won. This explanation sounds more like Casey Stengel, the manager of the Amazin’ New York Mets. Wondering if Mr. Metz could be right, I sent this letter to President Obama.

 

 

I didn’t know the Mets now write

The New Republic’s pieces

And though it may seem very trite

I sorta like their thesis

Except you sure can lose a game

No matter you define it

And just because you change the name

Won’t mean you can decline it

And open options while they may

Not close the door behind you

At some point you have got to play

As many will remind you

The Mets they are a sometime team

Where everybody loses

Where every season’s a bad dream

Where there’re more don’ts than do’ses

So while I like their writing style

I think you’re wrong to listen

And try to run a war the while

Into the wind you’re pissin’

 

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Stupid Is As Stupid Does

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By every measure the country has crossed the mountain and is now on the downside, the inevitable end of every society that gives stupid people the vote. Stupid people are defined as those who pay no attention to what is going on until the day before election and then vote for the guy who promises the most lollipops. When the stupid people find out they can gain access to the public treasury, that is, other peoples’ money, just by voting for people who will give them other peoples’ money, the end is not far off. That is where we are now. The Mommy State cannot long survive without a Daddy, and we have killed Daddy.

 

 

The King can be a stupid man

An Emperor mean or pleasant

But he has power which is more

Than has the average peasant

Democracy, as we’ve observed

Sits peasants in the tower

Where bell curve says the mean IQ

Has stupid now in power

Elections then become a test

Of which of them’s the denser

And who can promise best to be

The lollipop dispenser

It works so long as those in charge

Engage someone in training

To tell the dunces now and then

To come in when it’s raining

Giving votes to one and all

Regardless of their tempers

Inevitably leads right back

To those darn Kings and Emp’rers

 

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A Rabble In Arms

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President Obama, egged on by Samantha Power and Hillary Clinton, took sides in the Libyan civil war and ordered air strikes on Khaddafi’s forces, declaring Khaddafi must go, but only if he wanted to, because we’re not going to make him go. We’re there to prevent civilian casualties in the war, and that’s all. So now that Obama has pulled out all combat air assets, thus leaving the rebels completely at the mercy of Khaddafi, where does that leave the rabble that comprises the rebel army? Just today Khadaffi announced he was interested in ending the war and had accepted a roadmap to peace. Of course he is interested in ending the war, but on his terms. And of course the roadmap to peace is the coast road down which his army rolls, unhindered by NATO or anyone else. The hyperpower boldly stepped into someone’s civil war and then promptly declared victory and stepped out again. It almost looks as if the hyperpower knows not what the heck it’s doing, doesn’t it?

 

 

A rabble in arms, is what the Brits said

As farmers marched musket in hand

Then marched back from Concord carrying their dead

At the hands of the rabble led band

Now many years later when rabbles defy

The despots who rule them by force

We loftily claim that we won’t let them fly

But in the end stiff them of course

We laughed when the Chinks “paper tiger” did sneer

We knew that a wave of the fist

Would cause them to cower and quiver with fear

Not now, though, for now we insist

That lawyers determine when our guys can shoot

And Democrats want us to lose

And presidents say that the question is moot

We keep but the promise we choose

 

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A Matter Of Geography

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A man in Florida burnt a Koran, and after hearing about it outraged muslims murdered ten innocent UN workers in Pakistan, beheading two of them. I spoke the other day with a moderate Arab of my acquaintance and asked him why his co-religionists behead people just because someone far away burnt a Koran. He said it was because of geography.

 

 

When folks insult the Blessed One

He said in tones so weary

It gives us chaps a little fun

Our lives are all so dreary

So when the mullahs yell about

A burnt Koran or cartoons

We run in circles, scream and shout

Race up and down the sand dunes

And that is why you’ll always link

Beheadings with the Paki

We Saudis and Egyptians think

That sort of thing is tacky

The Pakis now, they have no dunes

No place to quell emotions

So when the mullahs scream cartoons

Their heads get filled with notions

We Arabs, blessed with all this sand

Are outraged like the Paki

But we would never raise a hand

And do something so wacky

And now I must run to the jail

A young girl needs atoning

She showed her face without a veil

And I’m late for the stoning

 

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Hall Of Heroes

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The budget battle intensifies, with the Donks slavering to shut the government down, believing it is 1995 again, more concerned with retaining power than with keeping the country from running over the financial cliff. President Obama, concerned about developments in the Middle East and his slumping poll numbers, wanders late at night through his mind’s eye Hall of Heroes, asking Joe, Mao, what would you do?

 

 

BARRY – (Perplexed)

Tell me, Joe, what shall I do?

I trust no one, so turn to you

You handled Hitler, show trials, worse

Advice I need, and hope in verse

 

JOSEF – (Puffing on his meerschaum)

First things first, just have a smoke

Light up your pipe and go for broke

Hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em low

Smile and then a smoke ring blow

 

BARRY – (Fist pumping)

Good advice, and from a friend

Hard and low, a handsome blend

And you, my mentor, Chairman Mao

How do I solve this, tell me how

 

MAO – (Smiling enigmatically)

A journey starts with single step

And then there come great forward lep

Arrest opponent and in while

Then same with others, with big smile

 

JOSEF – (Nodding assent)

Republicans are at your throat

Prepare for them a Judas Goat

A target they will not avoid

And then the voters are annoyed

 

MAO – (Grinning)

Shut all thing down, then go away

Is all their fault, is what you say

The people blame it all on them

Then they go out and vote for Dem

 

BARRY – (Teary eyed)

Thank you guys, you’ve been much help

Till now I’m drowning in thick kelp

I know now how my job to keep

Goodnight my friends, it’s off to sleep

 

JOSEF – (Whispering)

A weakling boy, the thinnest reed

We’re on thin ice with him, indeed

I had such hopes, I had such dreams

But all are dashed, or so it seems

 

Mao – (Cheerful)

Ah no, my comrade, my true friend,

I see it now, how firm the trend

The leftward march be not denied

No, not with Barry by our side

The long march now does near its end

The sunlit downs just ‘round the bend

The Gulags, education camps

Death panel say goodbye to gramps

A thousand steps, we Chinese say

Will see the glory of new day

A day of sunshine, then come night

And then come dark, all thing look bright

 

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A Meeting Engagement

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The budget battle has been joined. The Republicans have finally gotten the message that the country is in serious financial trouble, and are attempting to do something about it. The Democrats like things as they are. They are not about to give up their ideology and cut back on government spending. In war this would be called a meeting engagement, where two warring sides just happen to meet on a field neither had thought would be the killing ground. We have had meeting engagements before, and the result was decisive. In July of 1863, near the little Pennsylvania town of Gettysburg, two armies met head-on with the sound of boulders colliding, and when it was over one held the high ground and the other retreated, not to rise again. And so it is with the coming budget battle. On one side is the fight for slavery to the government, with deficits and economic destruction the immediate consequence of victory. On the other side is freedom.

 

 

The artist has captured the fury and sound

On canvas with strokes of his brush

The butternut line and the long stretch of ground

The stone wall they’d take with a rush

The names still ring loud, Pickett, Longstreet and Meade

Jeb Stuart and Reynolds and Hill

Marse Robert so calm on his gray painted steed

Convinced ‘twas a matter of will

And yes so it was, and yes so it is still

The names will ring down ever more

Will we have the false dawn of a Chancellorsville

Or will Gettysburg freedom ensure

 

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I Have The Cure

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Many wonder what our war aims in Libya are. Do we want Khaddafi dead or do we merely want him to take his billions and his gorgeous blond East European nurses to live simply in the south of France? And will American troops be employed in the effort to change the regime by another name? The president says no, and explains:

 

 

Let me be clear, the president said

We want the man out, we don’t want him dead

We won’t put a single man’s boot on the ground

We won’t be at war, not while I’m around

Yes airplanes will fly and our warships will shoot

But boots on the ground, no the question is moot

Marines are on standby, somewhere in the Med

All ready on station, and French or Brit led

There’s things that the Congress just don’t need to know

When I give the word then the Army will go

That old constitution no longer applies

Besides it’s just filled with those slave owners’ lies

The people have voted, it’s time for a change

And so I have ordered the missiles down range

And guns to al Qaeda is plainly my goal

Their fierce fighting qualities quicken my soul

In closing I say with al Qaeda as friend

My plans are in motion, and none know the end

For I keep my counsel and none know for sure

The country’s diseased, and I have the cure

 

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A Plea For Understanding

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President Obama, despite calling the Libyan war a turd sandwich in a Cabinet meeting,  has ordered the CIA to do covert operations in Libya. So now a war the president did not feel the need to ask Congress to approve is now to be done in secret and in darkness. Pretty much the way this administration does everything. Questions are naturally being raised, and the president, in a recent interview in a darkened room, has pleaded for understanding.

 

 

To all who do not understand

Please let me state my case

All presidents would do the same

Were they now in my place

The constitution is quite clear

Before we go to war

A vote in congress is a must

But that was long before

My polling numbers took a dive

I needed a quick spark

And what was more inviting than

A war to make my mark

A war against an evil man

Who dressed in women’s clothes

Who lived the sybaritic life

That every Bedouin loathes

He’d gorgeous nurses from Kiev

Young girls to fight his wars

And dashing women cavalry

Known as Kaddafi’s whores

Or maybe it’s Khaddafi’s Horse

We know he slurs his words

Whatever, this war’s nothing like

A sandwich made of turds

The world will little know or note

What we do here today

It only matters that I win

And for that let us pray

 

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