Last One

Another year of sonnets is a pain.
The stories all contain a common thread,
An Armageddon, threat, a certain dread
In how the opposition isn’t plain
In all its very evil.  It’s enough
To make a reader tired of the news,
Before a second reading, make his views
Deem everybody idiots.  The rough
Of all the further reading I endure
Is simply that I cannot keep away
From arguing with others; any day
Of far too much agreement, and a cure
Of arguing the premises is all
That’s necessary here to stay a fall.

Death Before Deadline

Supposing it is feasible to save
A good amount of money that is due
The government, in passing on and through
This very mortal coil, we’d behave,
Perhaps, a bit immorally, at best,
When hoping for the passing of a dear
And very elder head of any sheer
And sizeable estate.  I wouldn’t rest
If I could have the money I had made
Through many years of toil; if at all
I felt that I were able to befall
Myself with any perishing, the blade,
Or weaker methods of untimely death
Would fall because psychosis took a breath.

Dishonesty is a Human Trait

The headline isn't completely honest. Nothing about the gun control debate is completely honest. Except that.

It’s better by a mile to ignore
The summaries presented by opposed
And irritating passion, being closed
To any other summary – the core
Of all the main debate about control.
The Drudge Report is spreading here the fear
That all the guns will quickly disappear
If this, the bill in question, isn’t wholly
Flattened and opposed.  But if it’s read,
It’s less an Armageddon than it was
Suggested by the lede, and that because
The Drudge Report is kept within the red
By many on the Right – the very same
Deceitful way the Left assigns the blame.

I Don't Care

The issue isn’t one I’d really care
Discussing here with anyone, the theme
Importing all the snark of any meme
And all the understanding.  Unaware,
Or well-aware, of any law in place
Prohibiting a weapon, or a part
Of any weapon fluent in the art
Of killing very quickly, or apace
With military usage, it is clear,
Though any bad intention isn’t there,
The law is to intention unaware.
It’s really very simple; but the sheer
And certain way he renders one irate
Will make the matter very poor debate.

et in terra pax

The god of all the nations isn’t there,
Unless we let him in.  It’s very stark,
The power hidden deep within the Heark,
The angels in a chorus laying bare
The hope of all the earth, and this as well,
The need to be invited.  It is weak,
Or so it must appear, and very bleak
Indeed is any hope evading hell
Will find us on its own.  The stable, here,
Is almost undetectable, the child
Hardly being noticed ere the wild
Prophet had appeared.  We’re growing near
The moment when our chances fade away.
The bells are ringing out for Christmas day.

Draco

There’s rumor that the weather coming down
May whiten up the countryside; the south
Is set for colder temperatures, the mouth
Of Draco having covered any town
From Dallas up to Houlton, up in Maine.
It’s easier in Dallas, where the heat
Will melt away an inch; a better feat
Is leaving any town upon the plain
That’s waiting on too many planes aground,
Awaiting their delivery.  Alas,
A pretty Christmas will not likely pass
For happiness at Christmas, when are found
So many thousands waiting for a ride
That only mother nature will decide.

Frying Pan, Fire II

Egyptians aren't lucky being led.
It really bears repeating. Ere the vote
Is counted once again, and ere the gloat
Of satisfied Mohammedans, ahead
Of other constitutions by a mile,
Secularists chasing down the wake,
There really ought to be a double take.
The government beginning is a trial,
Taking out oppression, heeding all
Egyptians calling out for civil rights.
They’re worried yet that all preceding fights
Are now emasculated, and the fall
From favor that Mubarak suffered then,
Is taken by oppressors once again.

Time Off, Time Out

The president's vacationing, alas.
We're fated, all, to fall upon the cliff
That's imminent, indeed; the bloody tiff
Acquired an importance that a pass
To weary, worn vacationers without
A resolution coming couldn't blot
From any heavy judgment. "It is not
A president's prerogative to doubt
Necessity of presence." Though I don't
Adore the man, the panic is a sham.
The theory that he doesn't give a damn
Is set aside the rage that Boehner won't
Give up Pelosi's compromise. A truce
Is only for opponents; us, a noose.

End of Days, II

It’s really quite amusing, that an end
Entirely befitting politicians
Tired of Barack and his munitions
Happens on the 21st, amending
All the other prophecies, alas,
That gave a bad scenario today – 
That Snooki had a baby, or the way
A body with a far and greater mass
That’s passing in the heavens would align
The gravities to riddle Earth with holes,
Or something scientificish.  The roles
Of certain doom and politics assign
To John the part of Satan; in his stead,
The very earth itself will soon be dead.

Or so it may appear in Drudge’s head.

End of Days

A bit of preparation isn’t bad.
It’s better, when investing in an end
That all the nations fail to apprehend,
To stock the very items that a tad
Too worrisome a person wouldn’t keep,
Unless he’s living deep within the woods.
In Armageddon, weapons are the goods
Desired for survival, or a deep
And ventilated hole, or any booze
That hasn’t been destroyed.  It’s better, still,
To find a neighbor willing to distill
The necessary liquor, or to choose
The preparation needed, and the guts
To fear a bitter ending that is nuts.

Spread the Blame

It’s easier to punish when a loss
Is spread about a table, knowing blame
Will follow in the rivulets, the aim
So being, for to spread it far across
As many people, agencies, alas,
As ever might be possible, to stay
The fallout, which the spreading will allay,
O’er such an awful failure.  Let it pass.
It’s really everybody’s fault, and none
Would ever have the power for to turn
The awful tide of slaughter we discern
Too very much too late.  We’re very done
With theories that an overarching chide
Will ever much improvement here abide.

Giving Up Boehner

The article in Drudge's headline claims exactly the opposite what the headline says, that, in fact, it was Pelosi who eventually caved, resulting in a plan similar to one she had earlier advocated, but which strayed far from current Democrat wishes.

The Drudge Report is letting go the grip
It had upon reality.  The lede
Is really quite alarming – that indeed
Republicans are quickly giving flip
On all their key positions is a thought
Too very much disquieting, a fear
So very often felt when any near
Pelosi start negotiating.  Not
A few have stood, unwavering, upon
The principles of party, but a few
Had fallen ere the Liberals were through.
And so the lede’s depressing, but anon,
Within the piece itself, I quickly found
The cave occurred the other way around.

Absolutes

The headline of the piece is incomplete,
Implying, as it does, a coming war
The Democrats are quickly rooting for
To take away our weapons.  It’s a feat
Of bold and brazen journalism here,
In being this dishonest.  For the tale
That’s written is a grayer one, derailing
Hope of any party line to veer
The argument in well-accustomed grounds
Of callous, bad conservatives, of bad
And too-controlling liberals – a tad
Too much, when politicians’ bitter rounds
Are fought among the traitors to their side – 
More subtle than the Drudge’s lede implied.

Braver than Dad

My daughter is still an infant. I've been alternating between fear and sorrow, wondering how I would get on were my children victims of similar violence, and hope, that my daughter might one day be as brave as this woman.

I’ve had a daughter now for many days.
I’ve been afraid a while now – a crash,
An accident, or violence, a rash
Decision in the future, or the ways
That people could undo her – any love,
Or bitter, bigger child, or a loss
Involving any friend.  The very cross
Of early fatherhood’s unworthy of
Too serious attention – that, at least,
When it’s aside a pain I couldn’t bear,
And fear so well, I rather wouldn’t care.
It’s easier, ignored.  But if, released
To death, and leaving mom and dad behind,
I’d hope she were as brave, and good, and kind.

Day II

The second day is usually the worst
Of all the other bitter days ahead.
The story’s still examined, and the dead
Are scrutinized, examined, and immersed
In life, as much as news reports will give ‘em,
Paving way for yet another time,
When stories fade, for yet another crime,
The final re-forgetting.  We re-live ‘em,
Going over childhood impaired,
Wondering if anything had gone
A little differently, or if, anon,
The Father will explain it, if he cared,
And, overall, dissecting, unaware
The pain of summing up who isn’t there.

Matthew 18:6, adapted

It’s been a long and bitter, trying day.
Detailing all the case will take a while,
Longer, yet, if it’ll come to trial,
Painfully examining the way
The innocent are slaughtered.  Wait a bit;
The news’ll have a topic here tomorrow
Suited for a sonnet, when the sorrow
Fades away to rage, and in a fit
Of righteous, angry journalism, lays
Too very bare the minutes and events.
I’ve only this, when giving my two cents:
I hope the many varied, bitter ways
Of laying children down beneath the turf
Are met with many millstones to the surf.

I Just Like to Argue

It’s very oddly peaceful to debate
The better film or actor in the news,
Believing firm in all my better views
Concerning film and media.  The hate
Is less as often vicious as it was
When politics and races are around
To push all other stories to the ground,
Opinionated treatises abuzz
With varied lists and counterpoints to prove
The place of honor held within a heart
For any given film is but a part
Of its inherent excellence.  Remove
The controversial topics; we’ll again
Debate the insignificant like men.

Matt Drudge Loses His Mind

So this is what the Drudge has said is news:
That Quentin Tarantino’s written verse
Is full of racial epithets, and curses,
Giving people reason for the views
Endangering our harmony, between
The usually peaceful set of races
Prominent in Django.  And his face is
Glowering in anger, so to glean
That hatred is his manta.  It’s a crock.
The man has made a film with Mr. Foxx,
Who worshiped one Obama, and a pox
Was put upon association, knocking
Down the piece that threatened to review
A film that we are heeded to eschew.

(It's politics, and really nothing new.)

There Will Be Blood, so Reload

You’re free to work in Michigan without
The burden of a union – or the free
Empowerment a union guarantee
Can guarantee the worker, with the clout
To fight away the owners (it depends
On where you put your politics).  And all
Conservatives are worried that the pall
That Douglas had in speaking out portends
To real and sudden violence, alike
To liberals afraid that any speech
Conservatives had given had a reach
To take out Gabrielle.  Beware, the dyke
Is broken, and the rhetoric is true
(Excepting all that may pertain to you).

Mile-High State of Mind

It’s really quite ironic, the debate
Ensuing in the comments of the piece
Declaring to the citizens release
Of all their hidden cannabis.  The fate
Of all remaining citizens is now
In danger, or is awesome – it depends
On whom is being read; and so it tends
To wild, stupid excesses, and how
Morality is dead, or how it’s not.
I’m certain now that human beings are dumb.
We argue over pot, to make us numb,
Or gun control, and after we have fought,
We fail to see the argument’s the same,
A choice between euphoria or shame.

(It’s likely that it’s neither, but in name.)

Better than Cable

She mightn’t be the president; she might.
It’s never premature to take a guess
At entertaining politics, finesse
In picking out a winner, or a fight,
Or spurring speculation.  If it’s her,
There’s quite enough material around
Preventing all reporters being bound
By any lack of topic to defer
To any other story.  Put aside
The total reservation that the Right
May have for Mrs. Clinton, or the bright
And noble set of terms that are supplied
By all the Left – the very least, rejoice:
Democracy’s an entertaining voice.

Dignified Kim

Korea’s got a missile, and Japan
Is not at all excited at the launch.
The image of the younger Kim, a paunch,
A bit of nervous smile, and the man
Appears a weaker foe.  A pity, this,
That funny leaders are the most insane.
Qaddafi gave his speeches, and the strain
Exhausted all interpreters, the bliss
Of watching his performance all the more
Amusing to the less bombastic, but
It isn’t quite as funny when the gut
Is sat before a button, with a war
He’s promising the world will not exist,
Akin to gravitas that we dismissed.

Get a Job

The government is hiring, hooray;
Conservatives, decrying any gain
The government is making, and the pain
It’s causing to the middle class, a play
That’s very well familiar with the Left,
Decrying any loss that would arise
If we’d forego the hiring, surprise,
The government is doing.  Any theft
Of wages, workers, bonuses, the rub,
Is ready now to fall to any cause
That’s ready in the waiting as a gauze
To justify a policy, a club
To give the other policy a bruise,
And us a good excuse to sing the blues.

X-mas

Insofar as the US goes, if you can complain about religious persecution over the airwaves, you're not really being persecuted. If you can, without a blush, give a call to arms against the "war on Christmas," you have no idea what war is.

I hear, and every year, about a war
That’s waging over Christmas, and the means
To be overtly Christian, having scenes
That put a baby Jesus to the fore
Residing in a park, or any place
The public have to see it.  Though it’s all,
As legal battles go, a worthy brawl,
And slightly interesting, when the pace
Of all the high debate is given news,
I’ve quickly found I don’t know how to care.
I fear we’re very much too unaware
Of all the persecuted, for the views
That in another land will land them dead,
While we complain o’er Jesus, and his bed.

Motor City's Meager Means

A pity we are picking on Detroit.
It only takes a single misaligned
And very foolish phrasing for to bind
A city to its mockery, adroit
In keeping any reason to admire
All the Motor City put together,
Waiting for a time ahead when whether
Building many cars'd make 'em fire
Most of their employees, so to live
Within a new economy, designed
To smother larger companies behind
A series of recessions.  Pity; give
Detroit a pass, for Watson isn’t all
The voice remaining in the city’s fall.

Frying Pan, Fire

Egyptians aren't lucky being led.
The British had acquired it a while,
Ottomans, and Fuad, or the guile
Nasser had in bringing to a head
The falling of Naguib. Elbaradei
Had run against Mohammed, in the wake
Of Hosni stepping down, and ere the taking
Back of any power, to the fray
Between Hamas' rockets, and the men
Preparing to invade, he added peace,
Securing global confidence in ceasing
Any bigger fear that once again
The president of Egypt will attack
The policies that hold his power back.

I Don't Care.

Nobody’s ever happy.  Lo, behold
A plethora of Christmas, and Michelle
Aglow with all the cheeriness to quell
The doubt of any spirit.  I am told
That every year a war is waged upon
The symbols of religion, any phrase
Reminding us about the end of days
And saviors being born before the dawn,
And here, at least, the president is out
Meandering among the many trees.
No matter; people only see the fees
Incurred by all the Christmas.  Never doubt
The human race’s power to complain
Of being led by those they feel a pain.

Perhaps the better word here is “insane.”

Cyclical

So Abbas pulled it off.  The very vote
That’s given him autonomy, of sorts,
Is more apparent here, within the courts
Of world opinion, though, and make a note,
It’s guaranteed to cause a bigger thrust
Of settlement, the heaviest return
That Israel can acquire with the burn
That Palestine has given ‘em, a must
If Israel is to keep the upper hand
In keeping ‘Palestinian’ a name
That’s quickly disappearing, and the game
Is simple: reacquire all the land
Your ancestors had had an age ago.
They share the cries of refugee, and woe.

Enter the Commentary

There's nothing much about the story here
That's worthy of a humorism, pun,
Or any commentary on the gun,
The NFL, the culture, or the fear
That any have about the way the game
Is managed.  When a child suffers loss,
I’d rather have the commentary toss
Its audience away.  But any name
Attaching to a tragedy is all
That’s needed to appear the better mind,
And thus, the commentary will, in kind,
Dissect the living victims, and the fallen,
Child, the diseased, and e’en the gun.
It’s safe to say that Kansas hasn’t won.

Inside Joke

It really isn't funny; that's the rub,
Suggesting we afford a bigger net
To harbor any falling, and to bet
The falling circumstances, or the.hub
Of all our woes with money shouldn't change,
Is.much alike to circus-folk, trapeze,
When weaker rope to swing upon with ease
Results in but a net with bigger range,
And not, as well, replacements for the rope
That time and tear are sure to wear away.
The day will come when falling, as it may
Occur, will be an easy thing to cope
Withal, but I would rather set aside
Our spending, so as not to force the tide.

Blustering

The fighting isn’t quite as very high
As any in the press would have it seem,
Or any giving speeches, or the teeming
Mass of angry followers, applying
Epithets to all the other side.
It’s really very simple: middle ground
Is where the politicians still around
Will finally be seated, each astride
Their bitter opposition.  All the rest
Is pandering to bases, or to claim
They fought the better fight, the very aim
Of honorable soldiers, and the best
And brightest, and, of course, the very men
We foolishly elected here again.

Death and Taxes

Raul is less and less about the great
And final, epic battle for the means
To handle all production. Though he leans
Decidedly to communism, fate
Is odd in its admission to reality,
The Cuban people having grown
Beyond the smaller needs that would intone
The name of Che Guevara.  The legality
Of making citizens the main
Recipient of duties, for to raise
The revenue for government and days
Ahead, is little better than the gain
Begotten from the older Cuban way,
But, still, a little better, should it stay.

Triad

The Drudge Report is readying the war
To occupy the office. Have a drink;
And though it's far too early here to think
Of naming nominees, the very core
Of quicker-thinking policy is this:
Deciding a decision ere it's made,
Before the people know they're being played,
Is better for continuing the bliss
Of politics and party. There's a hint
Of borderline conspiracy therein,
When we begin to question how to win
With estimated tools, and so a glint
Of overarching purpose will appear
With nothing more than chasing a career.

Sarcasm

There’s really nothing further here to say.
An entertainer Democrat, a man
Who long has lived in Cali, is a fan
Of Democrats in office.  Any day
That partisans are giving angry talk
Is odd indeed, when politics abound
In beneficial sentiment, around
A leader, put in power, to the shock
On all his opposition.  So the news
Will commentate on politics, and race,
Will mourn the very blasphemy defacing
What had been a kind exchange of views
About Barack Obama.  And it’s fair
To think them all an idiot to care.

Homage to Catalonia

A professor of mine once told me that one of his favorite things about the people of Catalonia was the way that they allowed the statues of their conquerors to slowly waste away, rather than pulling them down at once. The wind, rain, and occasional drunken urination eventually pulled the facial features from the statues, which is the greatest insult of all - the conquerors were so insignificant that no one then remembered who they were.

Give homage to the region where the head
Of conquering Napoleon is bare,
Uncovered to the urine and the air
Corroding off the image he had bred
Too briefly in a land so very long
Accustomed to autonomy.  Alas,
The very independence given pass
To argue for itself, in being strong,
Is threatened by its strength, and by a vote.
If Arthur Mas is able, let him be
The leader of the patient and the free,
But never let the voting be the rote
And easy way to disavow the claim
That Catalan and people are the same.

The Final Shot

The shooting’s still a mystery, alas.
The man for whom the nation stood agape,
And focused on the plotting taking shape,
Is recently interred.  The very pass
That he had been receiving on the set,
When loaded up and riding over lines
As if the page had bred with hidden mines
That threatened here to blow if he had met
A word without his eviler approach,
Is one of many reasons he was good,
And very good, at acting if he would,
At anytime, do bad.  I wouldn’t broach
The subject of his Ewing deep in hell,
But sit and briefly miss him for a spell.

Black Friday

A fatty is ahead of me in line.
I really wanna get a better deal,
Dividing all the aisles, so to feel
The better way to getting what is mine.
I’ve gotten in some seven separate fights.
It’s harder than it’s ever been before
To keep afoot when running through the door,
Resisting any urge to hit the lights
In faces ‘round my own.  The money’s in,
The line is filling up, and I am out
Of better methods for to think about
The gifts that I’m receiving, for the sin
That’s taken far away, and for the hope
Forgotten while in line between the rope.

Thanksgiving

You could be overseas. Be thankful.

Thanksgiving is a day to wait in line
To save a couple hundred.  I’ll salute
The many dedicated and astute
And early eager shoppers.  By design,
And very good design, I’m very sure
That I am never meant to join within
The bargain-hunting pack; the very thin
And precious, tiny window I’d endure
To find a cheaper stereo is all
I’d need to get spectacularly drunk
(I did it this Thanksgiving), and I thunk,
In verbage too ineloquent, the call
That soldiers overseas had heeded, while
We sat home, with bounty, and a smile.

But hurry up and gather single-file.

Hell

Israeli children have never known peace. Palestinian children have always known humiliation. And it astonishes me, every time I watch people argue Mideast geopolitics, that people assume that a generation reared on terror and/or humiliation can possibly function rationally or peacefully. Those are luxuries of peace, and stability. And that is why, for all its faults, I'm very glad I live in the US.

They’ll never have another day of peace.
Israeli children didn’t settle in
Before the rock and rocket, ere the win
In ’67, or the final cease
In British observation.  They have known
A horror all their hours, when a boom
Is able to remove the very room
In which they’re living peacefully.  The grown
And fearful Palestinians, as well,
Have never known a day upon the land
Their father’s father fled, and from it banned.
And very glad am I that such a hell
Is far away in my United States.
For here, at least, we’ve only the debates.

And not the fighting, gore, and ancient hates.

Fatigue, and Its Consequences

I'm guessing that it's sad I didn't know
That any in the government cannot,
Without a proper warrant, here allot
My writing for perusing, to bestow
Imprisonment, arrest, or keeping eyes
To see if I'm a terrorist.  The bill
Encompasses the agencies, to fill
A list of Bigger Brothers in the guise
Of keeping me protected.  I had not
Considered this a major breach of faith,
Considering the ease with which a wraith
Of despotism slipped us in a knot,
And leaving us to argue where a line
Should in the sand our failure intertwine.

Hello, Kitty

I notice some dissension in the ranks.
The thought of higher taxes isn’t one
That galvanizes citizens, the fun
In taxing being government’s; the thanks
For taking on the loss is all our own.
But this is far more sober than a call
To take the monied rich, and put the fall
On businessmen who marginize, and hone
The art of hoarding wealth to a degree
That’d make a noble coil back in shame.
The theft of working men is not the aim
Of high and greater taxes, but a free
And greater middle class.  And so they all,
The Left, the Right, declare, before a fall.

Liar, Liar, vs. Liar

Petraeus may have known, or may have not,
That bullets in Benghazi were a plan
And not an angry gathering. The man
Has stated that he knew, and though I ought
To skepticism keep, I'm not inclined
To think a liar he who made Iraq
A more recovered place. I'd rather chalk
Discrepancies to he who had a mind
To loiter in campaigning. Still, alas,
With all my preconceptions put aside,
I'm siding with a man I know has lied,
Condemning here the other, giving pass
To fiction when it's military grade.
The politics about it have me played.

Dome of the Rocket, II

The dome is of the rocket yet again.
Were I Israeli, with a better mind,
And working to alleviate the kind
Of threat and certain death that any men
Across the eastern border let aflame,
I'm betting I would wish my talents, all
In service to avoiding here a fall
To foreign hate, or our domestic shame,
Be better put to use.  An engineer,
Creating better places and machines,
To take the full advantage of Rabin's
Unenviable peace, without a fear,
Can make the world a marvel of a place,
Instead of with an evil keeping pace.

Hostess with the Mostess

Behold, a mighty falling: in its wake,
The symbol of my sugar-driven youth,
The perishable Twinkie, or, in truth,
The hostess with the mostess, and her cake,
Are all in liquidation. What a shame;
I used to eat 'em daily, or within
An hour would another stroll begin
To automatic vendors, putting blame
Upon the cake itself. And there's a chance
A buyer may be betting he would gain
A profit in upsetting here the pain
The fall of Twinkie brings, for the romance
Will guarantee that we will buy some more.
Secure the rights; keep open here a store.

Cyclical

I wonder if the Drudge Report, in time,
Assuming the economy recovers,
Any more inflation merely hovers,
Poverty to any further climb
Refuses, and the citizens begin
To trickle back to work, be better fed,
And feel a change of heart with how he's led,
Will Matt, et. al. begrudge him here a win,
Or claim what I believe to be the truth,
That, putting all the politics aside,
The president is taken for a ride
More often than he drives, and any youth
Removing him from office will restore
The problems mom and dad had fled before?

Hell, et. al.

I'd rather write a poem on Petraeus,
Being in a courtroom with his wife,
The gossip running round, reporting rife
With stories of a fall, like Menelaeus
Bringing down a kingdom for a girl
Than any of the blood and hatred here.
I've read Amira Haas, beheld the fear
In any young Israeli at the hurl
Of rocks at Haredim, and read aloud
The wars in Gaza, Lebanon, the rest -
I fear a pessimism here is best.
The IDF will trail behind a cloud,
And suffer in a bloody, tribal storm,
Where violence has ever been the norm.

Sex, in General

It only took a day for me to care
As much about Petraeus, and the few
Within the cheating, jealous retinue
That he had here created, unaware
That it would capture all the world’s attention,
Being, as it was, a mini soap – 
As Kim, or Chloe, Snooki – as the hope
That televised reality would mention
Anything to hinder my belief
That I’d be better off intoxicated,
Drunk philosophizing, unabated
By the shameful parody of grief.
It’s quite enough to make me quit the news
When general sex is all I’ve to peruse.

Mine, Mine, Mine

Petraeus got a little on the side.
The side had got a little settled in,
And, fearing that a coup might e’er begin,
Began a vain attempt to sit astride
Petraeus permanently.  Pity, she
Had only her possessiveness to blame
For losing what had been her biggest claim
To keeping her in service, that a free
And, as of yet, still hidden paramour
Had yet avoided answering to men
Who’d make him quit ere seeing her again.
I wonder what our jealousy is for,
But losing what we’d never really gained
While we attempt to keep it all contained.

Golan

The Golan never rests, but I suppose
That any ground that’s high enough in war
Will all the safety it’s intended for
Be evermore denied.  And if it goes
Too violently there, the man Assad
Will have a greater worry than revolt.
A parabolic mortar to a Colt
Is this Israeli army to the mad
And roving, poor militiamen; the job
Of keeping down rebellion is a task
The elder Assad knew he shouldn’t ask
Permission for, nor Israel to a lobbied
Voting politician put the vote
To take the ground in question, and of note.