Sacrifice

Momentum isn’t gained a second time.
My family is thanking all the men
And women overseas that have, again,
Protected US freedom.  Anytime
I hear the phrase, I keep within a thought
That’s maybe better said: my freedom here
Is very well secure from any fear
That war and battle overseas have wrought
A barricade to their continued use.
My freedom’s costly, but the bill of sale
Is for another item, and the tale
I’m telling is denial and abuse
Of all the men and women who have died
Have offered, with their payment misapplied.

Baby, I Got Your Money

A bit of historical caution when it comes to lending money.

We’d given aid and money to the folks
In Yemen, ere Saddam had given heed
To his invading impulse, and to bleeding
Dry Kuwaiti wells, and for to coax
The brash Iraqi leader from his path,
The Yemenis suggested he abide
With fewer US wishes, taking side
With neither Bush, nor Baghdad.  And the wrath
Of all the Saudi kingdom fell upon
The Yemenis, as each was bidden home,
And all the freedom they had had to roam
In these United States was up and gone.
They’ve had a harder time of it, of late.
No matter what conclusions the debate
Produces, it is wise to hesitate,
And worse to let the money flow abate.

Death and Taxes, III

There’s nothing much that anyone can say.
Conservatives are waiting for the fall
That France will bring upon itself, if all
The plans that Hollande has create a way
To tax the wealthy out of any hope
Of staying in the country.  What a shame.
I’m siding with conservatives; the blame
Is not upon the rich alone, eloping
With a bitter greed, and robbing blind
The remnants of the country.  This, alas,
Is how the greatest thieving comes to pass:
The takers have among them all a mind
To take what they believe is all their own,
Adulterers, and holding each, a stone.

The Thin Red Line

Bibi moves the Red Line back, while still insisting on a Red Line.

If I have understood the many words
That fire back and forth between the two
Combating heads of state, I’m of the view
That giving ultimatums, if it girds
The muster and resolve of your opponent.
Isn’t much a plan to be pursued
Whenever there are options to collude
With people who are better, when the moment
Comes to strike a blow.  And we are it.
The USA is suited to Iran,
And hitting it, and doing all we can
To keep the danger, chomping at the bit,
From hitting the Israelis.  Were I wrong,
Then Bibi’s words would be forever strong
Instead of letting roll the can along.

I Can't Argue With This Much Stupid

I've long been a believer that the situation with Iran and nuclear weapons is far more complicated than any in the American right believe, taking a cue from Meir Dagan. Still, it's hard to argue that, in fact, there's more to this than meets the eye when Ahmadinejad keeps talking, and talking, and talking.

I’ve grown to be a liberal of late,
But it is nice to notice, now and then,
That arrogance and idiocy, when
In combination in a head of state,
Are never relegated to the West.
This Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is odd.
He’s hated by the west, and in Riyadh,
And, brazen, preaches that it’s for the best
If Israel were in tatters, more or less.
I’m still a fan of Dagan, and his fear
That what Iran is saying isn’t near
To what is going on, but any guess
About the truth is hidden in the speeches
In which his racial arrogance he preaches.

Everyone's Stupid But Me, III

Apparently our choices are unhealthy lunches or healthy starvation. I guess no one has thought of increasing the healthy portions. Also, how this is important enough to be a main headliner is beyond my comprehension.

The Drudge Report is setting out the news.
The news is that your children aren’t fed
Unless they’ll eat a salad, or the bread
Is wheat, and never processed, and the views
Returning from the students aren’t keen
On any slim support for poor Michelle.
I pity all who dwell within the hell
That is this most ridiculous, obscene,
And very dumb debate.  It’s very plain:
Your kids aren’t eating healthy much at school,
And fear the smaller portions are the rule.
The system’s very new, and it’s insane
To think that starving or unhealthy fare
Are all the open options anywhere.

Polls, and Polling

So, football didn’t win in quite a wide
And chasm-ish divide as I’d have liked.
I’d rather the division be as hiked
As Romney, in the middle class.  The guide
To marvelous performance in a show
And marvelous performance in a game
Is hardly such a choice that I could name
A program I’d prefer, before the row,
And tackling, and beatings all begin.
It’s only when the season is exhausted
When I’d set aside the too-accosted
Classy set of standards that, within
A season of TV, have up and died.
But class and honor sit the game astride.

On Christopher Stephens

Occasionally I wonder if an official story is a cover for a much deeper, and forever unknown, tale of intrigue. Those moments come mostly when the cover story implies an unbelievable stupidity on the part of elected officials. Case in point - when your ambassador worries, you listen. When he worries with a country's leader, you listen more.

I’ll often wonder if we really know
The stories hidden deep, when the façade
Is something rather obvious, and odd.
The warnings were, as warnings often go,
Unheeded, and too obvious.  If I
Can make a better case for giving ear
To those upon the ground than any here
In Washington, whose voices often lie,
And say whatever’s needed to obtain
The most apparent gain, I can conclude
That Stephens died from some internal feud
Of deafened politicians – or, my main
Initial guess – we’ll never know the sum
Of this event, that made the nation numb,
The story kept beneath a hidden thumb.
(‘Cause nobody could be this freaking dumb.)

Death and Taxes, II

The senator’s withholding his returns,
And Romney’s playing chicken with the files,
Betting on the way in which the piles,
Packages, or bags, or Grecian Urns
Of money each has made has been in keeping
With the way in which the IRS
Has thought it proper, taking more or less
Percentage their endeavors have been reaping,
Putting it to governmental use.
I find it odd that it is not required
Here to leave your taxes unadmired
If you work for government.  Abuse
Is easy, and it doesn’t matter who
Is first, but that the other does it, too.

Money Makes the World Go Round

The money’s all that matters in the end.
I never made a lot, and never sought
A better understanding, when I ought
To use an IRA, or better, spend
My efforts in CDs, or bank a line,
Or other term or acronym the rich
Are using in the way a tiny stich,
If tailored well, will save the other nine.
I’m think it was quite a bad idea;
Government, alas, is very keen
On using bigger power for to wean
The money from the worker, so to free a
Greater use of power with the cash.
I fear it isn’t long before we crash.

Really...?

It is a sign either of my sheer ignorance or fear of fanaticism that I wonder how it is possible that protests over legitimate grievances do not bring down Western embassies in the Mideast, but that a cartoon does.

The world is plainly very well insane.
I’m having trouble seeing how the rage
O’er blasphemy in picture may assuage
The lack of greater anger for the main
And heavy violations of the men
That follow this Mohammed.  In Iran,
We took him who had Britain given ban,
And there returned a dictator again;
Before the re-invasion of Iraq,
We played at chicken with Saddam Hussein
In letting go of sanctions.  If it’s plain
That we have made mistakes, a bitter lack
Of sanity and sense is present here,
When images - naught else - provoke the fear.

"They Have the Plant, but We Have the Power."

I pity any liberals within
The comments in the articles about
The striking, and Emanuel, the doubt
That he is good at keeping up his chin
And leading on Chicago, or the fear
That unionized employees aren’t well-
Disposed to having reason, ere the quell
Begins, if any judgment will adhere
When given in Cook County.  Sad it is
That any side is damaging; to take
A side for either one is a mistake,
In that it’s anti-union, or it’s his
Defining proof of all the Right is voicing.
I’m guessing that’s why Drudge is still rejoicing. 

Hindsight, II

I wonder if the government is warned
Of riots, of attacks, or certain doom
Some half a dozen times before the bloom
Of rosy-fingered dawn is well-adorned
With bright and early mourning.  Here, alas,
Is one they should have heeded, in a state
That’s given far too easily to hate
And rough internal suffering, the mass
Of all its population too oppressed,
And beaten, giving beatings, giving heed
To god, when he requests a people bleed.
And thus I cannot see how a request
For more protective measures passed away
Along with all the others in the fray.

Memoriam

I didn’t write a poem for today.
It’s hard enough to find the better words
Describing any fire, or the birds
Remaining up when others fell away,
Remaining in the rubble for a while,
Waiting on a rescue, or a voice
Alluding to a rescue, so the choice
To hope a little longer's not a mile
Underneath the view that, but a minute
Prior, he had had, before the crash.
The world is quickly rubble, quickly ash;
My heart is thickly heavy, and in thin it
Waits upon the wreckage, and a call
To see another vista ere a fall.

Last Exit to Springfield

Chicago isn’t learning much at all,
Except a way to haggle in a fight
That isn’t quickly summarized, a right
That all are still assuming.  Per the brawl,
I’ve heard the worst, that every hidden sin
Is deep within the unions, or the man
That quit Obama ere the race began,
Ere quitting schooling ere it would begin.
So Rahm Emmanuel’s the Devil, or
The unions are the evil we abhor.
I’ve yet to hear a fair or better score.
The reasoning that I’ve been waiting for
Is caught within the middle, where a child
May see his very future running wild.

God, I Love Peyton Manning

Apologies to all who held within
Their hearts a certain place for Tim.  The man
Replacing him is what, as best I can,
I’d call a blesséd man of faith.  The sin
In sending Tim away was giving up
His early playing years, lest any grief
Befall the quick Latino.  His relief
Will come before the end of any nup-/tials
Between the NFL and Tim.
But Peyton – well, if we can all compare
Tim Tebow to a saint, we mightn’t spare
This Manning to a demigod, the grim
And worried face of injury to check,
The healed Achilles Heel within his neck.

Game of Numbers

Obama is ahead, a little bit.
The script is very simple; here it goes:
The edge is not significant.  The woes
Of joblessness, and war, and deficit
Are pulling, even now, and will again
Return Barack Obama to a place
Too far behind the Romney team, a race
That’s running with integrity.  The men
In Democratic circles are the same:
“Hooray, we’ve got a bump, and it’ll last.
We’ve gotten all the voters seeing past
The multitude of issues we can name,
But never do.”  It’s numbers, folks.  You choose
To run a race with them, and you will lose.

Stop the Presses

The story in the headline isn’t quite
As big within the story as it is
Within the set of milestones that his
Conservative compatriots, and he, delight
In telling all the world (it’s Mr. Drudge
Of whom I speak).  But this is commonplace.
Defeating an incumbent sets a pace
For selling fear and loathing, with a nudge
To ending all the danger with a vote
For any opposition.  It is done
In every re-election, and has won
An office, many times, for any note-/d
Leader who delights in giving views
Of interest, but that aren’t really news.

Exercising Sucks

We’re scaling back an exercise.  Beware,
It’s all because we’re turning tail upon
The Jewish State, or that our trust is gone,
Or maybe just because we didn’t care
To spend the extra money.  This, alas,
Will be the flame and kindle for the fear
That we are letting Israel disappear,
And giving Achmadinejad a pass
To slaughter many innocent.  A shame
That we refer to millions in Iran
By speaking of their leadership, a man
We’d tastefully dispose, and any blame
Will rest upon his shoulders in a war.
His people cannot protest anymore.