mjsalovaara (2.26.06)

Give the Police State A Chance
(adapted from Lennon's song of almost the same title)

Ev'rybody's talking about
Terr'ism, Bushism, Pushism, Wussism, Bathism, Facism
You-ism, ME-ism
Isn't it the most
All we are saying is give the police state a chance
All we are saying is give the police state a chance


. . .

What is this vassal state of man
that allows him to be led by another
into darkness and call it daylight?

What is this vessel we call life,
so casually tossed over to the side
of despair and insist that it is hope?

Don't call me brother
and then ask me to follow
your dim imaginings of reason
wreaking from blood
spilled by ambition.

And don't oblige me
to couple to the plan
designed to feather your bed
and leave mine empty
and in grief.

No, I won't listen
to your dead and hollow march
while fools dance in the streets
proclaiming the virtues of ruin
believing paradise awaits
around the corner.

For I have been to your Feasts
and the meat was stone,
the wine vinegar,
and when I excused myself
of your hospitality
I was branded a criminal
and thrown back into the paradise
of fools dancing in the streets
exalting the justice of chains;
proclaiming the thousand lashes of poverty,
"the common good;"
claiming to have seen the light
while climbing over each other
for a crumb of promise
tossed from your table.

You are not my Prince
and I am not your Pauper
who believes in the blandishments
falling from your lips
thinking they are the diamonds
which can save me
from the treachery of opportunity
you too easily call democracy.

(in dedication to the Mulroney Conservatives – any resemblances to other conservatives perhaps isn't so coincidental given my aversion to their ideological bent)


. . .

Haiku/esque #1

This midnight air
is blue black
with a bit of hazy moon.


This midnight air
doesn't hang well
in my living room.


This midnight air
is like the woman
I left behind.


This midnight air
is a pool
and my mind a stone.


This midnight air
is the virgin
I once was.


This midnight air
is a lover
who tells no lies.


This midnight air
is not afraid
of the sunrise.


This midnight air
is
without darkness.

(Written in Mie-ken while looking east over the Pacific in the spring of 1997)


. . .

Are you willing to join the revolution of One?
Or are you just gonna sit there and cry?
You say you want freedom
but you put yourself in chains
then complain of the misery.

I went down to the river
where people were dancing
with the man in the long grey beard
he said, "Bring down the hammers;
free our sisters, free our brothers
there be glory in all the land."
But when I said that I was hungry
I was told that I was lazy
and was given a shovel instead.
Now I work all day for my daily bread
but still I haven't been fed.

Are you willing to join the revolution of One?
Or are you just gonna sit there and cry?
You say you want freedom
but you put yourself in chains
then complain of the misery.

Well, I went downtown
saw the wisdom of the right
asking for some change
mothers all deranged
babies disengaged
fathers with no wage
children in a rage
hamsters in a cage
creatures
roaming in the dark
hoping for a spark
to light a joint without regret
maybe they'll forget
money is hell bent
not enough to pay the rent
our future is all spent
on something we all believed in
career, money or something
blood and guts or nothing
now there's nothing
or something like ___________
or something.

Are you willing to join the revolution of One?
Or are you just gonna sit there and cry?
You say you want freedom
but you put yourself in chains
then complain of the misery.

(in honour of ideologues on the Left and Right)


. . .

William Blake's Take on War


O for a voice like thunder, and a tongue
To drown the throat of war! -

When the senses Are shaken,
and the soul is driven to madness,
Who can stand?

When the souls of the oppressed
Fight in the troubled air that rages,
Who can stand?

When the whirlwind of fury comes from the
Throne of God,
When the frowns of his countenance
Drive the nations together,
Who can stand?

When Sin claps his broad wings over the battle,
And sails rejoicing in the flood of Death;
When souls are torn to everlasting fire,
And fiends of Hell rejoice upon the slain,
O who can stand?
O who hath caused this?
O who can answer at the throne of God?

The Kings and Nobles of the Land have done it!
Hear it not, Heaven, thy Ministers have done it!


by WIlliam Blake


. . .

Haiku-esque # 2 (abridged)

Sweet emotion
Sweet potato
Yaki-mo