 XXIV Drunk In this night Apologies? No Clarity of vision? Yes Lost Englishman in Colombia But, less lost than in Scotland! Burning (Just a joke) A tail in two Cities Boo! Yo ho ho, two bottles of rum XXV Soft purple and amber dusk The view from a high window The Andes darken majestically Around the plain of Bogotį Dusk is like dawn, dawn like dusk Mirror images of each other's souls One gets lighter, one gets darker Depending which direction moves time XXVI Bush and Blair, with the Spanish creep They went to meet on the Azores, They went to work out how they could drop Hundreds of thousands of tons of bombs On Iraq. Like stealthy cowards, Frightened criminals, they went far away From each of their lands, so that their own peoples Could not be there, to yell and shout: "No to your War, No, No, You go into exile, You vicious, violent, hypocritical pigs, Go away, and leave us to try to make A world without your Murder!" Claws for death, black teeth Dripping with thirst for blood, That is the world NOW, America and Britain desperate to kill And devastate Iraq. "Who will benefit from Reconstruction? That is The Big Question! Which Corporations, which States Will lick up the most blood?" XXVII I must calm down, the world is so beautiful, One must try to preserve peace In the depth of one's heart, Although such Anger is aroused By injustice, lies, and murder. They really still intend to wage This ghastly 'war' against Iraq! Blair's face is so ugly, He seems to have turned into a troglodyte, Some demonic, evil, masked, blood-sucking Yellow bat who creeps, cannot fly, With Uncle Tom Colin Powell, And super-vile-idiot Tosh! O, like that brave German artist During the First World War, Who changed his name to John Hartman! Give me another name. Such a sick summit on a beautiful island Surrounded by azure sea! You were only a few hours there Beaking to beak about War! Your brainwashed soldiers bursting to fight On rich, toady Kuwait's borders; After a while they will feel otherwise As they did in Vietnam. O Shelley, Blake, supply me with strength Like primordial shamans of the soul! Help me fling spells of fire Through all the Universe. XXVIII I sit at my desk, I see the last Lovely glimmers of sunset through The window. I have my books, The paper on which I write, The thoughts in my head about Tairona musical Instruments in ancient times, And of the universality of human art. I await my darling Nidia who should return In an hour or so, when we will dine And drink beer, wine, or rum. How happy I am, what more could I want: And yet I bleed in every pore of my being Because of the War that is at this moment starting, Because Mister Blair has cunningly ensnared My nation into this despicable Crime. Yet I must continue life, Must I not? What else can I do; But I will never, ever shut my mouth. XXIX One end of the earth, is fighting The other end of the earth. "Shock and Awe." When it is night in one, The other is in daylight. The earth is not that big, And it spins so very fast! How would it look to an alien intelligence? First strike (Hitler's concept); At last they have managed to do it, Those in the Pentagon who have dreamt this dream Since 1945. The whole thing stems from Western support For Israel, because of oil. (Ever since 1949.) America has such good qualities, But in crises the bad side Prevails. Americans are very warm And self-expressive, and many have A deep sense of justice, from that great rebellion Of the soul, connected with Tom Paine And others. But there has evolved Since the days of the Founding Fathers A tendency to brutish arrogance, A vicious forcefulness, Almost as terrible as Nazism. The trouble is, that with their weapons (And certainly America is the master of Advanced Technology), and an understandable Ignorance due to great distance (And for that, why not? They originally went To get away from Old Europe); Their down-to-earthness turned vile, Their advance to find Freedom and anti-phoniness Turned into something desperately horrible, A bland insensitivity To human pain outside their borders; Ideological, yet always condemning ideologies. America's heroes really are People like Jim Morrison, "The West Is The Best," "Save Our City," He cried, from a depth that is evermore True, with every day. When I dropped in, to an American airport Recently, I felt so strongly That they were like us (the British); Calm and even, very friendly, Pleasant and warm, well organized, And not evil at all. Their country's power has created an insane Distinction between the people and their government, With its vile power: some know this So well: the demonstration Against the War, in Washington On March 15th, was the greatest I Have ever seen, in spiritual power, In strength of soul, in force of voice, In use of reason, and in intensity Of courage: and, of all things most, In its strength of great Love. They were tapping into the deepest roots Of their country's origins, the free spirits Who went there originally; and even more from The oppressed, brave, now bursting genius Of the Afro-Americans, and in the spirit of deep music From the Indians, the First Americans. England sprouted some of the first warriors Of modern freedom: the Levellers, George Washington, Tom Paine, John Paul; Then Wordsworth, Blake and Shelley. All this has been forgotten: Truth has been crushed By foul lies and power, The greed of Empire, Slavery, Capitalist exploitation. The freeborn Englishman Who yearned and burned and was sent to Australia Is what I feel heir to, Though early extinguished in a rotten history Of cowardly oppression and brute force. England has spawned all this rubbish, And those who opposed it were defeated in body, Though their spirits survive, and I am of them. My blood is of the true English Revolution That never succeeded; I am of its fire, Equality, truth, love in God, Justice in the face of Death Dealt out by all oppressors; My forefathers, like the Anabaptists, Would not compromise with any lie. They were always suppressed By the Chickenhawks of Power. They rose like lions from their slumbers, Over and over again, But were always drowned in blood. Then came Thatcher, Major, Blair; Those traitors and liars buried further The fire that still thirsts to find its breath, But Shelley's odes to Liberty will still One day become our anthems. Pig Britain, full of lies I am no longer a citizen. If I must use its vile passport It is for lack of an alternative. I am ashamed, sick, disgusted With my erstwhile country. No longer will I think myself As being of that island. I am just me, Citizen of the World, If the world will accept me, I want only to be a human being Living a few years beneath the sun and stars And the moon; to love, and die.  XXX Gloria, in excelsis, That is what to aspire to: Listen to this glory of the Spirit! Is it of Man, or of the Universe? Are we mad, or only half-way there? We are only human beings, of course, But how can we feel such things: Where, in our hearts or brains Lies such truth and wonderment? We are split beings, the worst of animals, With minds, but also deceitful angels, Yet we feel something we invent as God, And that is something absolutely wonderful, It is of love, beatitude, friendliness, joy. O red priest from Venice, How you did dream such beauty in music, Here I am, in Bogotį, drinking in Your unbelievable spirit. I feel bathed in your imagined ecstasy, Artist of eternal love From where did you arise, How did you survive? You must have swum in Lake Guatavita, Your soul clasped in golden truth. XXXI Where death lies in fields of sun, I would love to know. Golden works of Muisca art Were buried in deep tombs Amid a world of grand beauty, All eyes focus at this moment Upon a huge field of death, The cities and deserts of Iraq. Death, death, death, death: What a fuss, always, about health, When human and non-human life Are systematically extinguished daily By the forces of Technology. Extraordinary it is to fuss so much With details of relative unimportance, When Death marches to such adulation. Bush jogs in healthy cockiness, Hitler loved coffee and cakes, Stalin sipped vodka and enjoyed caviar: The first two in daylight, the third at night, To relax their bodies and minds. Those beautiful pectorals, earings, figurines, Of the pre-Hispanic Muiscas, were Connections to the sun's spirit Of life, rebirth, fertility; but also To Death, their permanent companion. XXXII I don't like Bush's filthy little dog, With which the little man seeks to show how kind And amiable he is. The kind That bites your ankles, and slobbers its saliva All over your clothes. At least Hitler Had a big bad wolf called Blondie, A slightly more honest replica of his being. Soft-spoken, determined, sclerotized Bosh, Some resurrected ghoul of his evil father, Bush-Bosh walks to an American pellipopter (Let's hope it crashes), and salutes like a mad Fanatic at a marine: clap, clap, Bosh, You know how to salute, how very brave. I don't care if the people who died today In Basra, died at the hands of goodies or baddies. They were civilians, who died because of this War, No lousy propaganda can alter that. But it's not a war, it's like crushing a beetle; The ethical cretinism of the U.S.A. And Britain, allows them to think they are Superb heroes. They are but pathetic fools. Soppy Blair is so sweet, He wants the 'humanitarian side' To be promoted strongly. The Yanks don't care, Their television is so totally controlled, But it is very important politically 'To keep the Brits on side.' How can we live with peace in our hearts With all this going on? Switch off the telly, Bother not about anything, close down your soul, Simply become a kicked-about object. Good boots, the Yanks and Brits have, The Iraqis' boots are not so good. Believe in your political leaders? American soldiers leave their wives And babies, to help their country's 'Fight against Terrorism!' Iraqi soldiers leave their wives and babies, To be killed by the Americans! Nevertheless, this is a 'Tom and Jerry'! All is not so good for the bullies. Wouldn't it be good if they had to flee, With a big fat flea in their fat ear! Who can believe Britain and America Support the oppressed, unless it serves Their interests, for a little while. Piddly poddly poodly doo Blair is a fool and so are you Claire Short, and all your kind, Ambitious, vain, heart on sleeve, But staying with the violence and murder, Deceiving yourself and many others, Watching the misery over which you preside With sad, stupid, wringing hands. I hope your heart is suffering deeply Now, as a lesson to others, (All the while American bombs Soften up the Opposition). So far the death rate seems to be About ten to one militarily, Iraqis to invaders; Not bad, carry on fighting my friends, Iraqis, Sand-storms and heat are on your side. Which gangster will America put, Which puppet will they choose to place In control of Iraq, after the U.S. military gonk Decides it is time to GET OUT! (But all Iraqis who fight are Terrorists! Never forget.) So underhand are Iraqis when they fight Back! O ho, they should obey Bush and Blair, Blair and Bush, And understand that CLAIRE SHORT Cares about them so very much! When the blood flows so hopelessly, Perhaps more people, whatever their rank Will say NO. Though always some Will want WAR forever, for that is in their hellish brains, From perspectives religious, secular, or political, An addictive virus overtaking them all. Supposedly decent men and women, Afflicted with a horrible thought That settles like a flying worm To infect polite people, drinking tea, Extremely fussy about how full to pour The delicate little teacup.  XXXIII Soft dawn light Of gentle Bogotį My darling asleep Mist on mountains I am a man With a woman I love Light in relaxed blue Sky unthreatening peace Like your sweetest kisses If I bury in a spiral In miraculous earth Deep into unknown Where unconscious dreams Upturn in mystery Thus is the colour Thus is the form Where singing little birds Make my ears full I am a poet Strange being of the skies A gold lizard flying Half man half jaguar Over a sacred lake Joining strange spirits Swooping and drooping Regardless of fear I love in my being Resplendent as gold XXXIV The peace of Guatavita Amidst this hell of War, How strange the wisps of Love Are so easily burnt out By the warmongers of all shades. They can always win the battle, They only need to do it, have a war, And thus they win for their ghastly dreams Over all those whose thoughts were of Flowers, Love, walking the street, Drinking a cup of coffee, Perhaps a beer, or rum or two, Or a prayer to the blue, sunny sky. It only takes a thug or two To break the peace and cause hell; They can always have their War, Just by starting one. And then mayhem reigns; It matters not who 'wins': Misery, death, suffering, Gathering threats for a later war Are all that come. Dragons' teeth Are sown for everyone. If today, one side has better weapons, Why, tomorrow the other may: Armageddon rules the day. The defeated become criminals either way, The victors parade as heroes. On and on and on and on Through the infinite centuries, War wins, because it happens; Those against it, die. O let a greater Movement be, To set the wild sky on fire; A new generation to fight against War, With all its brilliance and ecstasy. Britain and America are puffed-up with pride, After sixty years of dining out On the Second World War. Now is all totally turned around; They are today the main aggressors, The architects of Permanent War. Bog you down into your own lies, With your own blood; and death.  XXXV O, sweet, out of sleep Dream, Some flowers, peace; With no Patriarchs of War, Beasts of the genetic pool, Ghastly nightmare phantasms of sickness; Vile grimacing mouths with soft Voices, exuding foul Breath into my face Halitosis of their souls; Vile, calm merchants of murder, Ethically cretinized, fossilized minds, Accusing me of being mad - O so extreme, unreasonable, wild! Fuck you bastards, ignorant fools, You are the demented, philistine pigs, Thick as boots, merciless crooks. XXXV I With some shrewd use of stick and carrot, Who knows that Saddam Hussein could not Have been induced to leave Kuwait, In 1991? If so, neither the Second nor Third Gulf Wars would have been required. And at least Britain and America Might now have admitted that the First Gulf War Was their fault: they encouraged and equipped Saddam To attack Iran, while the Islamic Revolution Came about as a reaction against Britain's and America's Interference in Iran: overthrowing Mossadekh, Then imposing the hated Shah Which gave rise to the Ayatollahs. As always, the West has been the great meddler; This, mingled with power-hungry Opportunistic dictators in the Middle East, Chaos ensuing from Israeli injustice And oil interests: oil which turns The West's Machine; these are some Of the mean ingredients that brought about The horrible slaughter now in Iraq, In which Blair sheds tears over two British soldiers, Supposedly executed by evil Saddam At the same moment that a column of unwilling Iraqi soldiers in clapped-out vehicles Is blasted into fire and mangled metal By the Super-weaponry of the dead British Soldiers' colleagues: jolly good show Blair, go for another Oscar. XXXVII It was the same then, when the Spanish came With huge cannons, horses, armour glinting darkly, And sent explosions creating terror Among those they invaded, full of gold And idolatry: "We will free them From their falsities, and impose our rule For their own good. Sad it is If many should die, but all is for the best, Said they from their yellow faces And giant horses, blasting cannon balls Into the infidels. And then they stole their gold. Today the Anglo-Americans claim They free the Iraqis they burn up in Electronically created fire: their oil Will be under 'international control'. They will 'de-Nazify' Iraq, Which they never did in Germany. After the Nürenburg Trials, they let the rest Go, because now it was the Cold War; In Iraq they will do just the same, And choose some turncoat from Saddam's entourage And plonk him into safe power. Just as America used ex-Nazis in the Cold War, And taught the secret police in South America The most advanced forms of torture; They will make repression yet more horrible in Iraq With all their most modern methods, And will create ghastly Hell In every country they invade. As in every Western Conquest, The conquerors play off one group against Another; soon the former sadly learn Their great, tragic mistake. O they bring the True Faith, American Democracy and American Hamburgers, Aren't they kind, their B52s Zoom into skies more viciously than Stukas. Their bombs are so big, Their lies are immeasurable; God Almighty, who made these brutes, Are they even half human? XXXVIII Sweet kisses upon the mouth, Lovely lips of ecstasy, Round, open, Latin eyes Brown, warm, delicious flashes Love, moist, hot cheeks A girl calls, in song, Like the shepherds in the morning In Tosca, selling tamales, Horses clip clop by, And I relapse into a sip of rum, And listen, listen: Gloria, Gloria, in excelsis Here, as everywhere, it is real, Gloria, Gloria, I love my girl. Ah, that oboe, it touches Heaven; Who were you, Antonio Vivaldi? Never mind, I know you now. You make your own Heaven, And it is of Love, Squeezing between Cholera and the Plague. I like Gonzalo Arango. You do what you can to advance that Truth. I love the girls in this beautiful land So free and sweet, without dreadful thoughts; It is difficult to demonstrate as a Sociologist, But I feel it everywhere, I swear. I feel so softly loved by you, Your perfume inculcates some absolute sweetness; Your gorgeous lips are the loveliest Blessing that this life can offer. IXL They give out bottles of water To win 'hearts and minds,' To the people whose food and water supplies They have just bombed to flames. They say, the government of the country They invade is undemocratic; (Perhaps the Germans in 1939 Could have said the same of Poland). Those who fight back are terrorists, Just like the Palestinians, Exactly what the Nazis called Fighters in France, Holland, Norway. Propped up for a decade by the U.S.A., If Saddam had not invaded Kuwait He would still be a pal of the U.S.A. And could have continued his murdering, unmolested. Of course, Iraqis hate their dictator, Did not the Russians in 1941? But they fought back like wild dogs Against their foreign invaders. Yes indeed, they sent dogs Through the Russian frozen snow, Packed with bombs to meet up with tanks And blast them to Eternity And they climbed ruined stacks To snipe at German soldiers, Supplied with bread, vodka, fags, For as long as it took them there To pick off a few invading pigs Who trampled and snorted inside their land: That is the point, and this we see Today in Arab Iraq, The arrogance, brutishness, and stupidity Of the British and Americans Will cause their soldiers to suffer greatly, Without that giving me happiness This is an illegal and immoral War. Illegal means criminal, and that is what it is: A giant Crime against humanity, A nightmare of inhumanity. Cowardly carnage dressed in sweet Propaganda: a kind American soldier Rescuing an Iraqi boy, ah, pure Spielberg, framed from his stupid film. No doubt they will win, and crush Everything, and devastate Iraq, What a mess it will all be, Injustice having succeeded, once again. Lies, corpses, wrecked tanks, Bombed buildings, starving people, Anger, pain, resentment, Hell of Human spirit, will prevail. Chaos, looting, suicide attacks, Resentment, internecine violence; Social breakdown, utter misery That the West, once again, will not understand. Some always wanted to try to find Just solutions, greater equality, Equal standards, sometimes sacrifice, To make the world a happier place. But we were always bombed upon With words, moral denunciation, Undermining of our very soul For even daring to say such things. Nothing compared to what the Palestinians Have suffered for merely daring to exist, But enough I hope I dare declare To allow me to say, I understand their soul. Resolution 242: Israel must GET OUT Of Palestine: why no onslaught upon Israel As on Iraq, for 1441? Sorry, of course! The West supports Israel. Endless injustice and oppression Against the Arabs and the Middle East Exacerbates Islamic Fundamentalism: As all secular philosophies have failed. I feel so sad, it is all so stupid, I feel like Schubert in the dripping rain, In his String Quintet, D. 596, The Second Movement, why it should be Matters no more, I only know I am so sad. I don't care Who is Iraqi, Moslem, or Kurd, Or Colombian, or British, or American. XL Gentle as the sky may be Whatever colour it I love Spiral into something strange University of the soul Underground Or flying over crazy mountains Peaks and quirks Dark deceptions Lizards of the strange glass Rainbows in fear Just beauty Girl dancing Flinging her panties far Bone by dog XLI Bushblair gruesome vicious swine Kill kill go on murder No no mercy never On on kill bomb The West Is The Best! Listen to the Butterfly Listen heads to the ground Very soft not yet clear Geoffie Spoon in nu bloo Smart soot in parlimont Smacking face big big boon One of those what? ghouls? (Lovely boms geffy good good boy; From what were you born, a concrete coo?) Mangled twirps dead of cod Dead fish fucked hate turnip-gods Cancel your subscription to the Resurrection Here is your ticket to Eternal Hate Wake up to the Scream!  XLII To the screaming, yelling hooligans Of Bosh's militant regime: I am no fan of Saddam Hussein (Have not been for twenty Years, not merely ten), But your problems of the mind Are far more dreadful to humanity. Your Bash is a cool, organized psychopath, Working through American Republican Democracy, With bland, stupid, American Protestantism, With WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION, Beyond all those hitherto conceived. Bish has great problems with his hateful religion; He holds a manic violence in his anodyne coldness To ordinary people's suffering. In his arrogant, ignorant, massive wealth He displays wormlike cowardice, deep, vicious vengeance. He works up his followers to immense frenzy, In some kind of phoney grandeur; He has an almost totally controlled media, And never knew a thing beyond, And never cared a fig. Which Rhineland or Poland will he next attack, With all his fanatical euphoria? (O my American friends, who fought Against this War, so hard; You were magnificent; such courage And strength you drew upon; in the face Of such bestial ghastliness.) Bush is not a repeat of Hitler, But there are deep comparisons to be made: A philistine ruthlessness of purpose, a love of Victory, A psychological need for fanatical followers, Excitement at being hated by all those others Who don't like his nasty game. A certainty of mind, which will disintegrate The moment all goes badly; Even the love of self will go, And everything, even Nature Will prove expendable at the final hour. Very frail, though so hard: A certain frightening combination. The poor German people fell for it, But now they are wise and calm; Americans will suffer, though in a different way. As for Britain! Pathetic Robin To America's juggernaut; Christ knows what can happen to it, It is now very sick; Pulled into something it knew not why, It has lost all respect and regard (What was left of them), among the great majority Of humanity. Unjustified, evil, sick War, As if to prove it were still Great, Rather than pathetic, as it is, Putrid, lying, deceived, horrible: That is Britain; little land, So boring, so utterly tired, depleted Of purpose. It allows a creep Like bleating Blair to lead it into giant War. God, what can we do? The murder has now been done; Filthy, squalid, cowardly murder. Paraded as Great British Heroism. Well, some Iraqis fought back like wild lions, Like real heroes, desperately, against all odds, With their Less Big Technology, they fought and died In their thousands. Mere terrorists of course, Their deaths mean nothing to THE COALITION, but here I aver Their great resistance against unjust invasion: Hopeless cause, like those at Thermopylae: All honour to them forever! Brothers in death and courage. They must have died in deep agony And terror, brave fighters for whatever they thought; I was with them in blood and soul, Poor ordinary men, dying ghastly deaths. Lovely Blair, he squeaked a song, Really so lovely it was: "Education, crime, peace, and wonder Are all the things I love, Let's have Sustainable Development, Let's have freedom and justice too! Let's bomb to make everyone equal, Let's pray for jolly good things? I believe in the United Nations Just like my frump, Short Claire, That I was able to twist into A foul mess, to deceive you all, Who thought she would oppose the War! The TV shows a skull or two And many a gas-mask too, Proving to all who doubted the goodness Of blasting and devastating and killing Iraq: Like Bosh, I really wanted to!" So shrieked the lovely Blair, condemning His own soul to Eternal Hell, But he did not mind, even then he would Declare the flames of Hell were just More evidence of Saddam's weapons Of Mass Mass Mass DESTRUCTION! Then Blair rolled over like a vile worm Roasting in the flames: "O no," he cried, "I must explain, This War was really a lovely thing, Because I saw Saddam Hussein In a very bad dream, one awful night!" And when he rolled, he sank into A glorious pit: this was called Knighthood and Fame, the House of Lords! And there he could smile with his jaw clenched Happily, embalmed for ever and ever. Hundreds of years later, archaeologists found This minor ruler, who had joined a war Of conquest, which had badly rebounded; Though that had happened some time after The miserable corpse of Blair had been rolled Into a grave, very boring mummy. |
