Saturday, December 4, 2010

The Terrible Irony of Beautiful Words

Dog Poet Riffing.......


beautiful words
do not move me...

I am not entranced by this clever art
I’ve seen the heads roll in the Age of Reason
I’ve watched the bloody scroll of history
Unroll
While the band played on
And ugly men made beautiful noise
To introduce the thunder of their guns


There is no greater coward
Than the one who slipped by privilege past the front
To orchestrate from the sidelines
What he could not accomplish himself;
Whose skin was too precious to risk
And wrapped in the cloak of God ranting sanctimony
This shrinking nightshade
This empty suit
with the pomp of the preening jackal
Dines on the awful cries of the dying
That he sups like an intoxicating and wondrous wine
He feeds on the torment of the injured and estranged
Wrapped in the cloak of patriotic hypocrisy


He gestures at the battlefield
From which democracy will be ripped stillborn
From the blasted body of her dead mother
The still greater crime of previous event
The falling towers were no accident
Nor did some strangers from afar
Manufacture this without consent
It should to the objective mind
Prove self evident


Across the centuries
The wind of high blown rhetoric
Have driven the millions to an evil death
And yet it never seems to dawn
How like frightened steers they trample what is before them
into the ground
And yet it never seems to dawn...


Something there is in the ignorant mind
That vibrates to the sympathetic string
Of the conscious and applied evil of the Hyena King
Something resonates
Something capitulates
Something rises
As something descends


And all that is decent and good
All that would bring forth a greater brotherhood
Must run to the cover of the invisible wings
While a murder of crows blackens the sky
And smoking ruins
Like new buildings
are transformed before your eyes
Into a wasteland of fire and death
For the profit of the few
For the comfort of some
The usual business will go on


It seems that this must be
Though we have waited with insufficient hope
Perhaps we shall see the day
That these twisted carrion feeders
These iniquitous deceivers
The butchers and the reavers
And all their demonic crew
Shall march into hell fire
Into Their native homeland created from their own need
And the door will close upon the echo
Of all their beautiful words




End riff.......


Patrick Willis narrates:
The Terrible Irony of Beautiful Words