There have been numerous times when I've considered changing the name of this blog to be more representative of the content - my virtual reality Van Halen concerts and associated haiku poetry. The question must come up often about the title "What A Temper" and here's the answer. My original intent was to use the blog as a vehicle by which I could vent about the current state of political affairs, as expressed through haiku, infuriated by the stupidity of the leaders and policies of our great nation. Some examples of this politically inspired poetry include:
Through clouded vision
Their self-congratulation
Amidst smoking ruins
Wartime shopping spree
Bush buys gifts for all his friends
Our kids get the bill
Corpse wrapped in plastic
Muscle and flesh holding bones
Stench fills roadside air
Movement on the roof
Tense soldiers raise their weapons
Six year old throws stones
Lords of the ghetto
The most fearsome militia
Our US Army
An urban desert
Sea of half-destroyed buildings
World sees our promise
No celebrations
Anniversary passes
Five years of war crimes
Laser guided bomb
Stands before corpse strewn rubble
Not cool anymore
Bush commands the surge
Troops fan out across Baghdad
They guard the gas pumps
They burst in firing
Gray clad troops dole out their gift
Freedom of the grave
Humvees in pursuit
Driver chases masked gunmen
Scooter eludes them
Lament what we've done
Cruelty towards our brethren
Then do it again
Joint forces raid home
Door riddled with bullet holes
Like people inside
Changing strategies
A rich mans sporting event
The chess pieces bleed
Like a slow dripping
Death greets soldiers one by one
Resigned acceptance
Low attention span
Public forgets the carnage
Denial is high
The pre-dawn darkness
Low pitched thump of the choppers
Drum beats Deaths approach
Dawn commando raid
The men, women and children flee
Count the dead terrorists
Mirage-like image
Peace wavers in deserts sun
Heat from tanks exhaust
Fear of the shadows
Battle the apparitions
A war without end
Holy rollers preach
Claim a direct line to God
Their phone is unplugged
Street sweeper pauses
Hears the volley of bullets
Blood soaks the gray dust
Caught in the crossfire
The girl has no place to hide
Sixteen short years end
Corpse on the stretcher
Watch the battered soul depart
Buzzing cloud of flies
Looks across the land
Bush says the future looks bright
Nero's Rome burning
Lies lull us to sleep
Their fables become our dreams
Sleep walk with eyes closed
Gun ships roam above
Bring rain in a cloudless sky
Bullets pelt the ground
It all tastes so wrong
Lofty words grind on our teeth
We swallow the lies
What happened back there?
Crimson horror kept silent
Locked it in his head
Red mist fills his eyes
Mind begins to disconnect
Rampage of the beast
Tanned skin unbroken
Witness to the slaughter
Red scars lie within
No Child Left Behind
Except for Bush who tells kids
The "childrens do learn"
Hands bound, on their knees
Our guns pointed at their backs
Their hearts filled with rage
Wrong place, the wrong time
His raised hands are no defense
Shots fired in the night
Sunglassed militias
Roam our concrete walled ghettos
Dole out their justice
New al-Anbar peace
Sunni sheiks pledge loyalty
To the dollar bill
Wear pearly white ropes
Hides the blackness of their hearts
Sheep contently graze
The great sucking sound
Swirling down the toilet bowl
Fifty billion gone
Nation in ruins
No need for Democracy
Back in the Stone Age
Battle over oil
Militias vie for control
Exchange red for black
Mothers, sons, daughters
Lie dead in the battles wake
"All are al-Quida"
Horror and disgust
Barbarous acts leave us numb
The TV sedates
Thousands swell the ranks
They occupy the trenches
Army of the dead
Lies piled upon lies
Propaganda convinces
Believe it themselves
Preach from the Bible
Christian soldiers sent to war
Search for the Profits
Business is booming
Four, five funerals a day
Their death toll meter
The crew assembles
Commence work at dawns first light
Harvest the bodies
No water to drink
Bush responds by sending pumps
To remove their oil
Topsy turvey world
Turn our plowshares into swords
We arm the Reaper
Marine collapses
Bullet pierced the hardened man
Kills the boy inside
Venting this poisonous brew no longer appeals to me and I find writing about all things Van Halen is a lot more fun, and that's what is and will be when it comes to this blog.
Enough of this seriousness. Here are two video clips that merge the two things I enjoy that this blog was/is meant to be: music with a strong beat and irreverent political commentary. Enjoy!
Ministry with "Lies Lies Lies"
John Jackson (aka "Fabolous") and his "Where Brooklyn At"
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