This is posted in the Kook File, but I thought it was relevant enough to go ahead and post on the front page. I wrote this on Immaculation Day (inauguration day), and it seemed just as fitting today as then. First is the Inaugural Poem...then my (more fitting) attempt.
Ridiculous Poem from Immaculation and My Attempt.
It doesn’t even rhyme. I have read it three times and it just makes me angry. I do not know why it makes me angry, probably because I know it is somehow racial…why I should feel guilty as a white man or something. I don’t know. I like poetry. I can recite several poems word for word, and I like them…I don’t think this is poetry…and I do not understand it…gobblydegook….pisses me off.
Praise song for the day. Each day we go about our business, walking past each other, catching each others' eyes or not, about to speak or speaking. All about us is noise. All about us is noise and bramble, thorn and din, each one of our ancestors on our tongues. Someone is stitching up a hem, darning a hole in a uniform, patching a tire, repairing the things in need of repair. Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice. A woman and her son wait for the bus. A farmer considers the changing sky; A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin." We encounter each other in words, words spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed; words to consider, reconsider. We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road." We need to find a place where we are safe; We walk into that which we cannot yet see. Say it plain, that many have died for this day. Sing the names of the dead who brought us here, who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges, picked the cotton and the lettuce, built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of. Praise song for struggle; praise song for the day. Praise song for every hand-lettered sign; The figuring it out at kitchen tables. Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."Others by first do no harm, or take no more than you need. " What if the mightiest word is love, love beyond marital, filial, national. Love that casts a widening pool of light. Love with no need to preempt grievance. In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air, anything can be made, any sentence begun. On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light."
That steaming pile of poo was The inaugural poem for Barack Hussein Obama.
Here I can do one too..
"Oh glorious morning I have to go to the bathroom and do my business, walking past the coffee pot, looking at the clock or not, listening to people speak and not speaking. All I hear is noise, I stepped on a toy in the den, the name of my child is loud upon my tongue! I have too much crap to do today, going to work, supporting the lazy, patching a hole in my pants because I am broke, repairing things that need fixed because everything is made in China. Someone is making too much damn noise somewhere; sounds like jungle drums, I tell them to shut the hell up. I have to take the bus to work, I cannot afford a car. A farmer considers why prices are so high, while his pay is so low. A teacher says “the answer to the question 4 on the test is B” so that everyone passes the test, education in the 21st century. We encounter each other at the unemployment line, we start to speak but, what is there to say? We wish we would have considered the consequences and we reconsider our vote. We cross dirt roads, because the state cannot pave them, too many welfare payments to make because of the will of someone who said, “everyone gets everything no matter who works” We need to find a place that is safe, I walked into something I could not see, my electric has been shut off. I say it plain that many have died to prevent this day, and yet no one really cares, scream the names of the living who brought us here; liberal progressives every one! Sing a song about the heartland the only place I feel at home, sing about the way a good man works until the daylight is gone; sing the rain on the roof on a summer night, where they still know wrong from right, sing a song about the heartland, sing a song about my life. Some live by “take from thy neighbor for thyself”; others praise “doing nothing”, or “take all you can get, the white man will make more” What if the mightiest words are “get a damn job” and “let me keep my money” but no one hears them because they are all high on Peace and Love…drugs that cost nothing but make us stupid and incapable of rational thought. In todays pc world, this foul climate, anything can be done, and anything can be said, unless you are a white Christian man under the age of 60, then you are an intolerant bigot no matter what. Down the drain, circling the bowl, up shit creek- that is what we are boldly walking toward"
‘Thoughts The Day After’
23 hours ago
