Failing.

 

         For how long will humanity accept the pimps and gods of war to dominate our lives. Slaughter in the name of power, wealth and domination over others has plagued humanity for centuries and we seem to have learned nothing. The following poem could have been written yesterday but sadly it was written circa 2285-2250 BCE by the first ever named woman poet Enheduanna and still the Gods of war are "raging like thunderstorms" when will we turn in our millions against the rising wings of war, once and for all.

Image courtesy of Canadian Dimension.

Lament to the Spirit of War

by Enheduanna

loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You hack down everything you see, War God!

Rising on fearsome wings
you rush to destroy our land:
raging like thunderstorms,
howling like hurricanes,
screaming like tempests,
thundering, raging, ranting, drumming,
whiplashing whirlwinds!

Men falter at your approaching footsteps.

Tortured dirges scream on your lyre of despair.

Like a fiery Salamander you poison the land:
growling over the earth like thunder,
vegetation collapsing before you,
blood gushing down mountainsides.

Spirit of hatred, greed and vengeance!

Dominatrix of heaven and earth!

Your ferocious fire consumes our land.
Whipping your stallion
with furious commands,
you impose our fates.
You triumph over all human rites and prayers.

Who can explain your tirade,

why you carry on so?

                                          Image courtesy of Peace & Planet News.

Visit ann arky at https://spiritofrevolt.info   

Dark Times.

Image courtesy of UN News. 

 

TODAY

In these mad times where cluster bombs are OK
where shattered limbs an acceptable price to pay
crumpled buildings cratered streets where people stay
cities of weeping children who forgot how to play
Our modern power driven world in rapid decay
we can but hope that soon sanity will have its say

 

Image courtesy of Hi.Org.

 

        In these dark days when pimps of war seem to hold the upper hand and bosses of the capitalist juggernaut grow fat on the bloody proceeds of those wars, I thought it world be fitting to post one of  Theodore Roethke poems, In A Dark Time.

 

IN A DARK TIME

 

In a dark time, the eye begins to see,

I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;   

I hear my echo in the echoing wood—

A lord of nature weeping to a tree.

I live between the heron and the wren,   

Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

What’s madness but nobility of soul

At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!   

I know the purity of pure despair,

My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.   

That place among the rocks—is it a cave,   

Or winding path? The edge is what I have.

A steady storm of correspondences!

A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,   

And in broad day the midnight come again!   

A man goes far to find out what he is—

Death of the self in a long, tearless night,   

All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.

Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.   

My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,   

Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?

A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.   

The mind enters itself, and God the mind,   

And one is One, free in the tearing wind.

  

 By Theodore Roethke

 

Visit ann arky at https://spiritofrevolt.info