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Welcome, one and all, to an edition of Indigo Kalliope wherein I've Bin writing some things about one Bin having Bin relegated to the dust Bin of history. I hope you've all Bin well. I've Bin fine, thanks for askin'. Now that I'm done with gratuitous wordplay, (Just kidding, I'm not done. Not by half.) please join me below the fold, where we'll find an overflowing poetry Bin, Laden with verses inspired by some guy whose name I can't recall at the moment. Also, I'm delighted to announce a special appearance by the father of Indigo Kalliope himself, ulookarmless!
People are rarely one-dimensional, and I am no exception. The news affected me on many levels, and I seek to express a few of them here. My first impulses tend toward levity, and 'twas no different here. Please enjoy:
Been Laden (A Memoir)
Bin Laden's been dirty,
Bin Laden's been clean,
Bin Laden's been fightin
with Mujahadeen.
Bin Laden's been stressin,
Bin Laden's been chillin,
Bin Laden's been hero,
though now he's a villain.
Bin Laden's been good,
Bin Laden's been bad,
Bin Laden's been makin
most everyone mad.
Bin Laden's been here,
Bin Laden's been there,
Bin Laden's been givin
you cause for despair.
Bin Laden's been dim,
Bin Laden's been bright,
Bin Laden's been blowin
shit up left and right.
Bin Laden's been strong,
Bin Laden's been weak,
Bin Laden's been champion
of hide and seek.
Bin Laden's been runnin,
Bin Laden's been sought,
Bin Laden's been spotted,
Bin Laden's been shot.
Bin Laden's been takin,
Bin Laden's been givin,
Bin Laden's been until
quite recently livin.
Bin Laden's been dreamin,
Bin Laden's been thinkin,
Bin Laden's been floatin,
Bin Laden's been sinkin.
Also, I wrote a limerick. Sorry.
Bin Limerick
There once was a man called Osama,
Who didn't learn manners from Mama.
He brandished his tush,
Ever dodging the Bush,
But he couldn't steer clear of Obama.
As my countenance began to grow more somber, I composed a short piece of lyric prose, hoping to finally get back to what's important.
"A" poem
As a nation assassinates a sandy assassin, ask a question.
Is assassination as astute an action as one can ask of a nation?
Can no other cause but assassination cause a nation elation?
Allow another adaptation among accumulation of alliteration
askance of a nations adulation about assassination, and ask adamantly,
"Now can we feed the hungry?"
Celebrations abound. They kinda creeped me out. So did the knowledge that I don't have much company in that sentiment. So here's what that feels like.
It's Lonely Sometimes
It's lonely sometimes,
In a world of jubilation
That expects me to be thrilled.
Am I the only one
Who has a little voice inside
That asks,
"Why do we have a celebration
Because a man is killed?"
It's awkward sometimes.
My satisfaction forced,
My flag is my false smile.
Am I the only one
Who has a little voice inside
That asks,
"How does making one corpse
Make millions more worthwhile?"
It's scary sometimes.
I want to break the silence,
Take my peace off the shelf.
Am I the only one
Who has a little voice inside
That asks,
"Is the success of our violence
Not a failure in itself?"
It's lonely sometimes,
When you don't join the chants,
Or laugh or dance or sing.
Am I the only one
Who has a little voice inside
That asks,
"Are justice and vengeance
Really the same thing?"
Finally, empath that I am, I wondered, "What would Osama have to say?"
Or, much more importantly, "What would Osama have to say if he were a character delivering the final monologue of a Shakespearean tragedy?"
Osama Bin's Lament (A soliloquy)
For certain, mine's a long and loathsome tale
Of blood and tears and avarice and woe.
For whom the devil bless'd or God doth curse,
The wroth of fellow men 'twas truly worse.
Two giants joined in battle for the world.
For one I fought, the other I opposed.
My giant loomed victorious that day,
But as the only giant, went astray
With greed, my giant overtook the globe,
With force of men at arms and force of gold.
Its vows lay broken, honor cast aside.
My giant thus became my enemy.
I sought like minded individuals,
And built a brotherhood of righteous men.
We called ourselves "The Base" and set to train
To bring the callow giant to its knees.
The dragons we released o'er all the land.
Their fires led infidels to their graves,
And lo, many a brave soul gave his life
To take the lives of those not fit to live.
To Allah we delivered broken foes.
To paradise, Jihadists rose in droves.
An embassy, a ship, we struck with stealth.
Though we were few, they feared us with each breath.
The giant flailed its fists to no avail
As we appeared and disappeared at will.
A strike, a jab, a thrust, a cut, retreat.
The livid giant found no easy meat.
And so it went, 'till we struck such a blow,
The giant rose, fists clenched and red with rage.
My masterpiece, for which I'll e'er be known
Accomplished more than we had dared to hope.
Mad with wroth, the giant did inflict
More wounds upon itself than our small band
Could e'er have been the cause of on our own.
Beating its chest, it bruised its very soul.
It withdrew many freedoms from its brood.
It withdrew gold and doubled down on arms.
It ravaged through the sand, a beast unchained.
It kill'd and robb'd and starved and raped and maim'd.
It gathered fear and corpses marked its wake.
Its common people lived with less and less.
With less of food and less of liberty.
With more of fear, more still of suspicion.
And like a tumor, turned in on itself,
And dined upon its own flesh and lifeblood.
The giant, weakened, ever stayed the course,
And cast away all that it fought to save.
And so I fear I'm not long for this world.
I shan't go gently, but with flag unfurled,
March smiling through the door, to always know
My victory had been won by my foe.
My tale is drawing ever to a close,
and nearer still, my eternal repose.
The tale that will be told of my demise
'Tis written on a bullet 'twixt mine eyes.
Before me were some thousands and again
Will come after my time is at an end.
The names and deeds shall intertwine with time,
And memories become the seed of myth.
Adieu I bid to thee, and I away,
Toward maidenheads of two and seventy.
And when the curtain's felled and mobs dispersed,
You'll wonder if i truly walked the Earth.
The above poems are © Mike Davis, May 2011. Permission to reprint granted, Permission to take credit denied.
From ulookarmless on reflecting about our values.
What we gain, what we lose.
A Most Unchristian Act
(5/2/2011)
The murder of Bin Laden proves
The emptiness of the professed belief
Of the so-called major religion
Of this poor benighted ball of clay
Clay composed of the ashes of those
Murdered for their beliefs in eras
Gone before when power in the form
Of muscle ruled over thought
Or later when emotion became
The fashion of the day
And thought was once again
Denied a place at the monarch’s table
Today we cling to the empty notion
That killing will bring peace
An oxymoron to trump all oxymora.
In spite of Christ’s plea to
Turn the other cheek. To
“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”
In what fevered brain does the scheme
To kill the embodiment of anti-America
Cause rejoicing for more than just a few
Who can only see the small circle of
Red-white-blue illuminating light cast
By the upstart, interfering
Johnny-come-lately wide shouldered
Emotion driven nation which has yet to earn
A place in the required textbook of
History’s Great Nations?
© CJ Campbell
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