Trumped-up wars
By William T. Hathaway
“Obey me or die!”
the orange-haired man threatens the world.
“My drones know you’re home,
and my missiles don’t miss.
I’m Commander in Chief, CinC for short.
I’ll sink you into the sea, fry you crisp,
burn you to dust with the push of a button.
I’ll overthrow your governments,
strangle your economies,
jail your refugees.
I’m the trumpet of doom,
I’ll turn your land into a tomb!”
CinC, this may shock you,
but there are higher commanders than you,
and to Them we appeal for peace
and deliverance from you:
“Jaya Jaya, Vinayaka
Hara Kailash
Durga Rakshakari
Rudra Shanti
Vidjayante Taram
Protect us from the orange fire
of the orange demon
and all his NATO agents of orange.
Disembody these demons, vanish them,
banish them into the dungeon of perdition
their deeds have built for them.
Om namah Shivaya”
* * *
William T. Hathaway’s first novel, A World of Hurt, won a Rinehart Foundation Award, and his new one, Wellsprings: A Fable of Consciousness, deals with the environmental crisis as an old woman and a young man battle the corporations controlling our shrinking water supplies: https://www.johnhuntpublishing.com/cosmicegg-books/our-books/wellsprings. He and his wife, Daniela, direct the Transcendental Meditation Center in Oldenburg, Germany.
Do Drones Dream of Electric War Crimes?
by Caitlin Johnstone
They strip the earth of minerals
to fill the skies with metal birds.
Minerals drop explosive minerals
onto organic matter with faces and feelings,
and eyes are ripped from heads
and fingers are ripped from hands
and limbs are ripped from torsos
and insides are ripped outside
from bodies once cuddled and breastfed by mothers
to splash upon the cold concrete
and expire beneath the stars
of a bemused universe
and return to their base elements.
The flying mineral machines cruise on
without looking back.
And the news man says,
“Breaking story, Jibby Jorpson love triangle?!?
Also, this common household product will melt your children
because you’re a bad parent
who couldn’t sit through one little commercial break.
But first: is this baby orangutan a transsexual?
Find out why outrage addicts are outraged
after these important advertisements from Northrop Grumman.”
And the stars say,
“We are more ancient than you can fathom
and more distant than you can comprehend,
yet we are made of the same matter,
and we rejoice in your part in this dance,
and as your elements return to the swirling cosmos
we love you more than you can possibly imagine.”
And the mothers say,
“Why?
Why, why, why, why, why?
Why are his insides now on the outside
of the body I once cuddled and breastfed?
Why did explosives fall from the sky
from a bird made of minerals dug from the living earth?
Where are his arms?
Where is his skin?
I need it so I can kiss him
and get him ready for school.”
And the mineral machines say nothing
as their numbers grow until they fill the sky
so that nobody can see the stars anymore,
and we all forget where we came from,
and the Bank Boys finally look up and say,
“There, that’s much better.”
And the living earth accepts all returners
as they burst in ever increasing numbers
beneath the circling metal birds
of a blackened sky
beneath unseen stars
who watch and wonder
if we’ll ever remember
where we came from.
* * *
Caitlin Johnstone: Rogue journalist. Bogan socialist. Anarcho-psychonaut. Guerilla poet. Utopia prepper. Read Caitlin’s articles on Medium here or on Steemit here, follow her on Twitter here, and follow her on Facebook here. Visit CaitlinJohnstone.com
