Monthly Archives: March 2014

Multicultural Suicide: an epitaph

islamic.street2

She was an earnest devotée.
Her ideals, birthed in Chardonnay
were globally diverse (read: white).
A liberal bark preceded bite.
Her crystal clearer than her vision;
she provoked bemused derision
as she breathed intolerance
toward all who would not dance her dance.
She swooned for distant pagan tribes,
attuned to their exotic vibes –
rapt in multi-culti piety
strangely deaf to her own society,
judged by her as abomination;
unredeemed. The background station
always stuck on N.P.R.
(the soundtrack of her culture war),
Pacifica News and Democracy Nows,
and other Progressive holy cows.
Her motherland a shameful mystery:
guilty first, and void of history –
its origins defiled, corrupted…
while she enjoyed uninterrupted
freedom to pursue her whims:
misguided one-world global hymns.
The sisterhood of hu(man) kind
was foremost in her zealous mind –
even should that same sisterhood
be sealed by her well-meaning blood.
Out on a date with global death
she hoped to unify the earth
in solidarity with causes
led by killers, warlord bosses,
thugs she never knew existed
who, if she’d met them she’d have resisted.
Her theory landed far from her praxis
spun, by default, on an evil axis.
Hot with zeal she fumed and stormed
quite certain she was well-informed,
at benefits, non-profit functions
rallies, boycotts, left-wing luncheons;
warm with righteous spite for Israel,
aiding and abetting Ishmael
with fellow-travelers, like-minded
similarly hateful, blinded,
rattling sabers, scimitars, axes…
(lunacy never wanes, but waxes
hotter with the passing years
as activists confront their fears).
She finally shilled for the Intifada
(stopping short of reciting Shahada),
reaching out to the terrorist
with righteous raised progressive fist…
offering thus her neck to blade:
collateral to be repaid
by murderers who couldn’t care less
about her open-mindedness.

NB:  Any resemblace of poetic protagonistas to actual people is pure coincidence

IslamicStreet

 

IMAGE CREDIT: AP Photo/Rahmat Gul

Hung on a Psychosociolinguistic Scaffold

Babel Tower

Oh Language, where hast thou hid thyself?
Thy once-bright spires decline to dust.
The calm, well-reasoned flow of wisdom
a bygone memory. I’ll not trust
these tween-to-twenty-something’s prattle;
endless babble of self-absorption
centered in pleasure-maximizing:
narcissistic thought-abortion.
Dude – they’re SO not app’ed for language
used by dad ten years ago.
I’m totally DONE with their, like, verbiage
They’re all: Smartphone Teenage Show.
It’s just, like, TALKING  – without words
in language ghettos; texting proud…
Their lack of precision offends my brain –
They ought to be ashamed (out loud).

Vygotsky’s vaunted Z.P.D,
and Bakhtin’s heteroglossic crack
along with Roland Barthe’s pet parrot
Are SO like totally talking smack.

Also Sprach Scriptaculums

Good poems have changed the world – and the poems can even today. A poem can be expressed differently, is often more accurate than everyday words and comes with excellent sound directly into the heart and soul. Think with the poet captured the love poem to a woman and hit the bow of the topics love about happiness to sadness. Even if the voice fails, the right poem can take on the task of the embassy.

But fortunately enough, most events in life are cheerful nature or you can give them with the matching poem a humorous appeal. New poems we have written exactly that! From the high-class speech as a poem, short poems with punch and imagination and telling little stories as a poem, and more. Our poems and sayings are written in the correct meter and can speak and understand well. Did you know that a poem is really good only while reading aloud ? Then the language opens up more clearly, as well as the emphasis and the sound of words, the results only from rhymed lines. Give it a try ! It opens up to you a new world of poetry ! And not only that, because you feel the class of a sophisticated poem on a word choice that is more than just a tedious rhyme at the end of the line. In a good poem, the words of a line swing in another when speaking with very melodic. The most common and recurring events are birthdays. The theme of the birthday poems we have paid special attention.

And so we, the authors of the Scriptaculums, always try to keep it in the words of Heinrich Heine ( poet 1797-1856 ), who wrote about the art of poetry and poetry follows, quote:

“A bit of foolishness that sees itself always heard to poetry !”

And also Christian Friedrich Hebbel ( 1813-63 poet ) was us a mental model of his sentence, quote:

“Poetry is not to say anything, but to let us dream of it.”

from: SCRIPTACULUM

(with help from Google translator)

Latin Alliance: No Man’s Land

Latin Alliance [1991]

De Nicaragua yo vengo directo / vengo en efecto 
decilo correcto / contalo que es cierto
Telling the truth about where I come from NICARAGUA
the Lyrical Latin is a Central American
telling the story of the glory of the land
a once beautiful country now free of command
but something went wrong
with a strong form of government  –
they tried to give it an adjustment…

Así comenzó la guerilla  / donde matan a sangre fría
Cold-blooded; not giving it a second thought
the love of freedom was the reason that so many fought
The start of corruption and the destruction
when given an order – you follow that instruction.
This is the place where everyone takes command: no man’s land…

No man’s land / meaning no exit or entry: place of no choice / wishing and envy
Force of this kind / brainwashing the mind / families split apart and left behind

todo comenzó con la revolución / gente no estaba satisfecha con la función
that the country had  / and the system it was running
plans were now made and war was now coming
tiraron los Somoza y entró el Sandinismo / cuando pasó eso entró el comunismo

my people use their own people
they got greedy with the power to not treat’em as an equal
this is the place where everyone takes command: no man’s land…

♪♫♫ MUSIC ♪♪♫ 

Niños tirados a la guerra / también mujeres peleaban como fieras
so many people were tortured and killed, so much pain / so much blood spilled
I can’t believe / no lo puedo creer como la gente cambian cuando tienen poder
colors of the flag replaced in fact: the red means blood and death means black
and in the center of the flag: F.S.L.N / la bandera Sandinista se sostiene

hopefully one day we’ll all be at peace
and all of these countries will soon be released
so we won’t sink into the communist quicksand: no man’s land…

flag of Nicaragua      FSLN