Ben Harper's A Better Way honouring Sen. Barack Obama. Even the U.S. press pundits who deliberately have spun the race - to create news where none existed - now believe Sen. Obama will be the Democratic presidential nominee. "And no one is going to dispute it." The math doesn't lie.
Guillame Apollinaire's poem about May, handwritten in French at a spring exhibition at Les Passages in Boulogne-Billancourt.
Endless blue skies and an historic church set behind a town hall, currently under renovation near Le Bon Marche, Paris.
Grey skies more typical of spring in Paris. Construction continues on an underground parking garage and park in my neighbourhood. The work began in 2006 and is scheduled for completion later this year.
Bright pink hortensia softens the urban environment on Ile Saint Louis.
Pimentos - red and green - at a local supermarket.
A brass-and-enamel bed frame at a recent brocante. Remember the old Bob Dylan song, "Lay lady, lay - lay across my big brass bed?"
A vintage foosball game for sale at a brocante. An excellent antiquites brocante at Place de Bastille, Paris begins later this week.
Filling station replicas, Danish modern chairs and a mannequin.
Hats and theatre props. And speaking of props, Europeans and Americans alike are amused by Hillary Clinton's new "guns" mailing.
Plus, that little gas tax holiday stunt Clinton keeps pushing - even though economists oppose it and both she and her husband were against it in 2000 - has earned her the rebuke of a senior member of Congress. An excerpt of George Miller's statement: "“The call by Sens. Clinton and McCain to temporarily suspend the federal tax on gasoline is a short-sighted stunt that will hurt consumers and do nothing to reduce the price of gas. American consumers and our economy need a real solution to the energy crisis, not an empty trick. You can run cars on a lot of different fuels, but snake oil isn’t one of them."
A tattooed rock at Le Carrefour des Cascades in the Bois de Boulogne, Paris.
Signs of love.
Natural rock formations. Notice the bird hiding at right.
Tranquility at the base of the waterfall.
A view of the waterfall's base from behind a heart-shaped rock formation.
Water cascades down the sides of the rocks.
In many parts of this world water is scarce and precious.
People sometimes have to walk a great distance
then carry heavy jugs upon their heads.
Because of our wisdom, we will travel far for love.
All movement is a sign of Thirst.
Most speaking really says, "I am hungry to know you."
Every desire of your body is holy;
every desire of your body is Holy.
Dear one, why wait until you are dying
to discover that divine Truth?
Hafiz poem from the book "The Subject Tonight is Love" translated by Daniel Ladinsky.
An unusual shrub near Cromwell Road, London. Anyone know what kind it is?
On Monday I received this delightful message:
Hi Tara,My name is xxxxx xxxxx, an xxxxx currently living in xxxxx (another country). I hope you don´t mind using xxxxx to contact you hoping that maybe I could get some advice from a local perspective for a special evening that has been on my mind for the last few weeks.
As it turns out, I will be visiting Paris for xxxxx days at the end of xxxxx in order to meet some potential clients my company wants to develop. My girlfriend xxxxx, who currently works in xxxxx (yet another country) will join me for the weekend and the idea is that we can spend some time together, as well as get to know this charming city.
What she doesn´t know is that I would like to take advantage of the fact that we are in such a romantic town to plan the perfect day that ends up with me asking her to marry me. This will hopefully catch her breath away :-) The problem is that I have never been to Paris so far, so here is where I would need your advice. I would really appreciate if you can recommend me some romantic spots and places that can help me build up a nice atmosphere towards the evening. I am thinking maybe a walk in a beautiful street, some gardens or parks, a nice restaurant or a traditional serenade around the river, but please, you are the expert and that is why I came to you. The keyword as you already notice: Romantic.
As you can surely imagine, I am very excited and cannot wait for this day to finally come. So, if you decide to help me in my quest you will make this romantic xxxxx the happiest man of the world.
Merci et au revoir,
(Name)
Ah, a charming man with a romantic soul... And what a lucky woman to win his heart! Practically every woman I know wishes men would make more of an effort to be thoughtful and sweet. Today I was having lunch with my friend Susan of Soozphotoz and her lovely daughter Sara on Ile Saint Louis. When I told them the story, they simultaneously exlaimed, "Aaaawwwww - how sweet!" Yes, you can bet I sent the writer a list of some of the city's most romantic rendezvous spots. And the Eiffel Tower was not on the list!
Here's another wonderful story, just in case you missed it----or need a tiny glimmer of hope.
For the Writers Island prompt "outrageous:"
One of the most fascinating encounters I had during my last trip to London was talking with an Iraqi mini-cab driver. The minute I saw him, I knew he was an Iraqi refugee. He was wearing the usual three-piece brown suit, white shirt and tie made of cheap fabric; had carefully combed hair and a heavy douse of scent. I say this not to disparage this gentleman, but to explain that I have seen a version of him in nearly every country in the Middle East, in Europe and - more rarely - in the United States: someone who has lost nearly everything. A desperate person trying to make his way in a foreign country, with very little, while working hard to make ends meet. This particular man drives a car seven days a week to support his family.
While moving slowly through London traffic to St. Pancras International, we chatted about war in Iraq and the American presidential election:
"The situation is so bad that most teachers, doctors and anyone who can afford it have left Iraq," the man said. "We knew when the Americans arrived that they would not be leaving anytime soon and no one was happy about that. But we worry that if American troops pull out now, Iran will seize the opening. They are always looking for a way in (and he referenced the eight-year Iran-Iraq war)...We are threatened by Turkey from the North, Iran from the South and Al-Qaida taking advantage of the chaos."
Asked why Iraqis are listening to Iran, a non-Arab country and longtime enemy, the man replied: "Only a few are listening, but they have influence with others." He said Moqtada al Sadr "gets all his weapons and support" from Iran.
We talked about the dilemma for the US, as 68 percent of Americans believe we never should have gone into Iraq and want our troops home, but have sympathy for the Iraqis' plight. Then we discussed the double-edged sword for the Iraqis, who badly need help, but resent the foreign troops' presence. He said he believes it will take "50 years" to rebuild Iraq. "The situation is so perilous that Iraqis now living outside Iraq talk about it only at dinner and when questioned by people like you," he noted. Otherwise, "we try to forget about it," he said. "It's just too horrible to think about."
He expressed concern about Iraqi deaths that often go unreported by the media. "There have been hundreds of Iraqis killed this week alone and nobody talks about it or does anything about it," he said.
He said Iraqis are watching the American election with a mixture of interest and fear. "We're worried that the next president might pull all the troops out too soon, leaving Iraq to fend for itself," he said. "The Iraqi government isn't strong enough and can't fight powerful influences of people like Moqtada al Sadr, without help from outside."
Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band singing Worlds Apart in Barcelona, Spain. I had the privilege of seeing Springsteen on this same "The Rising" tour in Paris. In memoriam: Danny Federici of the E Street Band.
Outrageous battles for those who live to tell
Meanwhile, more than 120 veteran soldiers of Iraq and Afghanistan commit suicide every week, while the Bush administration delays mental health treatment and benefits to which returning troops are entitled, veterans advocates told a federal judge in San Francisco.
The rights of hundreds of thousands of veterans are being violated by the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA), "an agency that is in denial" and by a government health care system and appeals process for patients that is "broken down," Gordon Erspamer, attorney for two advocacy groups, said in his opening statement at trial. Erspamer said veterans are committing suicide at the rate of 18 a day - a number acknowledged by a VA official in a Dec. 15 e-mail. The agency's backlog of disability claims exceeds 650,000.
Continue reading "Worlds apart, bound together by Bush's folly" »
These photos from the London department store Selfridges "shipwreck" series remind me of one of my favourite films, Wings of Desire. The Wim Wenders film features Bruno Ganz, the late Solveig Dommartin and Peter Falk. In 1987-88, the film won numerous prizes in festivals in France, Germany and Europe, including Best Director at Cannes. The film's premise involves angels surveying the war-scarred city of Berlin. The angels listen to tortured thoughts of mortals going about their daily lives and try to comfort them. One angel desires nothing more than to become mortal, after falling in love with Marian, a beautiful trapeze artist.
My poem in homage to Wings of Desire:
The heart knows nothing
until that fateful encounter:
a seemingly chance meeting
at the right place and time
and something inside stirs.
From that first moment
the stars and planets align.
Anxiety gives way to certainty,
saying yes to all the questions
too long unasked and unanswered.
No matter that the distance
of time and space is long
and the journey ahead
fraught with challenges and obstacles
that may alter the route.
The picture in your mind's eye steady;
the path to your beloved clear.
No maps needed to find the way
to the one who understands
before a single word is spoken.
A connection forged long ago
in another lifetime
so distant from this modern realm
etched into memory's core;
written indelibly across your heart.
Check back Tuesday for photos of shipwreck-themed sculptures created especially for Selfridges, London by artist Stuart Haygarth, as well as pictures from today's Marches des Puces at Vanves, Paris.
A form of bungee jumping deemed safe for children at Hippodrome de Longchamp, Paris.
To one
Who smells the sun,
Eyes shut and tastes that rain is sweet;
Who hears
Music, but fears
Its presence in empty gardens; or, discreet,
Only observes
The nerves
And fibers of a painting - shade, technique;
What is
Beyond analysis
Is perilous: we must not wish to seek
And cry
'This is what I
Love, what I cherish!' Instead, be wary of such
Intensity
That we
May never be hurt or happy or anything too
much.
Poem from the novel Beginner's Greek by James Collins. For those who are sitting on the fence, afraid to take a leap forward, I encourage you to be brave. Take a risk. Dare to open your heart. Truly LIVE your life in capital letters!
Arched windows, Mosquee de Paris
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will meet you there.” - Rumi 1207-1273.
"You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way and the only way, it does not exist.” - Friedrich Nietzsche 1844-1900.
"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.” - Rumi.
No matter what happens in Iraq, the Bush administration and John McCain always have an answer: six more months. When the "surge" began a year ago, they told America things would get better by September. In September, they said we'd know more by spring. And this week, General Petraeus is on Capitol Hill asking for -you guessed it - six more months. Senator McCain and President Bush couldn't agree more.
They don't have a plan for getting us out of Iraq, so they're trying to sell endless war on the installment plan. When questioning Gen. Patraeus and Amb. Crocker this week, Sen. Barack Obama asked fundamental questions the Bush administration has failed to answer. What does victory mean? What are our goals? What are we trying to achieve? But neither Petraeus nor Crocker could answer those key questions.
And I agree with John Ashcroft's concern that "history will not judge kindly" the news that top Bush advisors approved torture methods.
An excerpt from MSNBC's Keith Olbermann's comments regarding George W. Bush's latest machinations:
Olbemann said while Bush reduced tours of duty for our soldiers from 15 months to 12, a cruel caveat is attached: Any troops currently in Iraq or those deploying before August aren't eligible for reduced tours. Olbermann takes Bush to task for claiming troop morale would plummet "if we were to lose in Iraq" by not fulfilling HIS goals. He reminded viewers that last year alone some 120 soldiers committed suicide and for them, "the war is already over."
”Last year he (Bush) escalated the war in Iraq; today he announced that there would be de-escalation beyond July, yet somehow stood there with a straight face and lied about how he was withdrawing troops. Now, that was hardly the lone instance of dissembling, tortured logic, sophistry and outright dishonesty in Mr. Bush’s latest sugar-coating of the undeniable and unforgivable fact that he is continuing to arrange for the needless deaths of American heroes.”
And sadly, once again Bill Clinton is telling tall tales.
Contemplating flight, Square des Batignolles, 17th arrondisement, Paris
For the Writers Island prompt "gamble," this poem was inspired by tough choices:
It's a gamble:
Risk a leap of faith
or stay safe,
secure in the nest
lined with bright bits
of cloth and paper
and glittery accents
that sparkle and shine
in the midday sun
and glow
in the moonlight.
A retreat of your own making:
beautiful as it is,
still a virtual prison,
making it impossible
to spread your wings,
fly free
and embrace destiny.
An Islamic fabric remnant has survived centuries virtually intact, L'Institut du Monde Arabe, Paris.
This "deja vu" poem for Writers Island is based on the idea of a reunion with a soulmate:
Deja vu - it's you!
That same face that won my heart
nearly a lifetime ago.
All these years later,
I remember the thrill
we felt from that first moment:
exactly the same reaction now,
with an added frisson of fear.
Time has taught us
that overwhelming joy
comes with a high price,
often difficult to bear.
Others don't understand
or care about the magic
that infuses every breath
in each other's presence
or the sense of wholeness
and completion
we feel when we are together.
Friends and family worry only
about convention and appearances
that fit into their pre-conceived notions
of appropriateness;
love simply doesn't enter into the equation.
Yet for us, love has never wavered,
despite too much space and distance
and bad timing and wrong decisions,
made in haste and defiance
when practical choices were limited.
So here we are again:
living proof that one doesn't choose love;
it chooses you.
From the moment our eyes first met,
a flame leapt to life in both our hearts.
And all the intervening years
and oceans of tears
have failed to extinguish that fire.
How can we say goodbye - again?
Vintage military-issue pith helmets at the recent brocante at Chatou, France.
This post is part of the March 19 Blogswarm against the Iraq War - a group of bloggers opposing the war in Iraq and calling for a full withdrawal of troops from Iraq.
Five years. Over one million dead. To date, over $522 billion spent, with another $70 billion allocated for 2008 and hidden costs set to skyrocket up to $3 trillion, according to Columbia University economist Joseph E. Stiglitz and Harvard lecturer Linda Bilmes.
Perhaps the cruelest tragedy is that all this death, destruction and chaos is based on 935 deliberate lies. Here's my anti-war poem:
NO MORE WAR!
No more war
and senseless bloodshed
for the lies of a feckless government
and their greedy corporate friends.
No more horrific deaths
of soldiers and civilians alike,
innocents
caught up in relentless mayhem
of bombs and explosions.
No more journalists and aid workers
killed or kidnapped
while trying to help
heal the wounded beast:
a country whose complex history
suggests no easy solutions.
Insurgents seek to undermine
every opportunity for peace
while corrupt leaders
squabble like bickering children
and fail to govern,
relying on us.
No more children taught to hate
and trained to kill
to avenge their fathers
brothers and sisters.
No more vicious cycles
of violence and rage
fueled by extremists and fanatics,
who take advantage of the
rich man's thirst for oil
to suppress and stamp out
any semblance of peace and normalcy,
abusing power for their own ends.
No more war.
No more weeping into open graves
or risking life and limb to buy food.
No more no-bid contracts
awarded to Cheney's cronies
who grow fat and wealthy,
yet projects remain on hold
as the danger escalates.
No more tall tales
fed like pablum to the mainstream media,
then duly reported to a gullible public.
No more mothers' tears and fathers' sorrow
for children struck down
while walking home from school.
No more injured soldiers
flying home to no jobs
and post-traumatic stress,
then losing their homes
paying for urgent medical care.
No more lies
No more spin
Tell the truth
STOP THE WAR!
Don't you think this doll swinging on scales at the brocante at Chatou looks rather spellbound? And that's the prompt at Writers Island, where I am very late to the party:
On a wing and a prayer
a special delivery:
aimed at my heart,
at its most vulnerable
and deeply susceptible to joy.
Spellbound
by the look in your eyes,
that wry hint of a smile;
the measure of your words;
the tacit agreement.
Intoxicated
and enthralled
by the intrigue
that surrounds you:
what will happen next?
Unravelling
the mystery of your suspense
joining you on a quest
daring more
adventure, risk and magic.
Caught up in a web
of our own making:
a roller coaster ride
of thrills and spills,
recklessly upsetting the balance.
The myths carefully cultivated,
the mystique constructed
to keep emotion at arm's length,
so as not to shatter
illusions of status quo.
Now the truth
means defying convention,
throwing out all the rules.
Oceans apart,
yet a heartbeat away.
Charting a new course
as the winds of change blow,
creating endless possibilities
for those sailors
deeply susceptible to joy.
A carpet of early spring blooms in the Bois du Boulogne, Paris.
"Heaven is under our feet, as well as over our heads." - Henry David Thoreau, The pond in winter, Walden. I once lived in a little cottage near the beach in Pacific Grove, California. Thoreau's words were carved in a swirling stone pattern into the concrete sidewalk.
Here's a beautiful song about the bliss of sailing and love, Sails performed by the late great Chet Atkins and Steve Wariner.
As a journalist, I had the privilege of covering Steve and his band's Life's Highway concert tour in Texas, Oklahoma and Arkansas. Later I spoke by phone to Chet Atkins in Nashville, who had long been a mentor for Steve Wariner. What a charming gentleman he was, as well as an amazingly-talented musician. In 1994, I saw Atkins in concert with Suzy Bogguss at the Warwick in San Francisco. Hearing and watching him play the guitar was pure magic.
Manicured grounds adjacent to the windmill in the Bois du Boulogne.
A 24-hour French clock face from Une Chanson Douce, the lovely Geraldine Michaelis's rue Gaite stand at the 76th Foire Nationale aux Antiquites, a la Brocante et aux Jambons. Check back later for more brocante photos.
This poem was inspired by the word "shimmer" glimpsed amidst a jumble of words here. As it developed, the poem became about an unspoken promise unfolding. While written two days before the Writers Island prompt "Rising" was posted, it seems to fit the theme.
Shimmer
like the star that you are:
wrap yourself in the blush of candlelight,
dance through the moonbeams,
soar high above the horizon
in a blaze of shooting stars.
Light twinkles
in your shining eyes
that look at me expectantly
drawing me into the magic,
enveloping me in warmth,
writing a new chapter.
Glimmer
and shine
with dawn's sunrise surprise
as the sun's rays catch fire
while bouncing off the stardust
that still glitters in your hair.
Mystery as day deepens,
unfolding with hope:
tantalising fruits of possibility;
whispered promises
that echo long past starlight
and ripen with the sun.
Moonglow
as twilight falls.
Love breaks free
from our guarded hearts,
sealing our fate:
love grows.
Photo of children playing Viking games in the city center at York, England. Sadly, for Safa and other young victims like her, living in a volatile region denied them the safety and security that enables playing games in the street.
An excerpt from Rory McCarthy's piece in today's Guardian:
"First came an explosion in the street outside. Then the sound of a single rifle bullet slicing through the sky in a sharp crack and into the apartment directly above the home of Raed Abu Saif, the same apartment into which his young daughter Safa had just gone. It was Saturday afternoon, about 4 p.m.
"Abu Saif hurried upstairs and found, lying on the floor of the front room, Safa, aged 12. There was a hole in her chest where the bullet had entered and a hole in her back where it had exited. It took her three hours to die.
"Outside in the district of Zimmo Square, at the eastern edge of Jabalia in the Gaza Strip, there was by now a heavy Israeli military presence, with tanks and troops and the sound of fighting raging. It was too dangerous for ambulances to reach the apartment and too dangerous for Abu Saif to head out on foot with his daughter. Instead, he fetched bandages, closed the wounds as best he could and held her in his arms as she bled.
"She said she was in pain, that she couldn't breathe," he said. "A few minutes before she died she told me to stop squeezing the wound, she couldn't breathe. I was just touching her hair. Then I saw her eyes roll up. I felt her heart. It was not beating."
"From a piece of cloth the family fashioned a white flag, which Abu Saif's mother carried. His wife, Samar, went with them out into the street carrying Safa's corpse. An Israeli tank was parked a little way off and shone its lights at them. Twice the tank fired in the air over their heads, they said, until eventually they gave up and turned back for home to spend the night in the flat, the family and six other children and Safa.
"Only yesterday morning did Abu Saif finally manage to cross safely out of the fighting and to a hospital morgue, where his daughter's body was prepared for the funeral. But Safa's mother and siblings were still in the house, surrounded by fighting and unable to join the mourners. The roofs of nearby buildings were still dotted with Israeli soldiers. It was from there the bullet that killed Safa was fired, the family believe.
"By some estimates the Israeli military operations mounted over the past five days have left more than 100 Palestinians dead, among them many civilians. For Saturday alone the Palestinian Centre for Human Rights put the number of dead civilians at 49; Reuters news agency said Palestinian medical officials put it at about 60. Two Israeli soldiers and one civilian in the town of Sderot were killed. Even measured on Gaza's often brutal scale of violence, that is a gruesome toll."
This poem is dedicated to Safa and all the innocent victims:
Another child
felled by a stray bullet
intended for no one and everyone;
fired in anger,
fear and frustration
at the impasse
leaving too many innocents
dead or wounded.
In Gaza that's the same fate,
with few doctors
and limited medical care:
access difficult, if not impossible.
Their appeals for help
met by a hail of bullets.
If they're lucky,
weapons aimed over their heads,
as they duck and dodge,
bullets ricochet against tanks and walls.
Callous soldiers
who have lost their humanity
prevent even the dignity
of proper last rites
for a family united in grief.
Where is the outrage?
Legend I by Randall LaGro, oil on wood panel. Photo courtesy of the Blue Rain Gallery, Santa Fe and Taos, New Mexico.
For the Writers Island prompt "Empowered," a poem dedicated to the courage of the women of the Congo and Rwanda, who have survived horrific abuse at the hands of rogue soldiers.
Many of these women have been cared for in a small isolated camp, with only one doctor in attendance. As their physical wounds have healed, most women have found the emotional strength to move on with their lives.
Even though they are victims of brutal crimes, their personal power has not been diminished.
Empowered
with desire to take a stand
and the impetus to make a move.
Emboldened
by the power of words
and the courage of her conviction.
Rising above
the stigma of being a victim;
honouring her tribal roots.
A true female warrior
wounded, but still fighting
with every ounce of strength.
One of many proud women
who overcame poverty and hardship
to provide for her children.
So a brutal attack
by cowardly soldiers
can't diminish her determination
to reclaim her life
and help others less brave
move out of the shadows
and embrace the light.
Until today, I haven't written anything about "Faux News" - to me the word "Fox" and "News" simply don't belong together. The proof is in the pudding and over and over again, the Fox "news" network proves its bias: routinely cutting off people mid-interview if their opinions and expertise offend the network or their representatives' right-wing sensibilities. But now talk show host Bill O'Reilly has gone too far, telling radio listeners "...I don't want to go on a lynching party against Michelle Obama unless there's evidence, hard facts, that say this is how the woman really feels. If that's how she really feels -- that America is a bad country or a flawed nation, whatever -- then that's legit. We'll track it down."
O'Reilly's ignorant remarks were made in response to Michelle Obama's statement at a campaign rally that she was "really proud of her country for the first time in her adult life." Certain vitriolic right-wing media outlets immediately - and deliberately - set out to misinterpret them, trying to paint Mrs. Obama as being unpatriotic. These were Mrs. Obama's remarks, "Let me tell you, for the first time in my adult life, I am really proud of my country. Not just because Barack is doing well, but I think people are ready for change..." Both Michelle Obama and her husband later clarified that she was referring to the groundswell of Americans getting involved in the political process and acting for change.
After more than seven years of Bush & Co. riding roughshod over the American people, trampling our civil liberties and damaging the Constitution, it's nice to think about having a new government that might make us proud. While I've always been proud to be an American, I have not been proud of the government so incompetently run by the Bush administration.
Politics aside, what is wrong with this picture is that a nationally-recognised radio and television talk show host spewed venonmous words of hate. Bill O'Reilly suggested going on a "lynching party," a criminal act associated with the Ku Klux Klan and its murderous, barbaric and violent past. Yet this man remains on the public airwaves, without so much as an apology? He owes an apology not only to Barack and Michele Obama, but to the people of the United States. Meanwhile, he might consider taking a Teaching Tolerance class at the Southern Poverty Law Center.
Shame
One hateful word is all it takes
to conjure frightening images
of ghostly riders.
hangman's nooses and
burning crosses on lawns:
hooded symbols of fear,
adopted by white supremacists
cast out of mainstream society.
Decades later,
racism again rears its ugly head
in the guise of a radio and television host
who casually talks about lynching
a black woman for her comments.
Who made him judge, jury
and executioner?
Such is the despicable behaviour
the Ku Klux Klan practiced
in ceremonies of hate,
violence and murder
that cast a pall
over the American South
and reminded us that
pure evil has nothing to do
with skin color
and everything to do
with a person's actions.
The segregated schools
and separate doctors' waiting rooms
disappeared long ago,
but the undercurrent of racism
espoused by mean, small-minded bigots
remains alive and well
and practiced with impunity
amidst the full-court glare of publicity.
Photo of art piece depicting a giant surveillance gadget at Centre Pompidou, Paris by Jordana Shalhoub.
As a child growing up in the American South, we were subject to typical Cold War propaganda that infected most Americans, via television, in the schools and in the churches. It was the same sort of fear-mongering tactics George W. Bush likes to use, when he doesn't get his way.
This poem for the Writers Island prompt "time travel" refers to the U.S. House of Representatives' strong principled stand against Bush's latest fear-mongering speeches regarding the expiration of the FISA surveillance bill. For further information about the FISA fight, go here and especially here.
Shame on the senators who on Tuesday caved in to Republican pressure and passed a bill providing immunity for the telecoms. Sen. Barack Obama voted against the measure; Sen. Hillary Clinton didn't bother to vote.
As Richard A. Clarke, former head of counter-terrorism at the National Security Council recently noted in an op-ed piece for The Philadelphia Inquirer:
"... Our ability to track and monitor terrorists overseas would not cease should the Protect America Act expire... All surveillance currently occurring would continue, even after legislative provisions lapsed because authorizations issued under the act are in effect up to a full year. ...With FISA, he (Bush) is attempting to rattle Congress into hastily expanding his own executive powers at the expense of civil liberties and constitutional protections."
"The Russians are coming!"
we were told years ago
in that small Baptist church.
Better memorize our Bible verses
and be ready for the day they'd burn our books.
"The terrorists are coming!"
George W. Bush shouts,
his face in a grimace, his false claims transparent;
his concern not for protecting our country,
but immunity for the telecoms
who broke the law
at the president's own urging;
now trying to escape prosecution,
aided by lobbyists and political pressure.
But the House has stood firm;
refusing to bow
to the president's fear-mongering;
insisting on the rule of law;
showing strength in unity,
after the Senate caved.
No crisis here:
just manufactured lies,
designed to keep the status quo
and make a mockery of the Constitution
and those who swore to protect it.
Victorian Valentines and romantic tokens from the Castle Museum, York, England.
The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,
and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you
all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,
the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
Love after Love by Derek Walcott from the book Soul Food, Nourishing Poems for Starved Minds, edited by Neil Astley and Pamela Robertson-Pearce; published 2007 by Bloodaxe Books.
