moose and squirrel visual aid

for those stymied by my oh, so subtle sarcasm,
here, snapped on the day he brought his famous
Moose-and-Squirrel visual aid to the UN,
is a photo of BoBo-the-nettled-Yahoo:

no apology

evidently, this man's family weren't "folks", so there's nothing to be gained politically
by apologizing for "taking them out".
when President Obama responded to Chelsea Manning's revelations by arresting him,
i grasped that he valued honesty as little as the lives of Iraqis.  when he spent more
than an hour on the phone convincing Yemen's president to keep the journalist who
revealed our drones in jail an extra year, his vengeful predilections were made clear.
all in all, i'd say he's eminently qualified to lead a morally bankrupt, terror enhancing
country like ours.  i draw no comfort from the notion that a dishonest monster is better
than a blatant, Republican one.

our glorious leaders and theirs

once again the rampant, imperial arrogance of our glorious leaders
has turned Vladimir Putin into the "good guy".

a manipulative dictator who rationally
protects the lives of human beings
is surely preferable to a clutch of corporate operatives
convinced of their infallible superiority
tearing up impoverished countries in the service
of the financial and political "interests" of global corporations.

the Curmudgeons are introduced (an excerpt from "Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons")

the primal mantle devoured the cottage,

erasing the fleeting distinctions of form.

the chorus of insects wavered in waves,

like patterns of rain in the currents of a storm.

the penitent clock told the ticking tale

of the untended moments of unheeded time.

and a discarded heart lay soundly sleeping,

her garments in tatters, her face smudged with grime.

faint embers popped up in a muted succession,

scattering glimmer on emerald leaves;

spilling luminescence in delicate streams,

filtered through windows beneath the dusky eaves.

the princess abruptly flashed open her eyes

and frantically scoured the star-glistened gloom;

for it dawned on her that those whispers were real,

and surely rustling in that very room.

"sleeping!" hissed a voice.  "of all the brazen cheek!

and what in blazes has happened to the place?

how could the watchrug and battlerack vanish?

it's not in their nature to not leave a trace."

"keep your voice down!" urged a lilting undertone.

"she's most likely some relation of the king's.

that frock she's wearin' cost more than you can count!

i fancy her bleedin' 'orse has gilded wings!"

"easy now, Mock!" said a dulcet companion.

"that wretched dress is coming apart in strands.

imagine what the poor dear must have gone through

before the fates placed her safely in our hands!"

"oh, stuff a sock in it!" the first voice snarled.

"she's one of them, Sappy.  why else would she glow?

no doubt the king's soldiers are combing the forest.

when they find us, you'll be the first to go!"

soft sounds of sobbing emerged from the shadows.

"there's subtlety for you." said the one called Mock.

"our Rashful's in a class on 'is ownsome.

'e dices apples with an anvil and a rock."

"watch it, brother Mock, you're treading on thin ice!"

Rashful retorted with a tongue edged in steel

bloating the air with menacing tension,

a blustering infection bubbling on a heel.

a stifled gasp cut the conflict in its tracks

and seven hooded heads turned with one accord.

Sludge White was riveted by attention

their focus combining to forge an optic sword.

she breathed in slowly, while gathering her wits

trusting that the deer would somehow keep her calm.

for the well of empathy bided with her

providing unspoken, reassuring balm.

Sappy was the first to sever the silence.

"since she's awake we may as well have some light."

then orange flames flickered and danced on the walls

and the contents of the room loomed into sight.

Pasty's eerie day spent inside the cottage

had depleted her supply of startled cries.

so when it turned out the candles were self-starting,

she didn't even register surprise.

"what are you doing here?" Rashful bludgeoned the point,

shedding more luster on his blunted charm.

"i'm fleeing from the queen's wrath" was her answer.

"by my oath i didn't mean you any harm."

"and why would 'er precious self not fancy you?

'as 'er Majesty been blinded by your glare?"

Mock was not disposed to cut her any slack,

and he hardened his brow with an ice-bound stare.

she swallowed back her timid trepidation.

"i've no clue why a price was placed on my head.

yet the wind and these woods interceded.

were it not for their shelter i'd likely be dead."

there was something compelling in this statement,

earnestly exposing her perilous case.

Sappy's heart was opened immediately,

and a thaw trickled down Mock's cold flinty face.

"but how did our cottage come to look like this?"

Rashful proceeded with his obdurate air.

behind him two others gradually emerged.

there was something not quite right about the pair.

the hands of the first one never stopped probing

the personal space of whoever was near.

the other had oil oozing from his pores,

and suggested something naughty with his leer.

"sit down my dear, and tell us all about it"

said Sappy politely, pointing at the couch.

"please don't mind Rashful, or let him offend you.

he can't help himself, he's a natural grouch."

at this Rashful bridled and folded his arms,

scrunching his face in a glowering scowl.

as the others took seats in the candlelight,

rueful reproaches were broached by an owl.

versed in her father's political parlance

of splintered nuance and manifold meanings

the princess designed a diplomatic pitch

to provoke the most lenient of leanings.

the scent of her mother seeping recollection

spilled from a quiver, deep within the well,

underpinning her pressing entreaty

with the loving embrace of a lingering spell.

"bewildered by your savvy appliances,

and dismayed by their animated defense;

we sought to diminish the presence of threats,

thereby committing unintended offense.

when we first encountered your charming cottage,

we overlooked the potential of tenants.

thus my friends and i humbly beseech you, kind sirs,

to accept our regrets and our penance."

at the close of her speech she lowered her head,

somberly waiting for her hosts to respond.

the one who'd been crying had never let up,

and now he was sopped in a slough of despond.

Sappy squeezed tears from his dripping handkerchief,

and winking at the princess, passed him a pail.

"but my dear you haven't introduced yourself!

what is your name, child, and from whence do you hail?"

"i'm called Sludge White.  i was sired by the king,

and kept in the keep of his castle since birth.

my mother, his first wife, long since departed

the veil of illusion that fetters the earth."

this news gave the room an electrical jolt,

wiring its currents with overwrought thought.

seven pairs of eyes swapped eloquent glances,

fraught with furtive drifts, surreptitiously caught.

Mock rose to his feet and doffed his yellow hood,

a crimson blush suggesting he was bashful.

"this chatty chappie's Sappy.  i go by Mock.

and i dare say you're acquainted with Rashful."

Sappy presented a splendid courtly bow,

while Rashful let slip a perfunctory nod.

"this one wailin' in 'is pail we call Weepy,

a sodden and soggy, saturated sod.

that's Sleazy in the corner next to Gropey,

who'd better watch out, or 'e'll wind up stumpy.

the bloke what's leanin' on the back of the couch

is the shapeless wonder our lot calls Lumpy."

"i'm pleased to meet you" said Weepy with a smile,

as he wistfully wiped his blubbering eyes.

how he managed a supply of fresh hankies,

or kept his clothes dry, one can only surmise.

Sleazy's wrinkles crinkled in a wanton wink.

Gropey hid his hands with indelicate haste.

a form-challenged fellow quite covered in bumps

did his best to bend an improbable waist.

Pasty curtsied to each one in succession,

deftly evading Gropey's dexterous hands;

then attempted an armistice with Rashful,

by plucking on a string from overheard strands.

"not meaning to eavesdrop i happened to note

your concern for your watchrug and battlerack.

i believe my friends could help you retrieve them

from the cleft of a cliff, ensconced in a sack."

Rashful's jaw dropped and he might have been nasty,

but happily Sappy said something instead.

"there'll be time enough for all that in the morning.

it's awfully late, we ought to be abed.

we'll push two or three of ours together, love.

this couch has an off-putting reputation.

on the morrow we'll build you a four-poster,

and assemble a cliff-bound deputation."

so with stretches and yawns they mounted the stairs,

and the flickering candles promptly went out.

and the skulking rat in the pay of the queen

stealthily slinked up the slanted gutter spout.

then the crickets lost interest in their love songs.

and the glitter faded from the starlight's beams.

and the deepest dark that comes just before dawn

descended on the sleepers, dimming their dreams.

far away in a dank, forsaken cellar

a rapacious monarch reposed on her throne;

absently probing the reticent distance,

her reflection glaring back with eyes of stone.

to her oft-repeated ravenous queries,

the mirror conjured a brooding, opaque mist;

rendering naught but inscrutable silence

to appease the rampant menace of her fist.

- Evan Hawthorn, the 4th of October, 2015

mine is bigger than yours

my response to a facebook post lamenting the loss of unions and, like a million

other posts, calling the United States "the greatest nation on earth":

i am all for unions and hope we can recover them, and save the ones that have survived the capitalist onslaught.  but when i look at this post i think about people like Donald Trump, who believe in this 'greatest' notion (themselves, their nation, their baseball team, their sex, their shade of skin).  it oozes out of the endless stream of propaganda flicks Hollywood has been churning out all these years.  it's pandered to by virtually every politician in every political speech. it feeds the lust for bloodshed and the contempt for the Democracy of people living in other nations (and all the other others there are).  but then there are some of us who think we're just people, like everybody else.  a distinguishing characteristic of being human is frailty, making mistakes so you can actually learn things.  it's in our shared vulnerability that our compassion finds its bearings.  so no, i don't agree that we are the greatest nation on earth.  never have been. evidence tells quite a different story.  persons of color and native americans could hardly call it 'the greatest' without betraying the memory of their friends and family, without denying their own exclusion.  but this is also true of pale-skinned people who recognise their membership in the family of humans, who accept no artificial boundaries within the single human race.  so let's have a go at being a nation of, for, and by human beings.  our brothers and sisters, our fellow passengers on the "greatest planet in the universe" will surely teach us things we never dreamed of.

- Evan Hawthorn,  the 23^rd of September, 2015

a brief excerpt from "Sludge White and the Seven Curmudgeons"

Promethean pilgrims crossed the frozen expanse

traversing time from their fiery birth,

ferrying sparks of elemental essence

to the evanescent residents of earth.

and the harpy scowled and brandished her fist

irked at these heavens and their meddlesome rains

for making short work of banishing enchantments,

dispelling the mist she'd swelled with such pains.

she pressed the edge of a crumbling tombstone

and vanished beneath the cemetery grounds,

slinking down a subterranean passage

that echoed with crunches and gurgling sounds.

the snooping rat waited with the royal raiments

in the blaze of a torch that scorched the stone.

he smirked as she donned her crinkled crinolines,

tickled by the gilding of a wrinkled crone.

pausing on the threshold of a caved-in temple

she tossed a bone to a pale, hulking brute,

ensconced in the stench of previous suppers

stiffening in piles, rotting with their loot.

his lopsided face seemed to come unhinged

as he strived for a wink with his single, crazed eye.

wrenching her foot from a trail of slime, she said

"try and be more tidy, this place is a sty."

his muttered response had a whiny, cringing tone,

too shrill and unnerving to closely heed.

in any case Her Grace hastened away,

unable to process another creature's need.

while the snitch raced after his merciless mistress

skirting rivulets of travelling blood,

the ghoul yanked a morsel from his stacked up stiffs

relishing the squish and the sickening thud.

- Evan Hawthorn, the 19th of September, 2015

Sentimental Distortions and the American Way

on thanksgiving, American presidents pardon a turkey, while 45 million are killed.
this principle is routinely applied.  for example, President Obama had the chance to
come out of the closet and admit that it is Iran that is threatened, while our militant,
psychopathic, incorporated bullies with their lavishly funded "full spectrum dominance"
consistently ensure that threats to peace continue.  when we supplied chemical
weapons to Iraq to use against Iran, and thousands of Iranian soldiers were killed,
they did not retaliate with chemical weapons, because they considered that immoral.
this kind of behavior is clearly mystifying to our leaders.  the Iranians also deem
nuclear weapons to be immoral, while we obliterated two entire cities with them, and
have gone on using them as a threat to enforce our wishes on other nations, recently
declaring we consider them a 'first strike' option.  Iran borders SIX nuclear powers,
three of which (India, Israel, and Pakistan) the United States is actively shielding from
UN inspections.  it is also completely surrounded by US bases.  and, as recently proved,
thanks to the freedom of information act, the CIA assassinated their democratically
elected president in 1953, installing the brutal, corporate-friendly Shah, because
British economic "interests" were  "threatened" when the president decided
that the people profiting from Iranian produce should be the Iranians themselves.
rather than take the wind from the sails of the congressional clown car and explain
this REALITY to the American people, that we (and Israel) are the threat to peace
that must be contained, and Iran would be willing to be left alone, its scientists no
longer subject to assassination, its airplanes no longer 'accidentally' shot out of the
sky, its people free of the silent sanctions that managed to kill half a million Iraqi
children, Obama chose to negotiate a treaty based entirely on maintaining a
fabrication.  this deception lies like an unexploded landmine, waiting to go off and
kill a million more human beings.  he then placed a comment on a facebook page
about a sweet Iranian boy.  and the tribal democrats cheered, and the rabid
republicans bayed at the moon, and the circus of instantly inattentive attention
spans were blithely led away.

- Evan Hawthorn, the 14th of September, 2015