pontedoporco

this is a bridge of old and local stone
beneath the river flows and does not speak
the ghosts make certain you are not alone

i had not heard a single word or groan
that was a time for peace and not critique
this is a bridge of old and local stone

it costs too much to use the telephone
the case is ancient and never unique
the ghosts make certain you are not alone

here in this forest humans do not moan
only the trees give out a steady creak
this is a bridge of old and local stone

the day would freeze us to the very bone
but oak trees signal us with their mystique
the ghosts make certain you are not alone

we reach the end of all that can be known
the point where you admit that you are weak
this is a bridge of old and local stone
the ghosts make certain you are not alone

markers of ritual

if there's a gap no cause to see it filled
by those whose voices are most overjoyed
so easy once the first commands are willed

the autumn flow in winter was hard stilled
with blandest starches all our folk were cloyed
if there's a gap no cause to see it filled

what mattered most was that the grain was milled
and that the peasantry was all employed
so easy once the first commands are willed

with reason we had each field newly tilled
and over all the land our youths deployed
if there's a gap no cause to see it filled

at night we knew how swiftly beer was swilled
but not a one of us would grow annoyed
so easy once the first commands are willed

at harvest end the largest swine are killed
and blood is poured in honour of the void
if there's a gap no cause to see it filled
so easy once the first commands are willed

a statement of witness

those echoes that we hear of worlds past sight
much can be made of even tiny groans
the ancient clashing of the river stones
and stories of the pent-up water's plight
another person might have fled in fright
at sound of just one of these painful moans
or just one vision of these wasted bones
under a rainy morning's hazy light
what we must say is not for you to guess
but just to listen and to pass along
to those who have the final rule to give
there is not much to add to this success
nor can we say that those who left were wrong
since all they wanted was to laugh and live

one ghostly vessel

voices that echo from the deepest past
are what we use to bind our hearts to hope
not just the words that command us to cope
and sight of banners flapping from the mast
there are those souls who would just stand aghast
at sight of what is hanging from the rope
but we have not the time to wail or mope
since all our fortunes into war are cast
those are the choices that the raven gave
when first it croaked the prophecy of gain
and none that horrid word would now gainsay
so wait the coming of the broken slave
and count the endless shapings of your pain
until a brighter sail comes into day

the forbidden tower

all will be known at the appointed hour
when men and women gaze at broken skies
and bow to lords from the forbidden tower

you can't afford to bluster or to glower
just brush away the assaults of the flies
all will be known at the appointed hour

in stark dishonour see the villain cower
(his very purpose his own thoughts despise)
and bow to lords from the forbidden tower

there is no time for magic to turn sour
but better forms have space now to arise
all will be known at the appointed hour

we do not choose to batter or devour
the forces that would snatch away the prize
and bow to lords from the forbidden tower

these matters give to us a greater power
to teach you what are truths and what are lies
all will be known at the appointed hour
and bow to lords from the forbidden tower

pilgrim road

what's left in place turns slowly into stone
all focus goes to give us that one view
and what we know is built into the bone

let others who are angry leave the zone
before the contest is quite halfway through
what's left in place turns slowly to stone

no messages arrive by mail or phone
we have to get up when we see the cue
and what we know is built into the bone

you might expect a visitor to groan
on learning just how little that we knew
what's left in place turns slowly into stone

that tiny bird we learn had never flown
but would be happy with our sordid crew
and what we know is built into the bone

this kind of crossing is made all alone
there is no need our tickets to renew
what's left in place turns slowly into stone
and what we know is built into the bone

one star

we reach and hope for the one shining star
this is the only purpose we can know
only the open heart can go so far

so many things to make us what we are
a single river twisting in its flow
we reach and hope for the one shining star

you put the blinking insect in the jar
and laugh to see the glass refract the glow
only the open heart can go so far

no one regards the tune on the guitar
as just a gift that goodness might bestow
we reach and hope for the one shining star

instead we have the driver in the car
another one who worries that she's slow
only the open heart can go so far

we think the truest forms of life bizarre
and do not steel ourselves to take the blow
we reach and hope for the one shining star
only the open heart can go so far

crick crack

we leave the older forms of joy behind
and do not understand just what they mean
there are too many things to keep in mind

we are to no good purpose now inclined
and will not play at cricket on the green
we leave the older forms of joy behind

with shallow customs we have been aligned
and count each benediction as obscene
there are too many things to keep in mind

you've let the thread of wisdom here unwind
and not one of your followers is keen
we leave the older forms of joy behind

you might have had full vigour unrefined
but that is in the realm of the unseen
there are too many things to keep in mind

from every corner we hear the unkind
voices demanding we depart the scene
we leave the older forms of joy behind
there are too many things to keep in mind

grace in spring

where there are corners no broom might yet find
your eye can see what we would name delight
those truths and objects of a better sight
given to us by those who are still kind
a little sympathy's enough to bind
our mortal hearts together in a bright
uncaged and avian moment of pure flight
love is the purpose for which we're designed
the sun may hide behind the slow dull rain
and age is not a power we may defy
but still your voice and smile hold me in place
there is no better remedy for pain
no better vision that could fill my eye
and i am ever grateful for this grace

over the edge

in silence safety is not what we seek
so much relies on what we have to hide
we spend our lives pretending we're the meek

all that is said turns into one critique
of both our feigned humility and pride
in silence safety is not what we seek

you paint the ceiling in one bright clear streak
and let the others take on the hard side
we spend our lives pretending we're the meek

no one explains the source of every leak
nor why we cannot hold back the last tide
in silence safety is not what we seek

we catch no fish in the polluted creek
and do not know why our claim was denied
we spend our lives pretending we're the meek

you claim the hero's just another freak
and no one could have stopped the downhill slide
in silence safety is not what we seek
we spend our lives pretending we're the meek

murmuring voices

murmuring voices in awoken dream
tell us that this is time to end the tale
not one who's here believes that we could fail
or wants to hear the final strangled scream
but we've seen what is hanging from the beam
and know full well just what we must bewail
there is no drop of mercy in the pail
and for the children not one taste of cream
this is an ending that we did not seek
stories were told that no one wished to hear
and all good visions went up in a smoke
nothing's been left for the benign and meek
just the exhausted weeping in their beer
and an old jester laughing at the joke

one little dance

we learn the limits of all modes of strife
our hearts are set within one final zone
there is one thing that's valued more than life

the pain we feel cuts right down to the bone
and this is not what we are meant to find
the normal heart is simply turned to stone

each king of men finds that he is still blind
to what the normal soul desires and needs
while there's no limit to the human mind

there are clear boundaries to human deeds
and we've not yet the singular clear eye
that will see through the nonsense of the creeds

and penetrate the most well-varnished lie
to find the diamond hidden in the coal
that can't be covered though we might apply

the greatest effort and the most control
to keep our secret to the furthest end
but there's no hiding place no deepest hole

from that hard vision nowhere we can send
our cherished hearts this is the oldest tale
that any know and no one could pretend

that we have any older we can't fail
to tell our story in the open square
it is as classic as a bill of sale

these are not matters for the common air
but must be passed from hand to weary hand
until we at last come to those who dare

resist the pressure of the heavy band
and teach us how to take our place and dance
on the far shore on the clean golden sand

you say that there is only some small chance
that things will come out good and clear and right
and matters will be as in old romance

that may be so but we hope for the light

time of embarcation

a single moment and one little slip
not quite enough to hurt or leave a sign
we have been warned it's time to board the ship

we do not have the presence just to sip
but must gulp down all of the new-pressed wine
a single moment and one little slip

our answers seem too rapid and too flip
the enemy's right at the borderline
we have been warned it's time to board the ship

the questions come at far too swift a clip
we think the ones who ask them are such swine
a single moment and one little slip

this has turned out to be a complex trip
so many things we have now to combine
we have been warned it's time to board the ship

the worst response might be a short sharp quip
about the bounds of human and divine
a single moment and one little slip
we have been warned it's time to board the ship

an empty room

an empty room is creature of this art
yours to restore to please the glancing eye
but none can fill the needs of every heart

the actor knows that he's playing a part
and every word and gesture is a lie
an empty room is creature of this art

grey words a standard meaning might impart
yet hide the full import from any spy
but none can fill the needs of every heart

from shade to shade the hero has to dart
with no good means to hold his hope up high
an empty room is creature of this art

this was the message we heard at the start
no pearl that we had from its bed to pry
but none can fill the needs of every heart

we write the place down on the larger chart
and look up at the swiftly clouding sky
an empty room is creature of this art
but none can fill the needs of every heart

acrasia

show us a wall and we will start to wail
our hearts are weaker than the words we say
we do not think that we deserve the day

all of our honour has been put on sale
as if the whole palaver were a play
show us a wall and we will start to wail

our simplest purpose it seems is to fail
since we are made of an inferior clay
and cannot find even the easy way
show us a wall and we will start to wail

flyblown

those who devour the meek win at the game
but do not find the ending's all they wish
we do not always find that the best dish
is served up with a side-helping of shame
the hungry lion does not end up tame
and yet the loser may be fed to fish
while every winner goes out with a swish
nobody knows the price of instant fame
we see the rain as kind and do not wait
to wonder at the slower afternoon
that might have been we lay it down because
some might be forced to blame it all on fate
and yet we know that things happen too soon
and we can almost hear the angry buzz

The Media Mischief Machine

The Media Mischief Machine
John Maxwell
The very first cookbook I ever bought was a paperback, Plats du Jour, published by Penguin in one of the first postwar attempts to introduce French cuisine to the English. I was charmed by the names of the authors, Patience Gray and Primrose Boyd and the illustrator, David Gentleman.
It was a very good cookbook for a beginner, not least because of its memorable language. among gems I remember – someone 'borrowed' the book years ago, so I can't check – was the injunction to reduce a clove of garlic to an 'almost molecular state' with the point of a sharp knife.
I remembered this injunction as I've watched senior American TV personalities, clothed in the most sententious gravitas, attempting to slice and dice words attributed to the Reverend Jeremiah Wright in order to cook Barack Obama's goose or at least, make mincemeat out of the probable Democratic candidate for President. Artists in the genre like Lou Dobbs, Wolf Blitzer, Sean Hannity and Hank Scheinkopf have been busy condemning Obama for words allegedly uttered by the former pastor of Obama's church. These august honchos were joined by a mixed bag of newspaper writers like Pat Buchanan and Charles Krauthammer whose crude attempts at dismembering Obama's reputation resembled nothing more elegant than Jamaican goat thieves trying to butcher their prey preliminary to stuffing it into the trunk of their getaway car.
Barack Obama is not the only African American whose reputation came under media fire in the last few days.
The Los Angeles Times, one of the more important US newspapers, has had to apologise to Sean 'P Diddy' Combs, for a story which appeared to tie him into a felonious assault on rap star Tupac Skakur, later murdered by unknown killers in a lethal rappers' war that also claimed the life of 'Biggie Smalls, aka 'The Notorious Big'
The LATimes story was denounced by The Smoking Gun website, which said the newspaper had been the victim of a hoax, and by subjects of the story, who said they had been defamed.
"In relying on documents that I now believe were fake, I failed to do my job … I'm sorry". the LAT reporter, Chuck Philips said on Wednesday. The Times has also apologised and is preparing for expensive reparations to ‘P Diddy’.
I don’t expect any comparable apology from Fox, ABC and CNN or the other mainstream media who framed and defamed Jeremiah Wright and Barack Obama using forged – doctored – video excerpts to create seriously damaging 'evidence'. What these perpetrators of fraud did was to homogenise and blend snippets of sermons including quotes from other people,whipped into a sauce tartare to mislead people into swallowing the lie that the pastor had said hateful things about the USA and was not a person for a patriotic American to be friendly with.
We have had this sort of outrage happen in Jamaica when Mr Seaga, three decades ago, triumphantly produced what he said were tapes from a PNP closed meeting, which turned out to have been doctored to produce shame and scandal in the society.
What the media have done to Wright and Obama could accurately be described as felonious journalism, attempting to pervert the course of democracy and create alarm and panic in the hearts of those who believe that their national integrity is precious and worth protecting and enhancing.
It was not so much an attack on Wright and Obama as it was an attack on the idea of community in democracy itself.
I do not expect any of these bushwackers to apologise. Those who may claim to have been themselves taken in by the forgery are just as guilty as the forgers, because, if they are journalists, they owe a duty to the public interest to ensure that what they publish is, as far as is possible, the truth. They owed a duty to their own integrity and self respect to have made sure that they were not peddling malicious falsehoods or suppressing the truth. They owed it to their human dignity not to have joined a lynch mob but instead to have attempted as best they might, to protect and safeguard the public interest.
Respect for the public interest is the one guarantee we have against lawnessness and anarchy. As Pastor Niemoller pointed out, if we do nothing to protect our neighbours against lawlessness and tyranny we can hardly expect anyone to speak for us when our turn comes to face the enemies of a free society.

Just Desserts
Jeremiah Wright, in the sermon hijacked by Obama's enemies, was actually calling on the people of the US to examine their consciences, to understand that what happened on 9/11 was, however evil and horrible, explicable in the light of America's treatment of people in the world outside. He was not, as the doctored video appeared to show, celebrating with America;s enemies. He was calling for a kinder, gentler relationship with the rest of the planet. The line about chickens coming home to roost was a quotation from a serving US diplomat who in turn was quoting Malcolm X.
All the media's carving and slicing of the putrid forgery did not do Obama the harm that was clearly anticipated, or at least, none that the Wall Street Journal (WSJ) could detect. If the controversy did harm anyone, it was Obama's opponent, Hillary Clinton.
The WSJ/NBC News poll is conducted by two psephologists, one Republican, Bill McInturff, and one Democrat, Peter Hart. According to the WSJ, Peter Hart called their latest poll a 'myth-buster'. But, the paper said:
"… both Democrats, and especially New York's Sen. Clinton, are showing wounds from their prolonged and increasingly bitter nomination contest, which could weaken the ultimate nominee for the general-election showdown against Sen. McCain of Arizona. Even among women, who are the base of Sen. Clinton's support, she now is viewed negatively by more voters than positively for the first time in a Journal/NBC poll.”
What’s worse from ClInton's perspective is that her lead among white Democrats plummeted in two weeks by one third, from 12% to 8% “That seems to refute widespread speculation -- and fears among Sen. Obama's backers -- that he would lose white support for his bid to be the nation's first African-American president over the controversy …"
Compounding the grief is that the poll suggests that in the hypothetical match-up for November, while Obama still edges McCain by 44% to 42% almost the same as before the controversy, Clinton who had a similar lead, now trails McCain by two points, 44% to 46%.
Even worse news for Hillary is that her ‘positive rating’ has fallen 8 points in two weeks to a new low of 37% while Obama’s fell two points, to 49%. Clinton’s negative rating – at 48% – is now 11 points ahead of her positive rating.
When asked which candidate could unite the country if elected, 60 percent said Obama, 58 percent said McCain and 46 percent said Clinton.
The First Law of Holes
Before this campaign I would never have thought of Mrs Clinton as stupid. Her decision this week to revisit the now moribund Jeremiah Wright controversy casts serious doubt on her nous.
She has broken the First Law of Holes, to wit: When you’ve gotten yourself into a hole, stop digging!
Clinton was apparently hoping to deflect attention from her monumental booboo about her visit to Bosnia in 1996 where she said she was sent because it was too dangerous for her husband, then President! She’d had to run for cover on the Tuzla airfield after landing, she said, head down against sniper fire. This was easily proved to be a total fabrication and has brought ridicule down upon her head.
One blogger, having viewed the video of the arrival ceremonies at Tuzla airfield sarcastically commented that among Mrs Clinton's tasks that day was to "frisk a suicide bomber disguised as an 8 year old girl”.
Another, then a UN liaison officer in Bosnia, says “It’s one thing for Mrs. Clinton to ‘misspeak’. It’s more troubling — and a test of her true preparedness for office — for the candidate to totally ignore a major United States policy triumph that took years to broker and somehow claim involvement by inventing a story of sniper fire, while the truth is that she visited a peaceful airfield and met children on the tarmac.”
If Mrs Clinton survives the sniper fire of the Pennsylvania primary in three weeks, I, for one, will be very, very, surprised.
Copyright©2008 John Maxwell

in the course of the day

a distant thunder tells us we should rest
this is no time for thought about what line
we must take or hard tasks we should assign

clamour of voices calls us to the test
though for a simpler moment we might pine
a distant thunder tells us we should rest

we face the evening with no infant zest
although the morning had turned out just fine
we don't yet know what factors will combine
a distant thunder tells us we should rest

a fairy tale

there are no magics left for us to fear
but it would never do to be so brash
to let the truth out to the common air

our choices have turned out to be too spare
and seem to lack both colour and panache
there are no magics left for us to fear

grief would not hold us and neither would care
we do not do a thing that would seem rash
to let the truth out to the common air

anger's enough to make each truly dare
and give the hero just a touch of dash
there are no magics left for us to fear

a classic moment to lay matters bare
and then the swords and daggers have to clash
to let the truth out to the common air

the bravest will collect she who is fair
the wisest will count up all of the cash
there are not magics left for us to fear
to let the truth out to the common air

freedom's gamble

when liberty was counted as true sin
our lives were valued down to the last cent
and every coin was tossed for loss or win

we knew that nothing good could yet begin
if every pin and nail had to be bent
when liberty was counted as true sin

a rule or measure no one there would spin
some sort of honesty might have been lent
and every coin was tossed for loss or win

divine displeasure hidden by a grin
we knew the signal that was truly meant
when liberty was counted as true sin

and still we throw a dollar in the bin
and hold the money had been truly spent
and every coin was tossed for loss or win

there is no reason now to feel chagrin
not one of us from off the scene was sent
when liberty was counted as true sin
and every coin was tossed for loss or win