The 2,000

“BAGHDAD (AFP) – The US death toll in Iraq reportedly hit 2,000 amid a sharp spike in violence that killed 14 Iraqis … with the deaths of two more soldiers. … (AFP) Thank you, Tehanu, for alerting us.


Bread and Circuses


Mired in heat and dust and sand

Gallant band of brothers true
Country’s service is their aim

Death and maiming is their due


In where angels fear to tread

Foolish, dreaded leaders rush

Bringing power’s fearsome groan

Leaving only graveyard’s hush



“By the pricking of my thumbs”

This way comes the wicked pawn

Drunk with drinking conquest’s draught

Juggernaut goes crushing on


Continued below:

“BAGHDAD (AFP) – The US death toll in Iraq reportedly hit 2,000 amid a sharp spike in violence that killed 14 Iraqis … with the deaths of two more soldiers. … (AFP) Thank you, Tehanu, for alerting us.


Bread and Circuses


Mired in heat and dust and sand

Gallant band of brothers true
Country’s service is their aim

Death and maiming is their due


In where angels fear to tread

Foolish, dreaded leaders rush

Bringing power’s fearsome groan

Leaving only graveyard’s hush



“By the pricking of my thumbs”

This way comes the wicked pawn

Drunk with drinking conquest’s draught

Juggernaut goes crushing on


Continued below:
In where angels fear to tread

Foolish, dreaded leaders rush

Bringing power’s fearsome groan

Leaving only graveyard’s hush



“By the pricking of my thumbs”

This way comes the wicked pawn

Drunk with drinking conquest’s draught

Juggernaut goes crushing on



Won with honest trifles’ lure

Still so sure in dwindling light

Now betrayed in consequence

Of the senseless, needless fight



Can this be the path they chose?

How can those who serve inquire?

Why has this rough beast come ’round

To be drowned and born in fire?



Stillborn monster, undead thing!

Still we sing your praises high.

They about to die salute

And saluting, fight and die.



Hear the crowd’s roar! Feel the heat

Of the meat now roasting slow.

Do they die for reasons known?

Or for only pomp and show?

Who has wavered; who stands fast

’Till the last good soul goes free?

Who says “he” and who says “she?”

Who but thee and who but me.



Michael Murry, “The Misfortune Teller,” Copyright 2004

From Patrick Lang’s blog, Sic Semper Tyrannis 2005


Thank you to Michael Murry for granting permission to reprint his poem.


Thank you to RubDMC for the candle image.