“Speak out for those who cannot speak,
for the rights of all the destitute.”
Proverbs 31:8
this diary is dedicated to all who suffer because of war and other disasters
we honor courage in all its forms
cross-posted at DailyKos, Booman Tribune, European Tribune, and My Left Wing.
april is national poetry month
images and poem below the fold
An Iraqi man walks past a burning car, in Basra, 550 kilometers (340 miles) southeast of Baghdad, Iraq, Monday, March 6, 2006. Two men were burned to death in their car after shootout with Iraqi police in the southern city Monday, and security officials said the victims were British citizens. In London, a foreign official spokesman said he was aware of unsubstantiated reports of an incident involving non-Arabs.
(AP Photo /Nabil Al-Jurani)
An Iraqi man identifies the body of his relative, killed in a drive-by shooting in Baghdad, Iraq, Sunday, March 12, 2006. Bomb blasts, rocket and gunfire killed at least 10 people and injured 23 in the Iraqi capital as the work week got under way Sunday, police said.
(AP Photo/Hadi Mizban)
Worms
by Sandra Alcosser
Some days he’d rub two pegs together
until they made a greasy hum
like rain, the sound of moles
gnawing the dirt’s grain, the song
soils sing before a quake,
and the red bodies would hang
above the ground in a kind of confusion
or ecstasy. They would writhe.
The farmer showed me
the way worms made love
in concrete, coffin-shaped beds
on mattresses of moss and peat, slipping
under the rubber collars of each other,
joyous, shy, nervous, taking turns.
Androgynous worms, their pale larva
rising like dew on black earth.
He told me about the sweet spot
in the warm dirt where he found
the wild ones, night crawlers
a foot long. How he worked
day and night–plastic sky
dripping on his neck–preached
on Sundays, sixteen years old,
reeking of worm sweat.
We drove around his slow
Louisiana Baptist town, the square
garlanded with green metallic boughs,
red Noels, though it was October.
There was one movie house.
The Bijou of course. First floor–
expensive, gummy, for whites only.
Blacks sat in the rafters for a quarter.
Filmy bayous surrounded
blank brown cotton fields,
fluttered with white heron.
Once a black man walked
by a white girl and she ran.
He never said hello. The citizens
dragged him from prison,
burned the man alive.
But that’s an old story.
This one’s new–a black boy
sat in that same prison five years,
innocent too, and when the town freed him
he headed for the Victorian house
he’d watched each night like television–
the illuminated window
of an eighty-year-old couple–
he knifed them both, raped the woman,
what felons become legend to.
If you tend worms your whole life,
dig their beds, stir the eggs,
sort the dark segmented bodies,
you’ll lose the pattern of your own
flesh. The whorls of your fingers
will vanish. A worm can eat anything–
two by four, dog, human.
I know this world, said the farmer,
I’ve listened to worms my whole life
stirring in slime. I know where
we come from, and despite all our slick
designs, I know where we return.
This town’s passed more than once
through the slippery tunnels of worms.
– – –
put a meaningful magnet on your car or metal filing cabinet
read Ilona’s important new blog – PTSD Combat
view the pbs newshour silent honor roll (with thanks to jimstaro at booman.)
take a private moment to light one candle among many (with thanks to TXSharon)
support Veterans for Peace
support the Iraqi people
support the Campaign for Innocent Victims in Conflict (CIVIC)
support CARE
support the victims of torture
remember the fallen
support Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors – TAPS
support Gold Star Families for Peace
support the fallen
support the troops
support Iraq Veterans Against the War
support Military families Speak Out
support the troops and the Iraqi people
read This is what John Kerry did today, the diary by lawnorder that prompted this series
read Riverbend’s Bagdhad Burning
read Dahr Jamail’s Iraq Dispatches
read Today in Iraq
witness every day
Click on the candle to copy the image into your own comment (you can leave it on my server), and/or rate this one – not for mojo, but to leave a small mark after taking this moment.
” I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.”
from Dirge Without Music
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Thank you for making Iraq War Grief Daily Witness a Koufax Award Finalist for Best Series in 2005.
[Peacehttp://www.rmpjc.org/}
RubDMC, sadly there are more photos of dead babies… Ghandi has a diary regarding the horror that happened on the 15th in Iraq. Just babies… shot in their pajamas and bedding.
My husband saw them and he’s now going to be marching and walking.
Iraq reconstruction ‘has stalled’
Thank you, Rub. It was an honor to vote for your series.
Light A Candle For
Peace, Tolerance, Understanding
and For The Children – Innocence Lost!
Published on Monday, March 20, 2006 by The Nation and Reposted at Common Dreams
by Christian Parenti
~~~~~~~~~~
I like to believe that people in the long run are going to do more to promote peace than our governments. Indeed, I think that people want peace so much that one of these days governments had better get out of the way and let them have it.
Dwight D. Eisenhower
US general & Republican politician (1890 – 1969)
~~~~~~~~~~~
“Knowledge makes a man unfit to be a slave.” Frederick Douglass
~~~~~~~~~~~
“Never again shall one generation of veterans abandon another.”
{Audio Link Isn’t Up Yet, save and try later to listen to Wyatt’s own words}
HONOR ROLL POEM
March 21, 2006
Wyatt Prunty, who served in the Vietnam war, was inspired to write a poem based on the NewsHour’s Honor Roll of soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.
The poem is called: “The Returning Dead.”
The Returning Dead
Each night I make a drink and wait for them
They have become the day’s concluding news,
Installments from a world without anthems
Or children, unfocusing eyes
A question that repeatedly rejects
My easy terms. They are ones who believed
And acted in the narrow and select
Ways handed them, while ordinary lives
Ran on without interruption
Or bad pictures, as though nothing had changed
Change is the one unanswerable question
Of these faces. The world can rearrange
Itself repeatedly, but these remain
The same, silent in everything they lack;
That’s what they’ve come to, in places with names
Like Afghanistan, Iraq,
And this is the way it happens: the words
Are old – mother, father, home – and will catch
Surrounding currents in the slow absurd
Descending will of any river etched
Out of a landscape history refines
To myth. The TV blanks between
Segments, but every static face defines
Itself, holds stubbornly its private scene…
Fixed, publicly, as we are led
Back to that little negative whose lack
Is each of us, staring the staring dead,
Leaning, sometimes like grief itself; then straightening back.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The ‘HONOR ROLL’ {Link Also At Poem Site}:
This is a Silent Honor Roll shown on the PBS ‘News Hour’, now Almost Daily, that was started at the Beginning!
As of Today, 3-21-06 there are 58 Pages with 5 ‘Honor Roll’ links per page!
If you take the Time to View ‘ALL’ the Pages/Photo’s and Information Instill This Thought Into Each American Military Face You See, ‘Try and Picture 30, 40, 50, 60 or More Iraqi Faces, Children-Women-Men, Killed for Each Of These Faces You Are Looking At’
Audio Link To Listen To Wyatt’s Own Words
Just peace for all the killing…
sometimes
words fail
and only heartbeats
can convey
so deep a wish
for peace
Today Bush starting blaming the media for not showing all the good that is happening in Iraq. There are only two words left to describe this man Mother Fucker!
“Calling out motherfuckers for fucking their mothers is as brutally truthful as politics gets.” (6/9/2005)