Thursday June 11, 2009, 3:56 pm
Instead, he asked about 50 fellow poets to "reconstitute a Poets Against the War movement like the one organized to speak out against the war in Vietnam... to speak up for the conscience of our country and lend your names to our petition against this war” by submitting poems of protest that he would send to the White House.
When 1,500 poets responded within four days, this web site was created as a means of handling the enormous, unexpected response.

Since then, the "accidental groundswell" grew to include poets from around the world.
There are presently more than 20,000 poems in this, the largest poetry anthology ever published.
Poems from Poets Against War have been presented in person, by invitation, to several representatives of the U.S. Congress; many of them have since been introduced into the Congressional Record.

Thursday June 11, 2009, 3:57 pm
This essay is an except from a longer piece forthcoming from Weber: The Contemporary West that includes sample poems as well as further observations.

Poetry in an Age of War and Atrocity
by Eleanor Wilner

Toni Morrison, Nobel laureate novelist, once said of writing: “Make it political as hell. And make it irrevocably beautiful.” But how is it possible to do both of those things at once, and why must we try? Those are the questions I’d like to take up in this essay, speaking as a practicing poet writing in a time of public dismay.

Though it is a dramatic commonplace, and an often overstated claim, to say that we are at a crossroads--nevertheless I am going to assert that we are, as writers, at a very particular one. Because once again we are at war, and, in the words of the critic Lionel Trilling, we stand at “the dark and bloody crossroads where literature and politics meet, “ and not at all by choice, but by circumstance. We cannot choose our history; we can only choose to ignore it--and silence, as the law says, gives consent.

Thursday June 11, 2009, 4:08 pm
Now here it is necessary to speak not only of what many of us feel impelled to write about, but the excruciating difficulties for a writer involved in awakening in words what is currently troubling our nation’s sleep, an ethical anxiety I suspect is quite widespread. The first difficulty, which we need to face head on, is the particular American distrust of the words “political poetry,” as if it were almost by definition “bad poetry,” one which has designs on us, and in which a polemical purpose must necessarily overwhelm the poetic one.

Since there is bad poetry of every kind, I see no reason to single out socially engaged poetry—and think we need to look deeper into this prejudice—into our shrunken, isolating definition of the individual, one that damages our commonality, and hides our common plight. “I remember, as a student,” wrote poet Lucia Perillo in The American Poetry Review (2001), “being advised not to use ‘we’ as my mode of address, not to try to speak on behalf of anyone but myself.” This is the ultimate separatism; we have been drawn away, even in speech, from the company of others. Notice that I say “we.”

Thursday June 11, 2009, 4:21 pm
Short History of a Bully

the TV news anchorman droned on
the little girl looked up at Grandma
what is that, Grandma
pre-m strike
it’s pre-emptive strike, little one
what does it mean
do you know what a bully is
yes, Johnny down the street
well, pre-emptive strike
is what a bully does
you mean pull my hair
and throw mud on my dress
when I haven’t done anything
yes, that’s it exactly

Thursday June 11, 2009, 4:27 pm
Patriotism

I wish it were illegal
or at least impolite
to use that word
if you haven’t been
to war
to find out
what it truly means
you’d have to ask
the Vietnam vet
living on the street
who came back
a changed man
unable to cope with
“normal” life
or you would have to
wave over
one those veterans
marching in a parade
some of whom
have been to several
wars
at least then
it would be more difficult
for it to be used
like some magic incantation
to protect documents
and actions
that seek to undermine
the very reasons why
all those brave souls fought
and then we would honor
those that died in all wars
by protecting the word
that only they
should rightly use
or define

Thursday June 11, 2009, 5:16 pm
Thank you Boots....hands writing work so much better than arms flying through the air.

Thursday June 11, 2009, 5:39 pm
Laurie, I know you have read, 'The War Prayer' by Mark Twain. If not check it out if you get time.

http://www.ntua.gr/lurk/making/warprayer.html

Thursday June 11, 2009, 5:42 pm
Here is an excerpt from Mark Twain's 'The War Prayer'

"You have heard your servant's prayer -- the uttered part of it. I am commissioned of God to put into words the other part of it -- that part which the pastor -- and also you in your hearts -- fervently prayed silently. And ignorantly and unthinkingly? God grant that it was so! You heard these words: 'Grant us the victory, O Lord our God!' That is sufficient. the *whole* of the uttered prayer is compact into those pregnant words. Elaborations were not necessary. When you have prayed for victory you have prayed for many unmentioned results which follow victory--*must* follow it, cannot help but follow it. Upon the listening spirit of God fell also the unspoken part of the prayer. He commandeth me to put it into words. Listen!

"O Lord our Father, our young patriots, idols of our hearts, go forth to battle -- be Thou near them! With them -- in spirit -- we also go forth from the sweet peace of our beloved firesides to smite the foe. O Lord our God, help us to tear their soldiers to bloody shreds with our shells; help us to cover their smiling fields with the pale forms of their patriot dead; help us to drown the thunder of the guns with the shrieks of their wounded, writhing in pain; help us to lay waste their humble homes with a hurricane of fire; help us to wring the hearts of their unoffending widows with unavailing grief; help us to turn them out roofless with little children to wander unfriended the wastes of their desolated land in rags and hunger and thirst, sports of the sun flames of summer and the icy winds of winter, broken in spirit, worn with travail, imploring Thee for the refuge of the grave and denied it -- for our sakes who adore Thee, Lord, blast their hopes, blight their lives, protract their bitter pilgrimage, make heavy their steps, water their way with their tears, stain the white snow with the blood of their wounded feet! We ask it, in the spirit of love, of Him Who is the Source of Love, and Who is the ever-faithful refuge and friend of all that are sore beset and seek His aid with humble and contrite hearts. Amen.

Thursday June 11, 2009, 6:51 pm
An Ode to Bush

Coldplay Viva La Vida Lyrics

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sweep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing:
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
Once you go there was never, never an honest word
That was when I ruled the world

It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in.
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become

Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

ooooo ooooo ooooo oooooo ooooo
(repeat with chorus)

I hear Jerusalem bells a ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world
Oooooh Oooooh Oooooh

Thursday June 11, 2009, 7:08 pm
Noted with thanks Boots.

Thursday June 11, 2009, 7:08 pm
Thanks Robert

Friday June 12, 2009, 12:30 am
Wonderful Robert!

Friday June 12, 2009, 2:07 am
Wonderful Boots. I have permanently book marked that site. Thank you so much for this great read and your poetry!

Friday June 12, 2009, 7:41 am
Great site ! Thanks, Robert !

Friday June 12, 2009, 7:56 am
Elainna, the poetry I posted here came from the site. I do try and write poetry, but mine's not so notable. thanks,

Friday June 12, 2009, 8:10 am
War

War
The end of all ends you are
You’re the leach of society
Taking life endlessly
No regard for humanity
No means
No end
You take needlessly
If there were a purpose you would have found ages ago
But along you go
Effortlessly
Take you take
Needlessly
Ever so
Effortlessly
Like a virus you’re
Progressing disastrously
Will I ever see the end to thee?
Infectious to the soldier in me
Righteousness the motivation
To be greater than me
Is the infection
That
Injected
Me

Friday June 12, 2009, 8:40 am

I love this! Noted and thanks!

Friday June 12, 2009, 10:44 am
Bravo to all the poets and to you, Boots!!! The pen continues to be mightier than the sword!