Tuesday, August 25, 2020

The Elder

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: AMERICAN DEMOCRACY


 

The Elder

 

(for Noam Chomsky)

 

His long white beard is full and untamed

(like his spirit and his voice)

As if he hasn’t been out of the house

Since the pandemic set in

 

He lives a life of solitude now

Alone with his intellect

Alone with his books

Alone with his writing

Alone with his thoughts

 

He is an observer of real politics

He has an ear for the truth

He has an eye for propaganda

He has a nose for bullshit

 

He tells you how it is

Without concern for how you take it

He’s heard it all seen it twice

And taken it in stride

He wrote the book on modern politics

And principled dissent

 

When the old man talks people listen

So listen to him now

 

Listen when he tells you

The man in the Oval Office

Is the greatest threat to civilization

And survival in the history of the species

 

Listen when he says without hesitation

Worse than Hitler

Worse than Mussolini

Worse than Stalin

Worse than Genghis Khan

Worse than Mao Tse-Tung

 

Look at the sincerity in his eyes

And in the lines of his face

A man without reason to lie

He has no horse in the race

 

Listen and believe

Monday, August 24, 2020

Dual Hurricanes

RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: CORONAVIRUS SERIES


Dual Hurricanes

 

As dual hurricanes slide toward the gulf

We remember Katrina

We remember Andrew and Camille

We remember the fear

The failures in response

The botched evacuations

Devastation and heartbreak

 

We remember and pray

The past is not prelude

 

Fire and smoke encapsulate the west

Hurricanes advance like enemy fronts on the gulf

Tornadoes and dust storms strike at the heartland

Floods await the eastern seaboard

 

What unknown horrors will unfold

Before we’re allowed to sleep

What natural disasters line up

To wreak havoc on the innocent

What manmade catastrophes still await us

While we wait

For someone

Who cares

 

(Hurricanes Marco and Laura

Enter the Gulf of Mexico 8/24/20)

 

Sunday, August 23, 2020

Navalny

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: PUTIN


Navalny

 

The long thin fingers

Of the Russian dictator

Reached out at last for the throat

Of his leading opponent

 

From an induced coma

In a hospital bed in Berlin

Navalny takes his place

In a long line of political victims

Journalists and dissidents

Imprisoned poisoned or gunned down

On the barren streets of Moscow

 

Will he live to speak again?

Will he live to be silenced?

Or will he simply pass to the hall

Of martyrdom to be remembered

For his undying courage?

 

Why now? 

 

After years of vocal opposition

Mass gatherings on the streets of protest

 

Why now? 

 

Could it be the silence of the White House?

 

A world in crisis is fertile ground

For a dictator’s brutality

 

(Alexei Navalny is in critical

condition in Berlin 8/23/20)

Saturday, August 22, 2020

The Attempted Assassination of Navalny

 FROM THE NOVEL PAWNS TO PLAYERS: THE PUTIN GAMBIT

 

 

10

 

PAID PROTECTION

 

Black Castle

 

 

No one in the Bratva – a disparate collection of Russian crime families – was happy about the assassination of Boris Nemtsov.  It was too bold.  It put a spotlight on Russian crime.  It made it more difficult to do business in the Caucasus and across Europe. 

Sergey Dvoskin, leader of the all-important Moscow Bratva, resisted accepting a contract to protect the prominent Russian dissident, Alexei Navalny.  He was in the business of making money and a great deal of money was offered – five million Euros.  No one but peasants and pensioners dealt in rubles anymore.  When he hesitated the amount doubled and was deposited in an anonymous account at Deutsche Bank with payments of a half million every six months.  Any attempt to determine who established the account or any deviation from expected codes of behavior would result in immediate withdrawal of the offer.  There were other players in the arena.  There were others who would not hesitate to take the money. 

The deal promised lucrative rewards but also involved significant risk.  It did not pay to alienate Vladimir Putin.  Neither did it pay to alienate the Bratva.  Even Putin needed to learn that lesson.  Everyone in Moscow knew he gave the order to cut down Nemtsov in the streets with his cameras rolling.  The Chechen connection was a ruse. 

Putin did not consult the Bratva when he decided to take Nemtsov out.  He did not ask them what problems it would present and how they might be mitigated.  He did not think it necessary.  He knew where suspicion would fall yet he did as he pleased.  Dvoskin knew that Putin considered placing the blame on the Bratva.  There were rumors he would use the assassination to wipe out the crime families and steal their money. 

Who did he think he was dealing with? 

It was late at night when Dvoskin decided to take the contract and enforce it as he would any other.  Putin would have to move aside if he didn’t want a war.  He went to each of the crime families and presented his case.  They would share in the profits from the deal though none would receive anywhere near what he would receive.  It was a hard sell but he was certain most of them felt very much as he did.  Putin was getting too big.  He needed to be taken down a notch.  They would not take part in any attempt to assassinate the leader of Putin’s opposition. 

That left Putin’s security forces.  Persuading them to honor the contract would be difficult.  They were loyal for a reason.  Anyone who defied their leader would face severe consequences, beginning with dismissal from the service.  It was a good job in a nation where good jobs are hard to find.  In extreme cases, where Putin needed to set an example, a former agent might have an accident – the kind of accident that was easy to interpret.  An expert pilot crashes a plane.  A master fisherman tips his boat in calm waters.  Or one of Putin’s favorites:  food poisoning.  There are a million ways to die but only a handful have the signature of Vladimir Putin and everyone in Russia knew them. 

Dvoskin had ears inside the security forces.  He knew when they were planning an action.  When they planned to take down Navalny at a political rally in Red Square, he heard about it in great detail.  He knew there would be three shooters.  He knew where they would be stationed.  He knew the precise time the hit would take place, what weapons they would use and who they would make the fall guy.  

He could have chosen to warn Navalny but that would not deliver the desired message to Putin.  The security forces needed to be warned that there would be a costly war if they chose to execute Navalny.  They needed to tell their boss it was not worth it.  After all, Navalny was not that great a threat.  The people loved Putin despite all his flaws, despite his corruption and his brutality. 

His people were prepared.  He had three of them posted where the shooters would be.  The crowd was still arriving.  Navalny had not yet taken the makeshift stage.  There was a current of electricity in the air that made Dvoskin wonder if they had indeed underestimated the rebel leader.  His supporters were devoted and every one of them knew the risks.  The right to assemble in protest is a fiction in Moscow.  You had to go through a gulag of paper work and in the end your petition would be declined.  The authorities would almost certainly break up this gathering and many of the protestors would be beaten down and detained. 

As the shooters took their places in the crowd, an attractive woman edged up to each of them.  As the agent glanced at her, a man would approach from the opposite side and inject a serum that put the would-be killer out in less than thirty seconds.  They escorted each of the shooters out through the crowd to a waiting ambulance. 

When the killers came back to the world they were in a warehouse, tied to chairs, bound and muffled.  Dvoskin was seated before them, waiting for each of them to regain consciousness, sipping tea and enjoying a modest lunch of sardines and biscuits.  He waited until he was certain they were conscious enough to understand. 

“You may not realize it, gentlemen, but on this particular day you are the most fortunate of individuals in all of Moscow.  On any other day, you would no longer be among the living.” 

The three of them glanced at each other and realized they had not fulfilled their mission.  Alexei Navalny survived the day and they likely would not. 

“Do you know who I am?” asked Dvoskin. 

Each man calculated his response before nodding.  Of course they knew.  It was pointless to deny it even though acknowledging that reality decreased the probability of survival.  Dvoskin would not want Putin to learn of his betrayal. 

“You are calculating the odds and you have come to the conclusion that you will not live to walk outside these barren walls, to stroll through Red Square, to taste your favorite meals at your favorite restaurants, to get drunk and make love to your favorite whores.  The only question that remains and the one that lingers even now is why are you still here?  Why are you still living?” 

He saw the collective expression on their faces change and he knew the emotion that registered.  It was hope.  However faint, however remote, however impossible, hope made an appearance and brightened the darkest hour. 

“To come to the point, you are here, gentlemen, to deliver a message.” 

He took a deep breath giving the impression that he chose his words carefully and they should measure the gravity of his words and the danger he presented. 

“The message is this:  Alexei Navalny will not be harmed.  You will not assassinate him.  You will not poison him.  Your will not radiate his dinner or his bathhouse.  You will not set his home on fire.  Alexei Navalny will live.  You may arrest him, detain him, defame him and take his money.  It is of no interest.  But you will not harm him.  Do you understand?” 

The men nodded but each managed to convey some level of puzzlement or conflict.  One of them finally spoke. 

“It is not up to us,” he managed. 

“No, it is not.  It falls to your boss and this is my message to him.  If he gives the order, we will kill the assassin and we will erase the assassin’s family from the earth.  Anyone who even considers such a decision should know this.  Do you understand?” 

The men nodded.  Their hope declined like a fish on dry land.  Their boss would not receive this message without vigorous objection.  He would want his revenge and the messenger would be first to absorb it. 

“Tell Vladimir he does not need to bury Navalny.  It is unnecessary and unwise.  It would start a war that would benefit no one.  Do you understand?” 

The men nodded. 

“Very good.  Very good.” 

Dvoskin stood and walked in a semicircle behind them.  His soldiers stood at the doorway and he beckoned one to light his cigarette. 

“If Vladimir doesn’t see the light, if he fails to check his anger and acts out in the spirit of vengeance, he should know:  My death will not end the agreement to protect Navalny.  The contract passes to one of my esteemed colleagues.  If something should happen to him it passes to another and so forth.  It will not be allowed to expire.” 

“We understand,” said one of the men. 

“Good.  Very good.” 

He took a drag as he strolled back in front of them. 

“You’ll like this part.  As a measure of good faith, we expect him to leave the three of you unharmed.  He will want your blood, of course, or at least your pain.  He will want to see you suffer for some transgression or failure you did not commit.  If you disappear or suffer some immediate misfortune we will have no choice but to take it as an act of war.  We do not want war any more than he does.  We have many other matters that demand our attention.  In the end he will see that this is right.  You will owe your lives and your well being to us.” 

He saw hope reappear in their faces and he knew he had them.  If he needed them on some future occasion they would be available. 

“I believe that concludes our business – as long as we understand each other.” 

The men nodded and Dvoskin gave the signal to untie them.  They each shook his hand in turn before departing.  They were grateful to be alive. 

 

Friday, August 21, 2020

The Summer of Corona

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: CORONAVIRUS SERIES


 The Summer of Corona

 

In the summer of corona

Firefighters prove their worth

Sweat envelopes their bodies

Their faces caked with earth

 

The season hits us hard this year

Raging waves of pounding fire

A single spark and the dry land

Explodes in consequence most dire

 

It spreads across the landscape

Engulfing towns and houses

Sparing nothing in its path

Not humans dogs or mouses

 

In the summer of corona

They stand where others fall

In close quarters shoulder to shoulder

They bravely risk it all

 

So while we wallow in self pity

Feeling sorry feeling blue

We thank the firefighters for all

They give and all they do

 

Thursday, August 20, 2020

Conscience of America

RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR

 

Conscience of America

 

Aware that anger is the least emotion

I strive to rise above the din

When the head of the beast is warped

The righteous cannot win

 

Anger when the elderly die

Without cause or ample reason

Anger when the innocent cry

It borders on common treason

 

I strive to find the light in darkness

I search for higher calling

But I suffer with the endless loss

My friends and colleagues falling

 

Our leader is the root of madness

The truth is amply clear

We desperately need new leadership

Or we may lose all we hold dear

 

I am the conscience of America

And I am sleeping

Until the nation alas awakens

 


Wednesday, August 19, 2020

California Ablaze

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: CORONAVIRUS SERIES


California Ablaze

 

From the crisp clear ocean air

Of the northern California coast

To the towering redwoods of Big Sur

Yosemite and old John Muir

From the majestic peaks of Sierra Nevada

To the gentle grace of Santa Cruz

Where artists pay their dues

From the enchantment of Hollywood

The diversity of the city of angels

To the stunning beauty of San Francisco

California is paradise on earth

 

But the world has turned upon its head

We’ve followed where the demon’s led

The air smells of burning soil

As if the water was replaced with oil

The sky is bright orange yellow brown

The people flee their cities and towns

The sun is burnt sienna red

More suited to a land of the dead

Fire strikes a barren land

Our fertile valley turned to sand

 

Misfortune piles on tragedy

Compounding fear with horror

We can see the enemy now

We can smell and taste its bitter fruit

We have survived the sickness

We have endured the plight

Now we must scale the walls

Of fire smoke and ash

To grasp the morning light

 

We are living in a land of flames

California is ablaze

 

(August 19, 2020)

Tuesday, August 18, 2020

Hong Kong

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: WORLD DEMOCRACY


Hong Kong

 

Democracy under siege

And no one seems to care

In Hong Kong freedom bleeds

At what the oppressors freely dare

 

Like the words of a song

Once you lose them they’re gone

You have to fight for your rights

When you have them

 

The people on the streets

Do not forget the hands

That beat them to submission

They take their stand

 

Like the words of a song

Once you lose them they’re gone

You have to fight for your rights

When you have them

 

The cameras have gone dark

The world is too distracted

With the virus traveling everywhere

Democracy cannot be enacted

 

Like the words of a song

Once you lose them they’re gone

Though we pray you can

Keep them Hong Kong

 

(August 2020)

Monday, August 17, 2020

Gravity

RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR: CORONAVIRUS SERIES

 

Gravity

 

It takes hold of my soul

Presses me down

Like matter in a centrifuge

Water in a pressure cooker

Gas in a confined space

As if the hand of god

Came down upon my forehead

Embracing chest and shoulders

Holding me so still

I cannot think of moving

 

My body as an ornament

A useless lump of mass

A burden to the spirit

Damned and damaged goods

Discarded by the roadside

 

I feel its binding grasp

I sense its awesome force

Omnipresent omnipotent

Like the god of stillness

The god of indifference

The god of somnolence

The god of wait steady hold

And wonder why it bothers

And wonder what’s foretold

 

I am here I am gone

I am dreaming

Was I dreaming all along?

 

Take this weight

And let me fly away

Let me wander let me roam

Release my body

And guide me home

 


Sunday, August 16, 2020

Infant Leader

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR:  DEFEATING TRUMP


Infant Leader

 

To an infant the universe

Revolves around the self

The toddler is all ego

There is the father and the mother

There are no others

 

What can be said of a leader

Who believes a global pandemic

Is all about him?

The killing of a man in Minnesota

Is all about him?

Streets of protest from Portland

To Seattle all about him?

 

What kind of ego must you have

To believe that your head

Should be mounted on Rushmore

Alongside Roosevelt Jefferson

Washington and Lincoln?

 

We are cursed with an infant leader

Who believes he is anointed by god

Who has run the ship into the rocks

And believes he has landed

In the promised land

 

We are cursed with an infant leader

Who is lost in his own fantasies

And believes he can transform the world

By the strength of his will

 

We must break loose from this infant

Before his tantrums destroy the nation

And the world beyond recovery

Saturday, August 15, 2020

The Ultimate Narcissist

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR:  TRUMP DIARIES


The Ultimate Narcissist

 

The ultimate narcissist is one

who sees a hundred thousand dead

and says it’s fine

as long as it’s not me or mine

 

The ultimate narcissist would rather

see the whole world blind

rather than leave his chosen behind

 

The ultimate narcissist

sees himself as a god

sees the rest as inferior

with a wink and a nod

 

The ultimate narcissist

cannot be bothered

with a poor man’s plight

as long as the prize

is within his sight

 

The ultimate narcissist

proclaims to this day

he was chosen by god

so get out of the way

 

Friday, August 14, 2020

Putin in Belarus

 RANDOM JACK POETRY HOUR


Putin in Belarus

 

The godfather of international politics

Has worked his bloody charm on the

People of Belarus

Lukashenko is his lackey

(like the man in DC)

Steal the election the easy way

Count the ballots yourself

Round up the opposition

Jail anyone who refuses to accede

Take control of the news media

Put your thugs in the streets

Line them up and put them in trucks

Take them away

Disappear them

Like they never really existed

Like the dream of freedom

Like the democratic fantasy

Crush the resistance before it begins

Install your puppet

And move on to the next little nation

That dares to dream

Listen

Listen carefully

To the silence of the West

The leader of the western world

Has lost his voice