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05 December 2005 @ 01:01 am
Hi! I'm writing to let you know about a little anti-war performance I did
with my family over Thanksgiving weekend. I heard about this lady on the
radio doing it (http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=5021524)
and we copied it.

We took toy soldiers and put a label on them that says "bring me home from
Iraq for the holidays" and we placed them all over stores -- in Best Buy and
the supermarket - and then customers or employees find them on top of
granola bars or iPods, etc.

The idea is to confront consumers for a brief moment -- to ask them to think
about Bush's approach (failure!) and what they're going to do about it. It
also offers an encouragement to other activists, citizens of conscience, and
military families, in that someone is doing something to bring soldiers
home!

So, it's extremely easy (and relatively cheap) to do! Look for toy soldiers
at your local dollar, toy, or department store, glue them on to some paper,
and write/print "Bring Me Home from Iraq for the Holidays," then walk around
stores and leave them (in)conspicuously on shelves!

We're psyched, we wanna get it in blogs and news media and work a snowball
effect and have this protest-performance-action sweep the nation, and be the
next Cindy Sheehan anti-war strategy.

I've started a blog to keep track of where these are popping up. Please
send in pictures of actions you've done (or seen):
http://homefortheholidaysaction.blogspot.com/.

in peace & solidarity,
"Femme Egale"
 
 
16 October 2005 @ 06:03 pm
From comfort of my living room
I used to watch them die
years to come, they brought this gloom
makes me wanna cry
So go... you won't feel their pain
but there won't be winner in this war
so we keep on killing and dyeing in vain
God won't protect us anymore...

( I know it's so easy... to push the button
it would be really easy to destroy
what we've been building for long centuries
I know...
so let me rest at war
if I cannot rest in peace )

With jets crossing my open skies
I won't fall asleep this night
I'm fed up with all your lies
You serve me, thinking you have the right
They haunt me, they we were innocent
and they died in vain
I'd prayed for them everyplace I went
I carry their pain
They haunt me, they are everywhere
I wish they weren't real
I tried so hard, to run outta there
I'm numb, stunned, unable to feel

( I know I can never justify
all the things we've done
I can never undo
sins of humanity
I know...
I should love even my enemies
So I go on, living at war
if I cannot live in peace... )
 
 
16 October 2005 @ 08:36 am
Tell Him.

Tell him, if he can understand,
They are not his to kill.
Nor can he settle how they're ruled,
Such things are by their will.

Tell him their blood is worth no less
Than that for love of which
He quarrels with his father's foes
Or makes his brother rich.

Tell him there is a world beyond
His land without a soul,
Where better men are labouring
For brighter, higher goals.

_______________________
 
 
16 October 2005 @ 08:35 am
Another War.

Another war, were there not wars enough,
In all the ages we have left behind?
My land by war was shredded and defiled,
My people, by the wounds of war, made blind.

Another war, another stream of blood
To feed the thirst of weaklings in their chairs,
Who never risked a thing for any cause,
Or better, never risked a thing of theirs.

Another war, another step behind.
Why do we fear to grow beyond this shame?
Two groups of fools are ruling us these days,
Some scared of life, the rest think war's a game.

_______________________________
 
 
10 October 2005 @ 12:47 pm
Shout

by Vincent Meis

Awake mid slumber
Sounds move through me
Like a chill
Iraqi child crying out
Or is it screams of bombs
Raining down
Or both
Before they become one
His screams
Bomb screams
One scream
His eyes burn
With the flash
That cuts through night
Night to day
In an instant
And to blackness again
Walls rattle like
His rusty bed
His unfed bones
Water barrel shakes
Side his kitchen cot bed
Sends out smells of unclean
Putrid water from a distant trough
That killed his brother
From other side of curtain
Mother softly comforts
But in her heart moaning
Let this one live
Not like the first born of '91
The second in fever death
And we the silent partner
in this horror, this fear
but no more
he has called to me
I his voice to shout
I his feet to march
 
 
 
23 July 2005 @ 02:24 am
Natural as lightening striking’ down a tree
the bombs fall like leaves
into their country.
No.
Precision IS involved
in rupturing peace with catastrophe-
There’s our aim, our agenda, and our military.
 
 
12 May 2005 @ 10:59 am
Amber hickory smoked background.
Back country lifestyle- back roads
and backwards ways of thinking.
A place where inbreeds eagerly fuck
cousins and fathers- bodies slick
upon tattered sheets beneath sixth generation quilts.
Their family stench embedded in each thread
making sleep unbearable,
unless thoroughly exhausted..
And listening to faux news lullabies
all night long ‘till they wake the next day
pleased to see their channel is still on.
 
 
17 March 2005 @ 05:51 am
Sangre Forums
http://www.penmenwritings.org/boards

PenmeN is looking for poetry lovers with strong voices to come and be a part of the revitalization of the Sangre Forums.

PenmeN is the brainchild of Chicano poet Miguel Havze. He has put his time, blood, sweat, and tears into this site. He has produced two anthologies for his poets.

Poets may submit their poetry and be featured in guilds, such as the one found on the homepage:

http://www.penmenwritings.org

All poets of every walk of life welcome. Looking for all voices!

A new section for Current Events and Politics will be opening up soon. There will be a moderator position up for grabs for this area.
 
 
25 January 2005 @ 12:22 pm
"USA!"

"USA!"

"USA!"

Skies turn smoky gray, a clouded explosion;

The mushroom effect sought from a distance.

"USA!"

"USA!"

"USA!"

Eyes within the flame cannot see for long;

Melting into the faceless, unpatriotic unit.

"USA!"

"USA!"

"USA!"
 
 
Current Mood: exanimatei hate this
 
 
14 December 2004 @ 12:44 am
Punishment is Mandatory

Indian style sittings upon concrete
musings at my life
and how it was foreseen.
Defacing then wiping away
chalked floor
of cell block twenty five-a,
only to reclaim
my short lived masterpiece-
Pretty violet shades
tempered with hydro-budded green leaves.

Punishment has become mandatory!

Eighty-nine percent of me agrees
the chances of being free
in two thousand and thirteen
has been lowered significantly
down to fifty-fifty.
I can smell it coming
in felines great senses
using my common senses
combined with E.S.P.