Monday, August 14, 2017

THE TRUE WHITE MAN'S BURDEN (in response to Kipling et al)

The true White Man's burden
Is now in the White House,
Bloating the Congress and Wall Street
And in the streets
With angry white faces
Demanding that their
Ill-got Privilege
Be pedestal-ed once again
So they may freely murder
Any Black man they encounter
From whence to spit on
To jail all types of Queers
To kick Hispanic, Asian, and Jew
To the curb right quick
To oust any and all Muslim
Hold down all that are not "us"
These hateful whites are the true
White Man's Burden
For I, a Privileged
White Man
Must oppose them
More than those they
For these damnable whites
Are My White Man's Burden


With a special fuck you to Rudyard Kipling

Strike up the White Man's burden--
Send forth the worst ye breed--
Go send your sons to die
To stifle your captives' need;
To weigh in heavy harness,
On fettered folk and child--
Your new-caught, oppressed peoples,
Half-free and half-wild.

Strike up the White Man's burden--
Impatience to abide,
To veil your threat of terror
And check their show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain
To seek our own profit,
And work another's pain.

Strike up the White Man's burden--
The savage wars of profit--
Full tilt the wrath of Famine
And bid the sickness cleanse;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch sloth and white Folly
Bring all their hopes to nought.

Strike up the White Man's burden--
The tawdry rule of kings,
To toil of serf and sweeper--
The tale of common things.
The ports ye shall control,
The roads ye shall outspread,
Go mark them with your living,
And mark them with their dead.

Strike up the White Man's burden--
And reap our own reward:
The blame of those ye fetter,
The hate of those ye guard--
The cry of hosts ye strangle
(Ah, slowly!) toward our right:--
"Why brought ye us your bondage,
From our loved night skies?"

Strike up the White Man's burden--
Ye dare not stoop to less--
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloke your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, fettered peoples
Shall weigh your gods and you.

Strike up the White Man's burden--
Have done with childish peace--
The lightly proferred helmet,
The easy, grudged praise.
Comes now, to search your manlyness
Through all the thankless years
Cold, edged with dear-bought blood,
The judgment of your fears!

Saturday, January 21, 2017

Peg Marlowe, a.k.a. Aunt "Pet", my godmother and one of my heroes (11/2/12-28/3/99)

The clock has stopped but time moves on.
A life fulfilled and full of life has run its course.
The Sandman has come.
No more pain, no more tears, only the fullness of existence and memories
She leaves behind to comfort our nights when we feel our loss.

Published as part of her obituary in The Ojai Valley News, 19 April 1999.