Monthly Archives: March 2011

Momento pasajero / Passing moment

Naranja sanguina el sol me mira
fijado por la neblina.
La novedad del alba me besa la piel
en esa manera que tú sabes, amor.
Hacia arriba el surtidor trepa
enredadera sobre el viento.
Mas relojes me muerden los pies
y me doy prisa yo, me apresuro el paso
hacia la muerte.

*         *         *

(translation below)

Through the mist
the sun, blood orange, stares at me.
The novelty of dawn kisses my skin
in that way you know so well, my love.
On the wind the fountain climbs upward
like ivy. But clocks snap at my heels.
I hurry along.  I quicken my pace
toward death.

*           *           *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011

The Fall

In your eyes I saw light from stars not seen,
bright worlds yet unborn. And your kiss
was the whirlwind of ravishment unveiled;
your embrace, a maze of howling vines.
Like some serpent in your Eden
I invented sin and joy, and sorrow,
then slithered off before the morn
could burst upon your dreams.
The day became inflamed. The sun,
a fruit swollen in the heavens.
But your eyes bear night, always.
Our wounded coupling is its own healing.
Beneath your heart, coiled there lies
the soul of worlds unborn.

*           *           *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll   2011

“Dithering” about lawlessness, and the audacity of the mendacious

To quote from Jake Tapper’s blog on the ABC network site:

During his campaign for the Presidency, in December, 2007, Barack Obama told The Boston Globe that “The President does not have power under the Constitution to unilaterally authorize a military attack in a situation that does not involve stopping an actual or imminent threat to the nation.”

Now as far as I know, the Constitution has not changed since December 2007. And we have it on some good authority (including Mr. Obama himself) that he is very well schooled in constitutional law. Apparently the only thing that has changed in the interim is that he was elected President, and therefore has the power and imperative to forget his own words and apparently now believes (actions speak louder than words) that the President is above the Constitution and the law — the same position held by George W. Bush, and his NeoCon advisers including the great VP, Dick “Shotgun” Cheney.

All the discussion concerning the President’s “dithering” in making a decision is irrelevant and a distraction from the more important issue, neatly summarized in Mr. Obama’s December 2007 interview with the Boston Globe. Moreover, with his own words he has now condemned himself in advance, and by his own speech tonight wherein he claims (Secretary Gates’s and Secretary Clinton’s interviews confirm it) that this action in Libya was not prompted by “an actual or imminent threat to the nation.”

The man is an inveterate verbal contortionist, a mendacious speechifier. When it comes to such weighty matters as war, death, maiming and destruction, we should be able to expect better from our President, already having suffered through eight years of murderous and apparently unindictable lawless decision-making. Now it seems we have only more of the same.

~ Greg Driscoll

Ferry: Early Crossing

From the rumbling deck, I cast my vision forth
to net the foulness and beauty of the day.
Above the city’s angry gray,
float drab pewter skies masked
with illusive solidity.
A tinker’s hammer, the sun strikes
between the clouds. It smashes closed my morning eyes.
In his wheelhouse the boat’s pilot
whistles shanties to the waves.
Contrary things, they work against him.
They heed but misted wind and stealthy shore.
In the boat’s wake, gulls perform their magic levitation.
They call to one another above the deep.
In the waters the small fry dream
they’re all leviathans. So like us travelers
set off to earn our daily bread!

*             *             *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011

dimple

dimple so shallow   unlike your heart
touched as if in mist   a bird flying
in search of the sun   unlike your eyes
filled with night   the promise of dawn

*           *           *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011

night

a dark blossom is the night
that perfumes the mind with dreams.
each dream, too, a flower rooted
not in time, nor space, nor the air,
not in earth nor the waters of the deep
but in the very heart of fire.

*         *         *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011

In the bistro of regret

Amid their vinegary dreams
sipping acrid wine from greasy glasses,
in rotting cane chairs wasted fools
sit, silent as bad memories, as death.
The laughter in life escaped them.

*             *             *

(c) Gregory V Driscoll 2011