Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

Aug 31, 2006 at 22:56 o\clock

War and Religion Poets against war

William Blake

There Is No Natural Religion

The Argument. Man has no notion of moral fitness but from Education.
Naturally he is only a natural organ subject to Sense.

I. Man cannot naturally Perceive but through his natural or bodily organs.

II. Man by his reasoning power can only compare & judge of what he has
already perceiv'd.

III. From a perception of only 3 senses or 3 elements none could deduce a
fourth or fifth.

IV. None could have other than natural or organic thoughts if he had none
but organic perceptions.

V. Man's desires are limited by his perceptions, none can desire what he
has not perceiv'd.

VI. The desires & perceptions of man, untaught by any thing but organs of
sense, must be limited to objects of sense.

Conclusion. If it were not for the Poetic or Prophetic character the
Philosophic or Experimental would soon be at the ratio of all things, &
stand still, unable to do other than repeat the same dull round over again.

*
Dear Friend:  Or, one is tempted to say, things would "stay the course."

Seeing pictures of pre-pubescent Israeli girls writing messages on American-made bombs to be delivered via American-made aircraft by the Israeli military to murder Lebanese children is an utter outrage.

When did targeting civilian populations and bombing them stop being a war crime? Why must this outrage continue, decade after decade? No one is innocent. Silence is complicity.

The President of the United States-who believes he should have the right to maintain secret prisons and torture prisoners and who defines an unprovoked attack on another country as a defensive measure-refused to demand a cease-
fire. He is an accomplice in the murder of innocent children. And since we all finance this bloodshed, we too are accomplices. And now we shall finance the rebuilding, in part, of Lebanon. This is utterly insane.

We read about Palestinian adolescents attending a summer camp that will prepare them to become suicide bombers or military warriors. We read of holy wars between Sunni and Shia Muslims, between Muslim and Jew, between Christian and Muslim. and remember that when the Christian Crusaders moved through Beirut a thousand years ago, they slaughtered every man, woman and child. A thousand years of holy slaughter.

Beirut has risen from its ashes time after time, and it will rise again.

We must declare our outrage in strong clear language and action. We must do everything in our power to change our government and to demand that the warmongering governments and organizations around the world be drowned in our cries. Fearmongering and warmongering and bullying never produce peace.
Fear invites anger and tyranny; courage invites nonviolent diverse democracy.

"Terrorism" is a tactic, not a political or social organization. Most victims of terrorism are civilian, from NYC to Spain, Baghdad, Gaza and Beirut; the largest number of casualties in the War on Iraq are civilian.

Is the government of these United States truly impotent when it comes to tracking down Osama Bin Laden and those who attacked us? If so, every nasty little Bin Laden Wannabe feels fully empowered.  And the slaughter of innocents continues. A rain of bombs is a reign of terror, no matter what
side one is on.

It can be stopped. But it can be stopped only by finding those few clear recious words of agreement by which each side may be encouraged to flower.

*
Howard Zinn's article (currently on the web page), "Rise Like Lions," is a moving call to action, one we would do well to heed. In this political season, we must dream large and stand united in our conviction that wars can be concluded and that our country can begin to serve a higher moral, humanitarian role in the world.

*
It has been a very long time since we last asked for contributions. But now it is time to raise some funds to help extend our reach to other like-minded organizations and to help us be a presence in the current political atmosphere. No one at Poets Against War is salaried. But there are limits to what we can do with a handful of overworked volunteers and no real
funds. In this political season, we need to have some operating expenses and it would be good to have a small advertising budget.
But most of all, we need you to give time and effort and a few dollars to right-minded political activities. Bush and his spineless, poisonous
jellyfish congress have declared an eternal war that includes a war on our Constitution.

Doren Robbins has created a limited edition mixed-media collage with an anti-war poem to benefit Poets Against War. His poetry has been praised by Adrienne Rich, Gerald Stern, Philip Levine, and many others. He asks a minimum $50 donation to Poets Against War. The poster can be viewed at:

http://www.pemmicanpress.com/CurrentIssue/doren-robbins/poster-page.html

Namaste,

Sam Hamill
Director, Poets Against War

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Aug 31, 2006 at 09:19 o\clock

The Clown Jozsef Ergy

clown

Aug 31, 2006 at 09:16 o\clock

No money Now what

broke

Aug 29, 2006 at 06:12 o\clock

Domotor The hunting of the animals

hunter

Aug 29, 2006 at 00:12 o\clock

We Make Love In A Military Cemetry

WE MAKE LOVE IN A MILITARY CEMETERY


Late on Memorial Day we met at the graveyard's wrought-iron door;
I'm one hundred percent disabled, she - a young widow-of-war
(Of the last war, very likely, twenty three/four, couldn't be more).

Had we met at roulette, exchanging a glance -
The rest of my nights I'd have staked all on a chance,
Had we met, moonlight led, at an occult séance -
I'd have spent all my days in deep joyous trance.
Had we met on the floor of a jazz ballet class -
I'd have whirled away my life in everlasting dance.

But it was in a graveyard we came face to face
Thus my heart goes forever wandering off to that place -
Dark silence. No breath. Our backs rest in peaceful green hair.
And from fertile earth rises warm misty air

..."Am I not an almost perfect Israeli lover?"
I enquire, eyes twinkling, in self-assured undertone -
"You're one-hundred-percent!" she laughs, reassuring,
"Just don't go tell it to them tombstones!"

RAMY DITZANNY

Translated by the poet

http://israel.poetryinternationalweb.org

 


Aug 28, 2006 at 23:52 o\clock

SOURCES OF INSOMNIA

SOURCES OF INSOMNIA I


She carried the lamp behind the water lilies.
The midnight dawn gnaws through
the high chamber where Maria sleeps,
as I long for water and for lilies.

I lie beside her. She rests with me. And none
of us are in this world jointly,
for nothing is here for elsewhere joined
where no desire tears one and the other asunder.

The wall becomes mirror of the army of stars.
The silence swells with fish. In the algae
grate the saline crystals of old sores.

Will I remain then in the watery grave
while the phantom ship sails on forever?
- But when Maria sighs, I take her hand.
 
 

When Maurice Gilliams won the Grand Prize for Literature in 1980, many a newspaper journalist was at a loss: as far as the press was concerned Gilliams had always been "the Great Unknown" of Dutch-language literature. But in the literary world itself Gilliams' work was considered not only an inside tip but also a milestone in the development of twentieth-century literature

Aug 28, 2006 at 09:53 o\clock

Sewer Man Hole cover

Newtown New Zealand   Things seen on a walk about

 

Aug 28, 2006 at 09:49 o\clock

Newtown New Zealand Things seen on a walk about

Newtown New Zealand   Things seen on a walk about

 

Boat used on King Kong now in dock moored rusting and neglected

Aug 28, 2006 at 09:49 o\clock

Newtown New Zealand Things seen on a walk about

Newtown New Zealand   Things seen on a walk about

A Gate

Aug 28, 2006 at 09:44 o\clock

Newtown New Zealand Things seen on a walk about

Newtown New Zealand   Things seen on a walk about

Happy Birthday Gift

Aug 23, 2006 at 01:10 o\clock

The Unsex'd Females A Poem An Irish Publication

THE
UNSEX'D FEMALES:
A
POEM,
ADDRESSED TO THE AUTHOR OF
THE PURSUITS OF LITERATURE.

==============================================================
"Our unsex'd female writers now instruct, or confuse, us and
themselves, in the labyrinth of politics, or turn us wild with
Gallic frenzy." ------- Pursuits of Literature, Edit. 7. p. 238.
=========================================================
======

LONDON:
PRINTED FOR CADELL AND DAVIES, IN THE STRA
nd
-------------
1798.

I

Aug 22, 2006 at 22:59 o\clock

Thought of the day

 

 

 

 

"People who believe in boundaries, live by them"

- Don Cherry

Aug 22, 2006 at 09:24 o\clock

Two sisters and fox reading a book

sis

Aug 22, 2006 at 09:19 o\clock

E mail from my son Bobby ???? birthdaycrotiatrip

kairoa
I have been dealing with the croatia dude zelota or somethin like that he has sorted out a 5 day adventurepackage for us!!
He wants 100 quid deposit so if your up for this trip
i will send you his bank acc details the flights are cheap flying out on the fri 22nd 2pm ish sep with wizzair from luton is 9.99 into zagbreb and you can come back for 3.99 i'm planning on returning the
following sat as they don,t fly sun .
if your want to check out tour operator
huckfinadventures in google.
laters


Aug 22, 2006 at 02:40 o\clock

Vladimir Mayakovsky

This poem was found among Mayakovsky’s papers after his suicide on April 14, 1930. He had used the middle section, with slight changes, as an epilogue to his suicide note.

Past one o’clock. You must have gone to bed.
The Milky Way streams silver through the night.
I’m in no hurry; with lightning telegrams
I have no cause to wake or trouble you.
And, as they say, the incident is closed.
Love’s boat has smashed against the daily grind.
Now you and I are quits. Why bother then
To balance mutual sorrows, pains, and hurts.
Behold what quiet settles on the world.
Night wraps the sky in tribute from the stars.
In hours like these, one rises to address
The ages, history, and all creation.

poetr

Aug 20, 2006 at 10:25 o\clock

The Clown Army needs you

recruit photo

Aug 19, 2006 at 04:57 o\clock

The Clandestine Insurgent Rebel Clown Army CIRCA

 

RECRUITMENT

Are YOU tired of humdrum protests and bored of capitalism?Do YOU enjoy working in a team and ridiculing authority?Do YOU long for extremely silly adventures?The Clandestine Insurgent Rebel Clown Army is looking for fools and rebels, radicals and rascals, tricksters and traitors, mutineers and malcontents to join its ranks.You could be part of a fighting force armed with ruthless love and fully trained in the ancient art of clowning and non-violent direct action. You could learn ingeniously stupid tactics that baffle the powerful. You could uncover your inner clown and discover the subversive freedom of fooling.You don't need to like clowns or soldiers, you just need to love life and laughter as much as rebellion. If you think you've got what it takes then follow your nose & join CIRCA!

TRAINING TO BE RUBBISH

BASIC REBEL CLOWNING TRAINING

Recruitment officers offer a two day Basic Rebel Clown Training, that takes anybody and everybody on a journey to find their inner clown, release the spontaneous self, learn how to cooperate in a group, to do some very basic physical and narrative improvisation. We also cover the universal rebel clowning techniques. These tools will get you started on setting up your own brigade

http://www.clownarmy.org/

Aug 19, 2006 at 04:09 o\clock

My latest reads and sounds

Looking at other similar Blogs people seem to list what they are reading

Here is my latest read and sounds

Howard Jacobson  The Making of Henry

Not as good as his previous books but always amusing

Tennessee Williams Collected stories

Title of one story  The Accent of a Coming Foot     Need I say more

Two Records I found of The Cure  The Head on the Door and Seventeen Seconds

Aug 19, 2006 at 04:03 o\clock

Its all Greek to .....

Anadiplosis (Greek, `double-back'):

A repetition of the last word in a line or segment at the start of the next line or segment.

I met her on a Friday

Friday a cross over day

Day work night play

Play the week end away

@ Neil Furby

 

Aug 19, 2006 at 01:45 o\clock

Homeward Bound New Zealand by Steve Booth

I'm sitting in a railway station got a ticket for my destination, I've way out plans to fight inflation, my cooking is a taste sensation. I'm travelling across the nation, to see if I can find sensation, or feel the floor of love's foundation.
When you're down and out, when you're on the street, it's nice to know that you can meet, a person who can feel the beat of any man on any street. It's then your life is half complete.
I am a rock, I am an island, living in a steak cheese pie land, where rugby is the stuff of god and every man swears by his dog and never cries and never weeps, where souls are kept in prison keeps, so when he's had enough he leaps and leaves his mum to sweep the mess beneath the folds of her blue dress. It's tragic, however, nonetheless, at least we have our health I guess.
"Homeward Bound" by Steve Booth (1971-) Wellington