Were I known as Merlin, 

My Nimue you would be, 

Sharing dreams and magic, 

Beside me at my knee. 

Capturing my very soul,                          

Making me yield all control, 

Everything I thought was mine, 

Right down to my very soul

Sometimes there’s no right turn, 

It’s just that everybody’s wrong, 

Just one kiss I dreamed for years, 

But I’d have only gave you tears, 

Instead you ended up with him, 

And got the same tears anyway, 

We both found our different ways, 

And many years of better days.

Hi Folks, 

War is the ultimate form of insanity.  Perhaps it is evidence of some kind of collective psychosis in humankind and a few other primates.  The time for war has long passed.  Our poor fragile planet is sustaining more than enough damage from our otherwise peaceable activities 

For this blog I will offer a few more thoughts about the tragic insanity of war.   There are  few points here, I will try to be brief. 

War has become a commercial enterprise.  The wealthy and powerful gain more wealth on the backs or the taxpayers of both sides and the bodies of soldiers and residents of the countries where they fight.  The oligarchs that profit are well insulated from the negative consequences of their actions. 

The mainstream media outlets are heavily financed by these oligarchs and accordingly spend much of their vast resources promoting and glorifying war. With modern technology the news outlets have made war a spectator sport.  The entertainment outlets spend a great deal of their resources on glorifying war, focusing their narrow lenses mostly on the excitement and heroism of battle. Precious little is spent on the heartbreaking outcomes for the common people. 

War wastes lives, resources and the environment.  When it was just primates (us included), attacking or being attacked by rival tribes the environment suffered much less grievous damage.  Our current state of art weaponry consumes vast quantities of resources and destroys great swaths of the environment.  Such waste is written off as “collateral damage” and the cost of doing business. 

I do not believe there is simple solution to this tragedy on the grand scale.  Probably the best solution is for individuals to wake up and take a leaf from the late Phil Ochs and say “I Ain’t Marching Anymore”. 

Thank you for listening. Please, please seek non-violent alternatives to killing our people and our planet.

Don’t thank me for my service.  You have no concept of the things I’ve seen. 

Don’t thank me for my service.  You have no clue what I did. 

Don’t thank me for my service.  You have no understanding of the things I did. 

Don’t thank me for my service.  You have no idea what it was really like. 

Don’t thank me for my service.   Unless you’d like to share my demons. 

Don’t thank me for my service. 

Just don’t.

I might be now an elder, 

Or just an ancient fool, 

Never dreamt I’d live this long, 

Still learning in life’s school, 

Some lessons come with lots of pain, 

And cause a lasting change, 

Some are found to be for naught, 

Just to show that life is strange, 

Sometimes it’s down to pass or fail, 

Other times it’s open book, 

Still some people fail at this, 

I guess they didn’t look.

I concocted this nightmare, 

About skeletons in the closet, 

They need to be dragged out, 

And laid to their proper rest, 

So that we can go forward, 

And try not to put any more in there, 

America needs to do the same with hers,

Sometimes you just don’t know, 

If something will scratch your itch, 

Or just get you killed, 

Or worse yet, 

Land you in jail, 

Or worst af all, 

Let you get away with it, 

To eat at your conscience, 

For fity or so years.

Even in this saddest season, 

Give thanks, there is always reason, 

Remember those that went before, 

Consider how they made you more, 

Take to heart the lessons learned, 

Don’t waste regret on bridges burned, 

Give thanks for knowing right from wrong, 

And friends that help you to belong.

Bright as the clear day sun, 

I can’t help but turn away, 

My heart still tells me turn back, 

But I don’t have a thing to say, 

My old and jaded heart, 

Is pretty hard to sway, 

But she always draws my eye, 

And I don’t know what to say, 

When I turn around, she’s there, 

I can only hope she’ll stay, 

I know it’s not my place to ask, 

I can’t find a thing to say, 

I never know just what to say, 

So I sit here all alone, 

Every one just walks away 

‘Cause I don’t know what to say,

Man boys in tin kites, 

Far from home but still privileged, 

More than the guys in the tin dragonflies, 

The carcasses of which, 

Would be dragged back to camp, 

By others of their kind nearly every day, 

And these were still more privileged, 

Than the men, women and children, 

Who called this deadly place their home.