Enoshima: Sacred Japanese Island Refuge

enoshima tide pools           

Leaping rocks over incoming tide

I swerved the splashing ocean

Exploring the pristine island at fifteen

Crabs and fish overflowed tidal pools

Fujiyama’s snow peaked cone pierced blue sky

 

Enoshima with Fujiyama behind

 

Giant Tombe hawks squawked and dove

Surf pounded caves under high sea cliffs

Hiking through verdant pathways

The shrine of Benzaiten playing lute appeared

Nude, milk-white, half-crossed legged

Sea Goddess revealed graphic genitals.

  enoshima naked Lady            

Shoguns and public prayed to her for success

Ancient Enoshima was sacred

In one decade cars drove on two bridges

Horns honked and exhaust fumes choked

Escalators snaked to slick viewing tower

Shrill souvenir shops thrived

Pop music blared and tobacco smoke wafted

At the rapture of the sanctuary’s subtle secret

Nature is resilient

  enoshima 1955

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Farewell Barkley Devoted Friend

                                   Barkley

Squirrel Barkley

                        Wet brown Lab shakes and shimmers in the sun

                        Leaping from pool water streaks from brown blur

                     Teeth clutching red ball he lands on stone deck.

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                        Rippling muscles over sleek fur jostle spraying water

                        Strutting chest out wagging raised happy tail

                        Brown eyes sparkle leaving paw tracks when he runs.

Squirrel Ginger and Barkley together near garden

  “Release! Drop!” We implore for another toss.

                        When set to retrieve he opens his jaw

                        Panting, and whining, urging us to throw.

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We grasp and whirl curled rope of cherry sphere.

                        He dashes, leaps, and hurtles legs spread,

                        Crashes the surface his teeth on its mark:

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                        An obsessive wild dance with reckless abandon.

                    His moist broad head fur glistens like a Grizzly’s.

                     He pursues the target into a rosemary hedge.

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   Returns wafting a spicy aroma and

                        His intense glare demands, “Throw it again.”

                     He hears a siren and coyote-howls to the sky.

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Tame, lovable, tenacious, and instinctive.

Loves all family members and friends

           We will pine for you pure devoted friend

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Poem Honoring My Brother on His Birthday

(Chip the fisherman, father, and grandfather)

Chip

Click to Zoom all Photos that seem too small)

Born Richard J. Lavery III in Morgan Park near Chicago in 1938

On August 14th which later proved to be a very special date

 

(Chip and Val)

(Val, Lewis, and Chip Chicago 1940)

Husky, muscular, athletic, intelligent and handsome lad

Named after and followed the footsteps of his demanding Dad

 

( Dad, Paul, Aunt Jane, Val,Chip, Dan Morgan Park 1946) 

 (Dad Annapolis plebe year 1928)

 (Dad Commander Headquarters Support Activity Yokosuka Japan 1955-7)

Loved fishing anytime and lived in places near the sea

Natural leader who could always explain the world to me

 

As children we would play cards, hide and seek and hike everywhere

We played hard, competitively and no matter what we played fair

 

He would bait my hook, untangle my line and knew all the fish

Even organized a menu telling Gammie what to put on the dish

 

Playing the sax with rhythm, riffs, jazz, classical and rock

Glen Miller, Parker, Desmond, Mozart, Beethoven and Bach

Took me to Lyon & Healy music lessons in Chicago by train

Summer Michigan boys scout camps and 3 day canoe trips in rain

 

Boxing, softball, cowboys and Indians, and piano lessons in Vallejo

Folding newspapers & packing our bikes for our routes in Coronado

 

Dillon beach, Los Coronados islands or Jenner-by-the-Sea

He'd show the way and teach his little brother a better person to be

Taught me to square away my uniform, shoes and drill at MPMA

Win at monopoly, canasta, chess, pool or other games every day

 

Yes he’d tease me, call me names and dunk me in the pool

But never had a malicious thought while making me look a fool

He’d tell a joke and break me up with a belly laugh and roar

I would follow his lead whatever he wanted me to do and more

 

Once on a playground a bully threatened Chip when I was six

I screamed at him to leave Chip alone or I'd give his face a fix

 

He knew better than to mess with these Lavery boys

Despite our daily battles, as a team we could make much noise

 

Inseparable from his loving Chihuahua Tico the mascot of YoHi

Who would wander off, bark, ruffle his fur and go eye to eye

(Tico, white husky Chihuahua, YoHi Mascot)

 

With any animal ten times his size no matter how vicious or mean

A magnificent and loving pet, his coat shimmering white and clean

 

Long distance track star and halfback at fifteen for CHS

When I saw him in shoulder pads and cleats proudly I said, "Yes"

(Alex's Kamakura Birthday Party 1955, Chip, Bill, Dan top Ken, Alex  Bottom)

(YoHi Varsity Football 1956 Defense, Chip 15, Dan 13)Click to expand

Hard running YoHi fullback who could cut and run through you

Potent stiff arm, dive, rolling block or a mighty bulldoze too

(Tom running, Dan and Chip blocking for YoHi at Yokohama Japan 1956)

(YoHi Offense 1956)

 

(Chip and Pat, high school sweethearts, first to marry Annapolis class of 1960 at USNA Chapel)

Fell in love with a beautiful gal born on his birthday

Apple of his eye and by her side he would always stay

(Dan and Chip at Annapolis 1959)

 

To the Naval Academy at Annapolis at only 17 he proudly went

After much refined preparation he was appointed by our president

(Chip at Pensacola Summer Training)

 

Scientific mind with peerless mathematics and engineering skill

After a Rickover interview a nuclear submarine billet he did fill

 

First married from the proud class of 1960 he led the way

Love of family, character, and knowledge lit each day

 

Honest, hard-working family-man who traveled far and wide

Pat, Rick, Bill, Tim, Steve, Chris and their pets always by his side

 

Until one dark day when fate dealt Chip and us a bitter blow

And took her and her mother to a place some day we will know

 

She sang silver-toned with angelic voice any musical part

Wonderful mother and companion who was always in his heart

 

Five happy, healthy, handsome and hearty boys remind us every day

Of  her and her mother's beauty, commitment, and love here to stay

 

We see this in each wonderful grandchild's life and face

Rick, Bill, Tim, Steve, and Chris's support provided a special place

 

For Chip to begin a new life and find another soul-mate to share

The future with and build a business from scratch with flare

Linda came into his life at just the right time to help them both

Quell the despair from the unspeakable loss of the one they troth

Melodious voice, warm heart, love for kids, teaching, and Chip

Perfect match to ease them into the golden year's trip

 

Their boys moving forward steadily since they were born

All in their own way the family heritage they well-adorn

Now another fateful blow from a doctor's shrill report

A new battle against a foe that knows not fair sport

 

We support you with the love that characterizes your life

Knowing interceding forces will sustain you in your strife

 

We hope that the enormous resources of our medical world

Will help your life flourish like a bright flag unfurled

 

Know from your brother this poem is written from the heart

To the best brother I could have been blessed with from the start

 

(Presented at Richard J. Lavery III’s funeral in Gainesville, Florida, and to him in the hospital )

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From Hiroshima to Syria, the enemy whose name we dare not speak By John Pilger

September 10, 2013

From Hiroshima to Syria, the enemy whose name we dare not speak

By John Pilger

Russia's peace deal over chemical weapons will, in time, be treated with the contempt that all militarists reserve for diplomacy. With Al-Qaida now among its allies, and US-armed coupmasters secure in Cairo, the US intends to crush the last independent states in the Middle East: Syria first, then Iran.

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On my wall is the front page of Daily Express of September 5, 1945 and the words: "I write this as a warning to the world." So began Wilfred Burchett's report from Hiroshima. It was the scoop of the century. For his lone, perilous journey that defied the US occupation authorities, Burchett was pilloried, not least by his embedded colleagues. He warned that an act of premeditated mass murder on an epic scale had launched a new era of terror.

Almost every day now, he is vindicated. The intrinsic criminality of the atomic bombing is borne out in the US National Archives and by the subsequent decades of militarism camouflaged as democracy. The Syria psychodrama exemplifies this. Yet again, we are held hostage to the prospect of a terrorism whose nature and history even the most liberal critics still deny. The great unmentionable is that humanity's most dangerous enemy resides across the Atlantic.

John Kerry's farce and Barack Obama's pirouettes are temporary. Russia's peace deal over chemical weapons will, in time, be treated with the contempt that all militarists reserve for diplomacy. With Al-Qaida now among its allies, and US-armed coupmasters secure in Cairo, the US intends to crush the last independent states in the Middle East: Syria first, then Iran. "This operation [in Syria]," said the former French foreign minister Roland Dumas in June, "goes way back. It was prepared, pre-conceived and planned."

When the public is "psychologically scarred," as the Channel 4 reporter Jonathan Rugman described the British people's overwhelming hostility to an attack on Syria, reinforcing the unmentionable is made urgent. Whether or not Bashar al-Assad or the "rebels" used gas in the suburbs of Damascus, it is the US not Syria that is the world's most prolific user of these terrible weapons. In 1970, the Senate reported, "The US has dumped on Vietnam a quantity of toxic chemical (dioxin) amounting to six pounds per head of population." This was Operation Hades, later renamed the friendlier Operation Rand Hand: the source of what Vietnamese doctors call a "cycle of foetal catastrophe."

I have seen generations of young children with their familiar, monstrous deformities. John Kerry, with his own blood-soaked war record, will remember them. I have seen them in Iraq, too, where the US used depleted uranium and white phosphorous, as did the Israelis in Gaza, raining it down on UN schools and hospitals. No Obama "red line" for them. No showdown psychodrama for them.

The repetitive debate about whether "we" should "take action" against selected dictators (i.e., cheer on the US and its acolytes in yet another aerial killing spree) is part of our brainwashing. Richard Falk, emeritus professor of international law and UN Special Rapporteur on Palestine, describes it as "a self-righteous, one-way, legal/moral screen [with] positive images of Western values and innocence portrayed as threatened, validating a campaign of unrestricted political violence." This "is so widely accepted as to be virtually unchallengeable."

It is the biggest lie: the product of "liberal realists" in Anglo-American politics, scholarship and the media who ordain themselves as the world's crisis managers, rather than the cause of a crisis. Stripping humanity from the study of nations and congealing it with jargon that serves western power designs, they mark "failed," "rogue" or "evil" states for "humanitarian intervention."

An attack on Syria or Iran or any other US "demon" would draw on a fashionable variant, "Responsibility to Protect," or R2P, whose lectern-trotting zealot is the former Australian foreign minister Gareth Evans, co-chair of a "Global Centre", based in New York. Evans and his generously funded lobbyists play a vital propaganda role in urging the "international community" to attack countries where "the Security Council rejects a proposal or fails to deal with it in a reasonable time."

Evans has form. He appears in my 1994 film Death of a Nation, which revealed the scale of genocide in East Timor. Canberra's smiling man is raising his champagne glass in a toast to his Indonesian equivalent as they fly over East Timor in an Australian aircraft, having just signed a treaty that pirated the oil and gas of the stricken country below where Indonesia's tyrant, Suharto, killed or starved a third of the population.

Under the "weak" Obama, militarism has risen perhaps as never before. With not a single tank on the White House lawn, a military coup has taken place in Washington. In 2008, while his liberal devotees dried their eyes, Obama accepted the entire Pentagon of his predecessor, George Bush: its wars and war crimes. As the constitution is replaced by an emerging police state, those who destroyed Iraq with shock and awe, and piled up the rubble in Afghanistan and reduced Libya to a Hobbesian nightmare, are ascendant across the US administration. Behind their beribboned facade, more former US soldiers are killing themselves than are dying on battlefields. Last year, 6,500 veterans took their own lives. Put out more flags.

The historian Norman Pollack calls this "liberal fascism." "For goose-steppers," he wrote, "substitute the seemingly more innocuous militarisation of the total culture. And for the bombastic leader, we have the reformer manque, blithely at work, planning and executing assassination, smiling all the while."

Every Tuesday, the "humanitarian" Obama personally oversees a worldwide terror network of drones that "bugsplat" people, their rescuers and mourners. In the west's comfort zones, the first black leader of the land of slavery still feels good, as if his very existence represents a social advance, regardless of his trail of blood. This obeisance to a symbol has all but destroyed the US anti-war movement: Obama's singular achievement.

In Britain, the distractions of the fakery of image and identity politics have not quite succeeded. A stirring has begun, though people of conscience should hurry. The judges at Nuremberg were succinct: "Individual citizens have the duty to violate domestic laws to prevent crimes against peace and humanity." The ordinary people of Syria, and countless others, and our own self respect, deserve nothing less now.

Submitters Bio:

John Pilger grew up in Sydney, Australia. He has been a war correspondent, author and documentary film-maker. He is one of only two to win British journalism's highest award twice, for his work all over the world. On 1 November, he was awarded Britain's highest honor for documentary film-making by the Grierson Trustees, in memory of the documentary pioneer John Grierson. He has been International reporter of the Year and a recipient of the United Nations Association Peace Prize and Gold Medal. In 2003, he received the prestigious Sophie Prize for "thirty years of exposing deception and improving human rights." In 2009, he was awarded Australia's international human rights award, the Sydney Peace Prize, "for his courage as a film-maker and journalist in enabling the voices of the powerless to be heard "." For his documentary films, he has won an American television academy award, an Emmy, and the Richard Dimbleby Award for a lifetime's work in factual broadcasting, awarded by BAFTA. His first film, The Quiet Mutiny, made in 1970 for Granada's World in Action, revealed the rebellion within the US Army in Vietnam that led to the American withdrawal. His 1979 documentary, the epic Cambodia Year Zero is credited with alerting the world to the horrors of the Pol Pot regime. Year Zero is ranked by the BFI as among the ten most important documentaries of the 20th century. His Death of a Nation, about East Timor, had a similar impact in 1994. He has made 58 documentary films. He is the author of numerous best-selling books, including Heroes and A Secret Country, The New Rulers of the World and Hidden Agendas. He is the editor of an anthology, Tell Me No Lies: Investigative Journalism and its Triumphs. His latest book is Freedom Next Time. "John Pilger unearths, with steely attention to facts, the filthy truth and tells it as it is" -- Harold Pinter. "John Pilger's work has been a beacon of light in often dark times. The realities he has brought to light have been a revelation, over and over again, and his courage and insight a constant inspiration." -- Noam Chomsky

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A Bloodless War… By Mary Pitt

September 10, 2013 A Bloodless War... By Mary Pitt A poem that sadly describes the response of the majority of the American people to the senseless slaughter over the past 12 years.

(Pictures in original removed because they are atrocious)

"Give us a bloodless war!" they cry,

"Don't let us see anybody die,

"Let us cheer the marchers and salute the flag,

"Celebrate the victory then go home and brag!

"Hide the burning bodies and the severed arms,

"And mute the sound of the raid alarms.

"Let us slay the infidel and rout the beast

"But shield us from what we like the least.

"Let us enjoy the spoils of war,

"But save us from seeing the blood and gore.

"Hide from us the keening cries

"Of a mother who mourns while her baby dies,

"Don't let us hear the piteous moans

"Of a child in pain with broken bones

"While a nurse who has no time for hugs

"Tries to heal without any drugs;

"Cover the missing feet and hands!

"It is too sad for our hearts to stand.

"Give us instead a cheerful smile

"So we may enjoy our war for a while.

"Bring the dead home by dark of night

"And hide them carefully from sight.

"We don't want to know how their families feel;

"We don't want to see that death is real.

"We don't want to know that soldier's name

"For that might bring a sense of shame.

"Let us not question who's to blame

"While we play our silly political games.

"We will rejoice as we did before

"While our children pay for our bloodless war."

Submitters Bio:

This writer is eighty years old and has spent a half century working with handicapped and deprived people and advocating on their behalf while caring for her own working-class family. She spends her "Sunset Years" in writing and struggling with The System.

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