By Lori Karpay

by Phil Penne

Rifles blazed that day

with the fire of a thousand Red hearts

The blood ran down and stained

the skin of their Mother

When the time of long shadows had come

one Red had fallen

two Blue had fallen

and Truth lay dead

And the People ask

When will they give you back the Sun

Leonard Peltier?

The Eagle flew North in vain

caged that cold Calgary morn

Tried by those who did not know

and damned by lies

The Blindfolded Lady failed you

Sent to the Gray Place

bound by shackles of iron and hate

And the People ask

When will they give you back the Moon

Leonard Peltier?

You see your world through shafts of steel

and the eyes of those who care

You feel in the stone walls around you

the mountains of your home

But the only drum you hear

is the beating of your heart

Hope is your sole companion

Ignorance your stubborn foe

And the People ask

When will they give you back the Stars

Leonard Peltier?

If blind eyes one day open

and deaf ears some day hear

You will see the smiles of your children

and walk the path of your fathers

But if last breath finds you

still trapped in the tangled web

You will cross over knowing

The body they held

did not contain your Heart

The flesh they trapped

was not the vessel of your Mind

And that the Wind now has your Spirit

Leonard Peltier

Mitakuye Oyasin

Try To Praise the Mutilated World

by Adam Zagajewski

Try to praise the mutilated world.
Remember June’s long days,
and wild strawberries, drops of wine, the dew.
The nettles that methodically overgrow
the abandoned homesteads of exiles.
You must praise the mutilated world.
You watched the stylish yachts and ships;
one of them had a long trip ahead of it,
while salty oblivion awaited others.
You’ve seen the refugees heading nowhere,
you’ve heard the executioners sing joyfully.
You should praise the mutilated world.
Remember the moments when we were together
in a white room and the curtain fluttered.
Return in thought to the concert where music flared.
You gathered acorns in the park in autumn
and leaves eddied over the earth’s scars.
Praise the mutilated world
and the grey feather a thrush lost,
and the gentle light that strays and vanishes
and returns.

Translated by Renata Gorczynski

Five Links; One Chain

Mohamed Suliman [email protected]

Frustrated youth sighs
Rain failing to wash away
Pain that comes and goes

Screams deafening but
They remain unheard this night
Earth’s only witness

Black Eyed Dogs Calling
I’m unarmed and undermanned
Pink Moons so distant

Wind caressed cold hearts
Cry silently but in vain
No answers present

Only more questions
To answer some questions
I miss you, is that enough?

Christian Satanism

Professor Pyramid

I’ve finally found religion
It’s the strangest tale to tell
My left brain’s going to Heaven
And my right brain’s going to Hell

At work I’m a file clerk
At night I’m an anarchist
I’m glad I found my niche
As a Christian Satanist

I’m a living contradiction
A neat freak, yet a rebel
For order I pray to God
Against law I pray to the Devil

Sometimes I wish for their welfare
Sometimes I wish harm on people
You gotta know who to pray to
Because half what I want is evil

I finally understand
What Allistair Crowley’s art meant
Don’t pray to God you’re not pregnant
Because that’s not his department

You cannot serve God and Mammon
At the same time, people say
But if you serve them within two hours
On separate plates, it’s OK

I serve them one at a time
Not simultaneously
That old time share religion
They take their turns on me

But what’s this crap about serving?
Who serves who anyway?
I didn’t say I worship
I only said I pray

Christian Satanism
It’s the balanced thing to do
All religions have contradictions
So you might as well have two

God calls Satan a liar
He says “Death, there is thy sting”
But if the Devil accuses likewise
It’s a he-said she-said thing

Remember the brain has two hemispheres
It’s like having two separate souls
That’s how I do spreadsheets with one hand
While the other is feeling for holes

No wonder they call me bipolar
It’s a purely spatial division
My left and right lobes are so schizo
They each got their own damn religion

They’ll have to split up my soul
Or pass me from one to the other
I’ll dish out fire and brimstone
One damn way or another

In Heaven I’ll process data
Like checking St. Peter’s lists
In Hell I’ll process hatred
And lose count of eons’ fists

In the meantime, when I need guidance
When obstacles come my way
I’ll turn to Jesus Christ
And Anton Szandor LaVey

You say I can’t reconcile them
It’s impossible, you taunt
Well mine is a church of one
So I’ll interpret how I damn well want

Now you’d think my left would be evil
And you’d think my right would be godly
But opposite sides of the brain
Control opposite sides of the body

Because I type righthanded
I’ve got carpal in my right
No wonder I’m a southpaw
When my left goes south at night

It all fits together nicely
It makes such perfect sense
The grass is greener on both sides
And it hurts to sit on the fence

Just know the nature of what you want
And access both dominions
Why are you making such a fuss?
We’re all entitled to two opinions

Pray to God for capitalist cash
And to Satan for crystal meth
To the Lord to save your mother’s life
And to the Devil for Bush’s death

One is there for brotherly love
And one for your right to hate
If you want to get things done in this world
You gotta overdelegate

It’s really the best of both worlds
With two, you cannot lose
You’d have to be a half-wit
To have half a mind to choose

Heaven and Hell can have my halves
But what’s really a pain in the neck
Is my poor old corpus collosum
Is going straight to heck