Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
The Second Coming, by Yeats.
And, to switch gears so quickly it’ll give you whiplash, there’s this:
All those smelly liberals
Dancing in the park
For Saddam, Satan
And Karl Marx
They hate their country
They hate their God
If you offer them steak
Then they ask for cod
They’ll never be happy
Til we all speak Iraqi
And all our kids
Smoke wacky baccy
I wish they’d all
Go and live in Cuba
Liberals stink more
Than a man I know who plays the tuba
That’s from the Poets for the War site, though honestly, I suspect the author may not have been entirely sincere. Which leads me to suggest a little game: write your own “pro-war” poems and submit them to the site. And let me know if any of them are posted. This could be fun.