Radical Change?

Radical change? 

Pennies spilt on the ground.

 That wheel of revolution, it had to go round.

 and it kicked everybody to the ground.

 

Radical change? Doesn't that sound strange?

 Cut the roots and you kill the plant.

 Look at those revolutions, look at where they went.

 Lots of death and dying, leaving the world spent.

 Did the workers want change? No they just wanted to eat.

 When they couldn't eat, then they took to the street.

 Out went the Tsars, in came new Tsars.

 The names changed, but the oppression remained the same.

 When that wheel comes round it crushes all to the ground.

 

You want radical change, you might as well head for the stars.

 Even if you get your way, you'd be better off on mars.

 Because as long as human beings want to fight,

 the ends never make the violence right.

 Cut off their heads, new pigs take their place.

 Want to get rid of the old leaders? new ones take up the race.

 Level the pack, and a new monster emerges.

 And in the end, all the mothers can do is to sing their dirges.

 The names might change, but oppression is always strange.

 Fear begets fear, violence begets violence, 

fear has that smell of sulphur and hell.

 and radicals cut the plants down, till new ones won't grow.

 When that wheel comes round it crushes all to the ground.

 

So don't talk to me of radical change,

 It might sound romantic to you, 

but to me it just sounds violent and strange.

 I've heard it before, and those who talk it are whores.

 They'll set others in motion, and then run the other way.

 When the pack disappears, and your standing alone.

 You'll run from the fray, and oppression will win out the day.

 And you'll set in motion events, that will grow and grow,

 Until the grass is all trampled, and young lives are all mowed.

 When that wheel comes round, it crushes all to the ground.

 And when it passes, all that is heard is a plaintive sound.

Christopher H. Holte

Posted to facebook January 21 2012

Collated Madness

It sounds so logical, rational, possible

all organized, sorted, separated by page;

Eacb copy is all stacked for binding,

Like a book intended for the ages;

Each page is in neat type,

A clear script making your mad case;

Repeating to your angry followers;

"Kill the black man!

Hang him high!

Throw his body into the sea!

Send him to Kenya!

He's not our guy!"

You have your own universe of media.

Crowds flying banners,

Patriots preaching treason.

Preaching fealty to the constitution

While practicing subversion.

Subversives calling lies,

"Fair and Ballanced," for all to see.

And you repeat to your angry followers,

"LOCK HER UP!

She is guilty!

Hang her high!

Throw her body in the sea!"

Waves of fat old men,

Riffles in hand, tin foil hats.

Led by blind old men,

Wearing tricornered hats,

Dangling tea bags.

 

You preach to your lynch mob!

Old and well fed, 

young and missing teeth.

"Save the children!"

"Stop the death panels!"

You shout;

"Stop the world, I want to get off."

"I'll give you the best health!, believe me!"

"We'll make America Great Again"

"We'll drain the swamp!"

And they believe you.

Call & response 

to your angry followers;

"Lock them up!

Lock them up!

Don't be too gentle!

Hang them high!

Throw their bodies into the sea!"

The slogans sound so logical, plausible.

A lifetime Con sure knows the swamp.

"Drain the swamp!" You say!

And proceed to drain everything,

Through a sieve.

And into your back pocket!

You talk so much of unborn children.

Your followers actually think you care!

And the call and response 

On immigrant children;

"LOCK THEM UP!

They are rapists and murderors!

They don't send us their best!

We want machine guns on the border.

We will make of them an example!"

You take suckling babies

from their mothers,

And send them for adoption.

And when women are raped,

Forced birth.

Meanwhile you loot and destroy,

And fire anyone who won't bow to you.

You give family members lucrative contracts.

And steal everything not well nailed down.

Your party no longer sounds rational.

And you have done evil,

That makes no sense.

Christopher H. Holte 12/8/2020

I started this a long time ago. Wrote most of it before 2016.  There is more in my head, but I wanted to transcribe the paper while it was fresh.

Out the Door

I walked out the door

and wandered into the night

I looked up at a star far away

and felt alone

Above me twinkled the lights

Images tell me they are suns

children of other nights

so far away, also alone.

Don’t fill the world with fear

We don’t have enough years

to live all our dreams,

life is fearful enough

why live the nightmares?

I don’t know today

How can I know tomorrow?

When we have each other

why hold onto sorrow?

The nights are dark, the nights are cold

inside it is warm,

let us stretch our muscles, warm our hearts

don’t let them burn like aching coals.

Old wounds remind us of too much foolishness.

But old pleasures comfort.

Old aches tell us we are still here.

I ache therefore I am.

You are my love,

I am a Descartes of Pain

We get used to it.

We hurt therefore we are alive.

We get used to it.

The illusions never hold,

unless they are skillful.

I’m getting old.

Chris, written in early summer, 2011.

Kali Marching

Refrain:

Burning Burning Churning Churning

Fires rise into the night

Smoke and Flame, Dust and soot spreading

Rising into the sky!

 

I saw a vision of Kali Marching!

Marching crowds, possessed by Kali!

You see people marching.

They grow Six Arms!

You may see wild people

I see emanations of Kali!

 

The Rainbow Bridge

Across the rainbow bridge, Where the limitations Of the Saha World Need not apply. Across the rainbow bridge, Where my fancies fly Propelled by imagination To that deathless place Where it is always Spring or fall....

Somewhere
in that breathless space,
Where only all that matters
is matter.
Free of fear
And the mindlessness
Of the human race
Racing like rats
Trapped in a maze.
Is a place
Where our souls are free,
To experience love,
& play,
& whimsy.
Cross the rainbow bridge with me.
Be free

All that we love
Never grows old
Never is cowardly
Always just enough bold.

Across the rainbow bridge
You'll see
Imagination bloom in gardens.

This saha world is our saga.
We tell tales
That weave our worlds.
Crones warp & weft
cut and trim.
But imagination
Is beyond them.

Dogs and children
Forever play
At the rainbow bridge
At the end of the day.

This Saha world
Seems to endure.
It is an ugly place
Corrupt & impure.

But the rainbow bridge remains.
It can cross impossible rivers
& unite the sundered and sad
Into new creations
Wonderful and glad.

It is time to awake
No chains
Can chain imagination.
The same stones
They intend for walls.
Can build the rainbow bridge.

Grimm citadels
Become cathedrals
Warships, Ocean liners
Streams home for happy fish.

The world is how we build it.
So let's build it better a
rainbow bridge

Maria Butina

Maria

She has cried all her tears,

Prayed in her Chambers

Once green dreams in embers.

Now comes the reckoning.

An entire edifice of corruption

Coming down.

Elites taking money from criminals.

It is time for others to frown.

Hell Hounds

Waiting, waiting,

to collect his soul.

Whether there is a heaven

I don't know.

Hell I've seen.

And  Hell is in the heart

Of the vile & mean.

A weight dragging him down.

At his final accounting.

https://t.co/ZLbpqzXXkN

https://twitter.com/CHHolte/status/1033831674608541698

Pirates of PenceTrump

Trump the Pirate

Once there was a pirate,

Who danced on the deck of his ship

While Sailing on his Hunts

And giving the authorities the slip

 

The Very Stable Genius

He started to Dance!

I am a very stable genius!

I am the smartest in the world!

Nothing ever gets past me

Unless I let it go

 

I am a very able womanizer

The women always love me

When I see a woman that's pretty

I grab her by the kitty!

Grifter Trump

He continued:

I am the greatest Pirate!

the world has ever seen!

I promise my mates the world.

Then I pocket the gold

I sell them Warfs and Docks

Take their money and then go!

They wonder where I went

When their gold is in my hold

Watch out for the Pirate King!

My Father gave me money

I borrowed more from Italians

I blew it on Casinos

That started loosing money

So my Daddy bought some chips

And gave them to me as a gift.

 

I am a billionaire in every way!

Because I collect peoples money and never pay!

If you loan me money.

I won't repay

If you work for me.

I'll promise you wages you'll never see!

 

Eventually even the Italian Mob,

Didn't want to do business with me.

But the Russians did!

The Russians love me!

They give me everything I want!

Just so long as I don't recognize them

When the FBI comes to call.

(Truth is I'm afraid of them,

putting me to the wall!)

 

I am the Greatest Lover Anyone has Seen!

I go after the women,

Grab them by the kitty!

When I look in the mirror

I see someone pretty!

It costs me a pretty penny

But it is amazing what money will buy.

This is the only place I have to pay

Or I'm afraid the mud will fly!

 

I went to Russia

to build a Tower!

When they stalled

All I could do was glower

I hosted A Pageant

Watched all the girls

Dressed or undressed, what a time!

The Russians say they took a video

I say it is a lie.

Though when I'm alone privately

I like to watch!

 

The pirate Putin picked me

Said Run for President!

I could get in front of crowds

And preach Nationalism my way.

The only book I ever studied

Was Hitler's Speeches, or was it Mein Kampf?

I don't read much, but Ivanna said it was by my bed.

Candidate Trump

I am the greatest candidate you've ever seen!

My Grifting always entertaining

My Fleecing always Clean!

Why I'm a Grifters Wet Dream!

 

My Organization is Beautiful

A well oiled machine!

My Crew is always dutiful

Only to me!

The way it should be!

 

Says Pirate Trump to his Crew

When the HMS Mueller comes in View!

He opens his gun ports.

What will I do...

To be continued....

Dirge for the Deep State

When they broadcast their hate
Talking darkly about the "Deep State"
Pirates told long and dark tales of piracy
And laid cause to ugly dark conspiracy.

The Deep State does nefarious Deeds
Government is the enemy
They said from their captains Desk
While working at some Agency.

While piling cash on a legislators desk
They'd spin their tale of perfidy and woe.
The pirate captains in the room all agreed!
To take a vow among themselves
The Deep State must go!

They feared the Deep State,
Afraid They'd be caught.
But they were rarely even sought
Many of the policemen They'd bought!

While sailing seas of Industry
The pirate captains talked
Of regulative perfidy
The bureaucrats kept telling them

They couldn't take the last whales from the seas
Or drown the earth in poison.
At such regulations they balked.
The Deep State was their enemy.

And the captains in their washrooms
Told tales of Deep State Tyranny
As they waged their private wars
And smuggled arms to all combattants!
"Pick a side" the Captains would say
"We can't let the Deep State get in the way
When there is money to be made!"

When they broadcast their hate
At the men and women of the Deep State
When they attacked big Gubbornment!
The pirates took out their guns & took Aim
They'd put an end to the Deep State!

Many of the Deep State Agreed
Government was inefficient
And there was too much greed!
But the pirate captains had other needs
They were after efficient loot!

They won power telling tales
Of dark conspiracy & pirate sails
The pirates called the "deep state" piracy
And vowed to terminate it.

The Pirate Captains had other plans
For the millions of professionals
In their hands.
They lined them up, calling all hands,
And took aim and fired.

Oh, the Deep State now we mourn
Millions of lives gone
Pirates in charge
The looting has begun
And the killings.
The Deep State was our Government.

Christopher H. Holte

Of Pigeons and Pirates

Smoketown Pigeons

Early in the morning,

Smoketown sleeps at last!

But the pigeons from their eyrie

Come and go seeking their repast.

 

From their Hilltop keep.

They stand watch in their tower

All the town do they see.

But the only thing on their little minds

Is where their next meal may be.

 

The Tower is their fortress

Its bell is painted white

In flocks they come and go.

Dancing in the air!

Christopher H Holte‏ @CHHolte 7/26/2017

Note: Had to share this before I forgot it!

Pirates Bones

The pirates will come and go

Leaving whale bones mouldering on the beach

With bones of ships & men

 

Their treasure is an illusion

Vanishing in black smoke

Only trinkets of idle scrimshaw

To tell the tale of men and sail.

Treasure Gone!

 

They hunted beheameth to near extinction

Then dug the soil seeking His remains

Reveling in gushing poison

Building empires built on oil!

 

In the ancient game of piracy

The captain's crew comes to town

Promising ease and riches

Spreading paper all around!

Their promises are lies

 

And those who see their invisible cloth

Find a knife in an alley way.

While the glamoured masses scoff

"It can't be other than a new great day!"

 

But their promises are hollow

Their king a glibe practiced grifter

Soon they've robbed the town naked

And depart, seeking riches swifter!

 

Dead men tell a mournful tale

Broken bones, evidence of disease.

Nature recovers but remembers

The land mourns lost virginity.

Rachel weeps.

 

And animals make their homes

In the ruined bones

castles of extraction

Become pigeon eyres.

Smoketown sleeps

Dreaming disturbing nightmares.

Christopher H Holte‏ @CHHolte 7/26/2017

I had two different thoughts here that kind of meshed in a fugue of analogy. One was from watching the pigeons in my local Church. The other is the pressing weight of our American History.

Welcome to the Orange Duke's Court

Welcome to the orange Duke's court!

I know you've heard a few strange reports.

But we'll give you an excellent time.

& Congress certifies they are never a crime.

I guarantee you'll enjoy your stay

We might even give you back your chips at the end of the day.

The Walking Ghost

 

What use is it to be clever and gay?

The facade wears off at the end of the day.

Long nights leave dark circles under the eyes.

Rosy cheeks fade to inflamed red & gray.

Youth quickly fades away.

 

To Mom and all our loves

Like Snowflakes

They are with US
In our souls
Even when their bodies
Have melted away

Like Snowflakes
Each unique
In their reality
In their own special way

Like Snowflakes
Born where cold air meets
Wet and warm
We fall from the sky
One day to return.

Chris

How we miss them when they leave us
And the leaving is always too soon.
It leaves an empty chasm
In the caverns of our hearts

But the echoes of their presence
The drumbeat of who they were
Is heard in our own hearts beating
Strong and steady, warm and sure.

Their voices shout within us
"Here I am, by your side!"
A friendly voice in the morning
A smile reflecting in our edges
As we awake.

And we go on as companions
Bringing them alive
In reflections
As we talk among ourselves
And remember their lives.

No more need forgiving
No more anger or silly feuds
For our loved ones
We loved them
Each in a special way.

And they pass on
Knowing that is true
Peaceful images floating
Smiling on the winds.

Chris

The Ghosts In The Paintings

My friend's paintings haunt me
The Ghosts of the past alive on canvas
Haunted hands painted them
Guided by restless spirits
Burning memories

Good Bye Aunt Patty

My Aunt Patty died last week. The service was 11/19/2016 (yesterday). And I wanted to memorialize her because in addition to being my mom's only Sister she was a great person; very caring, loving and dedicated to helping others. She loved most the house she lived in Lusby. A lot of stories were told yesterday. Some were too private to share here right now. But I wanted to share this poem dedicated to her. Maybe I'll write about some of them later, before I forget them and they float on the wind.

Let the children run and play here!

Love, don't send them away, my dears.

I am mother to them all, son.

Don't drive them away from where I sleep.

For their happiness is in our keep.

 

I sleep restfully, knowing

their footsteps are overhead

Their running comforts my dreams

They cannot disturb my sleep.

 

Let the children play dear,

Tell them they're always welcome here

For my time among the living is over, it is clear

And it was so they could dance near

And enjoy life beneath the sun.

 

Christopher Hartly Holte

Three Dead Fingers

The dead don't care

Whether death came from a firing squad

Or from the air.

 

The dying don't care

Whether their enemies are religious

Or mindlessly shooting targets from a drone

 

The dead don't care

Whether the bombs that killed them:

Are stamped "made in the USA,"

"Russia,"

Home Grown,

Or made in China.

 

This old game

Is neither fun

nor Good for anyone

Or the least bit fair.

 

I hear the old ones

The fat, gray haired ones

In stuffed shirts,

Wearing uniform ties

and gray coats

Presenting their bombs in brief cases

As footnotes in floods of paper

Drowning the dead in words.

 

In rhetoric

About fanatic religion

And rebels

And no fly zones.

Pontificating

and pointing fingers

At each other

 

Like bombs of misunderstanding

Or wands of curses and imprecations

 

As if those words were the jet planes

RPGs and drones,

Rocks being thrown

Delivering up death.

 

They point

As if they were speaking spells

and they weren't all of them liars

And guilty instead.

Each revealing his own guilt

With three fingers.

 

These old Greybacks

Hominid standing gorillas

Send children to fight their battles

While playing at rhetoric

And objectifying the dead.

The dead are ISIL and rebels

Are Shia and Sunna

Yazidi, Christian and Jews

Tossed in makeshift trenches

In ecumenical horror

With lime thrown in to reduce the stench.

 

All the While the greybacks pontificate from the bench

And partisans rant and rage

At who is at fault

and who built this cage?

That is tearing people apart

And throwing the pieces in graves

Where they bury their own pretenses

To civilization.

Remember the three fingered thing

When you point.

 

Bombs of misdirection

Lies piled upon lies

And meaningless facts

Piled in manilla stacks

On bureaucratic tables!

 

Pooh pooh, the food won't reach you

We bombed the convoy

So your benefactors can number among the dead!

We send you our bureaucratic condolences instead!

Our cordon will kill the rebels

And their families, children, relatives, neighbors, friends

And enemies

In deadly efficiency

 

The machine of war has been unleashed

In all its efficient confusion

Assumptions leading to contusions

Well meaning horror

Generating even more misery

As folks use bullets to stop bullets

And bombs to stop bombs.

 

How much better to escalate?

Than to build mountains

Of mindless hate?

"I want revenge because I am scared of you."

And you want revenge on me too!

We have harmed one another

What else can we do?

We fight near magiddo

Yet another Armageddon!

And centuries of antichrists

 

3 fingers accuse me too.

And my ancestors.

We survive on grace

In hopes of atonement

But not merit.

 

The dead can't point fingers

Only the living can do that

Their fingers have been severed

And tossed in trenches

By guilty survivors

Who will point at one another

And say

"This is your fault"

That they were buried to day

 

And the three fingered principle

Says yes it is ours

 

I can only look on in horror

As once again mixed intentions

Spin out in insanity.

The Accuser does his job

Hoping someone will stop him

The Satan is a prosecutor doing his job

With a jury of angels

None of us humans can lie to.

It is just facts.

Bones in the ground

That tell a story of injury and fear

Hunger and privation

And cannibal violence done by man

Human graybacks mindlessly fighting

Over resources and power

Using fear.

 

The dead don't accuse us

But their spirits do

Each was a person

Not a skeleton

A friend maybe

Or a lover

Someone to get to know

Objectified in death

 

Only the suffering is left

In echos and waves of hurt and fear

In us, their relations.

That three fingered thing

Is also our hope for salvation.

 

When we no longer feel

For what we have done

We are numb

And we are dying.

 

It is the living who suffer

And we are fools

Because we see these things

Time and again

Yet we keep pointing at ourselves

Instead of pointing all our fingers

In outstretched hands

And clearing the rubble.

 

Christopher H. Holte

Northern Summers

In the far north summers

are sweet and intense

They come on too fast

and leave even quicker

But what a glorious time they are!

 

If you don't mind mosquitoes and midges

You can grow things if the soil will melt.

Flowers and sedges,

tundra up north,

and forested taiga down south

Green everywhere, so brief, so delicate!

 

And then winter will return,

sometimes suddenly in a day.

Summer is short, it never will last.

But it leaves a sweet taste anyway.

Send Money your Donation is Tax Deductible

Image from Arlington Cemetary (taken by me)

The quarrelsome men promise victory in the end.

"There will be victory and prosperity again!"

We will defeat the evil enemy bye and bye

And those who have harmed us will surely die!

 

The men on the stage have a certain charm.

We will make our enemies build our walls

...and fund our wars.

And we will snatch all the glory.

Send money, your donation is tax deductible.

 

It's always the other folks who are corrupt!

Have you noticed the one finger pointed outward?

The leaders of my side always deserve all our money.

"The one percent are too rich!"

("Never mind that I'm a member"), he didn't say.

"I'm exempt because I'm leading the fight."

Apparently rules are for the enemy to break.

Send money, your donation is tax deductible.

 

The enemy! They are corrupt!

"The Oil barons want to blow us up."

"These person here shills for Wall Street"

"That person there is evil and must go down to defeat."

The trumpets blast the trash talk.

As former friends face off in hate.

The generals say "pay the accusations of that other fellow no mind"

"They are liars! March in step with us"

"You must follow ME. I'm your fearless leader!"

And "Send money, your donation is tax deductible."

"It is paying for my Vacation"

 

Meanwhile us common folks try to pay our rents

and our other bills

Whether or not we are bedazzled by magical claims

We pray that all will soon be fine.

We pay for all the magic with our blood, sweat and tears.

And when they can't deliver on promises, we are the bottom line.

Even when we start to feel like we've turned into a turnip.

the letters keep coming:

"Send money, your donation is tax deductible."

 

We have no objection to paying.

We will pay the costs for what we need.

Blood, sweat and tears? We bleed.

We know that burden dates to Adam and Eve.

We toil by our sweaty tears.

to try to make it better.

We sacrifice to help our fellow Human.

If only our fearless leaders would deliver on their promises.

But the letters keep coming:

"Send money, your donation is tax deductible."

 

I can buy a vision of peace

And march in step with the fearless leader.

I see a vision;

Great peace, and rows and rows of returning volunteers,

marching home again.

But that transforms in my imagination to rows and rows of uniform graves,

Each decorated with little flags

And mouldering in the rain.

My vision of joy transformed;

Into one of tragedy

children and their moms...

Weeping besides graves.

They aren't sharing a vision of peace when they say:

"Send money, your donation is tax deductible."

 

If it were only just my people and our scoundrels doing this.

I could blame my cons, carry a gun and securely fight on.

But the scoundrels are the same all over.

They talk so pretty, in the languages of the world.

It all sounds so romantic when they tell their people how great they are.

But when the children die it's because the fearless leaders lie,

Meanwhile they send their children to the same schools in Switzerland.

Where they learn to beg:

"Send money, your donation is tax deductible."

Christopher H. Holte 5/27/2016

This is a rewrite of what I wrote in 2013:

http://holtesthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/05/victory.html

A little smoke

Nothing like oil sands on fire to create a haze.

Might induce a bit of daze.

For the high and Mighty it might create a craze.

To wear masks or visit far away.

 

What a trifecta!

Oil and Grass and radiation.

What a wonderful way

to spread the misery across the nations.

 

Brittle bones or bad loans

different kinds of disaster

But for the stars above

they just float like the long ago Asters.

 

Thyroid nodules, radiation sickness.

Just a flu, pay it no mind!

Just a cost of doing business

Secret stuff really,

beyond my pay grade.

 

If we blow up the world,

well our bosses know what they are doing.

They wouldn't put us at harm,

would they?

 

I keep the secrets I was told to keep.

I'll carry them to my grave.

Some of them I don't even know I'm keeping

are hidden in my bones.

 

Christopher H. Holte

Inspired by this news article about the Fort Murray Fires, and my knowledge of what is stored at the Fort Murray hazardous (nuclear) waste sites: http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/edmonton/fort-mcmurray-fire-smoke-greenland-europe-1.3599812

Not my Fault

Not My Fault!

I didn't do it.

I didn't come to your aid.

So it's not my fault you failed.

 

Not my fault!

I told you it wouldn't work.

And you tried to do it anyway.

I stood nearby

and told you you would fail.

And you did.

 

See, it's not my fault.

Or is it?

 

Christopher H. Holte, 5/24/2016