Oh Goody. Another Freakin’ Contest.
There’s some real beauty in this Rumsfeld statement: “You go to war with what you have.” There could be a thousand different things that follow - or precede - a line like that.
It has the reek of ’sensitive poetic expression’ to it, doncha think?
It has thus inspired The American Street’s first annual ‘Out With the Old” poetry contest. The rules are simple enough:
1) Write a poem at least three lines long (up to any number you please).
2) It must include the line quoted in the first sentence of this post.
3) The theme of the poem is yours to decide. It can be anti-war, pro-war or something entirely different. It can be serious, funny, sarcastic, tragic, whatever - it’s yours to decide.
4) There are two ways to make your entries. I’ll post reminders on at least the next two weekends and on the final contest day. Your entry can be submitted as a comment in response to those posts, or it can be emailed directly to me at any time up to deadline. (if it’s longer than 20 lines, I recommend using the email route)
5) Deadline is 11:59 pm PST on 12/30/04. My email address is kahlil[at]despammed[dot]com
6) A panel of judges (at least three) will be chosen to review the entries and select a winner. The winning entry will be posted by January 1, 2005.
7) Your submission grants us the right to publish the entry as a post, up through the day the winner is announced. You retain all copyrights after January 1st, 2005.
8) There will be a prize. It will likely be a book. I have to discuss this with team members to determine an appropriate prize. If two things happen - a substantial number of quality entries, and a halfway decent month of fundraising - we will create more winning categories (first place, second place, etc) and award more prizes. All these details in #8 should be figured out within the next week. And until then, we’re open to suggestions from our readers, including an appropriate prize or prizes.
Questions? Ideas?
December 12th, 2004 at 7:29 pm
You go to war with what you have
whether you’re ready or you’re not;
And though you boys might get blown up
Midge Decter thinks I’m hot.
December 12th, 2004 at 7:55 pm
Improv time…
You Go To War With What You Have -
When David slung his sling
And felled Goliath
like a sack of Iraqi potatoes,
He didn’t envy
the Giant’s helm
or long for armor other
than God’s breath.
When the cloud of desert dust
blew up from under the deadest of men,
David sighed and smiled,
reveling in his
Rumsfeldian triumph.
December 12th, 2004 at 10:22 pm
Oil for blood
You go to war with
what you have, to take what you
don’t have enough of.
43
Idiot prince with
vain counselors. You go to
war with what you have.
December 12th, 2004 at 10:33 pm
.
sound off, one, two,
sound off, three, four,
i don’t know but i been told
eskimo poontang’s mighty cold
no one said that life was fair
so quit your whinin’ over there
you go to war with the army you have
(us damned have-nots, ’specially)
not the army you wish you had
(an army of other guys, hopefully)
even a tank can get blown up
(an army no one wants to see)
in war there’s never a guarantee
(why oh god does it gotta be me?)
hut-two-three-four
the army owns your ass for four
five-six-seven-eight
its your recruiter you should hate
HOO-HAH!
.
December 12th, 2004 at 11:19 pm
Entropy the Bitch
You go to war with what you have,
cold steel and heated blood,
bullets that kill long after the blast,
iron fist with an iron glove.
You go to war with what we have,
leaving empty beds and broken homes.
Built on the backs of the opiated masses,
your empire spreads the seed of doom.
Nothing lasts forever, the center never holds
Mighty were the fallen kings in the forgotten days of old.
Their treasures piled high until they rivaled even God
Pride and Vanity blinded them, an indestructible façade.
But their splendid armour rusted, their golden gates were felled.
Their castles crumbled down around them, dogs of war, dogs of hell.
And yet you believe you are immune to their unhappy fate?
You’ve been telling lies so long, they’ve now replaced your faith.
But God don’t brook liars and killers –
He never has and never will.
You hold the cards, such as they are,
Judgment draws nearer, ever still.
Every single death, every little drop of blood
forms a retribution river, soon to be a flood.
Famine, ice, and fire, God