Praise Poem for Saddam Hussein
The first of a series of death poems by Hugh Cook of zenvirus.com.
Context:-
Dying of cancer? Maybe. Don't know, yet. Find out soon. Had cancer last year, and it seems maybe it's back. But what I'm experiencing could be just residual damage from the radiation.
Well, anyway here I am, between a rock and a hard place. If the cancer is back again, the probability is that I die. Hence hard at work on death poems, aiming to put together a book of them, to be called THE DEATH OF BIRDS.
More death poems at zenvirus.com/creative-writing/index.html, but, to kick off, a praise poem for a useful role model, Saddam Hussein.
You don't like him as a role model in this situation? Who would you favor? Janet Jackson? Homer Simpson? Madonna?
Not exactly a world of choice out there.
Saddam, for the moment, is what I've got. If you don't like this poem, you can go write your own, LYNCH THE BASTARD NOW or whatever you care to call it.
Yes, I know he deserves to die. Don't argue with that. Will carry out the execution myself, if myou can't find anyone else. But that doesn't alter the value of the guy, to me, as a role model.
If you detect irony, you misread the poem. The admiration is genuine. You want to spit in his face, though, I won't object.
My sister tells me that if I'm seriously intending to publish a praise poem for Saddam Hussein then I should tell the world what drugs I'm on, to keep the historical record straight. So, okay, for the record, I wrote this poem under the influence of a fairly massive dose of dexamethasone, an ordal steroid which acts, for me, as an upper and a mood elevator. Sixteen milligrams a day. But I'm cutting back: my oncologist tells me I can drop the dose to eight.
And here it is, a praise poem for Saddam Hussein:
Poem:-
SADDAM IS GUILTY
Saddam is guilty.
The acid baths were real.
Terror knows no greater reign than this.
From what we see we know his death is rightful
And one man on this planet knows how to die.
He's going down to doom and surely knows it,
Squeezed out before but this time dies for certain.
A cockroach beneath the deadweight of the jackboot,
He panics not and never chooses flinching.
His barbed wire soul can handle this alone,
Declines to yield and does not seek to whimper.
Without a rock he somehow finds his footing,
Steadfast against the planet and the court.
Doom is a death to shout at, minus hankie.
Death is a road to walk with head held high.
After the wars, the tortures and the rapes,
He's passed beyond repentance or redemption.
Sole function, now, to face the court and die.
And be my leader.
Saddam, my man, I'll take you as my angel,
Dark lord of mine for this my darkest path.
Context:-
Dying of cancer? Maybe. Don't know, yet. Find out soon. Had cancer last year, and it seems maybe it's back. But what I'm experiencing could be just residual damage from the radiation.
Well, anyway here I am, between a rock and a hard place. If the cancer is back again, the probability is that I die. Hence hard at work on death poems, aiming to put together a book of them, to be called THE DEATH OF BIRDS.
More death poems at zenvirus.com/creative-writing/index.html, but, to kick off, a praise poem for a useful role model, Saddam Hussein.
You don't like him as a role model in this situation? Who would you favor? Janet Jackson? Homer Simpson? Madonna?
Not exactly a world of choice out there.
Saddam, for the moment, is what I've got. If you don't like this poem, you can go write your own, LYNCH THE BASTARD NOW or whatever you care to call it.
Yes, I know he deserves to die. Don't argue with that. Will carry out the execution myself, if myou can't find anyone else. But that doesn't alter the value of the guy, to me, as a role model.
If you detect irony, you misread the poem. The admiration is genuine. You want to spit in his face, though, I won't object.
My sister tells me that if I'm seriously intending to publish a praise poem for Saddam Hussein then I should tell the world what drugs I'm on, to keep the historical record straight. So, okay, for the record, I wrote this poem under the influence of a fairly massive dose of dexamethasone, an ordal steroid which acts, for me, as an upper and a mood elevator. Sixteen milligrams a day. But I'm cutting back: my oncologist tells me I can drop the dose to eight.
And here it is, a praise poem for Saddam Hussein:
Poem:-
SADDAM IS GUILTY
Saddam is guilty.
The acid baths were real.
Terror knows no greater reign than this.
From what we see we know his death is rightful
And one man on this planet knows how to die.
He's going down to doom and surely knows it,
Squeezed out before but this time dies for certain.
A cockroach beneath the deadweight of the jackboot,
He panics not and never chooses flinching.
His barbed wire soul can handle this alone,
Declines to yield and does not seek to whimper.
Without a rock he somehow finds his footing,
Steadfast against the planet and the court.
Doom is a death to shout at, minus hankie.
Death is a road to walk with head held high.
After the wars, the tortures and the rapes,
He's passed beyond repentance or redemption.
Sole function, now, to face the court and die.
And be my leader.
Saddam, my man, I'll take you as my angel,
Dark lord of mine for this my darkest path.
posted by Hugh Cook at 3:14 PM
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