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Rushdie is a hostage.

quote by Don DeLillo
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Hostage

Lady: hallo
Kidnapper:
Lady weve just kidnapped your husband
Have $800,000 ready by tomorrow night
And lady no police
Or youll never see your husband alive again
Lady: hallo
I remember standing there so petrified
My hand frozen to the phone
As a strangers words that caught in my ears
And chilled me to the bone
Some dark tragedy had come right home to me
Theyd kidnapped my man and his life was in their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life was at the mercy of their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life depending on their gold demands
Lady: hallo
Kidnapper:
Lady, heres your husband through
To warn not to play any games
Husband:
Hi honey listen Im okay
Just make sure you do whatever they tell you
And whatever you do dont go to the police!
Well I couldnt raise that kinda money fast
So I was left no other choice
So I called the police and they came in fast
Saying leave it up to us
Just do as they told
The ransoms in this bag
Well watch over you
And well have your husband back too
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life was at the mercy of their hands
He was a hostage, a hostage
His life depending on their gold demands
Lady: hallo
Kidnapper:
Listen very carefully lady
Drive out to the abandoned shack on highway 16
Throw the package of money out the window and keep driving
And remember lady no police!
Well my heart was heavy as I made that drive
I was sure something was wrong
I soon found the shack
I threw out the bag and I just kept driving on
Then the shots rang out and turned my car about
On the ground one lay but the other had gotten away
He was a hostage, a hostage

[...] Read more

song performed by Donna Summer
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If You Take Me As Your Hostage

If you take me as your hostage,
I will have to stop...
My shopping around.
Just be sure of what you're doing!

If you take me as your hostage,
I will have to stop...
My shopping around.
Just be sure of what you're doing!

Maybe your the right appetite to feed.
I've never been before a hostage.
And maybe your the right thing that I need.
I've never been before a hostage.

'You asked for this ride home! '
I've never been before a hostage.
'And you're not...
I'm going to leave you home alone.'
But,
I've never been before a hostage.
So when you get me home,
Can we get it on?

'Say what? '

If you take me as your hostage,
I will have to stop...
My shopping around.
Just be sure of what you're doing!

'You asked for this ride home! '
I've never been before a hostage.
'And you're not...
I'm going to leave you home alone.'
But...

'No Butts, what ifs or whatevers of acts!
I'm out! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Fight For Irish Freedom

'My fight for Irish freedom' the autobiography of Dan Breen
But perhaps he should have called his book 'When young blood stained the green'
For human blood for freedom too huge a price to pay
And liberty or freedom define it anyway.

The freedom of expression whatever that might be
To speak our minds on certain things we are not truly free
Look at poor Salman Rushdie his book you may have read
For his satanic verses some people want him dead.

From the point I am about to make you may think I tend to stray
And what has Rushdie got to do with Irish freedom you might say
But for freedom of expression there has been a World-wide
fight
And yet fear is a deterrent to a basic human right.

The fight for Irish freedom whatever that might mean
For there is more to freedom than the 'wearing of the green'
In Ireland like all Nations there is inequality
Of prejudice and class distinction the World is yet not free.

The ill fated Easter Rising in Dublin of the year nineteen sixteen
And my fight for Irish freedom the story of Dan Breen
Is living on in history yet do we understand
That there is more to freedom than owning a piece of land.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Radio Silence

Signal fading, listen to what I'm saying
Testing, testing
This better be worth all of the breath I'm wasting
Maintaining radio silence from now on
Barricaded in the talk radio station
Hostage taken
The red "On Air" light shines on
Something cheaper that passes for free speech
Will have to do
Hear him coming through loud and clear
Trickling in your ear
He'll tell you anything you want to hear
The tape starts running
He's going to tell you something
The strings start strumming
Another humdrum conundrum
Signing off now
Maintaining radio silence from now on
But there's one thing I should have said
"The hostage will end up dead"
It's just a comedy
The hostage is me
So pay the ransom
Beyond the run-out groove
Get my wife down here
A helicopter on the roof
No police marksman
Maintaining radio silence from now on
Mystery voices
Drowned out by too much choice
That's not to mention
The sad waste of this wonderful invention
Maintaining radio silence from now on
Libraries filled up with failed ideas
There's nothing more for me there
I trust in tender ink and gentle airs
Do those drug dealers still polish women made of wax?
Gangsters and world leaders
Require the same protection from attack
From this distance it's hard to tell the difference
Between a king and a jack
Between a poet and hack
Maintaining radio silence from now on

song performed by Elvis Costello
Added by Lucian Velea
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Has one hostage from Lebanon come back with a photograph of his abductors? Has any hostage ever come back with a photograph of his abductors smiling? I mean, this was so incredible!

quote by Dwight Schultz
Added by Lucian Velea
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Off The Tracks Of Peace

From hostage to rasisms,
But the myths of love live on;
And like a poetry of freedom in the land of war! !
But the hostage of the myths had led us all off the tracks of peace.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Under The Gun

Looking at babys face I saw the plight of the
Human race
Dying to survive
Shaken by the irony the anger rose inside of me
And would not, would not subside
I thought youre too young to understand
That the fate of every mortal man
Rests in someones mortal hand tonight
In the nuclear insanity theres a death watch
On the land and sea
And I believe that we may never live our lives
We were born under the gun and just like
Every mothers son
We are hostage to the megaton and the world
Could die tonight
Under the gun, we live in fear that the end
Will come
But theres one place to run
Run to the son
Everyone can see that the hour is late
And every soul on earth got to demonstrate
Their loving if were to survive
cos were tired of living on the brink
Scared to death that our ship will sink
At the winking of an eye
This course were ons a big mistake
cos we all lose in the nuclear race
Its time to show all the heads of state that we
Believe
Yes we believe that were fighting for our lives
We were born under the gun and just like
Every mothers son
We are hostage to the megaton and the world
Could die tonight
Under the gun, we live in fear that the end
Will come
But theres one place to run
Run to the son
Theres a finger on the button but if its
Pressed were not forgotten
Millions speak, feel no fear
The mood to change is in ascendance here
Theres a finger on the button but if its
Pressed were not forgotten
Millions speak, feel no fear
The mood to change is in ascendance here
Theres a finger on the button but if its
Pressed were not forgotten
Theres a finger on the button but if its
Pressed were not forgotten

song performed by Cliff Richard
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Postcard Day

My eyes are white circles above cheekbones on fire:
Pale hand gripping my pen.
Rounding up to the zero, adding infinite fractions,
Letting nine become ten.
Two pink doves strut the shingles
Picking crumbs from the breakfast I saved
For you dear. and I wish you were here
On this postcard day.
Focus on the fine indeterminate line
Where the sky meets the sea.
Desperate midweek words, banal and absurd
Freely flow out of me.
Well, I may be a hostage to summer
But Im a hostage, not a slave.
And Im clear that I wish you were here
On this postcard day.
Precious cargo of flotsam: mixed memories on an ocean tide
Swim madly with spice from the orient
On a mystery watery carpet ride.
But with the sun going down, the wind goes around;
Blows them back out of mind.
My eyes are white circles staring down past the point
Of my restless pen.
While the ghosts of my youth all sworn to the truth
Call my name again.
Two brown legs dont make a summer.
But two brown arms couldnt keep me away.
Well, my dear, I wish you were here
On this postcard day.

song performed by Jethro Tull
Added by Lucian Velea
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November Spawned A Monster

Sleep on and dream of love
Because it's the closest you will
Get to love, oh ah ...
The poor twisted child
So ugly, so ugly
The poor twisted child
Oh hug me, oh hug me
One november
Spawned a monster
In the shape of this child
Who later cried :
"but jesus made me, so
Jesus save me from
Pity, sympathy
And people discussing me"
This frame of useless limbs
What can make good
All the bad that's been done ?
And if the lights were out
Could you even bear
To kiss her full on the mouth
(or anywhere ?)
No, no, no, oh, no, no, no, no
The poor twisted child
So ugly, so ugly
The poor twisted child
Oh hug me, oh hug me
One november
Spawned a monster
In the shape of this child
Who must remain
A hostage to kindness
And the wheels underneath her
A hostage to kindness
And the wheels underneath her
A symbol of where mad, mad lovers
Must pause and draw the line.
Oh ...
So sleep and dream of love
Because it's the closest
You will get to love
Oh, no, no, no ... oh, no ... oh, no
Oh ...
Oh ...
Oh ...
Oh ...
Oh ...
Oh ...
One fine day
Let it be soon

[...] Read more

song performed by Morrissey
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Crossley

Crossley, cross, rose, lose, yes!
As they begin to die;
But, i am now taken hostage with time! !
However, i am invisible to you today.

The butterfly effect!
But, i am Irvin with my friend Crossley;
And, i am invisible to you because,
I am now taken hostage with time.

Meeting that object!
Coming back to life;
Approaching that object! !
Crossing over the red river;
But, it was like a broken device.

On a point,
On what you are doing!
Less, loss, so, core, sore, ore;
And like a story teller! !
But, i have no book for you to read.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Blessing The Cornfields

Sing, O Song of Hiawatha,
Of the happy days that followed,
In the land of the Ojibways,
In the pleasant land and peaceful!
Sing the mysteries of Mondamin,
Sing the Blessing of the Cornfields!
Buried was the bloody hatchet,
Buried was the dreadful war-club,
Buried were all warlike weapons,
And the war-cry was forgotten.
There was peace among the nations;
Unmolested roved the hunters,
Built the birch canoe for sailing,
Caught the fish in lake and river,
Shot the deer and trapped the beaver;
Unmolested worked the women,
Made their sugar from the maple,
Gathered wild rice in the meadows,
Dressed the skins of deer and beaver.
All around the happy village
Stood the maize-fields, green and shining,
Waved the green plumes of Mondamin,
Waved his soft and sunny tresses,
Filling all the land with plenty.
`T was the women who in Spring-time
Planted the broad fields and fruitful,
Buried in the earth Mondamin;
`T was the women who in Autumn
Stripped the yellow husks of harvest,
Stripped the garments from Mondamin,
Even as Hiawatha taught them.
Once, when all the maize was planted,
Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful,
Spake and said to Minnehaha,
To his wife, the Laughing Water:
"You shall bless to-night the cornfields,
Draw a magic circle round them,
To protect them from destruction,
Blast of mildew, blight of insect,
Wagemin, the thief of cornfields,
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear
"In the night, when all Is silence,'
In the night, when all Is darkness,
When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin,
Shuts the doors of all the wigwams,
So that not an ear can hear you,
So that not an eye can see you,
Rise up from your bed in silence,
Lay aside your garments wholly,
Walk around the fields you planted,

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Song Of Hiawatha XIII: Blessing The Cornfields

Sing, O Song of Hiawatha,
Of the happy days that followed,
In the land of the Ojibways,
In the pleasant land and peaceful!
Sing the mysteries of Mondamin,
Sing the Blessing of the Cornfields!
Buried was the bloody hatchet,
Buried was the dreadful war-club,
Buried were all warlike weapons,
And the war-cry was forgotten.
There was peace among the nations;
Unmolested roved the hunters,
Built the birch canoe for sailing,
Caught the fish in lake and river,
Shot the deer and trapped the beaver;
Unmolested worked the women,
Made their sugar from the maple,
Gathered wild rice in the meadows,
Dressed the skins of deer and beaver.
All around the happy village
Stood the maize-fields, green and shining,
Waved the green plumes of Mondamin,
Waved his soft and sunny tresses,
Filling all the land with plenty.
`T was the women who in Spring-time
Planted the broad fields and fruitful,
Buried in the earth Mondamin;
`T was the women who in Autumn
Stripped the yellow husks of harvest,
Stripped the garments from Mondamin,
Even as Hiawatha taught them.
Once, when all the maize was planted,
Hiawatha, wise and thoughtful,
Spake and said to Minnehaha,
To his wife, the Laughing Water:
'You shall bless to-night the cornfields,
Draw a magic circle round them,
To protect them from destruction,
Blast of mildew, blight of insect,
Wagemin, the thief of cornfields,
Paimosaid, who steals the maize-ear
'In the night, when all Is silence,'
In the night, when all Is darkness,
When the Spirit of Sleep, Nepahwin,
Shuts the doors of all the wigwams,
So that not an ear can hear you,
So that not an eye can see you,
Rise up from your bed in silence,
Lay aside your garments wholly,
Walk around the fields you planted,

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Between the Times

Braggart on Time's edge razor thin
Evolving frame by anxious frame,
Tired Man spiders fate or fame,
Weaves threads soon dewless dust - none win.
Each, casting dice - who's spun, who's spin? -
Expectant, losses would reclaim.
Now's leaves fall swift to Styx domain.
Telomeres shorten, cease to twin,
Hold all in hostage to chagrin.
Each page youth inks, seeks wings, pride flame,
Till age sooth sinks, weak wrings, ride lame, -
Insects' ambered Time-trap gin.
Maybe technology shall speed up change,
Extend short sojourn, mankind's range so strange.

6 May 2001 revised 4 May 2008
robi03_0934_robi03_0000 ASX_DJZ
for previous version see below

Between the Times

Balanced upon Time's razor thin
Edge, advancing frame by frame,
Tired Man spiders fate or fame,
Weaves threads soon dewless dust - none win.
Each throws the dice - who's spun, who's spin?
Each lost winnings would reclaim -
None independence dare proclaim.
Telomeres shorten, cease to twin,
Hold all in hostage to chagrin.
Each page youth inks, seeks wings, pride flame,
Till age sooth sinks, weak wrings, ride lame, -
Insects caught within Time's gin?
Maybe the Net shall speed up change,
Extend Man's sojourn range so strange.

6 May 2001
Between the Times poem (c) Jonathan Robin

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Satisfaction Comes

Whatever it takes...
Break from that hostage feeling!

Reel yourself in...
Bait life and start your healing.
Toss misfortunes,
Take deep breaths and breathe!

Whatever you have...
Be glad and count your fortunes!

Know you are blessed.
And your tests are distortions!
Only you can be your own best enemy.
Chase away those clouds,
That feed you grief.

Dissolve your blocks.
Stop and dropp all complaining!

Get the upper hand.
Command the 'ship' your sailing!
You are in the center of your fears.
Steer away from them and they will clear!

Whatever it takes,
Break from that hostage feeling!

Reel yourself in...
Bait life and start your healing.
Toss misfortunes,
Take deep breaths and breathe!
Satisfaction comes if you believe.
Chase away those clouds,
That feed you grief!

The Sun awaits to shine,
On your wants and needs!
Command and demand your desires...
With belief!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Quick Question

Seductive smiles singing stories,
Seeing swirling silver screams,

If you see the truth,
Will you become its protector?

Become.
Believe.
Beloved.

If you hear the voices,
Will you shut them off?

Hear hurt hunted,
Holding him hostage,

If you hold the people
Will you curse the rhythm?

Curse.
Concern.
Connected.

If you connect the truth, the voices and the people
The hunted stories and hostage screams.
Become concern.
Curse beloved.
Believe.
Hear seductive smiles singing.
See swirling silver holding him.

Will you shut off the protector
Or hold the rhythm?

poem by Mariam de Haan
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Salman Rushdie, indeed any writer who abuses the prophet or indeed any prophet under Islamic law, the sentence for that is actually death.

quote by Cat Stevens
Added by Lucian Velea
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Peace Train

[ cat stevens ]
[ banned from later u.s. copies of in my tribe due to cat stevens agreement to the fatwah issued against salman rushdie ]
Now Ive been happy lately, thinking about the good things to come
And I believe it could be, something good has begun
Oh Ive been smiling lately, dreaming about the world as one
And I believe it could be, some day its going to come
Cos out on the edge of darkness, there rides a peace train
Oh peace train take this country, come take me home again
Now Ive been smiling lately, thinking about the good things to come
And I believe it could be, something good has begun
Oh peace train sounding louder
Glide on the peace train oh ah ee ah oh ah
Come on now peace train
Yes, peace train holy roller
Everyone jump on the peace train oh ah ee ah oh ah
Come on now peace train
Get your bags together, go bring your good friends too
Cos its getting nearer, it soon will be with you
Now come and join the living, its not so far from you
And its getting nearer, soon it will all be true
Oh peace train sounding louder
Glide on the peace train oh ah ee ah oh ah
Come on now peace train, peace train
Now Ive been crying lately, thinking about the world as it is
Why must we go on hating, why cant we live in bliss
Cos out on the edge of darkness, there rides a peace train
Oh peace train take this country, come take me home again
Oh peace train sounding louder
Glide on the peace train oh ah ee ah oh ah
Come on now the peace train
Yes peace train holy roller
Everyone jump on the peace train oh ah ee ah oh ah
Come on, come on, come on
Yes come on peace train
Yes its the peace train
Oh ah ee ah oh ah
Come on now peace train
Oh peace train

song performed by 10000 Maniacs
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sixty Years in the Shade (the sheltering green flag)

Rushdie wrote of the concept and effect
Of shame, how it binds the feet and controls
The lives of families, pushes girls to arranged
Marriages, where fathers keep them bound
To face the violence of their husbands
Fuelled by power behind doors, in the closet
Of domestic life, escape rebuffed
Hardly able to see sunlight or emerge for air
Where relatives insist that they remain, terrified
The side will be let down, shadow of shame
Falling on and darkening the family name

Reviled if they should leave, try to take
The children with, criminalised if they
Are violated outside, God forbid, or fail
To deliver sons and heirs. All this from soil
Polluted and defiled with dirt of shame
And Pakistan, another midnight child, delivered
By partition, supposed by some mapmaker
Home in London to be workable
Wedged by careless pen between the mountains
And the coast, breathing with two lungs
And walking on two legs, eastern and west

Was sundered soon, before it ever found
Its feet, into four provinces, backwoods, hill tribes
And the elite, the leaders educated in the Oxford
Lexicon, democracy, Jinnah's successors
Jailed and hung, or overthrown, charged for corruption
Exiled, killed in airforce accidents, self-inflated
Little men and daughters rising in debating clubs
And all the while the earth trembles under the feet
Of the propertied be-medalled equine-breeding
Polo-playing, mother-lost and -loving
Cricketing, well-tailored and bespoke elite

Poor, burn victim, little Meena does not
Go to school, her mother small, born underweight
Stunted by repeated bouts of diarrhoea, she cooks
And cleans for her grandfather, glancing furtively
At books, divides the mango that he buys her once a month
With several siblings, learns from village boys
While all her skills are taught for naught but to prepare
For a day of marriage, the dowry she will bring, the chant,
The prayer, the ring, the henna on her hands and in her hair

While up on the frontier, far from Karachi's crush
On the chaos of Kashmir, the mullahs thrive, the hatred
Of the West, America and puppet shadows spreads in a slow burn,
The military cracks down again, the secret services

[...] Read more

poem by Frank Bana
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Time & Consequence [In Forward Movement]

Objects, moved subjectively
in our skewed peripheral spectrum,
through moist, dilated pupils,
one friday night decades gone
in New Yorks Greenwich Village.
We hadn't quite yet peaked,
though our thoughts had been well blottered,
while we all sat juxtaposed
in this Village cafe grotto,
'front a stage of thick brown crates,
housed by Boonesfarm Apple wine,
recitations by Bukowski
'neath the streets of Cafe 12.

Curled wafts of gray-white smoke
fixed our wandering eyes skyward,
to the black-strobe lighted ceiling,
breathing in the vintaged dust
like a million blue-black stars
over ashwood table-tops,
while the sweet breath tongue of verse
mixed rhythm, sedating flux
with the punch of sweetest tea -
[and a chaser of java].

It was nineteen-seventy-six,
Deborah Harry bought us drinks,
we'll always swear she really did,
the same year Cronkite told us all
'bout the Jonestown Massacre,
and that 'The War' was just a 'conflict',
though Watergate was the skinny
back when vinyl still had spin.

Cat Stevens flew moonshadows
'fore his peace train sailed mid-east
with some tillermen from Tehran,
for a ticket to advocate
his love for holy war -
and the plot against Rushdie,
all while holding the Quran
and praying that the infidels
be banished from this world,
from a mideast mountain top,
overlooking red-stained desert,
in the wake of social cancer -
[pointed towards Mecca].

Such is time and consequence -
in forward movement.

poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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My Dear Sir

For Mr. GIL RAVAL

Bert may laugh at the height of his agility, bombard you with arguments how life is lived and wasted when spent on some musa velutina, bamburantas, or hibiscus rosa seninses, scarlet sages or butcher’s brooms,
But as you say it,
Some seeds simply need to be put in the punctures of the ground,
To put up the golden showers
Bursting, brushing to such a lush of green bushes
As I see it, you have an eye for wanton beauty
And as he has none
That is a major fault

How you viewed life must be seen through the eyelets of the ferns
The whole world viewed in the opulence of dancing ladies crowning
The decay of trees abandoned by the millipedes of boredoms

Life is a veranda lavished by Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Tsaicovsky, with some Pavarotti, and Bocelli, Carmen, and Cossette or perhaps by Kazantzakis, and Rushdie

Or fettuccine

I plant an earthstar
So we look down to search its twinkles

You shall be my refuge, my hush
As I am a weary dragonfly

I have seen how you built a world of majestic mockery
Not much gold but greatly green
Hypnotic amidst the chaos

On this day, our narrow paths converge
And to my surprise, my footprints have same size as yours
Carrying the same marks (or even same brokenness)

Whoever knows me, knows you,
My fears drawn from yours, my hope springing from your source

I say, my dear sir, you have lived a good life and I shall be crafting mine

Behind the pompous stars
Unaffected by the nitpickiness of the ebbs of the moon’s tides

We let our eyes fall, malfunction, and even dissolve into tears, gone
We shall grow nothing but ears throughout our bodies

We are a listening duet
Listening to colors of the marguerite, the night scented jessamine, Xanadu, creeping jenny,
Or the angel’s trumpets

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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