Oh, Tom Ashbrook has Henry Kissinger on his show right now, interviewing him like a good ol’ boy – shite.
I had to post (OnPoint site) my poem about him, written in 2001 in response to a lament and curse for voices to haunt Henry Kissinger (found here, by Chris Brandt).
Here it is for all of you:
Henry Kissinger couldn’t give a fuck…
He won’t be hearing voices in his dotage
His conscience is clean.
He’s quite happy with his long list of accomplishments,
And laughs at all of us sorry Poets
Crying over the long dead…
Henry Kissinger regrets nothing –
He only says that now and then;
It sounds good.
The Devil laps up the curses of the vanquished,
They are his morning’s fare.
Songs of love are sentimental hogwash
When The History of the World is at stake.
Henry Kissinger has made History;
We are merely the dust on his hem:
Shoo away little flies, I have Empires to build!
Henry Kissinger sleeps well tonight,
Despite our condemnations –
Hot air to the winds…
His mind dances over the bodies of those he’s felled,
Fertile and brown, in the dirt where they belong…
Henry Kissinger’s name is known to all,
Henry Kissinger rules in Hell.
Sing on, Poets, sing on,
But don’t think Henry Kissinger hears your song…