Turning and turning in the widening gyre, The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the center cannot hold...
Those lines were written by William Butler Yeats in 1919, shortly after World War 1.
Often called the “the war to end all wars,” it may well have been the stupidest of conflicts.
Roughly 20 million people died, and God knows how many wounded, over a royal squabble between Queen Victoria’s grandchildren.
Wars solve little, but a new order inevitably comes to pass.
What troubles me about President Trump’s current “excursion,” is that it eerily echoes the 2003 U.S. invasion of Iraq with its “weapons of mass destruction” that did not exist.
Who cares anymore that this overwhelming blunder cost a half-million Iraqi lives and upended the region, or that 4500 Americans died - not a Clinton or Bush among them; just as there won’t be a Trump casualty among the U.S. forces destroying Iran.
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
By the time "The Second Coming" was published in 1920, Ireland was a battlefield with IRA flying columns harassing vastly superior British forces.
I’m sure Mr. Trump has never heard of Terence McSwiney, the hunger-striking Lord Mayor of Cork, who declared, “It is not those who can inflict the most, but those who can endure the most who will conquer.”
Nor, apparently, has he been informed that modern-day Iran is descended from the Persian Empire that took a beating from Alexander The Great, but outlasted his technologically superior Greek army.
Don’t underestimate Iran.
Empires don’t like being invaded, and even regime opponents are not keen on their cities being “bombed back to the stone age."
It’s always important to remember that in 1953 U.S. and British Intelligence services engineered the overthrow of the constitutionally elected Iranian government, leading to the reign of the Shah and his murderous Savak secret police, and eventually to the current theological regime in Tehran.
Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second Coming is at hand. The Second Coming!
Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight... What a second coming indeed: a Trump alliance with Mr. Netanyahu as he seeks to do another Gaza on Southern Lebanon before annexing it. Meanwhile, it’s arguable that both gentlemen would be behind bars if they weren’t leading their countries.
But it’s hard to beat Mr. Trump when it comes to turn of phrase.
“We’ll just keep bombing our little hearts out...” until “these deranged scumbags”...
I had to wonder what the parents of the 150 elementary schoolgirls slaughtered by a U.S. Tomahawk missile called Mr. Trump when they got the news?
Somewhere in the sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
Elections have consequences, and we failed miserably back in 2024 when we put our faith in an addled, egotistical Joe Biden, before settling on his not-ready-for-primetime Vice President Harris.
Still, how could we have elected a spoiled man-child from Queens who caught a lucky break in Venezuela, and now uses U.S. Armed Forces like they were action figures in a video game.
He will not make America great again; but he will certainly change the world order.
Perhaps the rising price of gas will cause some sanity to prevail.
Hey, maybe the Iranians will allow our imperial president to declare victory and scurry on out of the Strait of Hormuz trap he so eagerly waltzed into.
Perhaps, it’s time to talk like a statesman, instead of hollering insulting rhetoric about nuclear weapons; 9 countries already possess them, including such pacifist nations as North Korea, Pakistan, Israel, and India.
The Obama 2015 treaty with Iran doesn’t seem so bad in retrospect – instead of ripping it up like a self-centered kindergartner, it could have provided a basis for renegotiation.
But then I read the final lines of Yeats’ masterpiece and pour myself a stiff drink.
The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stoney sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
