Annual Fundraising Appeal
Over the course of 21 years, we’ve published many unflattering stories about Henry Kissinger. We’ve recounted his involvement in the Chilean coup and the illegal bombings of Cambodia and Laos; his hidden role in the Kent State massacre and the genocide in East Timor; his noxious influence peddling in DC and craven work for dictators and repressive regimes around the world. We’ve questioned his ethics, his morals and his intelligence. We’ve called for him to be arrested and tried for war crimes. But nothing we’ve ever published pissed off HK quite like this sequence of photos taken at a conference in Brazil, which appeared in one of the early print editions of CounterPunch.
100716HenryKissingerNosePicking
The publication of those photos, and the story that went with them, 20 years ago earned CounterPunch a global audience in the pre-web days and helped make our reputation as a fearless journal willing to take the fight to the forces of darkness without flinching. Now our future is entirely in your hands. Please donate.

Day12Fixed

Yes, these are dire political times. Many who optimistically hoped for real change have spent nearly five years under the cold downpour of political reality. Here at CounterPunch we’ve always aimed to tell it like it is, without illusions or despair. That’s why so many of you have found a refuge at CounterPunch and made us your homepage. You tell us that you love CounterPunch because the quality of the writing you find here in the original articles we offer every day and because we never flinch under fire. We appreciate the support and are prepared for the fierce battles to come.

Unlike other outfits, we don’t hit you up for money every month … or even every quarter. We ask only once a year. But when we ask, we mean it.

CounterPunch’s website is supported almost entirely by subscribers to the print edition of our magazine. We aren’t on the receiving end of six-figure grants from big foundations. George Soros doesn’t have us on retainer. We don’t sell tickets on cruise liners. We don’t clog our site with deceptive corporate ads.

The continued existence of CounterPunch depends solely on the support and dedication of our readers. We know there are a lot of you. We get thousands of emails from you every day. Our website receives millions of hits and nearly 100,000 readers each day. And we don’t charge you a dime.

Please, use our brand new secure shopping cart to make a tax-deductible donation to CounterPunch today or purchase a subscription our monthly magazine and a gift sub for someone or one of our explosive  books, including the ground-breaking Killing Trayvons. Show a little affection for subversion: consider an automated monthly donation. (We accept checks, credit cards, PayPal and cold-hard cash….)
cp-store

or use
pp1

To contribute by phone you can call Becky or Deva toll free at: 1-800-840-3683

Thank you for your support,

Jeffrey, Joshua, Becky, Deva, and Nathaniel

CounterPunch
 PO Box 228, Petrolia, CA 95558

Post election – a Feeling by GARY LINDORFF   I took a walk up the hill yesterday. It was a little muddy for sneakers. I could feel the chill Coming up through my soles. At the top I turned And was surprised to see That the sky to the west, Backlighting the hills, Was the […]

Lindorff, Davies and Cowen

by POETS' BASEMENT

Post election – a Feeling

by GARY LINDORFF

 

I took a walk up the hill yesterday.

It was a little muddy for sneakers.

I could feel the chill

Coming up through my soles.

At the top I turned

And was surprised to see

That the sky to the west,

Backlighting the hills,

Was the same intense orange

As the posted sign

In the field.

Instead of heading back down

I kept walking a bit,

Glancing over my shoulder

At the sunset

Now fading to rose.

The pond too surprised me;

It was the color of red wine,

Black cherry. . .

The curve of the apple tree,

Rooted in the bank,

Joined to its reflection,

Formed the perfect bracket

For my restless spirit.

(I might have kept walking.)

But soon it would be dark.

There is a certain feeling

These days that I can’t seem to out-walk,

A certain surrender

To the work that lies ahead.

Work that has little to do

With who wins elections

But more to do with

Being surprised by

Wine-colored water

And sunsets that linger

Just long enough

To light the way home.

 

Gary Lindorff, TCBH!’s resident poet, is an artist, musician, poet and counselor / dream-worker who practices shamanic techniques, and who lives in rural Vermont with his wife Shirley and two dogs. He can be reached at maleotter@gmail.com.

 

 

The Informer

by ROBERT A. DAVIES

 

Father, mother, son

are in a hospital ward with an aide

still no bed

the father’s heart racing alarmingly.

The mother declares, That one has AIDS

that he didn’t have to get.

And no bed for You.

The son blushes.

 

The son has come to know his father

even to like him.

Until recently

he’d rarely seen him:

once on a walk in the park

on one of the weekly visits to his house

twice by chance on the street.

 

A bed becomes available.

She turns to the man who returned

after 40 years:

I’m not deserting You

the way you left the woman you lived with

after She got cancer!

The son turns pale, turns away.

 

Years later he wonders

if his mother was informing Him,

something not to explore.
Robert A. Davies lives. He has appeared many times in CounterPunch. He can be reached at rjdavies3@comcast.net.

 

The Scientific Heretic
by COREY COWAN

I’m a scientific heretic

Singing in the Pure Revue
Seeking imperial evidence

That my beliefs are true

I need no math to add up

Nor eloquent elocution

To believe that God created me

Not Darwinian evolution

 

I came not from a monkey
Nor a one-celled organism

But from the light of Divinity

Diffused through Eden’s prism

 

Clay was used to make Mankind

And it wasn’t very pretty

The goal is to rise up like light

Not to get all down-and-dirty

 

I’m a by-product of incest

Between Adam and his daughters

And between the children of Noah

After the receding of the waters

 

To Hell with postulations

And scientific inquiry

I’m here for trials and tribulations

Or at least that is my theory

 

Corey Cowan is currently unemployed, writing poems and songs in his spare time when not looking for gainful employment or playing guitar in Restless Leg Syndrome, an Americana Band that plays in the Puget Sound area.  He has freelanced in web design and graphics design and worked a day job as an equipment trainer in a warehouse setting. Inspired by his late Grandfather, Robert E. Cowan, who had penned hundreds of poems, Corey is now actively trying to master the fine art of poetry and song writing. He is also digitizing many of his grandfather’s well-crafted poems, which he may submit at a later time.

 

 

Editorial Note: (Please Read Closely Before Submitting)

Poets Basement is now on Facebook. Find us as http://www.facebook.com/poets.basement.

To submit to Poets Basement, send an e-mail to CounterPunch’s poetry editor, Marc Beaudin at counterpunchpoetry@gmail.com with your name, the titles being submitted, and your website url or e-mail address (if you’d like this to appear with your work).  Also indicate whether or not your poems have been previously published and where.  For translations, include poem in original language and documentation of granted reprint/translation rights.  Attach up to 5 poems and a short bio, written in 3rd person, as a single Word Document (.doc or .rtf attachments only; no .docx – use “Save As” to change docx or odt files to “.doc”).  Expect a response within one month (occasionally longer during periods of heavy submissions).

Poems accepted for online publication will be considered for possible inclusion of an upcoming print anthology.

For more details, tips and suggestions, visit CrowVoiceJournal.blogspot.com and check the links on the top right. Thanks!