A Poem by Stefanie Bennett

… Last night Terror – died.
It died, not as it had
Lived in its own black death
But with the soft glow
Of a green light about it.

I was cruel. I was… kind.
I took from it the aches
And anguish; a life spent
Battling the human elements.
I spelt Trust as a 4 letter word.

… Last night Terror – spoke.
It spoke in syllables as wide
As the sky. When faced with
Its own ghosted-in image
The din cannot be described.

And I, perhaps with a little
Too much of the Don Quixote
In me [wielding a rusty pen
Instead of a sword], made
The decision that

We kill for all reasons. Some
Bad. Some good. And
Some ‘out of pity’…

I erased – Terror – from
The vocabulary; as if time’s
Compass had not ever met
This wretched one.
I do not know if the killing

Will, in turn, intern me.
There was a green light
Blazing about it.
Possibly that indicates
A pardon.

Monsanto: Glyphosate is safe

In a preview of an upcoming documentary on French TV, Dr. Patrick Moore tells a Canal+ interviewer that glyphosate, the active ingredient in Roundup herbicide, was not increasing the rate of cancer in Argentina.

Entertaining transcript:

“You can drink a whole quart of it and it won’t hurt you,” Moore insists.

“You want to drink some?” the interviewer asks. “We have some here.”

“I’d be happy to, actually,” Moore replies, adding, “Not really. But I know it wouldn’t hurt me.”

“If you say so, I have some,” the interviewer presses.

“I’m not stupid,” Moore declares.

“So, it’s dangerous?” the interviewer concludes.

But Moore claims that Roundup is so safe that “people try to commit suicide” by drinking it, and they “fail regularly.”

“Tell the truth, it’s dangerous,” the interviewer says.

“It’s not dangerous to humans,” Moore remarks. “No, it’s not.”

“So, are you ready to drink one glass?” the interviewer continues to press.

“No, I’m not an idiot,” Moore says defiantly. “Interview me about golden rice, that’s what I’m talking about.”

At that point, Moore declares that the “interview is finished.”

“That’s a good way to solve things,” the interviewer quips.

“Jerk!” Moore grumbles as he storms off the set.

Because of Monsanto–

thank you letter

Dear Agent Orange Project, Vietnam Association of Victims of Agent Orange, and the Youth Union of Vietnam National University of Agriculture

My name is Nguyen Van Hai, from Nghia Lo, Chi Dao, Van Lam (district), Hung Yen (Province). I was a soldier coming back from Vietnam war then realised that not only myself but my children were all suffering from the agent orange.

There has been a lot of difficulty going on in my life but I feel relief thanks to you all support. I was dreaming about the new filter system for very long time but without your help, I could never have that dream come true, so thank you very much for such a tremendous gift for us. The new filter system (including water tank, filter bed, RO water fiter, etc…), I believe, will help improving the quality of life for the whole family from now on.

I would like to say thank you to you all again for your great support. Wish you all healthy, happy, and lucky in life.

Sincerely yours,

Nguyen Van Hai

(The letter is certified by local authority)

LEVERAGE, Knowing Monsanto & Dow

A Poem by Stefanie Bennett

Scissors know our healing does
Not come from books:

Does as
The wind does
Does arch
As the hand raised over-long
Does concentrate
On every pose
Does cheat
For the sake of comfort
The daylights from the living
Does assign
A dearth stance
Of which we are too familiar, cut
From the background

What scrap is to the stockpiling.


A Poem by Stefanie Bennett

After ‘Monsanto & Dow’

Don Juan, in this quaternary age,
Wears a tattered Akubra
And sings
The purple spoils of poetry.

Out there, where hawks cross-cut
Picture postcards
And the still chattering
Chimney stones are

Reminiscent of a penal code
Dead as death
To mindless bureaucracy –
Our rake squats

In the quasi-fallout of things.
He has ‘done time’
In ‘Nam; elsewhere; has
Swallows for eyes.

Contemplate. He’ll be president
Any day now.

{copyright released} Australia & the USA)

Genetic Rape

A Poem by Richard D. Hartwell

Too damaged at birth to survive alone,
too innocent to euthanize anonymously;
assuming her mismanaged maternity,
the mother maintains belief in miracles.

Striking a stoical stance, the father
hopes it’s not his fault and knows
he can abandon the thing to others
to feed, bathe, change in perpetuity.

The unborn was helpless anyway,
so, struggling with death at a fatal
birth, will labor long towards an
end, folded in its mangled limbs.

What’s it like to know a child will
never face life’s charms and chance,
what’s it like to face a life without
parents, meaning, or possibilities?

So many orphaned disabilities
that can only writhe beneath the
monumental shame, Monsanto,
and so many left molding behind.


A Poem by Stefanie Bennett

After Monsanto & Dow Chemicals

My book, my aged nursery rhyme,
I will not let you
Go unprepared
Into a bullying market-place.
With humility, I will school you.
And with passion,
Arm you. Arm you against those
Who intern the likes of you.

My clear-eyed simple one
– So many
Of your breed
Have been
Prostrated… and
A whimper.
How easily they trusted.

You must understand the fear –,
The contradictions
That send men mad;
You who
Have known neither.
It is a sorry reform
I send you to.
But –, go you must!

I put on your raiments –. The patched
Jacket. The sure-footed
I kiss your
Young eyes good-bye.
How the years
Will be counted
On the beads
Of a mother’s wondering…

And each night a prayer as I toil
For both of us.
When we meet again,
As we must
– You will have grown
To your own
Likeness. Never
Will I mention

… Our conception.