Satish Verma, 12 november 2012
In the surge of dark
there was a lunar smile in my glass
I will not abandon the moons
in your eyes. A white sow was
going to deliver the babies.
It was departure time
and the profile was ready to collapse.
Mars was throwing the loaves
to human beings and aliens were
going to land on earth.
Sing my baby, sing. Opening the
knots of life, returning to barn
in wild tempest. I know I have
to unearth the buried truth and
talk to ghosts of lies.
Satish Verma
Richard Ledford, 11 november 2012
NeoLife in the NeoWorld
When NeoChurch weds NeoState,
Spawns NeoFlag - Breeds NeoHate:
HypoChristian NeoFascists
Should Pregnant Teens just slit their wrists?
Soon NeoRoe v. NeoWade
Will NeoCourt let Church invade?
Just why must bible Zombie lies,
Be so enforced on womens' lives?
Abortion's still a legal right;
Must clinic access be a fight?
Doctors threatened with "Thou shalt not"
Or they'll make sure, to have you shot!
A self-appointed "God's Killer"
Then snuff'ed the life of Dr. Tiller
Religious Reich: for "God" they'll kill-
As Women's Rights go straight downhill.
They all can speak direct to god.
They'll make us straight with cattle prods
A NeoZealot holy war;
Self-righteousness is at its core.
Smug Gay-Bashing NeoBigots,
Warped words pouring from their spigots.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
False flag terror, spreads Neofear;
We watch our rights just disappear
FOX propaganda tidal waves
Well wash the brains of TV slaves.
Bogus threats of time bombs ticking!
Human rights must take a licking?
If terrorist I just MIGHT be?
MUST NeoNazis torture me?
At war forever we will be,
Whose job to end it? You and me!
NeoExceSS WARp'rate ProfitS
Such Corrupting NeoLobby'stS
All Profiteer'S checkS have been cashed,
While whistle blowers just get bashed;
A Pentagon of pedaphiles;
Child porn Web searching brings their smiles!
NeoDreading NeoSpying;
'ttorney Gen'ral NeoLying.
NeoPuppets Neo[x]Justice[/x],
Clueless Congress - No Can Bust Us!
NeoPrez hoards NeoPowers,
NeoPriv'leged - Congress Cowers
NeoTrampled Constitution
Citizens still NeoSnoozin’
Economy => NeoChillin';
NeoBanksters' pockets fillin'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zionists have Gaza captured;
HypoChristians NeoRaptured
A genocide Israeli-style:
Dead siblings, five, stacked in a pile.
NeoCol...lateral Damage:
These dead kids won't need no bandage.
At tanks you dared to throw some stones?
In "self-defence" - they BOMBED your homes!
Occupation stranglehold,
Hits hardest on the young and old.
NeoFiltered NeoMeed'ya,
NeoWars: WeNoCanSeeYa
NeoTerror a NeoSource
World does see, it's U.S of course!
Sadly sinking NeoNation;
NeoCrisis now we’re Facin’
© Copyright 2007 Armadillo (UN: rrledford at Writing.Com)
steven cooke, 11 november 2012
Peaceful are the water lilies in flower
The ripples of contentment belong to the fish
and quiet is the grass that has healed this scene.
Lone tree crater is a ghost from the past
and it is here where God and Devil,
did put their differences aside.
To shed tears for man’s insanity.
The year is 1917
and life and death is measured
in corpses left behind on land now forgotten.
This crater born one of 19,
its first cry ordained in 445 tons of explosives.
A mythical being stamping each footstep
across the Messines Ridge,
silencing life in its wake.
A roar of death that can be seen by all,
troops are but wild animals caught in the headlight of its gaze,
helpless and forsaken with nowhere to run.
10,000 Germans with no grave,
their bodies vaporised.
Delivered by blue clay tunnel
Under the lines by British miners brave.
Though German pride would disagree.
Up above the mortars creep a relentless path
and down the ridge the British are advancing.
But they are mortal men
and their bodies are but eggs thrown against steel.
Death is all around this day.
But in this war death is every day,
survival feeds on primal being.
Kill and kill again, he who falls short will die.
Reward lies in darkened sky under the stars
and a billet lined with mud
But death will not let the soldiers rest
and medals of tin will not protect.
Be glad of cigarette to calm the nerves,
be glad of letters from home,
for these are the memories of life.
And sanity dictates that all men are born to die,
this death that is inevitable,
allows these soldiers a few precious seconds
to realise a truth.
It is the Earth that owns the man.
The will of man cannot steal this.
And as the soldier falls their allegiance grows dark
another lover’s heart is broke
Mother’s womb will cry alone
while children’s hands hold on to father’s gift
for he cannot hug them anymore.
Choice was never theirs.
For choice is what masters give
and freedom has evaporated from soldiers mind,
While the lies of democracy fuels these bourgeoisie plans,
for power is everything.
Wars are made by so few a number.
Fear the man, who can inspire a country to kill millions,
and fear the man, who has found religion,
for your bullets can only add to his glory.
Messines Ridge twelve hours of bloody Glory and 50,000 dead
This smell of decay is a reminder to the living
Less they forget their duty to life.
And what of the 10,000
Who left their bones on their last step of mortality?
To wander this earth without a grave.
The bones of the elephant will always be loved
Can we say the same by them?
History has left us these waves of white marble,
proudly keeping the ranks of the dead in line.
Their ghosts are ready to march again
and in the rear the new recruits volunteer,
for war will always be with us.
Underneath every headstone there is a story.
Their colour and culture has melted away.
In death we reconcile our sins with mother earth,
war becomes irrelevant
and perhaps we are too.
But for those who believe
a life without memories has only just begun,
their pain has floated away.
The tears of the families will flow out to sea
and the rain will wash these stones
for the light will always win.
The youth of 1914 braved the dark,
obeyed the voice of country.
Brief was their time on earth
and silence was a glory that these men did not hear.
In death calm now descends upon their memories.
and we who tender their graves,
shall keep their story alive.
For we will remember them.
Wir warden uns an sie erinnern.
steven cooke, 11 november 2012
The sins of granddad brought me to war
for England has dined on this before.
The arrogance of dad who brags my shoes
for in his eyes I am England blue
The teacher who bellows you do us proud
a vindictive sod who ruled my class
The preacher who seeks my confession
who drinks the blood of Christ in whiskey heaven?
But never mind for god is always right
The trough of greed will grunt with pride
the bombs will fall killing the dreams below.
These fat cats of war all feasting on me
Oh what a lovely war, everybody in work
More champagne for them
and the grapes of wrath for me?
The rain of mother’s tears
will wash my soul
The marbles of play are gone,
No chance for love to warm my nights.
Only frost and the company of rats
gnawing on the bed of my insanity
No youth will smile with me tonight,
no innocence can protect me here.
The voice of death whispers my darkest hour
for this heart will soon be cold
and you who sleep in beds tonight
will never know the truth
The forces of ambition have gathered to see,
this place where youth will die.
Charlie Chaplin give us one last laugh
for the guns are straining on their leashes.
The generals have given their salute
and murder is about to bleed on countries lips
for this is a glorious war.
And in motherland they shall sing my praise,
hero is what I am,
But I still have a voice for one more night
though your ears will be deaf to me
Liars you are to the last,
So dam the lot of you.
For pain and fear is all I know,
the bragging rights will spill your beer
for Life was never mine to enjoy.
The lamb and beast all share my fate
though they will die in peace.
For their bodies serve a natures law
While my carcass will rot in Flanders land
Out of sight of country
for another will take my place.
I am an inmate of war
my letters the only sign of freedom
and my photograph a reminder to those,
who should have protected me?
A youth of another’s man war.
Me who gave the invisible a lucrative life?
Who served an empty command
watched over by mother’s tears.
My absolution will forgive their sins.
You see I am a peaceful lad
all I possess are the marbles of childhood
and the mercy that god gave me.
I am every mother’s boy
And every mother is proud of me.
But in death I will not enter Heaven’s gate
For I will wait for them.
Wait for the hand that brought me here
for I need to know the reason why?
Was this Flanders field worth the sacrifice of me?
And as this multitude of youth
marches into the arms of angels pity,
will god be blind to their confession?
For we remember that Charlie Chaplin made us laugh
We remember our mother’s tears
But most of all we will remember the buggers
Who brought us here, to die in Flanders land?
steven cooke, 11 november 2012
A Golden Dawn is rising
the camera’s click the few,
the Greeks are out of options.
Immigration a convenient excuse.
Check your neighbour’s papers?
Jews have seen this before,
African skin is burning
and kristallnacht knocks
at victim’s door
Iran now plays with powerful dreams,
the prayers of ayatollah has a nuclear regime.
Syria drinks from wells of blood
As gunships harvest on freedom’s scream.
Israel is in therapy,
the Wailing Wall whispers
“Cut off the head of the vipers”
before your paradise is lost.
And all the while the Gaza strip burns,
for a Palestinian memory,
of Arabs who loved this land.
And far away the world rages on
New York is battered.
Nature is sending her message,
the dollar is not mightier than her
though the rich would disagree
and the poor of New Orleans cry
remember me?
The flight of destiny turns on China shore
pouring progress over peasant’s land.
The poison that kills her rivers of life
will return in prophecy of ying and yang.
Smog and contamination rolls in with profit
and a billion mouths will ask for more.
Over the border the mafia rule
a Russia of convenient communism
though everything is for sale
Tinker, tailor, soldier, spy
or perhaps a steel works or two.
And what of mighty England
The nation grows old
Banking magicians have finished her off
Now you see the cash and now you don’t
So there’s nothing for you and a bonus for me.
The invisible hand will save this world
Pyramid selling of capitalism the plan.
Sell more tickets to tomorrow’s Armageddon,
more customers mean more wealth,
keep us breeding and the markets are up.
And should their scheme collapse,
there is always another war.
Idle hands can carry guns,
the dead will nourish these fields
and a computer will speculate the price of life
for life is a commodity,
which they have planned.
Foolish words of a dying race.
Easter Island the message
now planted in this western greed.
Our churches empty for aliens to ponder
Our bones to look over empty seas.
While the remnants of our gods look down
at the shadows of the dead
Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and world War 3
Can you guess what comes next?
Let’s roll the dice once more,
A double six and the other six is you.
steven cooke, 11 november 2012
The Wind Will Never Forget
The tears of life now sleep with them
the guns have found their silence.
These fields of war are now in peace,
only the poppies remain
These red petals that cover this land
with remembrance of yesterday,
of the suffering and pain,
for our lads have passed this way.
These brave boys
Who bore their innocence
to this thing we call war
who renounced their gift of life for us
Strangers to you and me
yet more dearer to our souls than family
for here lies the cross of Jesus
the pain of everyman
That sacrifice that only youth can give
their epitaph is our peace
The rose of England bows its head
in reverence and humbled grace
and may god bless all of them
For our boys were the roses
that flowered in every village
the Jack’s and Jimmie’s
the Tom’s and the Bert’s
No more footsteps for mother to hear
their laughter stolen by the wind
all quiet now in village square
But on a wall in a foreign land
their names are lovingly remembered.
Grandchildren shout their names with pride
for they are the seeds of England
this immortal rose cannot die
for they were beautiful
And we who are alive
You who take the time to stop
who bow your heads in silence
will feel their pain
Feel the pain of Nations grief
as the petals fall from above
and we will remember life
for life is what they gave to us
The poppies that grow in Flanders field
are reminders of those who have no grave
and our tears will remember them too.
We who live in freedom,
because of them, because of them.
Naykd Poet, 11 november 2012
Remembrance?
We hail courageous heroes of war; but for whom is the true enemy at bastion door; for each nation’s fallen soldier is a heart made sore; and to whom do the real gains amass, while the bereaved tally the deathly score?
___________________________________
To be of common purpose in mind; is not to be to true reasons blind; for the failings within humankind; for the atrocities inflicted upon its own kind; appeased by pageant and ceremony to remind; but in truth’s end, to repetition, it is endlessly inclined.
___________________________________
Spilling mental guts upon the literary floor; thousands pass but simply ignore, for their lack of interest to what may touch their shore; yet find the time to whisper ridicule and messenger to deplore; yielding incessant ignorance to reason, to endure.
__________________________________
Poppy worn upon shoulder lapel
Living remind to those that courageously fell
Each, their unique life’s story to tell
Now left in Poppy, to forever dwell
Poppy pedal, blood, crimson red
A Remembrance of courageous dead
Memories and tears take their stead
Poppy brave-courage and honor: Saluted
REMEMBRANCE DAY
NOVEMBER 11
louis gander, 11 november 2012
"What is art?” if to me, you would ask,
I'd say its a laborious, challenging task.
God creates life that we can't comprehend -
then puts it in nature, beginning to end...
We suffer the challenge to come even near
the beautiful landscapes we hold ever dear.
The brilliant full sunsets that take breath away
only proves artwork is futile and gray.
Though it’s improved and forever is honed,
creation is simply just mimicked and cloned.
With all of the paintings and all of the words,
none can replace nature’s flowers or birds.
I search, and within me, I find that great art -
comes from creation through a humble heart.
So never take credit, profits or fame -
for next to creation, our work is a shame.
©2009 louis gander ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
-------
steve, 11 november 2012
Should I tell you what it does to me..
to get too close to you...
And lose control of everything..
I've tried to hold onto,
Should I tell you how I really feel..
though you don't feel the same?
Or play like there's no pain at all..
and to me its just a game,
Should I turn away, when you look at me..
and say its all been lies...
Because there's nothing that I wouldn't do..
when I look into blue eyes,
Do I hide the fact that I'm in love..
and never let you see...
That everything you are..
means everything to me,
Do I talk about the sleepless nights..
or that I dream of you...
Or do keep it all inside..
the way I always do,
I can't let you see the pain..
and I won't let you know...
A heart in love.. all alone..
has no place to go,
Should I tell you what you mean to me..
as the chips fall where they may...
Or take this broken heart and run..
far .. far .. away.
sg
Satish Verma, 11 november 2012
1.
Somebody puts a hand
on my shoulder
I turn around
suddenly it was moon.
2.
Do you hear
the inaudible voices
of abstruse frosting.
The leaves are falling.
3.
What you did not know
was my pain.
When I felt illumminated
in dark.
Satish Verma
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