A New Day!
lay down your guns,
your knives, your flags.
get out of your tanks,
your planes, get off
of your carriers.
stop the bombs,
the rhetoric, the patriotic march....
unball your fists, open your hands.
proclaim this a new day....
the first day of forever...
when humanity decided
to become human again!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Little Guns
Tiny people, with little guns
Little armies march, to little drums
What do they want?
What do they want?
Tiny soldiers, with little guns
Little tanks, no bigger than your thumb
They want you
Little people, with tiny brains
Little bullets flowing, in their veins
What do they want?
What do they want?
Tiny people with little guns
Little armies march, to little drums
They want you, you
You, you, you, you
Little airplanes, with tiny bombs
Little squadrons, dropping thimbles of napalm
They want you
What do they want?
What do they want?
Tiny people, with little guns
Little armies march, to little drums
You, you
You, you, you, you
Tiny people, little guns
Tiny people, little guns
Tiny people, little guns
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Zombie
Another head hangs lowly
Child is slowly taken
And the violence caused such silence
Who are we mistaken
But you see it's not me,
it's not my family
In your head, in your
head they are fighting
With their tanks and their bombs
And their bombs and their guns
In your head,
In your head they are cryin'
In your head
Zombie
What's in your head, in your head
Zombie
Another mother's breakin'
heart is taking over
when the violence causes silence
We must be mistaken
It's the same old theme since 1916
In your head,
In your head they're still fightin'
With their tanks and their bombs
And their bombs and their guns
In your head they are dyin'
In your head, in your head
Zombie
What's in your head, in your head
Zombie
song performed by by Cranberries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Attack
AT dawn the ridge emerges massed and dun
In the wild purple of the glow'ring sun,
Smouldering through spouts of drifting smoke that shroud
The menacing scarred slope; and, one by one,
Tanks creep and topple forward to the wire.
The barrage roars and lifts. Then, clumsily bowed
With bombs and guns and shovels and battle-gear,
Men jostle and climb to meet the bristling fire.
Lines of grey, muttering faces, masked with fear,
They leave their trenches, going over the top,
While time ticks blank and busy on their wrists,
And hope, with furtive eyes and grappling fists,
Flounders in mud. O Jesus, make it stop!
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Cassinga
Just like spring when the blue sky is full of falling leaves,
there are three hundred and seventy parachutes that decent,
on a ominous day
with enemy AA-guns reporting
and the enemy are more
than a thousand and a half in number.
The barrels of the enemy AA-guns are lowered,
to break us
and the enemy tries to sow havoc
and to decimate us.
Enemy snipers are shooting from trees
and from everywhere
there are shots being fired,
that munches pieces from us
From behind ruins
we fire almost endlessly
at trenches where some enemy soldiers hide
and launch mortar bombs
all over the place,
while bullets are coming down like rain.
We return heavy fire
to the enemy at the AA-guns,
while other soldiers replace them
which keeps the battle hanging in balance
Shot after shot are being fired
and the smell of death
is strong in the air
and there’s nowhere
for the enemy to escape to.
The last resistance disappears
and there’s apparent peace
and dead enemies everywhere
and some of the bats,
get into pumas
and the rest of us wait
with nowhere to go.
The border is too far to walk
and there’s nothing to drive away with,
when Cuban tanks and armoured cars
find us there.
.
With RPG-7 iron fists
four tanks are destroyed
and a landmine stops another tank in its tracks,
but only paratroops against oncoming armour
are canon feed
and nothing diminishes the danger
of a Cuban mechanized battalion.
Till two Mirages destroys ten armoured cars
and everywhere there’s smoke and dust
and a Buccaneer comes from the sun,
to let moments turn into eternity.
Time after time
it flashes by and fires its rockets
at the oncoming tanks
and with no ammo left,
dives fearlessly over shooting AA-guns
to make the tanks take cover.
It’s very ruff going
but the last pumas land
in a clouds of dust,
to evacuate us
while enemy tanks keep firing.
I try and hold the rearguard with a LMG
before the shot out ruins fades away from me
and we leave forty living enemies behind
and all of us are safely gone,
but for four brave men
whose lives are spent.
[References: AA-guns=> Anti aircraft guns. Bats=>Parabats=>Airbourne soldiers. RPG-7 iron fists=> Rocket propelled grenade launchers=> Bazookas. Mirages=> Mirage fighter jets. Buccaneer=> Buccaneer ground support bomber. Pumas=> Puma helicopters. LMG=> Light machinegun.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Sound Of War
When all the bombs are silenced
When all the dust has died
When all the planes of violence
Are stored all safe inside
When all the crumbled buildings
Just teeter on the brink
When water lies in every street
Yet none is fit to drink
When politicians preaching
Of peace and healing sores
Just fail to see they're teaching
The young to fight in wars
When rhetoric and violence
Are met with with much the same
The guns will not be silenced
The killing still remains.
When families are slaughtered
And Generals hold the sway
Sure tell our sons and daughters
That no-one wins today.
poem by Dave James
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Like Everyone Around
I don't wanna lose nobody
When I say this.
I don't wanna lose nobody
When I unball my fists,
And IF I should throw a fit...
I want you all to sit down!
I don't wanna lose nobody now,
I wanna share what I found!
I picked up on some gossipness,
Between sisters and brothers
And others mixed!
Talking about this and that
And him and her
And where something happened,
And what occured.
I eased up very gently
Since I didn't want to disturb,
What was being said...
AND what my ears heard!
Seems like nothing's being done
To bring happiness to them.
They talk about being 'saved' and 'holy'
And All I hear from them is sin.
He's trying to make a date,
After her husband leaves the home.
She gives him a time to meet...
So they can be there all alone!
His says his wife,
Has a new friend she likes.
He liked her too..
Until he saw them screwin'!
She held his hand...
And he rub it against his crotch!
She rubbed his behind,
That raised his 'hard' a notch!
I couldn't believe
What I heard and saw.
These two should be arrested...
For taking my breath,
And dropping my jaw!
I stood there in awe.
Where IS the law?
I want to report what I heard,
And saw!
I don't wanna lose nobody
When I say this.
I don't wanna lose nobody
When I unball my fists,
And IF I should throw a fit...
I want you all to sit down!
I don't wanna lose nobody now,
I wanna share what I found!
People that sound...
Like everyone around!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Anthem to the 47th Cuban / Faplan Brigade
Whom but your mothers back in Havana
and some in Luanda
mourn your lost or knows
that you were slaughtered in battle
as if human life
holds nothing sacred,
were wiped out by one
of only two battalions
at the junction of the Lomba
and Cuzizi Rivers,
that you heard Ratel armoured cars
driving in at speed,
the roar of Olifant tanks
and the thunder of their guns
or the whining stutter of machineguns
nor did you probably say any prayers
before deadly shells fell from the sky.
What remorse does your supreme leader feel
when your mothers, wives and children
light up candles
(who never really had a chance
for a proper goodbye)
and knows by now
that you will never come home.
[Reference: “The results of the campaign up to April 1988 were 4,785 killed on the Cuban/Faplan side, with 94 tanks and hundreds of combat vehicles destroyed, against 31 South Africans killed in action,3 tanks destroyed (SADF tanks entered the war after the Lomba River campaign) and 11 SADF armoured cars and troop carriers lost. A total of 9 Migs were destroyed and only 1 SAAF Mirage shot down.” Jannie Geldenhuys.1994: At the front. P240. Johanthan Ball Publishers.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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We merely want to live in peace with all the world, to trade with them, to commune with them, to learn from their culture as they may learn from ours, so that the products of our toil may be used for our schools and our roads and our churches and not for guns and planes and tanks and ships of war.
quote by Dwight D. Eisenhower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Conclusion fusion
Considering the facts…wars, poverty etc
All we do and act…protests, requests etc
May not turn out to be exact…sorry bad timing
But don’t you worry my friend…I’ll be by your side
Cause there’s always…forever and crap like this
An open window…turn on the heater
For you to react…not with nukes, napalm bombs and tanks
And not become destiny’s fact…life’s what you make it
poem by Roger Bewman
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I Am Responsible.... (Poet's Heart)
i am responsible....
for the child dying of starvation,
whatever color, whatever country.
for the young Muslim child alone,
his family killed by the bombs.
for the addict shaking on the street corner,
for the young girl selling her body
on that same corner.
for the family kicked out of their house,
who have nowhere to go.
for the young angry men in prison,
for the victims of the crimes.
for the stink of poverty,
and the abuse of wealth.
for the planes, the bombs,
the guns and the flags...
for the political prisoners who spoke out.
for the elderly going without food and lights,
trying to pay for their medicine.
for the victims of racism and prejudice,
and those that wave that banner.
for the preacher, the thief,
the murderer, and the lost....
for the woman treated as less.
for the young man who commits suicide,
and for those that caused his desperation.
for the immigrant killed crossing the border,
hoping against hope for his family.
for the 'moral' who cant feel,
for those who feel, those who suffer.
for the bones of those we've killed
on our journey to civilization.
for the Jew, the Christian,
the Hindu, the Muslim, and the Buddhist...
of equal worth and value.
for the atheist, the doubter, the searcher,
and those who question all.
for the man, the woman, and the child.
for the sins of the past,
and the path to the future.
i am responsible...
because i am human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Enough, Enough,
Sounding sirens, roaring planes,
Parading men, thundering guns,
Rising mushroom, exploding bombs,
Launched missiles, advancing troops,
All are behind the human existence,
How long Mankind might exist,
On the Earth.
Think awhile,
Resting your head on the pillow,
When your engagements allow you,
And when worries do not linger around,
Pray to Almighty: It is enough, it is enough,
Now supply not the world with characters,
Merely with heads stuffed with straw.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Do We Sleep....
do we sleep in the stillness,
the moment after the guns are laid down.
the day the war on terror
becomes the war on poverty.
the day different colors means rainbows,
when fists are retired, and ears are opened.
the day when the distance to god
becomes two hands open in dialogue.
the day we see ourselves naked,
and are not ashamed!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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1936
All night they marched, the infantrymen under pack,
But the hands gripping the rifles were naked bone
And the hollow pits of the eyes stared, vacant and black,
When the moonlight shone.
The gas mask lay like a blot on the empty chest,
The slanting helmets were spattered with rust and mold,
But they burrowed the hill for the machine-gun nest
As they had of old.
And the guns rolled, and the tanks, but there was no sound,
Never the gasp or rustle of living men
Where the skeletons strung their wire on disputed ground ...
I knew them, then.
'It's eighteen years,' I cried. 'You must come no more.'
'We know your names. We know that you are the dead.
Must you march forever from France and the last, blind war?'
'Fool! From the next!'
they said.
poem by Stephen Vincent Benet
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Could Bear To Look!
broke down,
system.
faces peeled,
razor knives.
hands cut off,
feet bloodied.
mouths open,
gulping air.
eyes plucked out
by the lies.
souls bartered
for a cup of rice.
flags burning,
bodies strewn.
the well oiled wheel,
turns in spite.
no god,
could bear to look!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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All...
all people just want
to be free, to be free..
white, black, Hispanic,
Asian, and Arabic...
chains an offense
to all that breathe...
one cannot be free
without the other!
there are no illegal people,
or invented people...
the least worth as much
as the most powerful.
put down your fat bellied guns,
and your patriotic rhetoric...
all are created in the image
of the eternal!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Freedom Park
Build your monument to a war
that you have lost at Cuito Cuanavale
and try to deceive the world
about your victory
which was rather your huge loss
and hail Russians and Cubans as your heroes
and we who have paid the cost
knows where victory really laid
and that no bugle ever played its last farewell
to the enemy we sent to hell
and although no one mourns our dead
most of us live on instead.
We do not need to be on any
honour wall
or to be associated
with your heroes
who mowed down people
praying in a church
and set off bombs in the street.
We never lost any battle
nor a war
and our honour is in the lives
of every man, women and child
who in a way are still free.
[Reference: “The results of the campaign up to April 1988 were 4,785 killed on the Cuban/Faplan side, with 94 tanks and hundreds of combat vehicles destroyed, against 31 South Africans killed in action,3 tanks destroyed (SADF tanks entered the war after the Lomba River campaign) and 11 SADF armoured cars and troop carriers lost. A total of 9 Migs were destroyed and only 1 SAAF Mirage shot down.” Jannie Geldenhuys.1994. At the front. P240. Johanathan Ball Publishers.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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On the other side of the Lomba river
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
bad weather hanging on the other side of the Lomba river
with tanks standing ablaze
nothing can stop the war clouds
(while the shots of enemy tanks resound)
or stop the slaughter of the angel of death
and Fapla, Cubans and Russians perish
and we also receive deadly shots.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
where we teach them a final lesson in Africa
when the enemy appear
but olifant tanks and Ratel armoured cars are stuck in a landmine field
and howitzer canons fire
at the beginning of the slaughter
with tanks standing ablaze
and there are olifant tanks and Ratel armoured cars disappearing in the bush
with rockets raining down
when the enemy appear
which rip enemy weaponry into pieces
and division after division comes under restraint.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
and the canons of howitzers, tanks and armoured cars fire continuously
while the smell of death is everywhere
with rockets raining down
with few enemy being still alive,
with some leaving intact tanks, fleeing to survive
with tanks standing ablaze
and I am conscious of the inhumanity
and feelings of powerlessness
while the smell of death is everywhere
and the slaughter goes on and on
and human life isn’t important.
There are flashes hitting in the distance,
with tanks standing ablaze
and whatever you do or mean
nothing can stop the war clouds
and feelings of powerlessness
or stop the slaughter of the angel of death.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Song Of Mankind
If human fails to help humanity..
Who will think for humanity
With a feeling of li’l sympathy
Won’t be a matter of indignity…? ? ?
If human fails to help humanity
Who will think for humanity
With a feeling of li’l sympathy
Won’t be a matter of indignity…? ? ?
If human fails to help humanity…..
When a man sells his fellow men..
When a man bids for fellow men..
When a man sells his fellow men..
When a man bids for fellow men..
Uncivilized and uncultured….
Won’t be a matter of indignity? ?
If human fails to help humanity
Who will think for humanity
With a feeling of li’l sympathy
Won’t be a matter of indignity…? ? ?
If human fails to help humanity…
Let us stretch our hands..
To help the needy and poor..
With a feeling of warmth
We can make it sure! ! !
Let us stretch our hands..
To help the needy and poor..
With a feeling of warmth
We can make it sure! ! !
If a man cant be a human…
How would a demon become human? ?
If a man cant be a human…
How would a demon become human? ?
And If a demon becomes human
Won’t be a matter of indignity? ?
(Originally composed in Assamese as ‘Manuhe Manuhor Babe’ by Dr. Bhupen Hazarika)
(Set to original tune)
poem by Kamal Jyoti Borah
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Moral Questions Trace Monopoly Debt
1 trillion dollars
per year spent tax dollars
on oil death wars
destruction by bombs missiles
guns tanks submarines ships
helicopters planes nukes mines
include monopoly pieces
ace in hole cards assassins
mercenaries prisons spies
torture chambers
dictator-supporters
killed for silences
war on terror allies
expired use terminates
to hide dark secrets
as statue of liberty heirs
to corrupt Rome Empires
attempt to rule countries
covertly unleashed assassins
CIA FBI mercenary team assassins
across the world tag hit races
hunt down kill target voices
waging war in Libya decreases
time to acquire new selections
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Death Papers... (Part Four)
i name the bullet, the noose,
the needle, and the disease.
the failing heart,
the body bent and broken,
the moment that breath is taken...
for you have not killed me!
i name the war, the planes,
the bombs, and the guns.
the lying flags,
and oil tainted chants.
the strike, the stab,
the tearing of flesh...
for you have not killed me!
i name the empty plate,
the orphaned bed
by the endless road.
the goon squads of indifference.
the prison cell, the alleys burning...
for you have not killed me!
i name the love that ends,
the heart that's broken.
the tidal wave of loss,
and darkness without feeling.
the empty hand and the empty heart...
for you have not killed me!
i watch the body burnt
on despair's self engraved altar...
wondering...
'could that be me? '
and with laughing wings
reach for the sky...
that has no end, or name!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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