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H's Soul

I wonder what happened to Hitler's Soul
As children cursed it around the world
At breakfast tables, under hidden floors
And at the oven doors

Lovers cursed it in their ecstasy throes
Soldiers cursed it, spitting on their boots
Marching in life and death parades
As their mothers cursed him too

Begging his Soul to be damned in Hell
Consigned with Generals that cursed it well

Where did it go, that very special Soul
Was there a space, a prison cell
Padded by the silence of his screams
That echo in our darkest dreams?

poem by Frank Bana
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Cursed

I have been cursed.
From the very early start.
Rape and abuse.
Hurt and pain.
Is all I've ever known.

I have been left cursed.
By the seedy thing you did.
Left with flashbacks.
Left with hell.

Unable to trust.
Unable to forget
Cant move on

I am cursed by you.
By what you did to me

poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Cursed

I know I will never find love and happiness.
I know I meant for a life of sad loneliness.
I am broken and torn time and time again.
I am turning black from deep within.
I am hanging on by a single thread.
I know that I am better off dead.
Every one hates me and thinks i'm weird.
I will never belong here.
I can't take the pain away.
I try to with this silver blade.
Yet here you come to make it worse.
Making it known that I am cursed.
Cursed to a life of dread.
Cursed to be found dead.
If you read this it might be the last thing you read.
For I feel this is the end for me.

poem by Jean Pullman
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Mystery To Unfold!

First the world betrayed
Then dejected by my own heart
The game of sorrows fate played
Torn my heart and soul apart!

North mark, the eternal guide
Has always been the evidence
Of a cursed glide
A cursed and joyless life.

Says the world, God owns our luck
He has all our fate and life in command.
But thinks my mind, hones He only
His motive of doing best for us.

But poor human psyche, heart and mind
I weep and howl over what I find!

poem by Alok Mishra
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John Ballard

In the lust of my strength
I cursed God, but he paid no attention to me:
I might as well have cursed the stars.
In my last sickness I was in agony, but I was resolute
And I cursed God for my suffering;
Still He paid no attention to me;
He left me alone, as He had always done.
I might as well have cursed the Presbyterian steeple.
Then, as I grew weaker, a terror came over me:
Perhaps I had alienated God by cursing him.
One day Lydia Humphrey brought me a bouquet
And it occurred to me to try to make friends with God,
So I tried to make friends with Him;
But I might as well have tried to make friends with the bouquet.
Now I was very close to the secret,
For I really could make friends with the bouquet
By holding close to me the love in me for the bouquet
And so I was creeping upon the secret, but --

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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You love what you do, you are cursed with it, and then you get known for being cursed with it.

quote by Armand Assante
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hail Africa

Hail Africa,
Full of race,
The lords be with you,
You are cursed among nations,
And black flesh, the fruit of your soil, is cursed.
Holy Africa,
Mother of humans,
Cry for us, killers,
Now, and at the hour
Of your death,
Amen!

poem by Bridget Pearson
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I Begged God for My Life

I cursed the birds
Their droppings soiled my clothes
I cursed the animals
Their droppings soiled my feet
While walking on the beach
I cursed the insects
For eating flowers in my garden
I took a gun
Killed the birds and the animals
Sprayed deadly poison
On the the insects
I was feeling happy
As if I had conquered the world
I heard god’s voice
What should I do with you my son?
You soiled my world
By killing my
Birds, insects and animals
For your greed and lust
I begged god for my life
Promised him to
Treat man, animals alike
Preserve his world
With all my might

poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Upon The Barren Fig-Tree In God's Vineyard

What, barren here! in this so good a soil?
The sight of this doth make God's heart recoil
From giving thee his blessing; barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
Art thou not planted by the water-side?
Know'st not thy Lord by fruit is glorified?
The sentence is, Cut down the barren tree:
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be.
Hast thou been digg'd about and dunged too,
Will neither patience nor yet dressing do?
The executioner is come, O tree,
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
He that about thy roots takes pains to dig,
Would, if on thee were found but one good fig,
Preserve thee from the axe: but, barren tree,
Bear fruit, or else thy end will cursed be!
The utmost end of patience is at hand,
'Tis much if thou much longer here doth stand.
O cumber-ground, thou art a barren tree.
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be!
Thy standing nor they name will help at all;
When fruitful trees are spared, thou must fall.
The axe is laid unto thy roots, O tree!
Bear fruit, or else thine end will cursed be.

poem by John Bunyan
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Blessed To Be Cursed

I awaken early,
With thoughts that seem...
Already out of date.
Already out of time.
Already...
I feel I am too late.

Bombarded I am,
With images that feed.
And some I feel,
I am not yet ready to taste.

Am I cursed or blessed?
At times I feel in between.
And aging hasn't made this attraction,
Any easier for me...
It seems.

Am I cursed or blessed?
OR blessed to be cursed?
Is it possible to enjoy something,
And not quench that thirst?

I awaken early,
With thoughts that seem...
Already out of date.
Already out of time.
Already...
I feel I am too late.

Bombarded I am,
With images that feed.
And some I feel,
I am not yet ready to taste...
Although I enjoy,
Achieving those impossible dreams.

Am I cursed or blessed?
OR blessed to be cursed?
Is it possible to enjoy something,
And not quench that thirst?

And I think to myself...
'What am I getting out of this?
How am I benefitting,
When I am the last to think of myself first! '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Know What You Know

I know what you know
I am not inferior to you.
Do not look down on me
We are all homosapiens.
Divinely created as God's image
God rates us all equally.
I have sights like you
I walk like you
I think like you.
I may be black,
I may be white,
I may be coloured,
I may even be red
I am God's creation
My senses are the same like
Differences in skin pigmention
Does not make me inferior
We are the same
So, deal with me on what I know
So, deal with jewels inside me
Relate with me on my knowledge
Deal with me according to my capacity
I will reciprocate the same
We are bound to respect each other
I am not cursed
My generation is not cursed
My land is not cursed
I am endowed like you
My ancestors land is blessed
I know what you know
I am not inferior to you

poem by Babatunde Aremu
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Premature Outbursts Later To Be Cursed

On automatic are dramatics,
With performances begun.
Those combat addicts,
Choose to pick their fights...
To declare what they have won.

Only,
To find themselves birthing...
Premature outbursts,
Later...
To be cursed!

On automatic are dramatics,
With performances begun.
Those combat addicts,
Choose to pick their fights...
To declare what they have won.

Only,
To find themselves birthing...
Premature outbursts,
Later...
To be cursed!

Only,
To find themselves birthing...
Activities done,
That can't...
Be reversed!

Premature outbursts,
Are later to be cursed.
Premature outbursts,
Are later to be cursed.
Premature outbursts,
Are later to be cursed.
Premature outbursts,
Are later to be cursed.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Insensitive

as one
cries before God
as one screams
for help
for the horror of
his personal situation

the other merely laughs
and giggles
over these realities
dismissing them
as pure
melodrama

i look at him
and he is getting older
damned
cursed
and shall enter
into an eternal assurance of
his own
hell

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Crypts Of Eternity

Devious to those unknown
He walks below the land
Alluring victims to their death
Perish to the sand

Master of the blackened arts
Living his decree
Thrives amongst the Seven Gates
Searching for the keys

I have seen the darkened depths of Hell
Sorcery beyond the witches' spell
Robbed the crypts of Death's eternity
Killed the priest and cursed him endlessly

Chants of evil incantation
Fill the murky night
Free the Devil's knights of Hell
Unleash their growing spite

Directing power forcibly
The fire of Hell is cast
Resurrect from crypts of Death
A demon from the past

I have seen the darkened depths of Hell
Sorcery beyond the witches' spell
Robbed the crypts of Death's eternity
Killed the priest and cursed him endlessly

Cringe with fear
Violate the unbroken seal of Hell
Death will come searching for
Your mere soul
Still you are eager to seek your fate
All that lie here are remains of Death

Grinding bones

song performed by by Slayer from Hell Awaits
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death Took You

We were happy, we were free
Two sole creatures, you and me.
But it didn't last all that long,
Why was it not meant to be?

You had an accident,
It was my fault.
Because I didn't run fast enough
to shout 'Stop! '.

I cursed and I cried.
It's not what i usually do.
But without my permission,
Death took you.

It was wrong,
Or so I think.
I went to the funeral,
I did my bit.

Your favorite flowers were there.
I said a prayer, I said it softly.
I wish you heard,
It was not your fault, It was mine wholly.

I cursed and I cried.
It's not what i usually do.
But without my permission,
Death took you.

poem by Anushna Satapathy
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Sonnet: Death, Thou Art Great!

Death, Thou art not as cruel as I thought!
Today, I understand Thy special role;
And without thee, this world would be a naught;
Neither Heaven nor Hell would get a soul!

O Death, Thou Thief of Time, when world began!
How stealthily thy job, Thou renderest!
Of all God’s creatures, Thou art cursed by man;
Although, Thou servest him Thy very best.

If man knew when Thou taketh him away,
He would make up for all his sinful ways;
And keep accounts straight for God’s Judgment-Day,
When Hell would cease to exist in that case.

When Heaven could turn meaningless a place!
Then how would men ev’r see the Maker’s face?

poem by John Celes
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Mother

Ash falls on the roof
of my house.

I have cursed you enough
in the lines of my poems
& between them,
in the silences which fall
like ash-flakes
on the watertank
from a smog-bound sky.

I have cursed you
because I remember
the smell of Joy
on a sealskin coat
& because I feel
more abandoned than a baby seal
on an ice floe red
with it's mother's blood.

I have cursed you
as I walked & prayed
on a concrete terrace
high above the street
because whatever I pulled down
with my bruised hand
from the bruising sky,
whatever lovely plum
came to my mouth
you envied
& spat out.

Because you saw me in your image,
because you favored me,
you punished me.

It was only a form of you
my poems were seeking.
Neither of us knew.

For years
we lived together in a single skin.

We shared fur coats.
We hated each other
as the soul hates the body
for being weak,
as the mind hates the stomach
for needing food,
as one lover hates the other.

I kicked
in the pouch of your theories
like a baby kangaroo.

I believed you
on Marx, on Darwin,
on Tolstoy & Shaw.
I said I loved Pushkin
(you loved him).
I vowed Monet
was better than Bosch.

Who cared?

I would have said nonsense
to please you
& frequently did.

This took the form,
of course,
of fighting you.

We fought so gorgeously!

We fought like one boxer
& his punching bag.
We fought like mismatched twins.
We fought like the secret sharer
& his shade.

Now we're apart.
Time doesn't heal
the baby to the womb.
Separateness is real
& keeps on growing.

One by one the mothers
dropp away,
the lovers leave,
the babies outgrow clothes.

Some get insomnia -
the poet's disease -
& sit up nights
nursing
at the nipples
of their pens.

I have made hot milk
& kissed you where you are.
I have cursed my curses.
I have cleared the air.
& now I sit here writing,
breathing you.

poem by Erica Jong
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Cross

My old man's a white old man
And my old mother's black.
If ever I cursed my white old man
I take my curses back.
If ever I cursed my black old mother
And wished she were in hell,
I'm sorry for that evil wish
And now I wish her well
My old man died in a fine big house.
My ma died in a shack.
I wonder were I'm going to die,
Being neither white nor black?

poem by Langston Hughes
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Afghanistan

He said, that Allah had cursed thrice Afghanistan;
cursed it with those curses, which all evil men
see as their life’s blessings:

first, He gave them the opium poppy:
so that if they chose, an easy wealth
would kill their fellow men all round the world
with its addiction; which they themselves could claim
was not at all their fault..

and easy wealth would give them time
for Allah’s second curse: the manly thrill
of fighting and of killing; to pursue which,
one must invent an enemy; then,
an enemy invented, enemy he must become;
and so, the whole world now an enemy..

the third and the most dreadful curse
cannot be named or be described..
secret; awful; deadly; all-consuming:
hidden in the hearts of holy hypocrites.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Hole In Your Soul

You feel bad, let me tell you, we all get the blues
Sometimes life is a burden, way down in your shoes
When its bad, worse, worst
(and when youre feeling so bad)
And you think youre cursed
(and youve got it sad)
Well, if theres one thing for the better that can turn you loose
Its gotta be rockn roll
To fill the hole in your soul
Theres gotta be rockn roll
To fill the hole in your soul
My friend sam is a chauffeur, annie goes to school
Jerry works at the office, sue lies by the pool
But on all weekends
(together again)
When I meet my friends
(Im gonna see them now)
And were lookin round for the action we sure play it cool
Its gotta be rockn roll
To fill the hole in your soul
Theres gotta be rockn roll
To fill the hole in your soul
Ah-haa (ah-haa, ah-haa)
You paint your world and use all colours
Ah-haa (ah-haa)
And then you find it all comes out too bright
You know its only a lie
Ah-haa (ah-haa, ah-haa)
The songs you sing are too romantic
Ah-haa (ah-haa)
And when you want the truth
They only spit in your eye
Oh yeah, theyre only telling you lies
Oh yeah, theres gotta be rockn roll
To fill the hole in your soul
You feel bad, let me tell you, we all get the blues
Sometimes life is a burden, weighed down in your shoes
When its bad, worse, worst
(you know youre feeling so bad)
And you think youre cursed
(and youve got it sad)
Well, if theres one thing for the better that can turn you loose
Its gotta be rockn roll
To fill the hole in your soul
Theres gotta be rockn roll
To fill the hole in your soul
Theres gotta be rockn roll...
To fill the hole in your soul
Theres gotta be rockn roll...
To fill the hole in your soul
Theres gotta be rockn roll...
To fill the hole in your soul
Theres gotta be rockn roll...
To fill the hole in your soul
Theres gotta be rockn roll...
To fill the hole in your soul
(fade)

song performed by by ABBA
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Good Friday Meditation

In Him are mirrored
All our failures
The pain of contrast
Leads to the final solution.

Injustice is man's weakness
Each new age invents new ways.
As God stood among them
His challenge, was too great.

So today beneath the stairs
Their game took new meaning
The King is crowned
By men outside 'Torah'.

Darkness that leads to death
Overshadows the sun
The winding stair,
That leads to so much pain.

Yet the pain of betrayal
Is deeper than the wounds
That ooze and drip
Red puddle forming droplets.

The gate is open, the way is set
Pass the traders,
Who yesterday,
Sought your custom

Around about the voices cry
The telling clink of money
The smell of fresh baked bread
Normality goes on without pausing.

Somewhere on the fringe
The water seller waits
The thirsty crowd
Will make his day.

The contrast of compassion
The soldiers cursed by the crowd
The victims cursed by the soldiers
All are cursed by the act.

Here is the holocaust
The murderer, and rapist
The thief, the scum of humanity
Bound in this one act of shame.

The darkness settles
The rain cannot wash this moment
From the pages of man's history
Cannot expunge our failure.

That will only be explained
Lifted from the dirt
Dealt with in full
On Sunday.

poem by James Tipp
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