Bloodless raptors over north Waziristan
The unpardonable slaughtering of
family and faith, the vital birthstones of
olive and roseate,
hallowed in the humble hands of the
shepherd of North Waziristan,
covered in harsh layers of foreign dirt by
ambivalent charcoal cowboys.
Maneuvering through untamed mountainous terrain
theses bloodless birds of prey,
Mar's and Kali's hellish effigies of the eagle,
operate their heinous missions of indiscriminate death and paralysis
from remote nests.
Steel wing raptors fly above sovereign boarders and established law
raining sterling flames with impersonal virtual ease
guffawing as the poor shattered squirter runs for cover,
relishing every distant bugsplat.
Secluded in their holes, the white livered mice shirk responsibility,
offering local state officials promises of treasury filled peanut shells
in exchange for staking claim to these armchair massacres.
Our own inhumane cowardice birthing vengeful martyrs
seeking an equal blind eye, keeping the sterile, desensitized
capital driven war machine alive
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Homeland Security Distributes Excess and Inequity
Home land security distributing
Excess and inequity
dismantling democracy
Stagnant low wage occupations
fueling unsteady flow of steadfast rage
from mobilizing worldwide occupants.
Civilian camps assembled without fear
in the face of the machine,
stripped of civil rights,
democratic duty maligned by
Murdoch's corporate media bankroll
sentinels of the elite sent to dismantle
protecting the sacred name of state
Riot squads
tear gas pepper spray
peaceful eyes peppered
by patriotic toxin
sounding sirens
police state planet tocsin
voting booths hijacked
by an ambivalent league of
charcoal cowboys
children burning
ants upon the hill
bodies brutalized by
cruel unusual currents
high-voltage violence
people provoked from their homes
cattle inhumane prodded in the streets
the catalyst dies silent
anonymous asphyxia in
the subconscious night
hand of the affluent assassin
pulling petrol palaces
purple purse strings
oil can cover up leaks
upon the crime scene
chalk outlines smudged clean
forensic evidence made fingerprint free
Homeland security has little-nothing
to do with preserving the safety
of our homes you me or our
friends lovers neighbors family
to keep secure the imperial misers
gun barrel procurement of
gold and global power
to uphold poverty and greed
hatred and ignorance
at home and import abroad
American security translates to mere mammon bondage
binding the poor to the dirt
the dead to the earth
and blind souls to the
all consuming shovel
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ill Take The Rain
The rain came down
The rain came down
The rain came down on me.
The wind blew strong
The summer song
Fades to memory
I knew you when
I loved you then
The summers young and helpless.
You laid me bare
You marked me there
The promises we made.
I used to think
As birds take wing
They sing through life so why cant we?
You cling to this
You claim your best
If this is what youre offering
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain.
The nighttime creases
Summer schemes
And stretches out to stay.
The sun shines down
You came around
You love easy days.
But now the sun,
The winters come.
I wanted just to say
That if I hold
Id hope youd fold
Open up inside, inside of me.
I used to think
As birds take wing
They sing through life so why cant we?
You cling to this
You claim your best
If this is what youre offering
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain.
This winter song
Ill sing along
Ive searched its still refrain
Ill walk alone
Ive given this, take wing
Celebrate the rain.
I used to think
As birds take wing
They sing through life so why cant we?
You cling to this
You claim your best
If this is what youre offering
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain
Ill take the rain.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Melancholy
My mother the cow who still feeds me now is being tortured
Her son the bull who the fields should plough is being slaughtered
The human child in the womb who is never born for being unwanted
Melancholy in the Age of Kali
Melancholy in the Age of Kali
Kali Kali
My mother, the earth, man treats like dirt, her resources being exhausted
Ant-like astronauts, of the human race, scratch and scar the moon's beautiful face
My brother, the sun, he still shines on
He'll continue to shine for some time to come
Melancholy in the Age of Kali
Melancholy in the Age of Kali
Kali Kali
Lamentation Lamentation Lamentation (repeat)
Heavenly Father still waters the grains
Seems like tears fall as it rains
Little boy blue come blow on your horn
The sheeps in the meadow the cows in the corn
Oh sweet friend of mine from an ancient nursery rhyme
From a distant land once upon a time
Melancholy in the Age of Kali
Melancholy in the Age of Kali
Kali Kali
song performed by by X-Ray Spex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Always Available
Some red dirt cowboys know how to cook beans
All red dirt cowboys know how to rope and tie
Some red dirt cowboys can even make a quilt
But one thing they won't ever do is say good-bye
So try to imagine life on the Oklahoma red plains
With early settlers making their dreams come true
Early red dirt cowboys had the best of all worlds
They were always available to love and protect you
poem by John McCornack
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Red Browed Finches
Red browed finches or red browed firetails two names they are known by
They like to live near cover where from bush to tree they fly
The reason they live near cover the well informed say
Is that they need places to hide in from bigger birds of prey.
Dark olive green in colour red eyebrows, red rump and olive tail
And with only minor differences between the female and the male
Their calls rather high pitched sound a bit like tizeee
Familiar to bushy places and birds one often see.
In a flask shaped nest of dried grass in a thorny bush the female her eggs lay
Six to seven or even eight eggs that look more white than gray
They breed from September to November in Australia in the south
And their young in December can be seen flying about.
They never seem to venture far from the cover of the trees
And they eat grass seeds and insects and sometimes berries and bees
With red eyebrows, red bills and red rumps and darkish olive green
Australia's red browed fnches by cover often seen.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lead Me On
Shoulder to the wheel
For someone elses selfish gain
Here there is no choosing
Working the clay
Wearing their anger like a ball and chain.
Fire in the field
Underneath a blazing sun
But soon the sun was faded
And freedom was a song
I heard them singing when the day was done
Singing to the holy one.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
Waiting for the train
Labelled with a golden star
Heavy hearted boarding
Whispers in the dark
Where are we going--is it very far?
Bitter cold terrain
Echoes of a slamming door
In chambers made for sleeping, forever
Voices like thunder in a mighty roar
Cry to the lord.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
Man hurts man
Time and time, time again
And we drown in the wake of our power
Somebody tell me why.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
Lead me on
Lead me on
To a place where the river runs
Into your keeping, oh.
Lead me on
Lead me on
The awaited deliverance
Comforts the seeking...lead on.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Dying Child
He could not die when trees were green,
For he loved the time too well.
His little hands, when flowers were seen,
Were held for the bluebell,
As he was carried o'er the green.
His eye glanced at the white-nosed bee;
He knew those children of the spring:
When he was well and on the lea
He held one in his hands to sing,
Which filled his heart with glee.
Infants, the children of the spring!
How can an infant die
When butterflies are on the wing,
Green grass, and such a sky?
How can they die at spring?
He held his hands for daisies white,
And then for violets blue,
And took them all to bed at night
That in the green fields grew,
As childhood's sweet delight.
And then he shut his little eyes,
And flowers would notice not;
Birds' nests and eggs caused no surprise,
He now no blossoms got;
They met with plaintive sighs.
When winter came and blasts did sigh,
And bare were plain and tree,
As he for ease in bed did lie
His soul seemed with the free,
He died so quietly.
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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While 45 of the 50 States have either a State constitutional amendment or a statute that preserves the current definition of marriage, left-wing activist judges and officials at the local levels have struck down State laws protecting marriage.
quote by John Boehner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When Cowboys Didnt Dance
(richie mcdonald/kyle green)
Seven hundred head of cattle on an old forgotten trail
Six cowboys and one old man in another day of hell
Chuckwagon lagging behind from the strain of a broken wheel
The only thing to look forward to was a campfire and a meal
Asleep beneath an open sky with just the stars above their heads
A saddle for a pillow and some sagebrush for a bed
Waking up tomorrow was merely down by chance
Back when the west was wild and cowboys didnt dance
When cowboys didnt dance
Didnt wear designer shirts
When their hearts were filled with memories
Their bodies filled with hurt
They would sit around the campfire and exchange a piercing glance
Back when the west was really wild and cowboys didnt dance
More coffee from an old tin cup, more sweat upon the brow
Another day of chasing that same old lonely cow
With every new horizon began a brand new day
Thirteen hundred miles to go as they slowly made their way
Across the plains of texas and through the colorado snow
Final destination, blackfoot, idaho
When cowboys didnt dance
Didnt wear designer shirts
When their hearts were filled with memories
Their bodies filled with hurt
They would sit around the campfire and exchange a piercing glance
Back when the west was really wild and cowboys didnt dance
When cowboys didnt dance
Didnt wear designer shirts
When their hearts were filled with memories
Their bodies filled with hurt
They would sit around the campfire and exchange a piercing glance
Back when the west was really wild and cowboys didnt dance
Seven hundred head of cattle on an old forgotten trail
Five cowboys and one old man in another day of hell
song performed by by Lonestar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By Demons Be Driven
Serving the faith
Abduction the oath
It lie in wait for the offering
Religion is old
For drawing the young
Purity withers and dies
Never return to the ones that provided
Children draining parents of will
I hold out my hand to bloodless child
I'm taken by the one I was saving
From death
(Chorus)
By demons be driven
Beckon the call
With decline in mind
End not far
We're left hanging alone here
He pulls us from nails
Shatters our bones
Leaving us crippled and strewn
Boiling my corpse in the blood of his children
Praying for his god to prevail
Burying us with loved ones
To sleep with shelled children of the sixth dimension
(Chorus)
song performed by by Pantera from Reinventing The Steel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Breath Of Death
Death is not death,
It is life without breath,
Life on earth is life that is blind,
Blinded by stress and the curse of time,
True life is life that remains untied,
Pure life is life that has honor and pride,
The cold breathe of death actually guilds,
It guilds to a place where darkness subsides,
Passed the shadow a secluded warmth is seen,
Benevolence and compassion becomes pristine,
The Floor is cover with clouds of gold,
An eternal joy that never grows old,
They wait for you to come alive,
Trumpets waiting for you to arrive,
Sitting there is the humble Lord,
Guarding the gates with his shield and sword,
All your loved ones and all you've known,
How can this love even be shown,
Reach out your heart and give him your hand,
There is nothing to fear so please understand,
He knows you believe but now you must try,
You must understand that to live you must die,
Yes, this death is death indeed,
A death of pain and an unheard plead.,
However this death is truly not death,
Only new life that lives without breath.
poem by Bradley Lomeli
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Paper Nest
Dementia begins. The ending starts.
Death had many names;
The mountain owls. They fly in flocks
and take prey diving on rabbits or great
bustards. Have you seen the courtship
display of bustards? They are heavy birds. Fly,
but also run very fast.
Soaring flight of eagle. Keen sight and a massive
hooked bill. Hawk takes prey by surprise.
Falcon catches prey from above.
I think water. Don't cry. Your son was
drowned in a tank when he was three. Head
down. We pulled him out after half-an-hour.
Brain damaged. He babbles now, lives a vegetable.
Neat. Death had many faces. You want her.
It will not come on asking. I think flames. We
must lock the house, and come out on skywalk.
poem by Satish Verma
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Cesarean Section
On a sunny day of Taurus
they cut her abdomen.
With stainless scalpels
the surgeons unlatched her uterus
and out of her slashed womb,
touching with their sterile gloves
the enigma of an enclosed but remote self,
they pulled out the boy crying,
covered with blood,
incised forever
with the trauma of a violent birth,
a ferocious portal to light,
a brutal entrance into the world
through the skillful horror
of a Caesarean section.
Many days passed since then
and they have grown wild,
like cranberries and black currants,
sprouting from an invisible umbilical cord
of drifting bond and unsevered lineage.
And while the untamed river
of memory flows,
somehow
he still remembers his birth
as a holographic record,
an engram in the brain cells,
wrapped in the charcoal void
of the mystery of being,
an approaching lullaby,
and the silence of
an unborn Mozart sonata.
poem by Paul Hartal
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The Two Birds
The eagle and the hawk
all dwell in the sky
and all fly from heights
but the eagle rules and the hawk follows.
Yet they are two birds
The owl and the dove
all fly in the sky
and all dwell in nests
but the dove carries blessings
and the owl carries curses.
yet they are two birds still.
The two birds!
pride and humility
all dwell in our hearts
and sleep in the warmth of our egos
but humility shines while pride fades
There two birds still
The two birds!
sin and salvation
all appear in the world's contest
show casing life and death
but salvation heals, sin kills
yet these are two birds
poem by Timothy muggaga
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Hes All Over Me
Chorus:
Hes all over me
And hes keeping me alive
Hes all over me
And hes keeping me alive
Hes all over me
And hes keeping me alive
I know he is keeping me alive
Hes keeping me aliveverse 1
Hes in my hands, hes in my feet
I can hardly keep my seat
Hes in my sprit, in my soul
I will never grow old
Hes in my heart, hes in my mind
Im glad that hes mine
Hes all over me, and hes keeping me alive
I know he is keeping me alive
Hes keeping me alive
Verse 2
Like the hebrew boys, thrown in the fiery furnace
Everybody thought it was over for them
But the lord brought them out on time
Hes the firm foundation
The God of all creation
Theres nothing that he wont do for you
If you trust him hell see you through
Chorus
Repeat verse 2
Chorus
Repeat verse 1
Hes on my right, hes on my left
Hes in my front and back
Hes over me and hes even by my side
Chorus
song performed by by Whitney Houston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Testament
The decomposing wall I see
That encompasses the long dead
Lies interspersed among the trees
Whose living, fingered roots are fed
with nourishment of sublimed faith.
I pause a moment…
Panning the surroundings I see
Row after row of unknown dead
Whose tombstones depict family trees
Whose living relatives are fed
The same promises of blind faith.
Why must I lament?
The brown withered leaves that I see
Wind-blown atop the buried dead
Should I mourn provenance: the trees?
Why then the promise that is fed:
Life after death by keeping faith.
A fool is content.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Beyond enemy lines
Above me there’s an onyx sky
and the tarry night is fading fast
and I hear the roar
of enemy armour
and the crunching of tracks
echoes and sound very
near to me.
An electronic signal rushes
thousands of kilometres far
and goes into a night
filled with bright white stars
like a lighting bolt
falling in a dark black sky
and branching out to where
it has to go
to a place where Jacaranda trees
stand in purple bloom.
I match my wits against my fate
and crawl deeper into cover
of a thorn bush
and gird my soul to face
the enemy in war
and we lay and wait
and there are three of us
against a horde of enemy armour.
The light of dawn is still grey
and they get very near
and it’s a thundering sound
when the first tanks
and armoured cars appear
like hungry dragons
coming to the feast.
I look up in an indigo sky
and eagles and vultures
bend down out of the sun
and descend in deadly haste
transforming into Cheetah
and Mirage fighter jets
and the radio
let me talk to them
and the end of life
and dire chaos
is unleashed unexpectedly.
Only the birds of prey
save me from the hate
of great steel monsters,
that is ready to squash and kill
and missile and rocket arrows
leap descending out of the air
and red and yellow flames appear.
After a while the planes of war
thunder away to the South
and the fire fades
and around us there are
upturned and destroyed wrecks
of man’s war machines
and a slaughtering of humans
and the smell of death
cuts right through my breath,
as if it wants to engulf
and I retch and feel inhuman
and my comrades smile bravely
and say very well done
and around me
all other life is gone,
but for the three of us.
poem by Gert Strydom
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1954
Then dirt scared me, because of the dirt
he had put on her face. And her training bra
scared me—the newspapers, morning and evening,
kept saying it, training bra,
as if the cups of it had been calling
the breasts up—he buried her in it,
perhaps he had never bothered to take it
off. They found her underpants
in a garbage can. And I feared the word
eczema, like my acne and like
the X in the paper which marked her body,
as if he had killed her for not being flawless.
I feared his name, Burton Abbott,
the first name that was a last name,
as if he were not someone specific.
It was nothing one could learn from his face.
His face was dull and ordinary,
it took away what I’d thought I could count on
about evil. He looked thin and lonely,
it was horrifying, he looked almost humble.
I felt awe that dirt was so impersonal,
and pity for the training bra,
pity and terror of eczema.
And I could not sit on my mother’s electric
blanket anymore, I began to have a
fear of electricity—
the good people, the parents, were going to
fry him to death. This was what
his parents had been telling us:
Burton Abbott, Burton Abbott,
death to the person, death to the home planet.
The worst thing was to think of her,
of what it had been to be her, alive,
to be walked, alive, into that cabin,
to look into those eyes, and see the human
Anonymous submission.
poem by Sharon Olds
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Xyz
Once was, never the better by worse -
Adopted by the attitude which is used by the rich -
Stones are stones, yet they carry gold -
Why do we exchange to letter the poor, poor -
Struggle becomes normal, rags dressed to be formal -
Food is the sacred passage whereby some have to survive -
That which is thrown away by you as useless -
Builds another mans house -
A home, protection for his family -
What will be the outcome, to standby to fly -
And the rest of the humans die -
Of hunger, starvation is an equations -
One does not equal the other -
Rich does not equal poor -
XYZ
Yet, without the poor you will be dead
poem by Unic Cjonr
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Song of snow ranges
Song of snow ranges
Far from home, towering peaks and white slopes,
I gaped as sun rays quietly danced on snow;
Folded hands piously as mountains prayed.
Some clouds glowing, in bluest sky did sail.
Sun had traced patterns, myriad shape and size.
Shaded my eyes, with my hand, feeling a bit blind.
The rays diffused as the sun slowly climbed;
A glimpse of folks, perhaps of an ancient tribe…
A raven perched on far off hallowed peak;
It didn't seem to move or open its beak.
Heavens must have opened up while I slept,
In white satin sheets was draped rough terrain.
It was still, till I heard temple bell ring,
Resonate through the contemplating hills.
Despite layers of clothes my skin felt cold,
For what I heard, had never been fore told.
Snow leopard stepped out of a crevice
Eyes on summit, whiskers with thin ice stiff.
Winter shimmered in a mantle pristine
Snow ranges sang of progress of pilgrims.
Snow still soft, rolled it globe like in my hands.
Far from home, I felt at peace with myself.
Went on my knees, softly started to sing
A long cherished family anthem and hymn.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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