On Terrorism
A bestial sport that erases,
The names of men from the book,
Of creatures fair and courteous;
Brutalizing into the savage beasts.
A black, heinous, sable spot,
On the beauteous countenance,
Of humanity, making appearance,
Frightening of atrocious cannibals,
Of those who shudder not least,
At committing the murderous game.
They find profuse panic pleasure,
In licking warm trickling blood,
Cutting throats, perforating chests,
Sucking marrowed bones, eating flesh.
How proud are they of wearing dress,
Stained with coagulated paint,
Escaping from the temporal rules,
They know not, they are not afar,
From the eternal penalizing,
Laws of inevitable fair justice.
They harm no one, but themselves,
By heaping up terrific perditions,
Upon their too fragile backs,
Rashly obey the Perfidious Friend.
Their minds are too weak to perceive,
The catastrophe they are to face,
The fiery fangs, the clutchy claws
How anxiously quiver to devour,
To feast upon them unendingly.
For ransom they are to be condemned,
To the torturous infernal lands,
Under the huge burning blocks,
Chained with the slings of hot iron,
Without an end; Ah! Without an end.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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On The War
The war, and exhibition of human shreds,
A show of skulls, flesh, blood and bones,
A bestial game, turning men into beasts,
And abhorrent spot on the fair forehead,
A dance of death with the exploding,
Music of blasts and thundering of canons,
For fond glories, and vain victories,
For a piece of land or contradicting creed.
A field where aggression pretends righteous,
Where Carnage and Greed the twin sisters,
Always indiscriminate to false or fair,
Ravage about with roaring howls,
Upon the hapless weak innocence,
Who being offended vainly defends.
Oh Man!
Change not the world into inferno,
Forbear patiently the existence,
Of fellows infesting upon the Earth,
Intrude no the limits of liberty,
Fixed to breath with solace and ease,
For tactics are ripe to the culmination,
Slight recklessness might result in havoc,
Leaving behind neither winner nor loser.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Blood Stained
Atrocities
Made every day
Religiously
Their sins
They hide
Can never disguise
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained deeds
Blood stained lies
They wage their wars
Such profiteers
Will nail us all
Their crimes
Concealed
Despicably reveal
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained weapons
Blood stained lies
They fire at will
Intent to kill
They have no conscience
They have no conscience
Ethnic cleansing nothing more!
Blood of nations blood of war
Turn blind eyes
From all your crimes
You bare our souls
Show no remorse
You cannot wash
The bloodstains off
They turn their backs
While others
Commit grisly acts
Were scared
For life
By politicians greedy
Blood stained hands
Blood stained times
Blood stained weapons
Blood stained crimes
Blood stained lands
Blood stained minds
Blood stained deeds
Blood stained lies
And while such predators
Stalk this earth
Disguised as saints
They kill our faith
Obsessed by greed
Lying through their teeth
They cannot wash
The blood stains off
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A judge that you must know
He wears a black robe
To cover his burning heart
It is burning to
The fires of justice
He carries a hammer
Of wood
Not steel
Not iron
It cannot really kill
It is only for the keeping of
Peace and order
To all men
Who want to listen to
Reason
To all those who believe
That conflicts can
Be resolved
In calm dispositions
He sits on his bench
His eyes
Weighing
The evidence on
Fair scales of justice
There shall be no bias
There shall be no prejudice
After a hearing
After a patient listening
This man of proven
Competence, possessing
Integrity, probity of mind,
And independence in thought
Lets the hammer fall
Wealth may shift
Liberties may be lost
Properties forfeited
Positions lost
Litigations end
The guilty is sent to prison
The innocent is set free
Those who have less in life
Shall have more in law
Justitia nemini neganda est
Justice is to be denied to none.
And justice shall have been rendered
This is the judge that I want you to know
He carries no gun no bodyguards to
Secure his life, not much money to
Buy him his flashy car or build his mansion
No large sums in secret accounts
No free vacations to the Bahamas Islands
No free meals no free plane tickets
He is rich with justice he breathes justice
His every atom in his body embodies
Justice and the fair rules of this eternal quest
Justice
equity
compassion
understanding
& above all
Love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Gone Fishing.
I do not want to be involved, at your grand table of feast`s...For I will not drink blood with such shallow of beautifully dressed Beasts....I want no place where this meal be served....For I find all the vanity involved, to be absurd..
Your wills for ways in which that you think,
to me, a pathetic own worst enemy philosophy, in your sea of vanity you deserve to sink.
Governed by rules, the majority need be,
but in these laws dictated.please ffs do not include me.
All treated as equal? ...simply for ease of the rule,
is not fair to one or everyone, the clever.... or at least the fool.
poem by James Urwin
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On Slaughtering
I claim not, fair or unfair,
But tell you, what I did see,
On the chicken slaughterer’s shop
When I ordered for the one.
They were numerous,
Moving and clucking,
Soft, white and vigorous,
Unaware to the death approaching,
For they were to be dined.
A man callous faced,
Clad in dress blood stained,
Caught one from the wings,
Pressed legs with a clumsy foot,
Wrenching neck, stifled throat,
With the thumb nail.
With a heart hardened by practice,
A long sharp knife, moved crosswise
Blood thick, red and warm,
Welling out from the cut,
Sprinkled staining the dress more.
It uttered not a sound, a cry of pain
As we do, when crushed,
Under the feet of heavy woe.
For we have tongue, voice and wisdom,
But they not.
Throbbing a little became still,
Cutting off legs, he ripped up,
Fluffy soft, feathery cloak.
A thing alive a moment ago,
Was lying lifeless to be served.
Then gutting out entrails,
He made pieces eight,
With a chopper sharp.
Who knows life and death,
Are cousins, close and intimate,
Who knows equal are the pangs,
Of death to great and small.
On eating meet and being fierce,
O man! Detest not the animals,
You too are found of eating flesh,
But the difference is,
You eat spicy cooked,
And they bloody raw.
Be aware treat them with care,
Be loving, grateful and kind,
For they are the feeding servants,
Give you flesh and fur, milk and marrow,
And for the sake of yours,
Suffer painful agonizing death.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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A Ritual in the Dark
How I crave
Your fierce and tender love,
Claws digging deep enough
To draw my human blood,
To pierce my skin,
Little creature of the night
I've let you in
To feast upon my flesh,
Your heart on fire
As you claim my spirit as your own
In wild, untamed desire,
My flesh and bone
Are given you,
A human sacrifice,
My body on the pyre
Of your burning lust,
I give it all to you
When you abuse my trust,
It's what your savage gods require,
I have to now! I must!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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When the heaven burn
Puerile will the heaven will be
Under the influence of the consecrated one
Pain and suffering you will apprehend
Death wish had now been told
blood of the solemn father had been called
Blackest of all the catacombs
Darkness waiting to break lose
Making your history is so irritated
Feast to the holiest flesh
Malignant shall burn all your angels
Through the mind of the darkest age
Forgery you will receive ti heaven
Atrocious felon will hail
Degenerated blood drained
The thunder roar through the sky
Signaling the storm of the black hearts
Toxocariasis kills the earth
Souls are now in vain
Fiery death awaits you
When the heaven burn you'll see
poem by Louemile Escober
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A timeless message, A final lesson
Burning thy bridges—dost thou make you happy, my daughter?
When all is said and done, will you not be standing in a heaping pile
of ash and soot? Of the wreckage of a life once so well-lived;
I love you, my daughter—but I cannot stand by to see this:
You, clawing at the grains of society and tearing up the foothills of humanity
with your savage beauty and fiery intellect—
An intelligence that is aflame, my daughter,
but one that is no doubt channeled in anger & lust.
I tried to keep you safe from the evil of this world, my daughter,
however it sank into thy bones. —Where is the peace I patiently taught you
by example? —I see no signs of it in thy thrashing heart.
I ran out of ideas, my daughter, and now I am gone—
Yet you live on, in my footsteps, in my memory, bearing my name.
I hesitate to say: Make me proud. Although when you feel my love—
like a fulfilling contentment in your dreams—wake up with it in thy heart,
and be brave enough to keep it lit throughout the day.
And that, my daughter,
Is where you shall begin.
poem by Goldy Locks
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The Murder
One dark night a man with thick moustaches,
And bulky body, sable faced, smoking clay pipe,
Occupied my residential plot, a sheltering place
Which gained I with long labour and toil of life.
I indignantly did advance to get that released,
He rashly chased, pursued to my rented home.
I ran for life, to confine myself in a room dark;
But he being offended did not cease to chase,
And entered gushingly breaking the feeble door.
And I mustering up courage did get in hands,
A rusty blunt axe with a rough loose wooden haft,
And wielded thrice on his head bald and thick.
I could see through slits his black bleeding brain,
The seat where devilish devices were nourished.
Blood gurgled, splattered and spattered the floor,
Then threw I the corpse head long on the road.
All around I heard lamenting cries and wailings,
All they cursed and reproved for the deed I did,
I harrowed pale with moisty forehead waited,
With suspended thoughts for the catastrophe.
The men of law came, demanded gold to keep
Me spare from the clutchy gripping claws of law,
But none could I offer, they dragged me in streets,
All looked with disgust and eyes of repugnance.
I wished that the earth should gap to swallow soon.
They brought me instantly to the arena of justice,
The judge looked with annoyance at the plight,
From behind the unarranged high pile of record.
I was announced the worst in the world of crimes,
The capital infliction was poured upon my head.
And without delay I was dragged to the gallows,
With a sudden terrible jerk found myself hanging,
The painful lacerating cutting cord round the neck,
Made me woke, I thanked, praised to glorious God,
For I neither did kill a scamp nor a virtuous one,
It was the region of nightmare that I went through.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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On The Night
The beauteous bride dressed in black,
Whose fair forehead is adorned,
With a huge round piece of gold,
Glowing galaxies are fretted,
In the combed lustrous dark hair.
Always comes out after the sunset,
Walks behind the groom of day,
With modest gait, blushed shy face,
Exposing what revealing light conceals,
But hides the frail deeds of humanity.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Written for my Son ... at his First Putting on Breeches
WHAT is it our mamma's bewitches,
To plague us little boys with breeches ?
To tyrant Custom we must yield,
Whilst vanquish'd Reason flies the field.
Our legs must suffer by ligation,
To keep the blood from circulation ;
And then our feet, tho' young and tender,
We to the shoemaker's surrender ;
Who often makes our shoes so strait,
Our growing feet they cramp and fret ;
Whilst, with contrivance most profound,
Across our insteps we are bound ;
Which is the cause, I make no doubt,
Why thousands suffer in the gout.
Our wiser ancestors wore brogues,
Before the surgeons brib'd these rogues,
With narrow toes, and heels like pegs,
To help to make us break our legs.
Then, ere we know to use our fists,
Our mothers closely bind our wrists ;
And never think our cloaths are neat,
Till they're so tight we cannot eat.
And, to increase our other pains,
The hatband helps to cramp our brains.
The cravat finishes the work,
Like bowstring sent from the Grand Turk.
Thus dress, that should prolong our date,
Is made to hasten on our fate.
Fair privilege of nobler natures,
To be more plagu'd than other creatures !
The wild inhabitants of air
Are cloath'd by heav'n with wondrous care :
Their beauteous, well-compacted feathers
Are coats of mail against all weathers ;
Enamell'd, to delight the eye ;
Gay as the bow that decks the sky.
The beasts are cloath'd with beauteous skins :
The fishes arm'd with scales and fins ;
Whose lustre lends the sailor light,
When all the stars are hid in night.
O were our dress contriv'd like these,
For use, for ornament, and ease !
Man only seems to sorrow born,
Naked, defenceless, and forlorn.
Yet we have Reason to supply
What nature did to man deny :
Weak Viceroy ! Who thy pow'r will own,
When Custom has usurp'd thy throne ?
In vain did I appeal to thee,
Ere I would wear his livery ;
Who, in defiance of thy rules,
Delights to make us act like fools.
O'er human race the tyrant reigns,
And binds them in eternal chains.
We yield to his despotic sway,
The only monarch all obey.
poem by Mary Barber
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Tampering with Justice
Tampering with Justice
Is a fair-hair sport
Given to Muses, divinely
Inspired by Rockefeller
And Franklin Mint.
Justice is not for pro bono
Clients, that weasel a spot
On the docket using
The taxpayer’s pocket.
Justice blind?
Oh, no, she sees in
Green, and blood, and wine.
Tempered with hot-bellied
Cops, who strain to hold it back
The tide of human waste or is it more
Like a boiling pot no one bothered to wash?
Useless to try –
Until a jaded eye says enough –
And the hand comes out of a
Piss-born pocket.
poem by Charlotte Ballard
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Courante Monsieur
That frown, Aminta, now hath drown'd
Thy bright front's pow'r, and crown'd
Me that was bound.
No, no, deceived cruel, no!
Love's fiery darts,
Till tipt with kisses, never kindle hearts.
Adieu, weak beauteous tyrant, see!
Thy angry flames meant me,
Retort on thee:
For know, it is decreed, proud fair,
I ne'r must dye
By any scorching, but a melting, eye.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Satiety
Fatigued..
This moment..
Golden jubilee carrying on to Diamond
Wheeling, rolling pain, pleasure, pain, pleasure
Yes
Treasured life measured of pain and pleasure
Fatigued
Uncertainty? yes
Bloody plexus, pain-pleasure nexus
Sixtyplus terrified
White and black, bright and dark..
Yes
God is fair, unfair
Enough, enough
Yet just one wish
Just enough to retire eternal
Only in fair God
poem by Indira Renganathan
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To look across at Moira gives me pleasure
To look across at Moira gives me pleasure.
She has a red tape measure.
Her dress is black and all the workroom's dreary,
And I am weary.
But that's like blood—like a thin blood stream trickling
Like a fire quickening.
It's Revolution. Ohé, I take pleasure
In Moira's red tape measure.
poem by Lesbia Harford
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Appear This Way
To appear this way returns pleasure,
House this treasure in the gaps
That open up along the way and to this day.
Mighty winds may let us fall from pleasure,
Calling the fairies to do their industry
On the living, on the fair and sane and pleasured.
These common creatures find happiness
Like us, the ones who are proud and efficient
In the ways of men, properties are like dreams.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Justice & The Fair
It is fair to be born into wealth
But unfair for wealth to be born upon
It is fair to rob the poor of their sweat back
But unfair to rob the rich of their nail clippings
Ive read my books of the church and state
They can kill when backs upon them are turned
But to kill in their faces is treason
You could say, I can say I am for the underdog
The poor man hurting, the good man slaving
I am against the rich man sneaking the bad man beating
But congress is deaf to unwarrented please
Against their fair weather friends and deep pockets
The president a marionette on his dirty knees
In shadows I have dwelt revealing never concealing light
In light I have been accused and let loose
Pitied and despised by the fickle eyes of men
Profit turning business purpose is proper
Success is measured in the displacement of gold
Government succeeds in the silence of its masses
A man succeeds in his love or power
The more sacraficed the more honor, they say
First the lives, then maybe the ransom payed
Hitler and Stalin hated conscience thought and justice
The conservatives and liberals seem to be the same
Rebel, rebel, boycott, and rebel, burn for rebeling
Life I have been told since I was young, by teachers
Is not fair though justice we are told to follow
Those who can adapt to our created enviroment
Of justice's rules, though injust, often imagined
For a sinlge groups personnal aims and claims
Survive, thrive, and rule as alpha male dog kings
Even though men died for the people vs. the fuedal
And those unadaptable to scheming, though they be just
They the bodies given for glory, they the blood of freedom
Are seldomn immortalized in bronze, stone, or paper
Nor simply revered nor remembered well as the tyrannical
I want justice to be fair and injustice to be out dated
We shall see, shall we see
Though no one can make me free except me
poem by Vincent Cibelli
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Confined Love
Some man unworthy to be possessor
Of old or new love, himself being false or weak,
Thought his pain and shame would be lesser,
If on womankind he might his anger wreak;
And thence a law did grow,
One might but one man know;
But are other creatures so?
Are sun, moon, or stars by law forbidden
To smile where they list, or lend away their light?
Are birds divorced or are they chidden
If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a night?
Beasts do no jointures lose
Though they new lovers choose;
But we are made worse than those.
Who e'er rigg'd fair ships to lie in harbours,
And not to seek lands, or not to deal with all?
Or built fair houses, set trees, and arbours,
Only to lock up, or else to let them fall?
Good is not good, unless
A thousand it possess,
But doth waste with greediness.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Eros
Why hast thou nothing in thy face?
Thou idol of the human race,
Thou tyrant of the human heart,
The flower of lovely youth that art;
Yea, and that standest in thy youth
An image of eternal Truth,
With thy exuberant flesh so fair,
That only Pheidias might compare,
Ere from his chaste marmoreal form
Time had decayed the colours warm;
Like to his gods in thy proud dress,
Thy starry sheen of nakedness.
Surely thy body is thy mind,
For in thy face is nought to find,
Only thy soft unchristen’d smile,
That shadows neither love nor guile,
But shameless will and power immense,
In secret sensuous innocence.
O king of joy, what is thy thought?
I dream thou knowest it is nought,
And wouldst in darkness come, but thou
Makest the light where’er thou go.
Ah yet no victim of thy grace,
None who e’er long’d for thy embrace,
Hath cared to look upon thy face.
poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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Albert's Dry Bones
My ship reached your lush and comforting shore,
But my flesh had no more left than dry bones.
And these bones could remember no more
The warm breezes that now gave unheard moans.
But GOD can make these dry bones live,
As Ezekiel saw in Babylon one airy day.
And my dry bones seek for GOD to give
A body divine in which they desire to stay,
And roam the mountains that cool the air,
Collecting fruit so lavish and so ripe.
With clear eyes to enjoy a view lovely and fair,
I inhabit a world of freshness and beauty of every type.
So dry bones no more, by Omnipotence’s grace,
Nature’s bliss I now see well face to face.
BIBLE REF. – Phil.3: 9-13 and also Psa.34: 20
poem by Albert Price
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