Camps Of War
Going to the camps and wars is like a frightening message,
One kept the message of goodness in the heart of reality.
Blind and bored, the camps are fighting the houses of fire,
Lulling the shouting and collapsing the mastered shelves of books,
Robust from the fires of a bygone generation.
Reading claimed a fire and a horse to ride on,
Internal anxiety has alarmed, and writing is episodic.
Losing the ample time is like drizzling with rain,
The wars of a day are like the water of tomorrow,
A triple gesture rounds up the number of the raindrops.
Camps are like cigars to some of us, for some they repel,
And yet they attract.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
Papa Legba
Youll be, hmm-hmm-hmm-hmm, magnet for money
Youll be, mm-mm-mm-mm, magnet for love
Youll feel, hmm, light in your body
Now Im gonna say, gonna say these words:
Rompiendo la monotonia del tiempo
Rompiendo la monotonia del tiempo
It might hmm-mmm-mm-mm...it might rain money
It might hm-hi-hi-hi...it might rain fire
Now Im gonna call,
Gonna call on legba.
Get yourself a sign
Get your love and desire.
Rompiendo la monotonia del tiempo
Rompiendo la monotonia del tiempou
Papa legba,
Come and open the gate.
Papa legba,
To the city of camps.
Now, were your children
Come and ride your horse
In the night
In the night
Come and ride your horse
There is a queen
Of six sevens and nines
Dust in your garden
Poison in your mind
There is a king
That will steal your soul
Dint let him catch you,
Dont let him get control.
Rompiendo la monotonia del tiempo
Rompiendo la monotonia del tiempo
Papa legba,
Come and open the gate
Papa legba,
To the city of camps
Now, were your children
Come and ride your horse
In the night
In the night, come and ride your horse
In the night
In the night, come and ride your horse
In the night
In the night, come and ride your horse
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Next Poem In The Prison
The seed of war grows well,
On the farm of hatred;
I abhor wars,
Though my victory be certain;
I abhor enforced exodus,
And the camps too,
The camps peep out of my eyes,
I am in search of
Absolute peace and liberty,
My search winks at me.
I am with peace,
And my fate is isolation,
I shall write,
The next poem in the prison.
(Written by Jawaaz Jafri Translated by Muhammad Shanazar)
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Fema Or Anathema?
Secret detention camps made public
Fed touts “It’s for their own good”
They ready for some gone anarchic
Prepare a bitter stew of wormwood
http: //www.prisonplanet.com/new-legislation-authorizes -fema-camps-in-us.html
Rayluc
poem by Ray Lucero
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Oh, how I love the Earth and everything in it, life and death. And men. One can think of nothing finer, or nicer, than men their wars, their concentration camps, their justice.
quote by Marcel Ayme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't, Don't Appear to Me
Don't, Don't Appear to Me
no, you are not appearing
i would not take it
not with sanity
between the devils and god
there has always been
a sea of illusions
that spawn blood
thick as the dead
at Hitler's camps
Spanish Inquisitions
the Great Wall
Great Pyramid
Hiroshima, Nagasaki
and all the religious wars
that spanned the East and West
i have given up
and have decided
to crawl back to the time
when the first men
decided to try you out
shouting to waterfall
singing to the moon
crying to the heavens
and zooming in on zero thought
in cavernous caves
that resonated
with each of their breaths,
water from brooks
taking echoes as your love notes
i am satisfied though
stressed as i have been
in trying to locate you
an ancient man i became
the world starts all anew
for me and my Great One
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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True Friends
I love walking in rain,
Then none knows,
I'm shading tears!
Rain's my true friend,
Because it take away my shame.
For sure, for trust,
Frienfships require real effort,
When everyone of us 's busy,
Simple message reminds me,
Am not forgotten.
Only rain ever says this,
In a cyclone of winter-summer.
Standing on a platform,
Of sincerity,
Spending life with who maketh thee
Happy, is good
Than, who thy hadst to impress,
So, fringe thine self with,
Those who know who thy worth is.
Only rain ever does this,
After my summer camps.
Need not too many people,
To see a happy sun rise,
Jus' few real ones,
Who appreciate thee,
Exactly for who you are!
And only rain ever did this,
That time of thirst.
poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester
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The Tub Of Water
By the tub of water stands an object too frightening,
The steel dagger awaits bloody ruin from the majesty of evil;
Into the place we surrender our will to the enormity of disgust,
In this place of ruin we see everyday objects become murderous.
To the touch it seems a murder has been committed,
Blood is desired beyond the mirrors, beyond us.
I heard practically no sound, so astonished by the silence
I carried by own living body to the realm of the other side.
Camps of ruin, camps of blood were before me,
Antagonizing my brain and mind, my guts and feeling.
The tub of water vanished and became a tub of horror -
A monstrous man pushed up, with bloody wounds
And too many gashes to the skin, ripping apart now.
I had to disgust itself with my action,
I had to discuss with him his fate,
The fate I gave him, I never forgave him,
I hated his being with the dagger to release
Him, and me from the clutches of horror and blood.
The dagger is enough, it is enough
To employ in reducing the man,
The man who is now dead from the gashes,
The ones fresh from my dagger, the pouring blood
Is astounding, and filling the tub of water.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Spring and summer 1942 was probably the worst period of internal terror in Slovakia. It was also the time of mass deportation of Slovak Jews to the extermination camps in Poland.
quote by Alexander Dubcek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hush'd Be The Camps To-day
HUSH'D be the camps to-day;
And, soldiers, let us drape our war-worn weapons;
And each with musing soul retire, to celebrate,
Our dear commander's death.
No more for him life's stormy conflicts;
Nor victory, nor defeat--no more time's dark events,
Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.
But sing, poet, in our name;
Sing of the love we bore him--because you, dweller in camps, know it
truly.
As they invault the coffin there; 10
Sing--as they close the doors of earth upon him--one verse,
For the heavy hearts of soldiers.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Hush'd Be the Camps Today
Hush'd be the camps today,
And soldiers let us drape our war-worn weapons,
And each with musing soul retire to celebrate,
Our dear commander's death.
No more for him life's stormy conflicts,
Nor victory, nor defeat--no more time's dark events,
Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.
But sing poet in our name,
Sing of the love we bore him--because you, dweller in camps, know it truly.
As they invault the coffin there,
Sing--as they close the doors of earth upon him--one verse,
For the heavy hearts of soldiers.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Camps Of Green
NOT alone those camps of white, O soldiers,
When, as order'd forward, after a long march,
Footsore and weary, soon as the light lessen'd, we halted for the
night;
Some of us so fatigued, carrying the gun and knapsack, dropping
asleep in our tracks;
Others pitching the little tents, and the fires lit up began to
sparkle;
Outposts of pickets posted, surrounding, alert through the dark,
And a word provided for countersign, careful for safety;
Till to the call of the drummers at daybreak loudly beating the
drums,
We rose up refresh'd, the night and sleep pass'd over, and resumed
our journey,
Or proceeded to battle. 10
Lo! the camps of the tents of green,
Which the days of peace keep filling, and the days of war keep
filling,
With a mystic army, (is it too order'd forward? is it too only
halting awhile,
Till night and sleep pass over?)
Now in those camps of green--in their tents dotting the world;
In the parents, children, husbands, wives, in them--in the old and
young,
Sleeping under the sunlight, sleeping under the moonlight, content
and silent there at last,
Behold the mighty bivouac-field, and waiting-camp of all,
Of corps and generals all, and the President over the corps and
generals all,
And of each of us, O soldiers, and of each and all in the ranks we
fought, 20
(There without hatred we shall all meet.)
For presently, O soldiers, we too camp in our place in the bivouac-
camps of green;
But we need not provide for outposts, nor word for the countersign,
Nor drummer to beat the morning drum.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Strange Fire
I come to you with strange fire
I make an offering of love
The incense of my soul is burned
By the fire in my blood
I come with a softer answer
To the questions that lie in your path
I want to harbor you from the anger
Find a refuge from the wrath
This is a message
A message of love
Love that moves from the inside out
Love that never grows tired
I come to you with strange fire
Fire
Mercenaries of the shrine
Now who are you to speak for god
With haughty eyes and lying tongues
And hands that shed innocent blood
Now who delivered you the power
To interpret calvary
You gamble away our freedom
To gain your own authority
Find another state of mind
You know its time we all learned
To grab hold
Strange fire burns
With the motion of love
Fire
Fire
When you learn to love yourself
You will dissolve all the stones that are cast
Now you will learn to burn the icing sky
To melt the waxen mask
I said to have the gift of true release
This is a peace that will take you higher
Oh I come to you with my offering
I bring you strange fire
This is a message
A message of love
Love that moves from the inside out
Love that never grows tired
I come to you with strange fire
Fire
Fire
I come to you with strange fire
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words Of Peace
Peace had come, to arouse feelings with emotions,
Gathering a desperate courage was ideal for peace.
He observed the sails flapped more sensibly with clothes,
By the intensity of the weather of the tempest, a system.
You are the finest! Thinking of reading, the finest points
Are mastered by the brain and heart, like a conscience
That inhabits the room, to be filled with thoughts.
One finds words that deliver speeches, yet speech is compact
And peace has come, and peace will divide the masses
Into camps, so great is one and so awful is the other.
poem by Naveed Akram
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I live in the Managerial Age, in a world of "Admin." The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid "dens of crime" that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps. In those we see its final result. But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voices. Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the office of a thoroughly nasty business concern.
quote by C.S. Lewis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only Of A Better Life
Just to keep on living from day to day
Most people are brave in their own sort of way
Just hanging in there when the going is tough
Survival for some it is quite hard enough
Millions of people by life knocked about
Living in war zones and Lands ravaged by drought
Millions sleep rough under the open sky
Who said success is there for those who try?
In refugee camps millions of refugees
Waiting for placements in Lands overseas
Yet in refugee camps they are destined for to stay
With their daydreams of a better life far away
Hunger and racism erodes their self esteem
Only of a better life they can dream.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Western Camps
THREE men stood with their glasses lifted,
Night was around them and flaring lamps:
'Here's to the tried and true and sifted;
Here's to the flotsam tossed and drifted;
Here's to the men in the Outcast-camps,
'Stars that fall are their lot for ever;
Lights that perish and stars that fall;
Fighting Fate with a brave heart ever —
Drifting leaves on a wayward river —
Men for ever in spite of all.
'Here's to the gallant souls defeated;
Here's to the strong souls under-trod,
Hope-abandoned and mirage-cheated —
And yet, by right of their failure, seated
Somewhere close to the feet of God.
'Here's to the heart that braves undaunted
Toil and trouble for home and wife;
Here's to the spirit mocked and taunted;
Here's to the memory, sorrow-haunted;
Here's to the soul grown sick of life.
'Drink to the man at the camp-fire sitting;
Drink to his mistress of long ago;
Well — 'twere well — and the time were fitting,
If, in the shades of the firelight flitting,
She should come with her eyes aglow.
'Drink to the purpose, iron, oaken,
Brought to nought by a wanton's guile;
Drink to men with an old love-token
Somewhere close to their brave hearts broken;
Drink to the martyred souls that smile.
'Drink to courage and all fine daring —
Spirit trampling the flesh beneath;
Drink to the reckless heart uncaring;
Drink to mates at the last pinch sharing
Their little all in the face of death.
'Last toast this . . . may their hearts discover,
On every track that the outcast tramps,
A friend in need, and at need a lover,
Green grass around them and kind stars over,
And dreams of peace in their Western Camps.'
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Send A Message
In a line of fire I stand and wait for you, I cant hold out for too long
Searchin every part of me for a sign, Im in the middle of a storm
I keep hopin, keep on dreamin, somehow youll get through to me
So I reach across the silence, in the air, I keep hopin for a sound
Just a word or two is all I need, how can I bring you back around
Can you hear me, can I touch you, show me the way to your heart
Chorus:
Send a message - send me a message tonight
Send a message - in my dreams you are never out of sight
Send a message - let me stand in your light, just send me a message
In my dark and lonely night I look for you, wont you save me from myself
When my senses melt away you will be here and I wont need nobody else
I cant hold back, I wont fight it, roll back this stone from my heart
Send a message - send me a message tonight
Send a message - in my dreams you are never out of sight
Send a message - let me stand in your light, just send me a message
Everything you are (everything you are)
Means everything to me (means everything to me)
I will wait for you (I will wait)
Time is all we need (is all)
(guitar solo)
I keep hopin, keep on dreamin, somehow youll get through to me
Send a message - send me a message tonight
Send a message - in my dreams you are never out of sight
Send a message - let me stand in your light, just send me a message
(send a, send a, send a, send a, send a, send a) Im ready, I am ready
Send a, send a
Send me a, me a
Send a, send a...
song performed by by Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Moral Civilized World
When a despicable tyrant
regime proudly slaughters
defenseless innocent women
children in the city streets
brutally rounds them up
in fear strike night ships
them off in bolted cattle wagons
to slave labour genocide camps
brands their living human flesh
systematically murders innocent millions
in calculated inhuman slave starved
research exterminations experiments.
It is time for a moral;
educated civilized world;
to take opposing action;
but the victorious allies;
will hide shocking facts;
from the wartime public;
deny previous knowledge;
you must understand;
those drafted Judas trains;
desperately needed resources;
could be carrying munitions;
weapons of axis total war;
taking troops to the front;
costing allied combatant lives;
fanatical disciplined desperate;
Nazis will cunningly break out;
at the decisive Battle of Bulge;
could even now win world war.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
See also The Holocaust Files!
To commence the 'Final solution', it was decided at The Wannsee Conference, on January 20 1942, to transport all Jews in German occupied countries, to concentration camps in Poland and Germany. When prisoners could no longer work, they were executed in extermination camps in Poland, like Belzec, Chelmno, Majdanek, Sobibor, Treblinka and most feared of all Auschwitz II – Birkenau.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Race To The Fire
(dieter bohlen)
Producers for bonnie: dieter bohlen & luis rodriguez
Race to the fire
All the wheels are turning
All alone just in a lonely world
Yeah baby
Maybe love is a lonely number
Cant you hear the wheels of thunder
Theyre driving deep into your heart
Feelings theyll never be torn apart
Maybe hes the man behind the wire
Hes living in a world of fire
He sailed his ship alone
Theres a heart but theres no home
*race to the fire
All the wheels are turning
All alone just in a lonely world
Till the end of the time
Hes fighting the crime
Thats no lie, my baby
**race to the fire
To the end of eden
To the city of the lost and found
He is too proud to cry
Or too live with a lie
Take him seriously, baby
** * race to the fire (fire)
Race to the fire (fire)
Race to the fire
Hes fighting for your rights
Race to the fire
Race to the fire (fire)
Race to the fire (fire)
Only the strong survive
Maybe hes goin through the motions
Theres a shadow of devotion
Its showin his destiny
One minute past eternity
Oh maybe good things dont last forever
Hes living just now or never
No mountain is high enough
Times are getting really tough
(* repeat)
(* * repeat)
(* * *repeat)
Race to the fire
Fighting for your rights
Race to the fire
Time is on his side
Race to the fire
Two hearts collide
Race to the fire
There is no crime
(* repeat)
Race to the fire
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lights of Cobb & Co.
Fire lighted; on the table a meal for sleepy men;
A lantern in the stable; a jingle now and then;
The mail-coach looming darkly by light on moon and star;
The growl of sleepy voices; a candle in the bar;
A stumble in the passage of folk with wits abroad;
A swear-word from a bedroom---the shout of "All aboard!"
"Tekh tehk! Git-up!" "Hold fast, there!" and down the range we go;
Five hundred miles of scattered camps will watch for Cobb and Co.
Old coaching towns already decaying for their sins;
Uncounted "Half-way Houses," and scores of "Ten-Mile Inns;"
The riders from the stations by lonely granite peaks;
The black-boy for the shepherds on sheep and cattle creeks;
The roaring camps of Gulgong, and many a Digger’s Rest;"
The diggers on the Lachlan; the huts of Farthest West;
Some twenty thousand exiles who sailed for weal or woe---
The bravest hearts of twenty lands will wait for Cobb and Co.
The morning star has vanished, the frost and fog are gone.
In one of those grand mornings which but on mountains dawn;
A flask of friendly whisky---each other’s hopes we share---
And throw our top-coats open to drink the mountain air.
The roads are rare to travel, and life seems all complete;
The grind of wheels on gravel, the trop of horses’ feet,
The trot, trot, trot and canter, as down the spur we go---
The green sweeps to horizons blue that call for Cobb and Co.
We take a bright girl actress through western dust and damps,
To bear the home-world message, and sing for sinful camps,
To stir our hearts and break them, wind hearts that hope and ache---
(Ah! When she thinks again of these her own must nearly break!)
Five miles this side of the gold-field, a loud, triumphant shout:
Five hundred cheering diggers have snatched the horses out:
With "Auld Lang Syne" in chorus, through roaring camp they go
That cheer for her, and cheer for Home, and cheer for Cobb and Co.
Three lamps above the ridges and gorges dark and deep,
A flash on sandstone cuttings where sheer the sidlings sweep,
A flash on shrouded wagons, on water ghastly white;
Weird brush and scattered remnants of "rushes in the night;"
Across the swollen river a flash beyond the ford:
Ride hard to warn the driver! He’s drunk or mad, good Lord!
But on the bank to westward a broad and cheerful glow---
New camps extend across the plains new routes for Cobb and Co.
Swift scramble up the sidling where teams climb inch by inch;
Pause, bird-like, on the summit--then breakneck down the pinch;
By clear, ridge-country rivers, and gaps where tracks run high,
Where waits the lonely horseman, cut clear against the sky;
Past haunted half-way houses--where convicts made the bricks---
Scrub-yards and new bark shanties, we dash with five and six;
Through stringy-bark and blue-gum, and box and pine we go---
A hundred miles shall see to-night the lights of Cobb and Co!
poem by Henry Lawson
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