The Exercise
One day in the lager
I saw a young and arrogant SS officer.
I was then a prisoner near Vienna,
In Strasshof an der Nordbahn,
Strasshof on the Northern Railway
In Southern Austria.
This haughty Schutstaffel (SS) man
Was dressed in a spiffy black uniform.
Under the eagled swastika symbol,
The insigne of the cross-boned skull,
Emblazed on his visor cap,
Stared menacingly at the world.
He wore his hat at a rakish angle
And in his right hand
He brandished a stick.
Like a conductor of an orchestra
He wielded the baton,
Entertaining himself jollily,
Using it to engage a dozen or so people
In military style drills.
He made them to crouch
And then to stand up together,
To squat and to rise,
To stoop and straighten up,
To bend their weary knees
And to crouch and stand
Time after time afresh.
The men and women, young and old,
Were exhausted and sick
And this Nazi officer forced them
To repeat the exercise
A hundred times over and over again.
He punished them
Because they dared to request
A break for rest.
I watched quietly the scene,
Standing adjacent to the wall of a barrack.
The SS man ignored my presence.
Although I was just a little boy,
He taught me an indelible lesson.
He gave me an edifying demonstration
Regarding the idea of man’s cruelty
To his fellow human beings.
Yet at the time
I just watched silently
The humiliating scene.
Stunned and dumbfounded,
I did not grasp its full meaning.
In the middle of the punished group
Was also my mother.
Gasping for air with her tired lungs
She crouched and straightened up
Along with the others.
I saw pride and dignity in her eyes;
Only her face was covered with tears.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Related quotes
Fate Hanged on a Hairbreadth
It was summer,1944.
The train stood at the railway station of Gyŏr,
halfway on the road
between Budapest and Vienna.
In the boxcars
there were over 3,000 passengers.
The Hungarian gendarmes squeezed
the deported men, women and children
like sardines into the wagons
and the prisoners were crying for help.
For the SS-Unterscharführer
assigned to the transport
it was just another job.
The corporal already directed
many similar trains to the east.
And those trains always went to the east
and to the same terminus.
However, this transport of deportees
was unlike the others.
The SS corporal made a fatal mistake
but the guards discovered this
only at the Slovakian border.
The train's number was not
on the list of transports
destined for Auschwitz.
The train stopped
at the Slovakian border.
Here the guards contacted
Colonel Adolf Eichmann by telephone
and informed him about the error.
Eichmann decided
that since the train traveled that far
it should continue to Auschwitz.
So the SS guards changed the serial number
of the train and replaced it with the number
of another train departing from Debrecen.
Thus, instead of the death camp
of Auschwitz-Birkenau
in Nazi occupied Poland,
the train from Debrecen
was sent to the distribution camp
of Strasshof in Austria.
As you see,
fate hanged in the war on a hairbreadth.
A freak of chance, a random accident,
an oversight of procedure,
or of a supposed algorithm,
could lead to arbitrary decisions
regarding the life or death of thousands.
Although Strasshof
was a brutal slave labor lager,
most people there,
about 14,000 of the 21,000 deportees,
survived the ordeal of the Holocaust.
poem by Paul Hartal
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I Watched
Pediatric E.R, R.I.P 11/5/09 (Volunteer work can be tough)
I watched…
A heartbreaking scene today
But I couldn’t take
my eyes away
I watched …
I feel shamed to say
I watched
a little girl die today
I watched …
an anguished EMT cry
I watched nurses drawn faces
I watched a little girl die
I watched …
Just outside the doors
The Frantic CPR applied
With frantic, futile force
I watched
Her mother fearfully enter the room
To be seated by her side
To share in her impending doom
I watched
A strange, unsettling scene
Upturned faces as if in prayer
hopefully watch the vitals screen
I watched
A life dissipate and fade
On a bed
That I had newly made
I watched…
At least a half hour they tried
With wondrous machines, marvelous medicines
Yet still, this little girl died
I watched…
Then I heard a small whimpering cry!
But It was only the mother
As she saw her child die
I watched…
Her arms outspread, her mom at her side
Young staring eyes so angelicly appealing
I watched, sadly watched….then I also cried.
poem by David Whalen
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God is in the banana skin...
God, say those who learn of Him,
Is eager to be our teacher…
who would love to sit quietly beside us,
like the mother which He also is,
singing the meaning of the simplest words,
the words that we’ll most need..
but if we’re the scourge of the classroom…
He’ll not hesitate to use full physical correction – though
He will start small, in hope we take the hint..
but if we still resist, He's not beyond
thrashing us within an inch of our sad life,
until we're on our knees and begging to be taught...
and if our pride still needs to take a fall,
to restore our humane self –
then God is in
the banana skin..
He’s ruthless in His love…
there is no depth to which He’ll rise
to lower heaven to earthly eyes…
and since He is all women too,
the arts of flirtation are fully in His power…
He’ll not answer letters; not turn up on time;
not be taken your advantage of…
change His appearance; or be seen
accompanying some other to the scene…
then send, out of the blue, a Valentine
that knocks you off your feet of clay..
proposes setting a marriage day…
Yes, God is in the banana skin;
God the teacher is ruthless in his love;
God, they say, made time, so that
we could exercise freewill
in taking our time
to find that our need
is really much the same as His…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Officer Blue
Officer blue,
Really love the things you do,
Even when I was just eight years.
Officer blue,
Is it true what they say?
That when you work youre still at play.
Oh officer blue,
I really love the things you do.
Its magical,
People in a human zoo.
Officer blue,
Cast a shadow on the wall,
But by torchlight even mice look tall.
Officer blue,
In a blaze of uniform,
And your stripes and badges to conform.
Officer blue,
Really love the things you do,
Even when I was just eight years old.
Officer blue,
Is it true what they say?
That when you work youre still at play.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Officer Blue
Officer blue,
Really love the things you do,
Even when I was just eight years.
Officer blue,
Is it true what they say?
That when you work youre still at play.
Oh officer blue,
I really love the things you do.
Its magical,
People in a human zoo.
Officer blue,
Cast a shadow on the wall,
But by torchlight even mice look tall.
Officer blue,
In a blaze of uniform,
And your stripes and badges to conform.
Officer blue,
Really love the things you do,
Even when I was just eight years old.
Officer blue,
Is it true what they say?
That when you work youre still at play.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Time For Heroes
We search for an answer,
And when it appears
We can challenge the world with our sweat and our tears.
Through winning and losing,
The brave never bend,
The hero keeps fighting, standing tall in the end.
Time can change anything...and mend any fall.
The moment of truth is facing us all,
It's time for the hero to stand tall.
It's a time for heroes,
Time to answer the call,
It's a time for the hero in us all.
We carry the flame
For all to see
The fire and the passion, of what we can be.
Sometimes we must fight,
But we never bend
The hero keeps fighting, standing tall in the end.
Love can change anything...it's inside of us all
To reach out a hand whenever we fall.
It's time for the hero to stand tall.
It's a time for heroes,
Time to answer the call,
It's a time for the hero to stand tall.
It's a time for heroes,
When our back's to the wall
It's a time for the hero...in us all
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And The Heavens Cried(Trail of Tears)
You could see the clouds
rolling across the sky
as the day started to rain
teardrops of blood across the land
lost in their visions of doubt
buried in their pain
white man had all the say
we were left to taciturn
as we watched everything burn
and the heavens cried
on the trail of tears
On some beaten shore
we watched the ships come in
one by one, our land wore thin
we could just watch with closed eyes
as the promises made were just lies
they said you don't belong here anymore
behind their mask, they wore a disguise
and the heavens cried
on the trail of tears
Blood spilled on our sacred ground
leaving a unwanted stain
where mighty warriors once made a stand
we never could walk hand in hand
when they lived by so much greed
we watched our people fall
thousands must bleed
still all we could do is try
and the heavens cried
on the trail of tears
Guided by the spirit wind
we held on to our pride
something they could'nt take away
as so many died
through our darkest years
and the heavens cried
on the trail of tears
(spiritwind-2009)
poem by Spiritwind Wood
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Yoga Is As Yoga Does
(words & music by nelson - burch)
Well I can see that you and yoga will never do
Yoga is as yoga does theres no in-between
Your either with it on the ball or youve blown the scene
I can see lookin at you, you just cant get settled
How can I even move, twistin like a pretzel
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
Come on come on, untwist my legs
Pull my arms a lot
How did I get so tied up
In this yoga knot
You tell me just how I can take this yoga serious
When all it ever gives to me is a pain in my posteriors
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
Stand upside down on your head, feet against the wall
A simple yoga exercise done by one and all
Now cross your eyes and hold your breath, look just like a clown
Yogas sure to catch you if you come falling down
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
(yoga is, yoga does)
(theres no in-between)
(your either with it all the way) or youve blown the scene
(or youve blown the scene)
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Exposed Nest
You were forever finding some new play.
So when I saw you down on hands and knees
I the meadow, busy with the new-cut hay,
Trying, I thought, to set it up on end,
I went to show you how to make it stay,
If that was your idea, against the breeze,
And, if you asked me, even help pretend
To make it root again and grow afresh.
But 'twas no make-believe with you today,
Nor was the grass itself your real concern,
Though I found your hand full of wilted fern,
Steel-bright June-grass, and blackening heads of clovers.
'Twas a nest full of young birds on the ground
The cutter-bar had just gone champing over
(Miraculously without tasking flesh)
And left defenseless to the heat and light.
You wanted to restore them to their right
Of something interposed between their sight
And too much world at once--could means be found.
The way the nest-full every time we stirred
Stood up to us as to a mother-bird
Whose coming home has been too long deferred,
Made me ask would the mother-bird return
And care for them in such a change of scene
And might out meddling make her more afraid.
That was a thing we could not wait to learn.
We saw the risk we took in doing good,
But dared not spare to do the best we could
Though harm should come of it; so built the screen
You had begun, and gave them back their shade.
All this to prove we cared. Why is there then
No more to tell? We turned to other things.
I haven't any memory--have you?--
Of ever coming to the place again
To see if the birds lived the first night through,
And so at last to learn to use their wings.
poem by Robert Frost
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To Young To Die
Everybody
Don't want no war,
'Cos we're too young to die,
So many people,
All around the world,
Seen their brothers fry.
What's the motive?
In your madness.
You've made my people cry.
So politicians this time
Keep your distance.
'Cos we're too young to die.
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
What's the answer?
To our problems.
I think we've gone too high,
Little children,
Never said a word now,
But still they have to die.
It won't be long.
Dancing like we do now,
To put this sad world right.
So don't you worry,
Suffer no more,
'Cos we're too young to die.
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
You know we're too young to die,
All gone when they drop the bomb.
Can the politicians reassure?
'Cos here I am presuming that
Nobody wants a war
There's so many people praying
Just to find out if they're staying.
But lately stately governments
And disillusioned leaders,
So full of empty promises
But rarely do they feed us.
Put our backs against the wall,
Or don't we count at all?
Can you decide,
Are you mesmerised.
Do you know which side you're standing?
Cos when it falls gonna take us all.
Gotta know what we're demanding,
I never lie,
Can't your hear the cry,
Coming from on high,
WE'RE TOO YOUNG TO DIE
song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Initially charged with assaulting a police officer and resisting arrest I was held for 36 hours, was beaten by cops and made to stand spread eagled against the cell wall for 12 hours with no food or water, until I collapsed. Everyone was strip searched on the way in.
quote by John Blair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beneath a cherry tree
Beneath a cherry tree
a German officer, a general of the third Reich,
dressed immaculately in black
with a skull and crossbones emblem
on his official cap,
somewhat like a pirate sign,
but more obscure
boots shining reflecting the garden
catches a young Jewish boy
(who was forced to labour in that garden)
eating some of the sweet red fruit.
His right boot shoots out
and catches the boy
just under the chin
and he kicks the slender boy down
tramples him into the ground
and keeps on kicking
while the child
tries to cover himself
against the blows
somewhat like a scared dog.
A hand covered in a black leather glove
grabs more red cherries from the tree
smashes them into the boy’s face
press them with pits and all
along with some broken teeth
down the boy’s throat,
before that devil in black
gets hold of the boy’s head
and drags him
into the tool shed
where with one hammer blow after another
he kills him
and when he lies without any life,
without any movement,
brushes off his gloves, his coat
calls to a SS-guard
with lightning flashes on his arm
to dispose of the body
and returns to his study
where the death
of thousands more Jews,
more children, women and men
awaits his signature.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Belinda From Biloxi
I saw Belinda from Biloxi three or four seats ahead,
With her red hair still piled high on top of her head,
As the subway shuddered onward she seemed so much at ease,
And just like twenty years ago she always showed her knees.
Her skin was fair and freckled and she had that haughty air,
Of someone who caught a millionaire and was barely aware,
Of the guys who kept glancing over in her direction,
Some who looked stupid glaring at her perfection.
Of course she didn't recognized me; I had grown old.
As I tried to remember and let my memory banks unfold,
To the first time that I met her when she casually did admit,
That her husband was in jail for doing a mafia hit.
She said she was an American and only here for a while,
I could tell by her accent, she had lots of Southern style,
Though she left me mesmerized, I still had to pretend,
I wasn't tempted by her charms; I had business to attend.
I wrote my police report, which I immediately did ignore,
But I sure remember Belinda and everything that she wore,
And then I found that half the division knew her by name,
And each lowered his voice and whispered as in shame.
The next time that I saw Belinda, into court she did walk.
She sat right before the judge with those legs that could talk.
And then her probation officer; it was obviously prearranged,
Gave evidence for an hour ‘bout how she had changed.
And then the judge let her walk and watched her as she left,
Can't remember the charge; was it prostitution or theft?
We all looked disappointed as she walked out the door,
As if someone should run after her; invite her back for more.
The next time that I saw her, it was quite a surprise,
She was living in welfare housing with the cockroaches and the flies,
She was pushing a baby carriage and seemed so domesticated,
Good I thought she met a man and now she's dedicated.
Monique was her daughter's name and I watched them through the years,
You could never forget Belinda whenever she appears,
Her little girl grew up beside her and she had the same physique,
Is that little girl four rows ahead Belinda or Monique?
poem by James Bredin
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Just One More Cigarette...
It is evening they take him out of his cell and into
the walled court yard. An officer offers him a fag
he accepts, and smokes it slowly inhaling deeply.
The officer says, “don’t worry it will soon be over. “
Then they tie his hands behind his back, blindfold
him and place him against a pockmarked wall.
The officer asks if the prisoner, has a last word,
a message to the world or his family. The damned
shakes his head, a long silence, and a volley of fire.
Today, after being told by my doctor I’m an idiot,
I have stopped smoking.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Once More I Rise
Once more I rise
My eyes, my lungs filled with dust
From the arena floor
You are too strong, my worthy foe
The crowd clamors for my blood
Once more I rise
One last time before I fall, finally and forever
But I do not rise for you
Nor certainly for the pleasure of jeering voices
Fomenting hate, though they know not whom
They so despise
In a way, I die for them
I represent their dark souls
In my disgrace, I somehow give them hope
Hope that they too can vanquish
Their enemies
But I do not choose to rise for them
And I most certainly do not rise for you,
Though, you are worthy
Of this final stand
A chance to prove the full strength of your hand
No, I do not rise for you but
For myself
My pride mostly
It is all that remains of my miserable life
Pride in the one I had hoped to be:
Victor in this dark arena
And so, as I rise
It is only pride that rises
And only pride that will fall
The rest of who I am or ever was
Remains buried in the dust
Nevermore to rise
Black Angel
Black Angel
(By Sheila D. Thompson)
ok, ok, I landed on this earth to kill
look at me,
cause once you cross me your fate will be sealed.
People think it's a laughing,
thing it's a joke, next
thing they lay dead before me.
And I think I'll choke.
I lived a hard life.
I know I don't suppose to be a girl,
in this world, this place could
change the kindest creature to
a beast.
I became a cannibal, and I like it I came
here on a quest to feast.
Now I can't stop.
going crazy at day and
sane by night,
I guess that's why I hide in the
darkness from light.
Black Angel (Black Angel)
Black Angel (molded by the world)
Black Angel (and just only
a little girl) Black Angel
(crying for a change) Black Angel
I listen to thunder and lightening,
forget that it's frightening, liking
the sound, watching the people
up from above, knowing there no
love.
I stand alone, I'm on my own,
I am young so I write my
pain in this song.
I know it's hard try being
a little a girl,
raised up fast in a cruel
world.
fate was ever kind to me.
I watched my father
(hurt my mother)
I watched my father
(beat m brother)
I watched my father
(create a son with my sister)
I miss my father(and I love him)
I am so alone-black Angel-
I still hope someday, that
I can learn how to pray.
I still walk so bold
knowing my hart's half cold(repeat)
(oh-Black Angel heart beat
with thunder and rain* Black Angel)
now it's just heartbeat and rain*Black Angel
(the last few words should echo)
A poem wrote by Sheila Deliese Thompson: C/O
swtlamb @yahoo.com
Let me remind you this is a young girl
reaching out in her own words.
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Treat 'Em Rough
First time I dared propose,
A callow lad was I;
I donned my Sunday clothes,
I wore my Old School Tie.
Awaiting me Louise
Was dolled to beat the band,
So going on my knees
I begged her hand.
Oh yes, she gave me her hand,--
A box upon the ear;
I could not understand,
I blinked away a tear.
Then scornfully she said:
'Next time you kneel before
A maid, young man don't spread
Your hankey on the floor.'
So next time I proposed,
Thinks I, I'll treat 'em rough.
Her name was Lily Rose,
I gave her he-man stuff.
I yanked her on my knee,
And as her ear I bit,
To my amazement she
Seemed to like it.
The old cave-men knew best;
Grab girlies by the hair,
And though they may protest
Drag them into your lair.
So young men seeking mates,
Take my tip, if rejected:
A modern maid just hates
To be respected.
poem by Robert William Service
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Too Young To Die
Written by jay kay and toby smith
Everybody, dont want no war, cos were all too young to die
Many people, all around the world now, seen their brothers fry?
Whats the motive?
In your madness youve made my people cry
So politicians, this time keep your distance
Cos were too young to die
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die.
Whats the answer? to our problems.
I think weve gone to high,
Little children never said a word now, but still they have to die
It wont be long, dancing like we do now,
To put this sad world right
So you dont worry, suffer no more,
Cos were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die.
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die,
You know were too young to die.
All gone when they drop the bomb.
Can politicians reassure? cos here I am pressuming that nobody here wants a war.
Theres so many people praying just to find out if theyre staying.
But lately, stately governments and disillusioned leader,
So full of empty promises but rarely do they feed us,
Put our backs against the wall, or dont we count at all.
Can you decide, are you mesmerised.
Do you know which side youre standing?
Cos when it falls gonna take us all.
Gotta know what were demanding, I never lie, cant hear you cry,
Coming from on high,
Were too young to die!
song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home
(charlie smalls)
Think of home
Home
When I think of home
I think of a place where theres love overflowing
I wish I was home
I wish I was back there with the things I been knowing
Wind that makes the tall trees bend into leaning
Suddenly the snowflakes that fall have a meaning
Sprinklin the scene, makes it all clean
Maybe theres a chance for me to go back there
Now that I have some direction
It would sure be nice to be back home
Where theres love and affection
And just maybe I can convince time to slow up
Giving me enough time in my life to grow up
Time be my friend, let me start again
Suddenly my world has changed its face
But I still know where Im going
I have had my mind spun around in space
And yet Ive watched it growing
If youre listning god
Please dont make it hard to know
If we should believe in the things that we see
Tell us, should we run away
Should we try and stay
Or would it be better just to let things be?
Living here, in this brand new world
Might be a fantasy
But it taught me to love
So its real, real to me
And Ive learned
That we must look inside our hearts
To find a world full of love
Like yours
Like me
Like home...
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sixty to Sixteen
If I were young as you, Sixteen,
And you were old as I,
I would not be as I have been,
You would not be so shy—
We should not watch with careless mien
The golden days go by,
If I were young as you, Sixteen,
And you were old as I.
The years of youth are yours, Sixteen;
Such years of old had I,
But time has set his seal between
Dark eyebrow and dark eye.
Sere grow the leaves that once were green,
The song turns to a sigh:
Ah! very young are you, Sixteen,
And very old am I.
Red bloom-times come and go, Sixteen,
With snow-soft feet, but I
Shall be no more as I have been
In times of bloom gone by;
For dimmer grows the pleasant scene
Beneath the pleasant sky;
The world is growing old, Sixteen—
The weary world and I.
Ah, would that once again, Sixteen,
A kissing mouth had I;
The days would gaily go, I ween,
Though death should stand anigh,
If springtime’s green were evergreen,
If Love would never die,
And I were young as you, Sixteen,
And you were old as I.
poem by Victor James Daley
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