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On Passing Cromwell Street

In Melbourne streets named in his honour though he does not warrant such fame
For he lived a life of dishonour yet he never felt any shame
For his crimes against the poor of Ireland the winners write the history they say
And historians are too kind to Cromwell the one who did awful things in his day.

He evicted the poor of rural Ireland those who only knew of poverty
And put them on the hard road to Connacht the victims of crimes against humanity
His army were thugs and not soldiers for they did things that soldiers ought not do
The winners always write the history though their version of history is often not true.

In Cromwell's time the winners wrote the history and the winners still write the history today
But for any crimes against humanity the winners too should be made to pay
But Cromwell and his army honoured for their crimes in Ireland against the poor defenceless poor
'Tis sad to think that one so unworthy of a place in history is secure.

To hell or to Connacht his catch cry he forced thousands of poor families on the road
To people who were penniless and innocent not one scrap of mercy he showed
Thousands of them died in the harsh Irish Winter when homelessness on them took it's toll
Because they were poor they were punished though their life circumstances beyond their control.

I think of the untruths of history each time I drive by Cromwell street
The history written by winners their history of lies and deceit
I say to myself they honour a tyrant and I struggle for to understand
Why they name a street after somebody who oppressed the poor of Ireland.

Andrew Marvell in verse glorified Cromwell but he was one who would not know
What Cromwell and his army got up to in Ireland in those bleak times centuries ago
But he only believed what they told him and they told him what he wanted to hear
History often written by unworthy people those who rule by terror and fear.

In Melbourne streets named in his honour his poor victims long forgotten and gone
Into the World of the forgotten but Cromwell's fame is living on
And the lessons we should have learned from history did not lead to a fair go for all
And the winners only write the story though the real truth they never recall.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The Winners Write The History

That the winners write the war histories should not be the case
For war is a tragedy a human disgrace
And the losers in war see their Country destoyed
And the war history never written by the losing side.

Look at Oliver Cromwell victorious in war
The deeds of his glory from England known far
But those who write on Cromwell they never do tell
Of one who for poor people made life Earthly hell.

To the Catholics of Ireland Cromwell was a brute
The poor rural peasants he did persecute
Yet streets in his honour distant from England today
The winners only write the history so true what they say.

Efrain Rios Montt became President of Guatemala even though he
Was guilty of serious crimes against humanity
An old man now but for his crimes yet to pay
The winners write the history it's always been that way.

Augusto Pinochet in Chile has blood on his hands
And that he may die a free man seems hard to understand
And though loathed by many in Chile for his crimes of shame
The winners write the history and their's is the fame.

I've just mentioned a few for there are many more
Who have committed crimes against humanity but like it has been said before
that the winners write the history and that's how 'twill remain
And the mistakes of the past are repeated again.

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Hell Or To Connacht

To Hell or to Connacht was Cromwells's war cry
To poor Irish tenant farmers his cruel words did apply
Cromwell was a war criminal the facts never lie
To Hell or to Connacht were his words or die.

When Cromwell handed over the command of the Royalist Troops to Henry Ireton the results were the same
In human history their treatment of poor Irish people is a human shame
In their conquests of Ireland thousands of people died
Any form of human rights of them was denied.

Poor Irish tenant farmers were put on the road
To Connacht or to die of no fixed abode
Oliver Cromwell and Henry Ireton were far worse than cruel
They were despotic leaders who abused their rule.

Anyone who knows of history surely do know
Of the atrocities of the Crown forces in Ireland three and a half centuries ago
Cromwell and Ireton were horrible men
They must have been born in the Devil's den.

Some look on past history as over and gone
But in Ireland to Hell or to Connacht those words do live on
And thousands on walking to Connacht died of hunger and cold
The poor and forgotten their life stories untold.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Man's Inhumanity

We have read about New York's Twin Towers and Hiroshima in Japan
Just for us two examples of man's inhumanity to man
And of Hitler and his Holocaust one who lives on in illfame
And of Stalin and of Mao and their awful crimes of shame.

We've heard of Pol Pot in Cambodia millions did suffer when he did rule
Some with power at their disposal they can be so very cruel
But in truth they were no different to some of the rulers of today
Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe as a despot now leads the way.

Streets in some Cities honour Oliver Cromwell yet if we go back in time
Against poor Catholic Irish peasants he committed many a crime
But 'tis said the winners write the war history with that one must agree
And Cromwell he is honoured for his crimes against humanity.

Idi Amin of Uganda of old age in exile died
The unmarked graves of his Homeland his shame forever hide
And up to a million Tutsis in Rwanda by their fellow Rwandans butchered to death
And this only in the recent past history repeats itself lest we forget.

We have not learned from history or so 'twould seem that way
So many despotic leaders in the World of today
And the Twin Towers of New York and Hiroshima in Japan
Are only two examples of man's inhumanity to man.

poem by Francis Duggan
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By Those Interested In War History

By those interested in war history war history is read
But the winners write the war history or so it is said
That is how it is and will always be
What is true to one is not to another that's how it seems to me
Of war and war heroes many stories are written and many poems to recite
And mostly of war winners that war writers stories do write
And readers believe what they want to believe
And the mothers of the war dead for their dead children grieve
In war as in life 'tis the winners who count
And the stories of losers to little amount
For the dead war heroes many a parade
And far too many films of war have been made
And 'tis mostly the winners write the war history
That is how it is and always will be.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Mr Tony Blair

Like every British Prime Minister he has purpose in his stare
And few are as good at talking tough as Mr Tony Blair
Once the World's greatest Empire to much now does not amount
And lessons that are in the past are never taken into account.

The British Government once took part of Iraq and formed a new State
And re-named Iraq's nineteenth province the Kingdom of Kuwait
And one war leads to another war look at Iraq today
A land ravaged by war where the Brits play a major part along with the U S A.

The winners always write the history in Ireland Cromwell left his trail of shame
But like every other war winner he did not take any blame
For the diplacement and deaths of thousands of innocent people streets signs now honour his ill fame
Yet in England's sister Country his is still a loathed name.

And the old tradition of waging war carried on by Mr Blair
In this wrongful war waged in Iraq he is a major player
And Saddam was the loser his statue was dragged down
If he had won today he'd be the God of Baghdad Town.

Can the likes of Bush and Blair and Johnny Howard bring back to life their war dead?
They only have the power for to take life enough of them is said
They are as bad as Saddam who is deservedly in disgrace
But the winners only write the war history and that always is the case.

Perhaps he will live to a ripe old age and the good life he'll enjoy
And for his victories in war as a hero he will die
And in years from now there will be streets named after Tony Blair
When all is said and all is done doesn't life seem so unfair?

poem by Francis Duggan
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The War Winners

The war winners always write the war history and as for those in war who have known defeat
They never do know of adulation and with a sad ending they meet
Arrested and tried for war crimes and executed for crimes against humanity
The victorious war leaders are feted as heroes though they seem no less guilty to me

Than those who are known as war losers in war far too many do die
And that the victorious of war crimes not guilty in truth of course only a lie
How can the one who order the bombings that killed thousands of people be seen as one quite free of taint
When they are guilty of mass murder and a murderer cannot be a saint

Why do we make heroes of villians two wrongs never do make a right
Though the winner is always the hero that's how it is in every fight
And the war dead with tears are remembered and the war mothers weep for their dead
Though their dead children helped to win the war and good things of them have been said.

The war winners write the war history that's how it is and it will always be
But history itself keeps repeating of war will we ever be free
If the victorious war leaders were not treated as heroes and for their war crimes arrested and tried
We may not have had war in the first place and so many young people may not have died.

poem by Francis Duggan
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History Is A Story

Hunters write history;
Tigers have no historians.
Winners write history;
Losers have no historians.
Read the history as a story.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Winners Are Always The Heroes

The winners are always the heroes in life it is always this way
The losers are quickly forgotten though a fine and sporting
game they did play
'Tis only a sport it may well seem where people chase after a ball
But many take football quite seriously though 'tis only a game after all,
The winners are always the heroes and that's how it always will be
The fans of the winners are singing rejoicing in their victory
Life and sports are akin in many ways though some may say 'tis only a game
The winners get all of the applause and the winners can bask in their fame,
The winners are always the heroes and the winners get all of the praise
And always only to the winners the toasters their toasting glasses raise
The losers are quickly forgotten though some must lose for some to win
Yet some look on losing as shameful to them there is no greater sin,
In life as in sport the poor losers are the people the masses ignore
And in football the really big hero is the one who kicks the winning score.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Tales of my past

Don't write me down in history,
In reference to my past deeds,
Works I derived no joy from,
Or mistakes of those years.

Don't write me down in history,
The ages gone show little of what I am,
That part of me is truly done,
My dreams now can say it all.

Don't write me down in history,
The lessons of life flows in my blood,
My blunders are now my teachers,
The scars now my daily pledge.

Don't write me down in history,
I am yet to achieve perfection,
Still I strive for redemption,
Searching the soil for my lost glory,

Don't write me down in history,
The tales of my past I recall,
That was then, this is me,
Woes to your judgment.

poem by Venessa Ambrose
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Reality.

There are good people and bad people in this world.
People who create crimes and the people who stop crimes.
People who start fires and the people who put them out.
People who inflict injuries and people who fix them.
Villians who destroy the world and Superheroes who save the world.
It's scary to think life isn't like the movies.
Good doesn't always prevail at the time.
But, I believe that Good always prevails eventually.
The Winners Write History.

poem by Michaela Cooper
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Winners Take All

Life's been good
Life's been bad
Now I know
What I had
Has taken it's toll on me
Yes we give
And we take
What we get
Is what we make
Believe that dreams come true
Life is crazy
We're not fools, no, no
The price is high
When you keep the score
Take your souls
And your goals
To the top
Together we stand
We won't take no more
Cause we're winners
And winners take all
Together we stand
We won't take no more
Cause we're winners
And winners take all
We have loved
Burned by fate
But for once
Set the record straight
Time does heal all wounds
You have laughed
We have cried
Paid our dues
Yes we're turned the tide
Mistakes are far and few
We need no guidance
Our aim is true
Down the road
There were many tolls
But we know
Cause we've grown
What we need
Together we stand
We won't take no more
Cause we're winners
And winners take all
Together we stand
We won't take no more
Cause we're winners
And winners take all
The price is high
When you keep the score
Take your souls
And your goals
To the top
Together we stand
We won't take no more
Cause we're winners
And winners take all
Together we stand
We won't take no more
Cause we're winners
And winners take all
Na, na, na-na-na na-na
Na-na, na-na-na-na
Na-na-na, na
Na, na, na-na-na na-na
Na-na, na-na-na-na
Na-na-na, na
Na, na, na-na-na na-na
Na-na, na-na-na-na
Na-na-na, na
Na,

song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The ugly human face

Wailing with tears and
Helplessly in commotion,
All of you’re telling to write
The history of hatred, enmity, killings,
The history of human ugly face.

My pen is dried up,
Tell me in which medium,
And language should I write.
Where to begin and
Where to end
Such history of human ugly face.

Oh! Betrayer
You’re telling me to wipe out from the history
Of such human ugly face,
That shattered and shook human conscience,
That haunts the face of those innocent people,
Killed and hurt; widows and orphans.
That hums: that reminds.

Telling me just to close my eyes.
But I’m not blind.
Telling me not to speak,
But I’m not dumb.
Telling me not to write the truth,
But I cannot write anything but the truth.
How can I deceive the history where I belong?

Human memory is short,
Tears would dry up,
The blood would be washed away with time
But the silent words, written in the heart of each human ugly face
Imbedded forever and immortal.

Let me dip the pen in the smeared blood,
The blood of all religions, caste, creed and colour, poor and rich,
The thick blood of those innocent persons.

poem by Dr.bhagya Chandra Rajkumar
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On Reading Of Racism In Ireland

I always feel disappointed when of racism I read
And when I read of it in Ireland I feel very sad indeed
For racism in society should never have a place
And people should never be judged on their colour or their race.

As the Land of saints and scholars Ireland was known Worldwide
And the Irish people suffered and their rights to them denied
But the Irish in their sense of fair play could take a certain pride
And for their human rights and liberty the sons of Ireland died.

Poor migrants from Romania their possessions weigh light
To live and work in Ireland do they not have the right?
They may come un-invited but their numbers only small
And the Irish too are migrants as history will recall.

I read it's the Irish media that fans racism's flame
If this be so of their bad work they must feel a great shame
They cannot say in years to come the fault was never ours
When they first used the noxious spray that poisoned all the flowers.

I am an Irish migrant far from my native shore
And others treat me with respect than that one could not ask for more
A fair go for all people and for everyone fair play
Those words from centuries ago are relevant today.

poem by Francis Duggan
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The History Of Tomorrow

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of light
By dumping us in the dark with pits everywhere

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of food
By asking us to chop several fire-woods to heat up a pot full of stones

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of job creation
By making us slaves on our own soil

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of education
By dumping us in dilapidated buildings without teachers

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of accountability
By looting our treasury and asking us for yet another term in office

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our leaders fulfilled a promise of safety
By leaving pot holes large enough to swallow countless accident victims on our roads

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of how our bows and arrows
Would secure our future

I want to tell you the history of tomorrow
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless heroes
It’s the history of a country, a country with countless robbers
Robbers with fame
Robbers without shame
Robbers that we would roast with flame

© Adegbenro Adekunle Jacob

Tomorrow’s history is today. All world leaders must make real democracy work. They must be selfless. We must not wait until there is horror and terror before we learn. Nigerian leaders must shun CORRUPTION.

poem by Adegbenro Adekunle
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The History Of You And Me

Everytime you think of me.
Write it all down in your diary.
And never forget you were mine.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

On every page that you write.
Move your pen, with those old memories of me.
Holding me in your arms.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

Try not to miss a word.
Don't miss a single word, about those old romantic nights.
The nights you spent with me.

'Cause you can write a book about love.
And you can write a book about history.
The history of you and me..

Yaahh! The history of you and me....

Love Song Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1990,2009..
ALL rights reserved..

poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Black History Month

In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.

But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!

Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...

*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Stars Dont Know My Fate

Tonight I make history
and one day history will find me
and haunt me...even write me
in the pages of immortality
and will never be forgotten
as the wind.

Tonight I face history
and one day history will face me
and mock me...even write me
in the pages of uncertainties
but will never be forgotten
as the wind.

Tonight- I end my life...
I change my history, I make my destiny
for stars don't know my fate.
And one day, maybe one day
this night would be forgotten,
carried by the wind.

poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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In War Winners Are Losers

The winners write the war history or so it has been said
And though they may have their celebrations they cannot bring back the dead
For the dead are gone forever in eternal rest they lay
And in war winners are losers despite what some do think or say,
In war the one winner is hatred and old hatreds linger on for years
And the mothers for their dead soldiers are left to shed their tears
The last post may be played for them on war memorial day
But they will not hear the bugler all is so quiet where they lay,
They went to the reaper early and they faced death without fear
And of stories of their bravery we do so often hear
But those who sent them off to war were those who stood to gain
And though the young heroes died bravely their premature deaths were in vain
For war it is still being waged and the huge sacrifice they made
Only rally the troops for war in another war parade.

poem by Francis Duggan
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History why do we care

History
a famous person dies
History
a war rages
History
a new invention
History
a building opens
History
what happens if something happens to me
is that history?
no....
So why do we care.....

poem by Andrea Thepoet
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You Tell Me Of Your Australian History

You tell me of your Australian history your ancestors were British and Irish pioneers
But your history in this Land is not an old history just two centuries and twenty years
And in time that may seem quite a long span though the combined life spans of three people nothing more
Your ancestors hardly were Aussies they came here from a distant shore.

The first Australians have lived in this Country for longer than most care to know
Their ancestors came here from Asia more than sixty thousand years ago
They are indigenous to this Country all others have links to elsewhere
Yet they still struggle for recognition and that to me seems quite unfair.

Dispossessed by the Northern invaders they never did get back their Land
And that they are now ruled by white people I find that hard to understand
You talk of the history of this Land as if it were only two hundred years old
But then suppose the history of the ancient Dreamtime by white people will never be told.

I was not even born in this Country which makes you more Aussie than I
And though I'm not Nationalistic or Patriotic my heritage I won''t deny
You talk of your pioneering ancestors but why talk of Human history at all
If the history of the first Australians you do not see fit to recall.

You tell me of your pioneering ancestors but one fact you tend to ignore
That they were not born in this Country they came here from a foreign shore
You''d swear by you the Human history of this Land was only two centuries old
But the true history of this great Country by your type will never be told

poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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