the little strong man
gives orders
to ****
    to cleanse
         to resist
he reminds
his frightened people
     of the glorious      
old
     victorious times
     and the soul of their nation

and when he is sure
     that no real news
     is shown on state-controlled TV
he broadcasts
     his rousing speeches and
     those heart-warming
patriotic
          movies
of another war
to elevate the fearful

he pretends
     not to be afraid
of laser-guided bombs
cruise missiles
stealth bombers
and unseen stratocruisers
that hit
   or almost hit
carefully selected military targets
and spare civilians

or so they say

the thought that one of my friends
   over there
might die
   as a non-selected target
because of this maniac
heats the blood in my veins
    clenches my fists
       chokes me
        with a wild
fierce
    ravenous
    cold
   ANGER

those killers of innocents
will die in their own blood

not even mistranslated 72 houris
can save them

   the misguided fanatics of Paris
   who shot happy civilians
   with their Kalashnikovs
   and then blew themselves up
   will have discovered that
   by now

to throw terror and death
into people’s daily lives
is an abominable crime
not a heroic deed

those who instigated the massacre
shall be punished accordingly

fake heroes revealed
as ruthless criminals
shall face judgement

in whose light
their great deeds
are shown as what they are

****** ******

yet – far beyond the proper punishment
    required after cruel acts
there is the need to look ahead
and face the somewhat inconvenient necessity to
    remove the roots of violence veiled as religion
    speak up and stand up firm against fanaticized minorities
        no matter in whose name the claim to act  
    bring peace to regions devastated by the dire games of politics

we simply cannot allow
a bunch of ruthless desperados to dominate our lives

            * *

such days of quiet loving warmth
of joy and mirth between the two of us

sun-flooded islands in the paltry seas
of middle-age when waves of disillusion
break hard against your course
and
   lest you are alert
may leave you stranded
   just off shore
in waters flat with bitterness forever

such saving days of joyous love

                    * *

of love I sing
of music it can make
   on strings of joy
   tuned to your melody

of how it touches keys
whose resonance reverberates
in unknown caverns
of the soul
   lit by a sudden harmony
as flighty
   and as delicate
as humming birds
   buzz through your vision
at summer dusk

and as persistent
in their imprint
on your inner eye

as that of four swans
rising in a line
towards the morning sun
above a misty pond
long years ago
when you were wandering
   by yourself
and questioning
the wisdom of the world
and of your almost
thirty years

wisdom still
does not go unquestioned
   love remains
the beauty of that moment
   grows

in the San Bernardino hills
so many dead or dying
terrorism kills.

but, folks, I have to wonder
so many "evil" guns
will our rights also be taken?
to protect daughters and sons?

I'm listening to mom's TV
with a heavy heart
so many lives just ravaged
so many torn apart!

is our city next?
it causes a tear
but I won't succumb to hate
I won't give in to FEAR!

whatever awaits in this short life
I won't be afraid
I will praise You in this storm
my heart steadfast and staid

this is what I pray about
I know I am not wrong
that this tension doesn't escalate
and we finally use

THE BOMB!


SoulSurvivor
(C) 12/3/2015

War is at our door,
Souls lay dead on the concrete floor,
And the rich still live,

War is at our feet,
Souls die, their life incomplete,
And the rich are saved,

War is in their hands,
Souls fall down in foreign lands,
And the rich? They fly,

War is not the way.

I am a soldier and a soldier's son.
Glory is held in the form of my gun.
A cross of predestination
my only hope for salvation.

Our battle is righteous
or so we are told.
Trained deadly prowess
paid with holy, black gold.


And now...
dying in this hole...
one final irony I behold.

My spirit soars home to see
a thousand tombstones,
draped with my nation's colors.
On each rest a single white flower.

Glory and Salvation?
Ain't that the way it goes?
Paid with final completion;
just one wiltin' rose.  


©  S.Loeding
All Rights Reserved

Rat a tat tat
The sound of a war

The Politician swings
On marionette strings

As we chant
Destroy a nation
Follow blindly and do as you are told

To question this is Heresy
Eternal Hell and Damnation.

Line the pockets of the corporate *****.
Babylons got a new King.

Nameless kids on the front lines.
Being blown to smithereens.

Johnnys come home in a black bag
The same thing happened to dad.

Mom and Julie alone now , two  mouths less to feed

Don't cheat me
Don't beat me
Don't yell
I'm not another
Don't let me fall
I've already tripped
Don't push me to the wall
I'm not one to hit
To be angry at me
Don't play games
You are the liar
I am the same
Don't slap me
I won't slap back
Why are you
Still like that?

I once
met a man
with a thousand
yard stare

and a club
in his hand
in Trafalgar Square

and the blood
on his club
matched the blood
in my hair

one fine and fair
morning in spring;