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Aquí paz,
y después gloria.
Aquí,
a orillas de Francia,
en donde Cataluña no muere todavía
y prolonga en carteles de «Toros à Ceret»
y de «Flamenco's Show»
esa curiosa España de las ganaderías
de reses bravas y de juergas sórdidas,
reposa un español bajo una losa:
                                                                paz
y después gloria.
Dramático destino,
triste suerte
morir aquí
                      -paz
y después...-
                              perdido,
abandonado
y liberado a un tiempo
(ya sin tiempo)
de una patria sombría e inclemente.
Sí; después gloria.
Al final del verano,
por las proximidades
pasan trenes nocturnos, subrepticios,
rebosantes de humana mercancía:
manos de obra barata, ejército
vencido por el hambre
                                             
-paz...-,
otra vez desbandada de españoles
cruzando la frontera, derrotados
-...sin gloria.
Se paga con la muerte
o con la vida,
pero se paga siempre una derrota.
¿Qué precio es el peor?
                                                  Me lo pregunto
y no sé qué pensar
ante esta tumba,
ante esta paz
                            -«Casino
de Canet: spanish gipsy dancers»,
rumor de trenes, hojas...-,
ante la gloria ésta
-...de reseco laurel-
que yace aquí, abatida
bajo el ciprés erguido,
igual que una bandera al pie de un mástil.
Quisiera,
a veces,
que borrase el tiempo
los nombres y los hechos de esta historia
como borrará un día mis palabras
que la repiten siempre tercas, roncas.
Deliver me, with magic spell,
with gliding bow and ringing bell,
from this dark and dreary mood so fell.

The clock counts its minutes and its hours;
we obey its rhythmic, ordered powers
in the prisons of our shining towers.

The clock is but an artifice
from a tyrant’s workshop’s abyss.
Time was made for more than this.

Count not the hours, but the beat,
tap it with your dancing feet,
clap it, sing it, in the street.

A flute of bone was made before
the timecard and the clock kept score.
Our forbears knew what time was for.
Reposting this for William J. Donovan
Just a note to say I'm sorry.
Please let it go don't worry.
Everything will end up well.
Kiss Kiss from eternal hell.
A magic spell to undo fear.
A charm to make care disappear.
An invocation against desolation.
An elixir for agitation.
Just three words I swear are true–
to repeat three times–”I love you.”
It works!
Don’t let it settle
The thoughts into place
Lest you linger too long
In contemplative space
And let dwelling
Impel you
To stay in suspension
Remain in a state
Of immense
Apprehension
A tension
That stretches
And pulls you
Apart
Discontentment
Embitters
And sours
Your heart
Until want for not
Need no companion
Engagement
Embrace your relationship
Sinking estrangement
The year 2023 ended on saddest notes
of crying, dying babies in Palestine
and obstructed efforts
to throw them a lifeline

They ought to have long halted this ethnic cleansing
of the indigenous inhabitants
Stop the cruel bombardment
of their poor apartments

I'm not just griping for nothing,
the scenario is too bloodied
and gripping for sure,
Doctors go wiping off blood
as babies are rushed
dripping with gore
to hospitals tripping
with casualties galore
All humane hearts with any humanity
crushed and shaken to the core
Too appalling and harrowing
as brutal bullies
go carpet bombing them,
razing all to the floor
For all peaceful tender hearts
all this an eyesore.

Condemn them with solemn hearts
for this malicious apartheid,
for this atrocious genocide
It's been going on since ages
filling history's pages
It's no fair war that wages

Babies and women weild no military weapons
Stop them massacring the wearers of baby bibs in cribs
or moms and matrons in aprons .

Hey Mr. Biden, bid them lay arms down in armistice
A call for ceasefire is the needed advice

Our  minds by now filled to the brim
with images too horrible and grim
It's not just a conflict when pain is inflicted
far more on innocent already afflicted !

Poor folks running helter skelter
for there really is no safe shelter.

Palestinians have become the bullies' bulls eye
who for their own land are made to die!

Israel acts so brutally, it wants to push and shove,
bomb civilians from above
and expects the Palestinians
to react with love and be the peaceful dove??

Failure to protect Palestinian human rights and delaying ceasefire, a major fiasco
by the international organisation UNESCO
which claims to be a protector of human rights


Who but tyrants destroy humble homesteads with warheads?
Poor Palestinians stumble and tumble over their dead.

We mourn and cry the deaths of civilians and
soo many Muslims and non Muslims have expressed solidarity with the suppressed, oppressed and repressed Palestinians.

Hey, worldly super powers
End war and their diaspora
End the massacre
End the occupation
That's my heart bleeding
in poetic anaphora

Gaza's gazelles had been nice to the refugee crocodiles 
and then those ingrates showed them only vile wiles,

God's eyes and the global gaze is on Gaza now,
in the smoky haze,
as tyrants set homes ablaze
and erase lives and ways.

Palestinians don't deserve extermination
but rather emancipation!
So respect their existence
or expect resistance!
(Israeli prime minister said they are raining hellfire on Palestinians. But we as muslims know that killers of innocent civilians will burn in a much larger doomsday hellfire for a much longer time. . [26/10, 12:31] ....:
Palestinian death toll estimated at 20000 civilians killed now!)

Date: 12/28/2023 11:57:00 AM

(A credible, just and trustworthy hero, Miko Peled as a son of the Israeli general himself who deflected from the brutal regime condemned the zionist regime. What more proof against israeli terrorism than testimony of its own zionist son??. I posted this on international American poetry sites with videos showing clearly so it had more footage, here YouTube videos don't show up well
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                             A Wedding Dress at Goodwill

Long lost longings along a dusty rack
White for purity in her tender years
Backless for a slender, suntanned back
Now stained with disappointments and angry tears

Did she wear it happily that first night
Share champagne kisses passionate though shy
Then slip it off slowly for his delight?
A pause, a touch, an answering touch, a sigh…

Why did she bin it, happy memories and all
That day she received a telephone call?
 Feb 2024 ConnectHook
july hearne
surely there is a better word for emptiness than emptiness

there is so much time for reason and hate to hold hands
these days of being out of time

of borders crossed by third world trash
who aren't even human

even the legals, have you heard about trash mountain in india?

it piles higher and higher
piles so high

all the way from india to canada, already full of garbage
but importing more garbage

ever met anyone who hates God and the Bible because he ordered his chosen to wipe out everyone of their enemies including their children?

the people of india suggest a good clue of why He did that
the **** and his dog are why he did that
beyond the point of repair

garbage mountain growing higher and higher
the indians will make the highest mountain of all
the canadians, trannies and muslims will help them build it

trash builds a mountain, who needs a God who creates mountains when trash can build mountains of trash

there is so much time for reason and hate to hold hands
these days of being out of time

of knowing fani willis will be lynched by her enablers
both fani and her enablers are trash, forfeiting their rights to humanity along with pooja and dickshit

don't you dare censor dickshit by puting an astrick by his name,
it is an indian name, a trash mountain name, you can not be a ****** enabler without allowing trash mountain to grow and grow and grow

and you cannot wear your proud badge of pride for enabling fani without supporting dickshit or trannies, glorious, glorious trannies who are men that order everyone to refer to them as women as they daydream about ****** women and children and sometimes make their dreams come true so canadians, muslims and trash mountain types can celebrate.

crumbs.
I think of you in the eve and morn,
your beautiful face and aphrodisiac form.
But can it be you that I truly love?
Or are you a mask
for one I dare not think of?
The two of you have the same dark eyes,
and gentle souls. Are you a guise
for the hidden one whom I hold more dear?
Are you a shield against that which I fear?
Be it so. You’re a comfort to me,
so that I can have my fantasy, and,
reality.
Love takes many different forms, and not all of them are acceptable.
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