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Joe Cole Sep 2015
I wander a burnt barren landscape
Beautiful gardens now churned up mud
Ancient, irreplaceable monuments now shattered ruins
Over there a dead woman
Beheaded because she refused to submit
To a way of life devised in hell
People dead lay like scyth cut corn
Laid low by a torrent of religious hatred
Millions flee, homeless, terrified, nowhere to go
And yet among their ranks the enemy lives
Yes, the enemy. Ready to strike, to ****
And all because
We chose to turn our backs on the truth
Joe Cole Sep 2015
He calls himself Dr Swalik

Take a long sharp skewer
Pierce the body in numerous places
But please, please do not pierce any vital organs
Place said scammer in a pre heated oven
100 degrees or gas Mark 4
When the agonized screams have reached their loudest
Reduce the heat
Baste liberally with honey and olive oil
Add chopped herbs of your choice
Re baste the scammer and turn up the heat
Gas Mark 7 would be about right
When the skin is crisp and golden brown
Serve up the scammer on a wooden platter
Serve with buttered new potatoes
And **** apple sauce
Joe Cole Sep 2015
The poetry in the stanza stones
Are words now writ in rock
Words that my poor verse can't compare
For I lack the poetic charm

But my words are sweet and simple
Easy words for you to read
Words poetic??????
Maybe
But ''Tis you who must make the choice

Many brilliant minds post here
Poems long that must be read
Well I keep them short and simple
But with a message to be heard
Maybe one day I might get round to finishing this but that time for me is not now. If some aspiring poet wants to make it a collaboration please feel free
  Sep 2015 Joe Cole
Tryst
What Hope Remained?

What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
        When putrid plumes dulled morning into night
        Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent,
        As mortals wept and earthborn angels went
        With downcast eyes to clamber heavens height.

What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
        When panicked sirens wailed a lost lament
        And backs were bowed beneath ungodly weight,
        Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent
        As boots bore souls up treadmills burnt and bent
        To scale a void devoid of dawning light.

What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
        For those in sight of angels heaven sent
        Atop the world to aid their mortal plight,
        Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent.

        When wingless brethren conquered feared ascent
        To gift last hope to all who saw their might:

                What hope remained when hope for hope was spent?
                Hope lived in heart-struck deeds of bold intent.



In The Fall

I chanced upon a stranger in the fall,
Cosmetic garb of office black and white
Portraying calm demeanor of his plight
As shadows panicked on a stricken wall,

And oft' I find my mind in numb recall
To look upon that helpless human kite
Who tumbled from the terrors of a height,
Yet graceful as an eagle in a stall

Before it plummets earthward --   'Neath the pall
Of twisted steel rended by follied flight,
That stranger lives forever in the light
Suspended in iconic timeless sprawl.

        I wonder, in the briefness of his fall,
        Did he derive the meaning of it all?
What Hope Remained: In memory of the three hundred and forty three firefighters of FDNY that fell on Tuesday 11th September 2001, who fought without hope to bring hope to the lost.

In The Fall: Dedicated to "The Falling Man" of Tuesday September 11th 2001, in memory of him and those like him who chose the manner of their own end, when the only choice on that day of days was how, not if or when.
Joe Cole Sep 2015
pure fiction (or is it*)

Cry not for me my country
At my passing swathed in blood
Blood I shed for you
So that in freedom you could live
I was but 21 when the fatal bullit hit
And yes it was no heroes death
As I lay screaming in my own ****
At 21 I was considered old
And looked up to by the kids
But the 7.62 doesn't choose
Who to miss or who to hit
And so to all you brave young men
Who choose to go to war
Do you really want your loved ones
To shed tears over the fresh turned sward
  Sep 2015 Joe Cole
Musfiq us shaleheen
~~
when the silence comes down
in the darkness
the space between you and me
is just a sigh

some of the awaking words
floating in the mind
where tunes comes from
the next door

words to have come out
slowly
poetry as the whispering of  
dry dropping leaves

come up in the
hopeless romantic flute
comes on the
tune of the lost love

a portrait of broken dreams,
black and white
where exists a defeated faded face
and your silhouette
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen
.
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