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 Dec 2016 Joel M Frye
TDN
I imagined myself leaving
someday.  Trading
plains for seas, exchanging
something loved for something
unknown.

And maybe it's the fear
of quietly whispering
goodbye that unsettles me.
Maybe it's the inevitable
end of familiarity,
like the sun's western descent
after a day that should not
end.
And when it does,
we all pack our bags
and say farewell.

Eventually,
I will trace new roadmaps on the
back of my hands;
I will find the familiar
creaks in the floorboards.

And when the sun sets,
someone will leave a light on
for me.
in hard times especially
those of us who can afford it
should be generous

unless we want to have
tanks in our streets again soon
As darkness gathered, so did the crowds;
They were like moths drawn to the flame.
The swastikas were everywhere-
All loyal party members came.
The piled the books by Freud and Jung
And untermenchen of their kind
And tossed them on the bonfire there
as part of ******’s grand design.
The flames leapt high into the night
Fueled by these UN-German books
As Goebbels watched in rapt delight,
at how he had these people rooked.
As darkness gathered so did the crowd
to witness this unholy scene,
unaware that those who start with books
will end up burning human beings.
On the night of May 10, 1933 The **** party burned 20,000 books deemed UN-German and unsuitable at the Bebelplatz in central Berlin.  The ending couplet is a reference to a famous quote by the German 19th Century author Heinrich Heine. My deliberate misspelling of the location in the title was intention and meant to evoke the tower of Babel.

"Where they burn books, they will ultimately burn people." - Heinrich Heine.


As a lifelong bibliophile, this scene represents my vision of Hell
I feel that there are times
when I could reach out my hand
and touch my own death.
This causes me no regret or fear
for I have lived in my own way-
Godless and lawless but
with a belief in knowing
what's right and wrong.
So, as my ghostdom awaits me
I shall not tremble in my shoes
I'll greet him with a wink
and my best angelic smile

                                      By Phil Roberts
Order bent by writhing mind, twisted chaos running blind.
Dispatched orders sent by they, manipulants who on us prey.
Calculating coldly spent on that which God could not relent,
Death, that trifling matter ****** when simple life surmounts the cusp.
Feeling-less to those who dwell within this edge of seething Hell.
Impassionate and cold of eye until that hour when they must die
Then fast, humanity breaks forth…"Too late, too late", the Gods retort!
Die badly now I thee commit…incinerate in Satan’s pit!

M.
21 December 2016

*A curse I now cast at all disciples of chaos, at all peddlers of death and misery, at all the tyrants of the world who have never tasted or seek to have sought, the milk of human kindness.
in the dark
compass spinning
wanton wind
howling, wailing
brittle arms
in concert waving
emerald waters
whipped and raging

sky crushed velvet
sequins sewn tight
to the shattered
span of night
a million times
each time as new
with stardust eyes
with gratitude
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