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—a buyer and seller
of mostly himself

—a ***** on the take
and about to slip

Each made promises to the other
but both loved journeys
and valleys
and limericks
and turntables
and spirits
and skirt-raising
and slowdives
and lip-biting
and come-hither
more than their here-and-now vow

Trigger-happy begetter
with an ax to grind
killing captives slowly
with jagged little things
it's the strangest sound
in spite of the plight of
the ringing in his ears
it never fades away

I reckon numbers and lead are arbitrary
to a button man
whose wheels turn circles
mainly in his skull
as infinite go-around

Never mind though, the time must be now
for a show of hands

Motherhood waited in the ship's hold
until the treasure hunt
brought her to this final island
a choice between gold
and the aging ******

The young who suckle at her breast
might one day run mum through
with the sword at Payback
—that unsteady little homestead
where profit and loss
share the same face

Never mind though, the moment must be now
to ring the bell

And raise redemption
like a burning flag of regret
Vladimir Lionter May 2020
It is a great honour to serve Fatherland,
To die for Motherland is honour greater,
So that all say: “It’s necessary to live in that
Manner!”So that roths’ hundred came to funeral feast later!
But, it stands to reason,  is in dreams all this,
In practice, this is so fierce reality,
Often die at their posts soldiers,
Not in war’s day—this is terrible banality.
A  commander cynical, satisfied
Will send a letter to a soldier’s mother
That Ivanov “disgracing his uniform died,
Setting explosives to blow himself up and
It’s not the military unit’s fault farther…”
And the grief-stricken mother washing down with
Corvalol  her terrible heart attack,
Will begin to die quietly at home time this,
By the letter as by a judgement struck.
And the local policeman’ll come to her
Once to question her neighbours in time.
Her neighbours’ll say: “Perhaps, she’s not living more,
We have not heard her walk for a long time.”
The local policeman will open her
Door, the soldier’s mother seeing one day,
He’ll describe her body. Believe it or not any more
“The military unit’s right”, they say.


Большая честь Отечеству служить,
Честь бо́льшая – погибнуть за Отчизну,
Чтоб говорили все: «ТАК надо жить!»,
Чтоб сотня рот пришла на эту тризну!
Но это всё, естественно, в мечтах –
На практике – суровая реальность:
Солдаты умирают на постах!
Не в дни войны! Ужасная банальность!
Довольный и циничный командир
Пришлёт письмо для матери солдата:
Что «Иванов, позоря свой мундир…
Самоподрыв… но часть не виновата…»
И горем ошарашенная мать,
Запив сердечный приступ корвалолом,
Начнёт тихонько дома умирать,
Сражённая письмом, как приговором.
И как-то участковый к ней придёт
Для сектора жилого отработки.
Соседи скажут: «Видно не живёт –
Давно её не слышали походки!»
И участковый вскроет сразу дверь.
Увидев тело матери солдата,
Опишет труп. И верь или не верь,
Но говорят, что «часть не виновата»…

Translator - I. Toporov
John McCove Nov 2018
My comrade P. is slightly outraged
The knife is honed and spilled with blood
I dance with fairy-mushrooms on the stage
My wooden horses lined-up at the start

And flies together with black crows 
Float through the heavens getting nuts
I feel like hundred-year corpse
I feed meat-hasher with my guts

My ******* fatherland in red
Is getting mossy day by day
I look at it from high above my head
While comrade P. is turning into clay
Mysterious Aries Sep 2015
"I LOVE YOU" A sweet word to the ear
A flower blossoms that to someone you are dear
A paint that will clear the color of your blue
And turns your lonely heart, to a happy you

"I CARE" a word that will bury to a heart
Words that can't forget even to the last breath of a life
A seed that someday will bear sweet fruit
A fruit that will end up my countrymen chaos

Perhaps if I didn't utter "I LOVE YOU" and "I CARE" today
The saddest word that I'll meet someday
Mister Regret a name that will **** my heart
To then my mission be declared as failed

So then to my acquaintance, to my beloved ones
To you my princess, my beloved fatherland
And then again "I LOVE YOU" and "I CARE"

written: Feb. 22, 2001 @ 9:30 am PH Time

Mysterious Aries
Graff1980 Jul 2015
Our nation is a father
Who spends sons unwisely
Wasting their wonder
On warrior blunders

In nations swelling pride
We see our children
Committing suicide
Honor bound to pursue
Patriotic truths

If mothers ran the world
Would it all be better
Or would maternal malice
Malform modern intent

Blue eyes telling lies
Of war and all its’ glories
Grey hair sitting there
In old reclining lawn chairs
Celebrating fantastic stories

But I know the lives lost
Were not always spent wisely
Were not always sacrificed justly
Why does it feel like no one else sees
Have I become Don Quixote

Fatherland motherland
Better planned
Would be brotherhood
And sisterhood
All that love spent for the good

Like this poem
We have lost our way
Perhaps better stanza
Will return the wisdom
Of our better sages
Shivendra Om Jul 2015
I'm a refugee

in a world of

rooted in fatherland
{ English is not my mother tongue. My father was an Italian poet }

by Luca Shivendra Om
© Luca Shivendra Om

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