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Tensei Oct 3
Heaven clears its coward clouds
crows ascend and ravens caw
as a man unfazed and proud
greets aloud the Devil's maw

the land trembles at his spear
sunlight screaming on his shield
as his roar defeats the fear
and vibrates far into the field

the coming shadow of his foes
stretches further than he sees
so his gaze begins to glow
for he is where he's meant to be

a growl of courage and respect
rises from one hundred men
their lives ready to neglect
for those they'll never see again

the Earth quakes with endless herds
the burning sky begins to fall
his throat bulges its last words
and they bellow, "SHIELD WALL"

spears are laid their final hands
the heavy metal claps together
as brothers like their fathers stand
their mortal souls obtain forever.

In the veins where honor churns
the pulse of rage begins to tear
for the men who won't return
there is not a life to spare

and so it is

on a rock an ocean crashes
today men, tomorrow ashes
spear thrusts and shield smashes
for the lakes and for the grasses
for the name that never passes
and the star that always shines
their motherland, asleep behind
with the old and with the blind
with the children and the wives
the very womb that gave them lives

faces crack against their steel
footmen cry and captains kneel
a line of slaughter walled by zeal
brings each wave of slaves to heel
while the vultures praise their meal
the blade is swung, the pain ignored
necks are slit and skulls are gored
legs are worn and arms are sore
as fervor beats the chest's encore
like thunder drums the hum of war

blood with sweat in dust is bathed
no son is spared, no farewell bade
no grave is made, no boatman paid
a god was deaf when mothers prayed
alone they march the death parade
as the birds consume their spleens
all that's left is silent trees
who as tombs attend the scene
to absorb unto their gleam
what it's like to have been free

over yonder, in freedom somewhere
a daughter's silent cry implores
for her seesaw is still there
but its maker is no more.
Carmen in honorem - honor's song (Latin)
Haley Protega Aug 28
My gaze flickering across this landscape divine -

a whirlwind of sentiments unfolds.

Yet a single word echoes across my mind:

mine, mine, mine.


These hills, these trees, the distant shore,

as sure as the breeze caressing the steeple:

they are part of me, and more -

I am at home, safe, with my people.


I feel it, I know it, the comfort it sings -

whispers of safety, a lullaby to my broken wings:

familiar and gentle, deep in my bones,

the ancestry calling from ancient white stones.


Rosemary, lavender, olives, and fig trees,

they tell me of history, of proud victories;

of battles, of sadness, of stories untold,

the generations with lingering spirits of old.


This is my land, I belong here;

the soft hum of time; a smile and a tear.
30.07.2019.
Visignano, Istria (Croatia)

(Latin, mea terra = my land)
मेरी देशभक्ति सिर्फ मुज तक नहीं,
ये बात मैं भी जानती  हूँ .
हर एक देशवासी मायने रकता है
ये बात मैं भी मानती हुँ !

बात  करते  हो  तुम  दुश्मनो  की,  
हम  तोह पूरी  दुनिया  को जुंजाला  दे !
बात  करते हो  तुम  धरती की ,
हम  तोह  पूरा  आसमान  हिला  दे !

इस मिट्टी से सब जुड़े है हम ,
इस मिट्टी मैं मिल जाएगे .
तिरंगे के रंगो से जुड़े है हम,
इन रंगो मैं घुल जाएगे !

जंग के मैदानों मैं भी, भूमि-माँ ने मुझको संभाला है !
खड़ा उठ और कर देश की रक्षा ,
ऐसा हौसला दिया है !

जवान है हममैं,
जवान है तुममें ,
इस बात को अब तुम मान लो .
छोड़ो अपने ही देश से लड़ाई ,
अब एकता को तुम भी अपना लो !
Wishing you all a very happy Independence week:-)
****, refuses to use DPA, nationalize producing,

distributing accurate testing, PPEs,

not saving taxpayers billions over-spent,

100,000's of their lives,

while preaching his 'corona schmorona'

policies at disease super-spreader rallies,

exterminating republicans.



"...We(e),..." can inspire billionaires:

replace our 'shoulda, coulda, woulda' situation with a win.

Loans can purchase combining of medical manufacturers

to supply States with testing, PPEs, stop carnage.
"The root of all oppression lies in (supposed) science", "be the change you want to see in the world", Gandhi.  They're going to ****** your family, if not with this virus than another, unless you protect, occupy, GOTV, "you can't dismantle the man's house with the man's tools", Lourdes: classism, notseeism, totalitarianism, defining power as manipulation through to genocide, instead of learning through to consciousness raising.  Copy, share as you will.  Thanx for all you do and don't.  Be well.  Viva la vida, solidaridad, la evolucion    :)   reality
**** said, "people wouldn't have the pandemic if they weren't tested".  
If he were a comic he'd get this advice, your policy jokes are like a
bridge too far that's not far enough, to nowhere, you'd **** there, go.

Still, he continues to refuse to use the DPA to nationalize producing,
distributing effective testing, PPEs, which would save taxpayers 100's
of billions of dollars overspent now on gouged prices, and 100's of

thousands of their lives, he continues to preach his 'corona schmorona'
policies at his super-spreader of disease rallies, exterminating repubs.
Our outrage can turn the tide, as can a term or two of President Joe.

We've got 614 billionaires here, why can't "...we(e),..." inspire them to
replace our 'should a, could a, would a' situation with a win, win one.
They walk into a bank, walk out with 100 million dollar loans, that can

purchase the combining of medical manufacturers to do what the not
use of DPA didn't, supply States with all the testing, PPEs they need at
a decent price, the guaranteed market would do the same for the loans.

A nation working together can save those 100's of thousands mass-murdered by the repubs coviding, premeditatedly, and those whose
ases, assets will be liquidated by homelessness, hunger, crime, stress.

Only if we insist the model of mass theft of tax dollars by purposely not preventing things is tossed: Lion of The Senate running against Carter = October Surprise, Iran-Contra-gate; S+L gate; Y2K; Silicon Valley Start-

up Bust; Attacks on 9-11-01; unnecessary unending wars; '05 filling the bowl by Katrina, NOLA, by non-reinforcing of levees for decades; '07 great recession; '10 manufacturing of tea party by ebony, ivory, the

Black, white supremacies, working in perfect harmony with the multi-media conspiracy, as they're doing now; '16 non-prevention of hacking of election, if you didn't vote Hillary you voted to illegally install Utin and

his **** into the BlackHouse; '17's seeing **** end the WhiteHouse pandemic response team, cut CDC's funding, etc., to allow the virus to take elderly, poor lives, ***** nil. The insanity can be stopped, will you?
"The root of all oppression lies in (supposed) science", "be the change you want to see in the world", Gandhi.  They're going to ****** your family, if not with this virus than another, unless you protect, occupy, GOTV, "you can't dismantle the man's house with the man's tools", Lourdes: classism, notseeism, totalitarianism, defining power as manipulation through to genocide, instead of learning through to consciousness raising.  Copy, share as you will.  Thanx for all you do and don't.  Be well.  Viva la vida, solidaridad, la evolucion   :)   reality
Outis May 27
Listen my grandchildren
And yee listen well,
For there is a story I ought tell,
A story of the blood of men and lady’s tears
The story of struggle of the Irish Volunteers.

A fine morning it was of Easter week,
I bought my sweetheart a present,
A shawl I gifted after lent.
A shawl of blue, a great blue starling
To show how much I loved my darling.

‘Twas a beautiful home
A growing son I had,
Not yet ten was the lad.
With his oversized trousers and squeaky boots
As he ran, that comic cloth made great long flutes.

I left her home not muttered a word
A kiss she gave, with love.
An innocent pale dove,
She not knew what pain I was to bring her
Fighting for my country, betraying our home with lustful vigour.

We took our positions
In that accursed pantheon of hell
Cocking our guns and loading shell
We broke the clear windows and blocked the wood doors
We were ready, restless, to settle scores.

There it was born, our Irish Republic
Forged in the flames of battle
Under death and rifle rattle
Tempered by the blood of men and lady’s tears
We were the hammer of God, the Irish Volunteers.

As a forest fire spreads over the face of green earth
Slaughtering all upon its path,
Wild beasts and men alike, run from nature’s wrath
As the trees look on, trembling with fear,
their barks alight their leaves in sear.

The trees look on, as their mothers and sisters burn,
Knowing that they will soon suffer the same fate,
But knowing escape is far too late.
So, a fire of patriotism spread from soul to soul,
Amongst the men sitting in that building, as it crumbled whole.

I aimed my iron cross
And clenched my finger with steel will
My eyes shone with rage, a lust to ****.
A flash, I flinch, I shrink, the bullet loops
There he lies before me, that boy with squeaky boots.

He would then sink his head
Into a dejected demeanour
If I were to go back, he says, I would with the same vigour
Risk my life and betray my home
To serve my country, not thrusting my head into loam.  

As a farmer casts his seed of golden wheat
Onto the brown soil of a furrowed field,
Bringing life and beauty for the vacant ground to yield,
So, artillery fire rained down upon us from the vast blue sky
bringing not life, but death for politics to justify

We walked out from that burning cradle of war and fire
Townspeople, those we loved, those we fought for
Jeered and cursed, we lowered our eyes to our county’s floor
I looked upon the crowd, struck I was, as by a maul
As she stared, with disgust, gravely, that navy shawl.

One moment ago, soldiers of honour,
Brave men, we felt we were, behind our triggers
Now mere traitors, scorned like *******
Our loved looked upon us, rabid dogs we were,
Waiting for cold lead to calm our wild stir.

It is with reason we left that building there to burn.
A pile of ash and gore for the British to neglect,
A standard of freedom for Ireland to recollect.
We shall long not forget the eternal glory
For what we fought for, our territory!

His long speech would end abruptly,
His eyes drowning in liquid sorrow,
His voice recovering scarcely on the morrow.
A speech cut short by what seemed was grief
was more than so, ‘twas regret, ‘twas disbelief.

My grandfather told us this story upon autumn nights,
The smoke of his clay pipe and the lash of rain
Reminding him of his unyielding pain.
A pain, a dream for a united island.
A dream drowned in blood and loud as silence.

He is with us no longer
Upon his wooden rocking chair,
Yet I am still here, his dream’s heir.
The faces that we once saw in life ourselves
Become mere pictures, gathering dust upon our shelves.

For those who read this allegory
May you be sure to remember this glory
When shoulder to shoulder our men there stood
Upon our ground, chopping forest wood.
Discharging splinters of freedom and death
We were Irish that day, you may bet!
A poem I wrote, so that people never forget the heroism of the Irish Volunteers.
Moomin Apr 29
Into a tavern an American strode, on a quest to discover an Englishman's ways
Observing the gathered he suddenly spies, some well-to-do chaps with their pipes all ablaze
“Hey there you guys, Sam is the name”, He proudly announced to the well-tailored fray
“All the way from old Texas” he loudly proclaimed, “In the land of the free, the great USA”

A moustache of a man looked him up and down, and tipped his grand hat to Sam with a nod
“Greetings good fellow”, he said with a frown, “Welcome to Britain, by Queen and by God”
Sam shook their hands and tipped his large hat, and crunched his cigar, as he ordered a drink
“I'm here in this land to discover the fact, of what makes you English, what do you think?”    

One chap among them, a plum-spoken gent, puffed out his chest and declared with an air
“My dear Yankee doodle, let me present, the cream of the realm, gentlemen rare
One can disclose the knowledge you need, our proud sovereignty, nobility and grit
Can show you the heritage that you're lacking indeed, and the true meaning of us being true Brits”

“Being English is cricket, and tennis and tea, and the triage of filles, and fox-hunting yarns
At castle and keep, sipping afternoon brandy, while frolicking maids are kissing in barns
Watching Stocks and the opera, reciting the bard, and true English heroes, the blue blood of old
Like Churchill and Thatcher, in such high regard, and Newton and Scott, the brilliant and bold

These are the things, dear Samuel, that make, this green pleasant land, so English and true
The spirit of Nelson, of  Darwin and Drake, for glorious Britannia, the red white and blue”

As Plum finished preaching, he twirled his moustache, and held his head high awaiting the cheers
But none was forthcoming, and as minutes passed, a voice bellowed forth from a belly of beer
“Don't listen to Toff, Ee's out of his pram”, came the rough wheezy growl, approaching the fray
Standing bold and defiant, with tankard in hand, with hairy demeanour, started to say

“This geezer's a softy, a spoiled wealthy brat, who don't know this England, from the stuff that he spoke
Now let me inform you of the truth and the facts, of what makes a real Englishman bloke
Forget all the pompous, the silver and brass, the Lords and the Gentry, the horse-riding lark  
The caviar and strawberries, and French crystal glass, that's not the England that's dear to our hearts
              
Real men have blisters, and lungs full of dirt, they eat chips and winkles, and drink cloudy ale
England is scrumpin, and pullin the skirt, and cheering on footy, and fishermen's tales
To be English is cloth caps, and pidgeons and pints, to stand in our union, with the oppressed
It's greyhounds and betting, and Christmas tree lights, with our spam and and our jam, and our blessed NHS
    
And real English heroes, ain't silver spoon folk, but those that must struggle and fight for a break  
Like our Tolpuddle martyrs, who loosened our yolk, Bobby Moore and Nai Bevin, these are our greats
Thomas and Bowie, Mcartney and Quo, and Cooper our fighter, who knocked Goliath down  
We real English people, who carved life from stone, from our green hills and valleys, and our crammed little towns

So listen here mate, and learn what we are, a land of hard grafters, who weather all storms
With strong hearts and cheer, we have come far, for with such a spirit, Great Britain was born”

So yob declared, then swigged from his beer, backed by the chorus of lads in his mob
But just as the crowd were howling with cheer, a new voice was heard, that closed all their gobs
He pranced into view with red wine in his hand, and stood in their midst and started to speak
With accent so strong, he now made his stand, addressed the large crowd, as he stood on his seat

“Misseurs and madames, these pretenders are wrong, they know not what's true of this little Isle
For history shows to the French it belongs, as I will demonstrate in a short while
For two centuries, it's sovereign was France, and it's language reflects this reality still
It began when across the channel did dance, your true king of old, conquering Will      

You Eenglish learned French, our laws and our ways, and married our folk and Frenched up your clothes
We taught you valour, the knights of our days, and brought you garlic, to bother your nose
And to this day, you still speak our tongue, in everyday things, and places and names
French kisses and fries, Sol is for sun, French polishing and doors, and croquet, a French game            

And so your true nobles, Frenchmen no less, are the real English heroes, true ones of fame
Like Joan and dear Louis, and Charlemagne the blessed, good old Napolean, and Zinedine Zedane
For this is your heritage, your roots and your lot, this is our England, and your are French, sirs
This annex of Francais, this green little spot, we fondly regard as, Anglataire Sur-la-Mer”

As the Frenchman stepped down, quite chuffed with his speech, the room was in silence, so gobsmacked and shocked
But one more was to come, to implore and impeach, with a claim to old England, now addressed the flock
“Bueno, bueno”, dear Frog and misguided senoirs, a noble attempt but, stupido and wrong
You forget your true background, this land is not yours, it was born from us Romans, To Italia it belongs
Caeser was first, with Hadrian's wall, to keep out the riff-raff, and claim all land below  
We built cities and towns, and united them all, from Londinium to louth, with our great Roman roads,  

And we taught you barbarians to cease from your grunts, and embrace noble Latin, the language of prose
Gave you saunas and plumbing, to fight your cold fronts, and wine by the flagon to drown all you woes
Defended this island from the ravaging hordes, like the vicious old Vikings, who kept you on your toes  
Equipped your poor soldiers with Italian leather and swords, shared perfect pizzas, and fine Gucci clothes  

And the real English stock, are Italian brewed, Like Galileo and DaVinci, the wisest of men  
Marconi and Michleangelo, and Pinnochio of wood, and Gian franco Zola and Sophia Loren
So when speaking of English, and what it endows, remember this land is only on loan,
For England means Italy, and bid others ciao, for all England's roads will lead you to Rome”

Now at the end of these claimants, confusion set in, and the baffled tavern patrons were all in a daze
For no-one now knew, how England begins, or what on earth represented an Englishman's ways    

But Sam, he was beaming, was crowing with glee, and raised his hat high in triumph and praise
Twirled his hat in his hands, standing firm as a tree, and spoke words that amazed

“It's clear to y'all, good folk, is it not, that none of those here can stake a true claim
For this island it seems is a mixed melting ***, and on-one is English, only in name
You're a rag tag of strangers, from lands far away, and England is vacant, this I can see
So I'll gladly now claim it, for the good old USA, the land of the brave and the home of the free”

A din now erupted, and loud voices were heard, and the crowd were offended at old Sam's demands  
Indignant and angry at this fellow's nerve, and his bid for the taking of their own homeland
One after another, they responded to him, and challenged his audacious claim for the realm
That England would be a subservient kin, with them as the passengers, and USA at the helm

Moustache spoke up first, and challenged ole Sam, and quoting his words, berated his claims
“Look here, my good fellow, I'm offended I am, you slander our nations, with your grandiose aims
By saying such things of your own land out west, you imply rotten things with your patriot rave
That we all lack courage, and are less than the best, that we are all cowards, who are weak and enslaved”  

. “Old Snob is right, mate, the Cokney bloke chimed, ow dare you try grab this old land where I grew
So what if our roots are a little entwined, we're all here to stay now, and that much is true
You Yanks ain't so different, in where you come from, your a lucky dip bag, with surprises galore
With Indian, eskimo, shall I go on? You wandered from England and Italian shores        

The Frenchman stepped up, could hold back no more, and joined in the engagement with great zeal  and zest
“The Yob is spot on, but he's missing some more, don't forget Aztecs and Germans and the rest  
And what of our names, and our places you took, the new replication of our glorious towns
New Orleans, and old Boston, New England, New York, your cheek and audacity know of no bounds”  

Now a pin dropping then would have been a loud noise, as the multitude there ceased their attack
For old Sam stood there now, silently poised, confused and confounded, firmly gobsmacked
He pondered their words, and finally spoke, with a softer tone, he himself now set
For his pride had been prodded, his stride was now broke, he now offered them some form of regret

“Gee all you fellas, I may have been brash, I meant you no harm or disrespect
My presumptuous claim I'll recant in a flash, because to England's defence you have leapt
But, if I'm not American, and we don't belong, then nothing is sacred and no-one is free
Then I now pose a question to this mixed up throng, what is this land and who the hell are we?      

There were muttering and mumbling, and confusion reigned, as each gave some thought to this perplexing affair
The jury was out and the question remained, no answer forthcoming, from anyone there
Finally, from near the door came a sound, a voice that was new now spoke to the pack        
As the mish-mash of gentlemen all turned around, they beheld a tall figure standing there at the back

“What troubles you friends?” he asked with a smile, “This problem it only exists in your minds
While searching your ancestry all of this while, you left your identities and meaning behind
There is no mystery to solve and uncover, it is simple and plain as the nose on your face
You're not English or French nor any other, you are brothers and sisters of the great human race

You don't need your boundaries, or borders or flags, you all have the same desires and fears
Whether black white or red, in robes or in rags, you all fall in love and shed many tears
And your children don't see USA or UK, but only a playmate who will share all their fun
Who don't want to fight but just want to play, and share the same water, same air and same sun    

All the nations proclaim that they are best, that theirs is the right way to live from our birth
They claim they're united, and have passed all the tests, and that man's institutions can salvage the earth
United Nations and States and Kingdoms and such, yet paranoid and divided by the nationalist call
But all of this rhetoric doesn't mean much, for the truth is, dear brothers, we are God's children all”
Love is that sweet
which dumb eats
Tastes and enjoys
But cannot say what it is.
Can Anyone Define Love? I think It Is Impossible. What Do You Say?
fray narte Apr 7
my heart only knows rage
growing, crawling like wildfire
to which my bones will collapse like lilac twigs;

then again, honey,
we do not burn down with the fire — we become it,
should we fall like witches condemned.

then again, honey,
they do not burn; the fire knows its mistress' touch
and today, we have inherited
all the anger, all the wrath, all the names of the men
she held onto for centuries in her palms.

today, she will avenge
all her sisters lynched and effaced
all her brothers starved and gunned
by the very pigs who swore to protect
and the fire will
creep, engulf, and spread,
torching their money and their abusive hands —
their lying tongues and iron fists
burning in cauldrons
they will burn us in,
and the smoke will rise to the heavens
until all that's left are ashes
from where no cruel man will rise.
and the smoke will rise to the heavens
until justice,
like a goddess,
emerges from a foam of embers.

and the smoke will slowly lift —
so will this anger.
so will this wrath.

and it's the sun itself that awakes
to the promise of a new day.
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