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Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
They come prepared
For an all out war,
And they are ready
To fight tooth and nail
Until no man is left standing.
With supplies unceasing and
Weapons of mass destruction,
All of our lines of defense will fall.
We are not capable
Of withstanding the continuous onslaught,
Indisputable is their power,
Unending is their greed,
Unimaginable is their cruelty,
Unwavering is their faith
In complete and utter victory.
Inevitable is our demise,
Inapt are our defenses,
Inexperienced are our allies,
Inexorable is their march to
The beat of our doom.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
Passion drives them onwards
To conquer all lands that
Dare to oppose them.
We can not hope to last
Like the Spartans at
The Battle of Thermoplyae
No matter how strongly
Our laconism inspires us.
As mankind’s future dims
And is ultimately vanquished
Before our very own eyes,
We can only hope
That our end is quick
And merciful in execution.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
As I watch the heads of
Friends and family fall,
The decapitation of hope
Is as absolute as the blood
Smeared across the castle walls.
We refused to listen as
They cited holy scripture
To vindicate the necessity
Of our annihilation.
We held strong to our faith
In eternal glory as martyrs
For our philosophies and convictions,
And they bore witness
To our determination,
But we bore witness
To their determination
Only to watch it demolish
Everything we cherished.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
Die Zwergen Armee kommt
und Wir sterben.
I have uttered my final statement,
To forever be the last
Hoarse whisper of my existence,
“You will see the error of your ways,
And I will not repent for the sins
You claim I have committed.
I will let the all knowing
Judge and condemn you all
For the atrocities committed
By your people.”
Then my blood soaked
The soil of my Earth
As my entrails slid out of me,
And I fervently tried to
Force them back inside,
But it was all in vein.
And my final vision
Before complete oblivion
Was my still beating heart
In the hand of my enemy.
Die Zwergen Armee kam
und Wir starben.
Wrote this today. "Die Zwergen Armee kommt und Wir sterben" means "The Dwarf army comes and we die." At the end is the same but in past tense. Enjoy!
Si mon grand Roy n'eust veincu meinte armee,
Son nom n'iroit, comme il fait, dans les cieux:
Les ennemis l'ont fait victorieux,
Et des veincuz il prend sa renommee.


Si de plusieurs je te voy bien-aimee,
C'est mon trophee, et n'en suis envieux :
D'un tel honneur je deviens glorieux,
Ayant choisy chose tant estimee.


Ma jalousie est ma gloire de voir
Mesmes Amour soumis à ton pouvoir.
Mais s'il advient que de luy je me vange,


Vous honorant d'un service constant,
Jamais mon Roy par trois fois combatant
N'eut tant d'honneur, que j'auray de louange.
Joseph C Ogbonna Feb 2023
In seventeen sixty nine a child was born
in Corsica, Genoa's former vassal state.
Prior to his birth, his land had been war-torn,
Paoli's resistance did his birth predate.

At school, his geometrical talent was inborn,
and he was tutored by none other than Laplace.
For his accent, his peers at school laughed him to scorn,
but fortune would elevate him from grass to grace.

With his much older heartthrob he tied the knot;
much to the chagrin of his own dear family.
For the heart of Josephine he relentlessly fought,
and at Chateau de Malmaison they lived happily.

Later he would choose a military career
that would take him beyond the Corsican frontier.
France's revolution saw to his glorious rise,
when at Toulon, he took royalists by surprise.

To Egypt he led a dual expedition
of a military and scientific mission.
To France he returned and sacked the directory,
taking charge of the affairs of state and treasury.

Europe did contend with him in seven coalitions;
at Austerlitz he subjugated two nations,
at Marengo, Austria on her bended knees fell,
at Jena-Auerstadt, Prussia to victory bade farewell.

At Borodino, Russia met her nemesis,
as her vanquished forces saw their paralysis.
At Ligny, Blucher like a beaten canine fled
with the terribly smitten forces he once led.

Portugal's sovereign lord to distant Brazil ran,
when like an invincible lord he came to his realm.
The emperor he feared, and made no military plan;
thus he paved the way for him to ascend his helm.

But despite his triumphs, his weakness was exposed.
At Rolica, his troops a major set back saw.
From Leipzig he did to Elba's island withdraw,
from whence in 1815 he returned unopposed.

Russia's wintry plains did his grand armee deplete,
making his troops vulnerable to a future defeat.
After the famous battles in which he gloried,
his great ambition at Waterloo was buried.
A poem about the life and times of the French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte 1769-1821.
Camels in the
brush
Memories in the
fire
Voices in the
wind
Panic in the
mire

Messages
conflict
Enemy
conspires
First shot
breaks the silence
Last shot
— lights the pyre

(The New Room: February, 2024)
Mateuš Conrad Jul 2018
if you're "ego" tripping...
   masqueraded by
the whole: of night...
    with a warm july breeze
          and an oval moon
   in its three tier transition
from blood orange,
through to a canary:
  and then a blank,
white summary of
                a partial todkopf?
my my...
     not receiving
chilli-like goosebumps
on the back of your neck:
"tripping"
                but rather:
teasing a cognitive void
of consciousness
                          mit: der id?
must be my fetish
for nibbling on german...
the ottoman turks have
come to east london
with a bazar of bulgarian
prostitutes...
it's id tripping -
      vulgarising a "need"
for thought,
   translated via touching
the void
        left with goosebumbs
on the back of your neck...
sure...
          the gods' **** fountain
of the waterfall at glencoe -
agryll...
      which is elaborate
for simply whiskey aids
the observation being
                              undertaken...
once upon a time i referred
to beer as the **** of gods...
changed my mind:
   needed something worth
the equivalent of wearing
                       a chanel no. fünf...
can't exactly express
tha banality of: not thinking -
touching a void,
and then translating it into
goosebumps on the back
of the neck...
   perhaps if i only add the word
combitions in my head -
gott ist gott...
                gott - echo chamber -
                          mit, mit... mit: unß!
it's german...
  there's no yiddish balaclava
                  joke from a new yorker
intended,
            let alone invited;
                        hochdeutsch...
maybe someone ought to have
teased the ******* via
terrible translation software machinery
and somehow love them...
my grandfather has a memory
of SS-men giving him sweets
so sweet that his stuck together
and needed to be pried open
under running water:
    herrbittebonbon:
                     exactly like that...
no punctuation form
                 of herr, bitte bonbon...
the schwarzuniform...
   and then:
                die rot armee
  composed of khaki attired
       teenagers stopping for the night
in my home town,
preferring to sleep on hay,
in stables,
                 with the animals...
perhaps memory
   is the only faculty we wish
to revitalise even if it succumbs
to temporal
                       degeneracy...
but the advent of ensuring
memory become pristine -
        pulverised by recounting it...
certainly overcomes
the self-evident perils of
                                   the body -
memory is trans-temporal...
   it slows time...
               so that things become
more...
                     static...
       or to use a better relief description:
intact within their spatial
confines...
           memory?
                 that grand cinema cameo?
no one ever tires of
playing with the last
remaining toy,
after the children put away
their toys, and become adults
weilding sickles and hammers...
memory: is, the last toy -
with which
  people will always play with.

— The End —