Existence
by Fadwa Tuqan the "Poet of Palestine"
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In my solitary life, I was a lost question;
in the encompassing darkness,
my answer lay concealed.

You were a bright new star
revealed by fate,
radiating light from the fathomless darkness.

The other stars rotated around you
—once, twice —
until I perceived
your unique radiance.

Then the bleak blackness broke
And in the twin tremors
of our entwined hands
I had found my missing answer.

Oh you! Oh you intimate, yet distant!
Don't you remember the coalescence
Of your spirit in flames?
Of my universe with yours?
Of the two poets?
Despite our great distance,
Existence unites us.

Keywords/Tags: Fadwa Tuqan, Palestine, Palestinian, Arabic, translation, existence, love, darkness, star, stars, orbit, radiance



Enough for Me
by Fadwa Tuqan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Enough for me to lie in the earth,
to be buried in her,
to sink meltingly into her fecund soil, to vanish ...
only to spring forth like a flower
brightening the play of my countrymen's children.

Enough for me to remain
in my native soil's embrace,
to be as close as a handful of dirt,
a sprig of grass,
a wildflower.

Published by Palestine Today, Free Journal and Lokesh Tripathi



Nothing Remains
by Fadwa Tuqan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Tonight, we’re together,
but tomorrow you'll be hidden from me
thanks to life’s cruelty.

The seas will separate us ...
Oh!—Oh!—If I could only see you!
But I'll never know
where your steps led you,
which routes you took,
or to what unknown destinations
your feet were compelled.

You will depart and the thief of hearts,
the denier of beauty,
will rob us of all that's dear to us,
will steal this happiness,
leaving our hands empty.

Tomorrow at dawn you'll vanish like a phantom,
dissipating into a delicate mist
dissolving quickly in the summer sun.

Your scent—your scent!—contains the essence of life,
filling my heart
as the earth gulps up the lifegiving rain.

I will miss you like the fragrance of trees
when you leave tomorrow,
and nothing remains.

Just as everything beautiful and all that's dear to us
is lost—lost!—and nothing remains.

Published by This Week in Palestine and Hypercritic (read in Arabic by Souad Maddahi with my translation as a reference)



Labor Pains
by Fadwa Tuqan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Tonight the wind wafts pollen through ruined fields and homes.
The earth shivers with love, with the agony of giving birth,
while the Invader spreads stories of submission and surrender.

O, Arab Aurora!

Tell the Usurper: childbirth’s a force beyond his ken
because a mother’s wracked body reveals a rent that inaugurates life,
a crack through which light dawns in an instant
as the blood’s rose blooms in the wound.



Hamza
by Fadwa Tuqan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Hamza was one of my hometown’s ordinary men
who did manual labor for bread.

When I saw him recently,
the land still wore its mourning dress in the solemn windless silence
and I felt defeated.

But Hamza-the-unextraordinary said:
“Sister, our land’s throbbing heart never ceases to pound,
and it perseveres, enduring the unendurable, keeping the secrets of mounds and wombs.
This land sprouting cactus spikes and palms also births freedom-fighters.
Thus our land, my sister, is our mother!”

Days passed and Hamza was nowhere to be seen,
but I felt the land’s belly heaving in pain.
At sixty-five Hamza’s a heavy burden on her back.

“Burn down his house!”
some commandant screamed,
“and slap his son in a prison cell!”

As our town’s military ruler later explained
this was necessary for law and order,
that is, an act of love, for peace!

Armed soldiers surrounded Hamza’s house;
the coiled serpent completed its circle.

The bang at his door came with an ultimatum:
“Evacuate, **** it!'
So generous with their time, they said:
“You can have an hour, yes!”

Hamza threw open a window.
Face-to-face with the blazing sun, he yelled defiantly:
“Here in this house I and my children will live and die, for Palestine!”
Hamza's voice echoed over the hemorrhaging silence.

An hour later, with impeccable timing, Hanza’s house came crashing down
as its rooms were blown sky-high and its bricks and mortar burst,
till everything settled, burying a lifetime’s memories of labor, tears, and happier times.

Yesterday I saw Hamza
walking down one of our town’s streets ...
Hamza-the-unextraordinary man who remained as he always was:
unshakable in his determination.

My translation follows one by Azfar Hussain and borrows a word here, a phrase there.



Biography of Fadwa Tuqan (aka Touqan or Toukan)

Fadwa Tuqan (1917-2003), called the "Grande Dame of Palestinian letters," is also known as "The Poet of Palestine." She is generally considered to be one of the very best contemporary Arab poets. Palestine’s national poet, Mahmoud Darwish, named her “the mother of Palestinian poetry.”

Fadwa Tuqan was born into an affluent, literary family in Nablus in 1917. Her brother Ibrahim Tuqan was the most famous Palestinian poet of his day. She studied English literature at Oxford University and won several international literary prizes.

Tuqan began writing in traditional forms, but later became a pioneer of Arabic free verse. Her work often deals with feminine explorations of love and social protest.

After the Nakba ("Catastrophe") of 1948 she began to write about Israel's occupation of Palestinian territories. Then, after the Six Day War of 1967, she also began writing patriotic poems.

Her autobiography "Difficult Journey―Mountainous Journey" was translated into English in 1990. Tuqan received the International Poetry Award, the Jerusalem Award for Culture and Arts and the United Arab Emirates Award, the latter two both in 1990. She also received the Honorary Palestine prize for poetry in 1996. She was the subject of a documentary film directed by novelist Liana Bader in 1999.

Tuqan died on December 12, 2003 during the height of the Al-Aqsa Intifada, while her hometown of Nablus was under siege. Her poem "Wahsha: Moustalhama min Qanoon al Jathibiya" ("Longing: Inspired by the Law of Gravity") was one of the last poems she penned, while largely bedridden.

Tuqan is widely considered to be a symbol of the Palestinian cause and is "one of the most distinguished figures of modern Arabic literature."

In his obituary for "The Guardian," Lawrence Joffe wrote: "The Palestinian poet Fadwa Tuqan, who has died aged 86, forcefully expressed a nation's sense of loss and defiance. Moshe Dayan, the Israeli general, likened reading one of Tuqan's poems to facing 20 enemy commandos." In her poem "Martyrs Of The Intifada," Tuqan wrote of young stone-throwers:

They died standing, blazing on the road
Shining like stars, their lips pressed to the lips of life
They stood up in the face of death
Then disappeared like the sun.

Yet the true power of her words derived not from warlike imagery, but from their affirmation of Palestinian identity and the dream of return.

"Her poetry reflected the pain, loss, and anger of the Nakba, the experience of fleeing war and living as a refugee, and the courageous aspirations of the Palestinians to nationhood and return to their homeland. She also wrote about resistance to Israel’s injustices and life under Israeli military occupation, especially after Nablus fell to Israeli forces in 1967, heralding Israel’s long-term occupation of the West Bank, which remains to this day." - Zeina Azzam

Millennials at Work and War

Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us

Now thrown into the existential struggle
Surrendering their youth and taking up life
They muster in the fields and factories
And in their elders’ undeclared, shadowy wars
Uniformed in an unappreciated sense
Of duty and dignity while scorned by those
Who take their ease upon the couches of sloth
And fling cheap mockery at millennials
Who take up tools and work and love of life
Sometimes to die in deserts still unmapped
While generals dismiss their casualties as light
Despised as snowflakes by keyboard commandos
Who never got closer to any war
Than a John Wayne ketchup-****** movie.
Some work long double shifts through university
In a sawmill, shop, or fast foodery
Only to be dismissed as slacker layabouts,
But expected to trust those who condemn them
For not being the greatest generation
As defined by those who never served at all
And while being criticized they will grab
A quick cup of coffee for the night shift
Staffing the hospitals and police patrols
That keep their sneering critics alive and safe
They drive the trucks, they man the ships, they work
They drill for oil, these useless millennials
While idlers lounge long in the coffee shops
And YooToob computered jokes about them
Millennials have no time for coloring books
Or comfort animals or revolution
For they are weary with study and work
The best of them make no demands, but, sure
A little respect, hard-earned, would be nice
If only the scripted singer-songwriters
Would pack up the tired old stereotypes
And see millennials as they truly are
But darkness falls – they must go back to work
On the eleven-seven, the graveyard shift
They do not burn draft cards or Medicare cards
Instead through work they illuminate this world
And build it up with continued sacrifice

Scorn not the snowflake who stands watch for us

Fadwa Tuqan has been called the Grand Dame of Palestinian letters and The Poet of Palestine. These are my translations of Fadwa Tuqan poems originally written in Arabic.



Enough for Me
by Fadwa Tuqan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Enough for me to lie in the earth,
to be buried in her,
to sink meltingly into her fecund soil, to vanish ...
only to spring forth like a flower
brightening the play of my countrymen's children.

Enough for me to remain
in my native soil's embrace,
to be as close as a handful of dirt,
a sprig of grass,
a wildflower.

Published by Palestine Today, Free Journal and Lokesh Tripathi



Existence
by Fadwa Tuqan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

In my solitary life, I was a lost question;
in the encompassing darkness,
my answer lay concealed.

You were a bright new star
revealed by fate,
radiating light from the fathomless darkness.

The other stars rotated around you
—once, twice—
until I perceived
your unique radiance.

Then the bleak blackness broke
and in the twin tremors
of our entwined hands
I had found my missing answer.

Oh you! Oh you intimate and distant!
Don't you remember the coalescence
Of our spirits in the flames?
Of my universe with yours?
Of the two poets?
Despite our great distance,
Existence unites us.

Published by This Week in Palestine, Arabic Literature (ArabLit.org) and Art-in-Society (Germany)



Nothing Remains
by Fadwa Tuqan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Tonight, we’re together,
but tomorrow you'll be hidden from me
thanks to life’s cruelty.

The seas will separate us ...
Oh!—Oh!—If I could only see you!
But I'll never know
where your steps led you,
which routes you took,
or to what unknown destinations
your feet were compelled.

You will depart and the thief of hearts,
the denier of beauty,
will rob us of all that's dear to us,
will steal this happiness,
leaving our hands empty.

Tomorrow at dawn you'll vanish like a phantom,
dissipating into a delicate mist
dissolving quickly in the summer sun.

Your scent—your scent!—contains the essence of life,
filling my heart
as the earth gulps up the lifegiving rain.

I will miss you like the fragrance of trees
when you leave tomorrow,
and nothing remains.

Just as everything beautiful and all that's dear to us
is lost—lost!—and nothing remains.

Published by This Week in Palestine and Hypercritic (read in Arabic by Souad Maddahi with my translation as a reference)



Labor Pains
by Fadwa Tuqan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Tonight the wind wafts pollen through ruined fields and homes.
The earth shivers with love, with the agony of giving birth,
while the Invader spreads stories of submission and surrender.

O, Arab Aurora!

Tell the Usurper: childbirth’s a force beyond his ken
because a mother’s wracked body reveals a rent that inaugurates life,
a crack through which light dawns in an instant
as the blood’s rose blooms in the wound.



Hamza
by Fadwa Tuqan
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Hamza was one of my hometown’s ordinary men
who did manual labor for bread.

When I saw him recently,
the land still wore its mourning dress in the solemn windless silence
and I felt defeated.

But Hamza-the-unextraordinary said:
“Sister, our land’s throbbing heart never ceases to pound,
and it perseveres, enduring the unendurable, keeping the secrets of mounds and wombs.
This land sprouting cactus spikes and palms also births freedom-fighters.
Thus our land, my sister, is our mother!”

Days passed and Hamza was nowhere to be seen,
but I felt the land’s belly heaving in pain.
At sixty-five Hamza’s a heavy burden on her back.

“Burn down his house!”
some commandant screamed,
“and slap his son in a prison cell!”

As our town’s military ruler later explained
this was necessary for law and order,
that is, an act of love, for peace!

Armed soldiers surrounded Hamza’s house;
the coiled serpent completed its circle.

The bang at his door came with an ultimatum:
“Evacuate, **** it!'
So generous with their time, they said:
“You can have an hour, yes!”

Hamza threw open a window.
Face-to-face with the blazing sun, he yelled defiantly:
“Here in this house I and my children will live and die, for Palestine!”
Hamza's voice echoed over the hemorrhaging silence.

An hour later, with impeccable timing, Hanza’s house came crashing down
as its rooms were blown sky-high and its bricks and mortar burst,
till everything settled, burying a lifetime’s memories of labor, tears, and happier times.

Yesterday I saw Hamza
walking down one of our town’s streets ...
Hamza-the-unextraordinary man who remained as he always was:
unshakable in his determination.

My translation follows one by Azfar Hussain and borrows a word here, a phrase there.



Biography of Fadwa Tuqan (aka Touqan or Toukan)

Fadwa Tuqan (1917-2003), called the "Grande Dame of Palestinian letters," is also known as "The Poet of Palestine." She is generally considered to be one of the very best contemporary Arab poets. Palestine’s national poet, Mahmoud Darwish, named her “the mother of Palestinian poetry.”

Fadwa Tuqan was born into an affluent, literary family in Nablus in 1917. Her brother Ibrahim Tuqan was the most famous Palestinian poet of his day. She studied English literature at Oxford University and won several international literary prizes.

Tuqan began writing in traditional forms, but later became a pioneer of Arabic free verse. Her work often deals with feminine explorations of love and social protest.

After the Nakba ("Catastrophe") of 1948 she began to write about Israel's occupation of Palestinian territories. Then, after the Six Day War of 1967, she also began writing patriotic poems.

Her autobiography "Difficult Journey―Mountainous Journey" was translated into English in 1990. Tuqan received the International Poetry Award, the Jerusalem Award for Culture and Arts and the United Arab Emirates Award, the latter two both in 1990. She also received the Honorary Palestine prize for poetry in 1996. She was the subject of a documentary film directed by novelist Liana Bader in 1999.

Tuqan died on December 12, 2003 during the height of the Al-Aqsa Intifada, while her hometown of Nablus was under siege. Her poem "Wahsha: Moustalhama min Qanoon al Jathibiya" ("Longing: Inspired by the Law of Gravity") was one of the last poems she penned, while largely bedridden.

Tuqan is widely considered to be a symbol of the Palestinian cause and is "one of the most distinguished figures of modern Arabic literature."

In his obituary for "The Guardian," Lawrence Joffe wrote: "The Palestinian poet Fadwa Tuqan, who has died aged 86, forcefully expressed a nation's sense of loss and defiance. Moshe Dayan, the Israeli general, likened reading one of Tuqan's poems to facing 20 enemy commandos." In her poem "Martyrs Of The Intifada," Tuqan wrote of young stone-throwers:

They died standing, blazing on the road
Shining like stars, their lips pressed to the lips of life
They stood up in the face of death
Then disappeared like the sun.

Yet the true power of her words derived not from warlike imagery, but from their affirmation of Palestinian identity and the dream of return.

"Her poetry reflected the pain, loss, and anger of the Nakba, the experience of fleeing war and living as a refugee, and the courageous aspirations of the Palestinians to nationhood and return to their homeland. She also wrote about resistance to Israel’s injustices and life under Israeli military occupation, especially after Nablus fell to Israeli forces in 1967, heralding Israel’s long-term occupation of the West Bank, which remains to this day." - Zeina Azzam

1 million Afghans and 15,000 Soviet conscripts died
Fought with American guns

Foreign nations had tried for centuries to conquer Afghanistan
In the 1970's it became a focus for the superpowers

To Moscow, a friendly Afghanistan was important

Afghanistan's new leader looked to the Soviet Union for support
The Soviet Union sent advisors to advance socialism

Land was taken from large owners
And handed to the peasants who worked it

Women were encouraged to stop wearing veils
And were put into literacy classes with men

The reforms were seen to threaten ancient customs
And the authority of the Mullahs

The Mullah says,
"God has decided who is rich and who is poor,
It can't be changed by communists."

Opponents of the reforms
Burned down schools and universities
Resistant grew throughout the country

Iranians joined in
Calling for a Jihad
Against the communists

The U.S. thought
That the Soviets might use the Afghan crisis
To move south
And seize the oil of the Persian Gulf

Meanwhile the Shah of Iran was overthrown
The U.S. lost its most important ally in the region
The U.S. considered the possibility of a Soviet controlled Iran

Carter sent the Mujahideen equipment,
Mostly communication equipment
They were mostly peasants

Recruits for the Jihad walked for days
Across the mountains to reach the fighting

Soviet trained Afghan army
Thousands of men deserted
Kabul requested Soviet troops

Afghan president met with Soviet leader

The Soviets feared the spread of Islamic fundamentalism
Into Afghanistan from Iran
The Soviets felt they had to send troops to stabilize the region
Moscow hoped they could complete their mission in weeks

Moscow had Amin assassinated
They didn't like him talking with the Americans

At the United Nations
The invasion of the Soviet Union was condemned

The Soviets began with large sweeps
Their approach was a disaster
Mujahideen remained in the villages
Guerilla fighters remained in the mountains

Reagan stepped up aid to the Mujahideen

The Mujahideen were spilt along tribal lines
They sometimes fought each other

A war fought with our gold
And their blood
According to CIA man

The U.S. viewed the conflict in Afghanistan as an internal
Cold War struggle
The U.S. provided assistance to anti-Soviet forces
Through the Pakistani intelligent services

The Red Army changed tactics
And took to the air
Soviet commandos
Dropped in by helicopters

Soviet aircraft bombing indiscriminantly
Village after village pummeled into oblivion
Then overrun by Soviet troops
The village men who refused to join the Afghan army were murdered

Thousands of civilians killed in Soviet atrocities

The mujahideen attacked Soviet convoys
2,000 Soviets died each year
The war seemed pointless to the Soviet soldiers

The mujahideen favored sabotage operations and assassinations
The Stinger missiles were effective for them as well

Reagan said,
"To watch the courageous Afghan freedom fighters
Battle modern arsenals with simple hand-held weapons is an inspiration to those who love freedom."

The war lasted almost a decade
The early foundations of al-Qaeda
Were allegedly built on relationships
And weaponry that came from billions
Of dollars in U.S. support for the Mujahideen

Scholars have argued that Bin laden was outside
Of CIA eyesight
And that there is no support for the claim
That the CIA funded Bin Laden

(added) Prologue: "we'll get the baron, i swear. the ratings will go through the roof..." nick spoke nervously into the phone he held in his good hand. the other rested at his side, burned beyond use. one of the commandos whispered in his ear. "sir, we have his location.... yes... yes sir..." he hung up the phone and turned to the commando, "scramble the troops, we're going hunting..."


"N-no... not this again..."  Baronyx muttered in his sleep. "I wont... i wont do it..." it was the same nightmare that had plagued him for years. he was what the Two-legs called an Exotic, one of the few hundred dragons left in the world, and a showpeice for the high paying two-legs.
Baronyx had been captured once and forced into slavery as a circus act and performer for many years before he escaped and burned an entire city with his fiery wrath, killing some ten thousand two-legs in his path and sending a message, "don't cage a dragon..." ever since he had been plagued with nightmares of his experiences while enslaved. "stop... No!" he ****** awake and roared in fear. the full moon's light shone on his sapphire scales and temporarily blinded him until his green slit-eyes adjusted. his mate, a green scaled dragoness named Lyra licked his cheek and put a comforting claw around on his shoulder, "its the dreams again, isnt it ***?" Baronyx nodded and stared outside of their cave den.
He glanced over his shoulder at his daughter, Tali, her young yellow scales getting a tinge of green. Baronyx sighed and said, "she's growing so fast... she'll have your scales..."
Lyra looked as well, "and she'll have your eyes, baron." they watched their child sleep a moment longer before Baronyx stood and stepped outside the den. "i'll be right back." lyra nodded and lay back down with her eyes closed. he spread his wings and with a powerful downstroke took flight. Baronyx closed his eyes and glided into the wind currents and to the cliffside where he went to clear his mind and sort out his thoughts. his claws clicked across the hard rock as he landed and tapped rhythmically as he walked to the edge of the cliff and hung his claws off the side. a wild wolf howled in the distance somewhere behind him. something in the air was different tonight and Baronyx felt uneasy. he lay his head down and snoozed for a while, oblivious of what was happening at his den.
- - -
Tali screamed as
Two-legs with metal-spitters swarmed the den and threw heavy nets over her and her mother. "ma! ma! whats going on?!"
"tali! just stay calm.. just stay calm." Lyra roared in protest as the two legs brought lightning-sticks and began prodding at them. "don't you dare touch my daughter you *******!" she shouted even though she knew they wouldnt understand her. to her surprise though, one two leg stepped forward and said, "we won't touch you or your daughter if you tell us where the Baron is."
"i'll never tell you, monster."
the white man chuckled, "from my point of view, you're the monster. and you'll be a wonderful addition to the show..."
- - -
Baronyx heard tali's scream echo In the dark forest surrounding the cliffside. "No!" his roar resonated farther than tali's scream.
at the den a few moments before, the two-legs had caged Tali and Lyra and had set about stabbing at lyra with the shock-prods hoping to draw Baronyx back to the cave. Lyra kept her cries quiet and had refused to satisfy their wishes. the two-leg in charge snarled. "Enough... last chance, dragon. Tell me where he is!"
lyra growled at him, "i'll tell you nothing, worm."
"fine, suit yourself." the man turned his back to her. "lets see if you're daughter has the same resolve, shall we?"
"no! don't touch her!"
"i'm afraid its quite too late for that, dragon."
"tali i'm sorry!"
he turned to Tali and jabbed her in the side with a shock ****. tali groaned and gritted her teeth but did not scream for the man.
she growled at him said, "that tickled." tali grinned at the man with her sharp fangs fully exposed.
the man glared for a moment and then smiled cruelly.
"temporary pain doesnt have an effect on you... maybe something more... permenant will bring him to me. bring the iron!"
two-legs carried a white hot brand in the shape of a greek Omega. the man pointed to tali and said, "on her throat. make it burn."
more two-legs had muzzled lyra to keep her from screaming. the iron cut into tali's scales and burned into the flesh underneath, forcing tali to scream as loud as she could, even after the iron had been taken away. she collapsed on the ground and the tears spilled over her eyes as she continued to scream.
they heard a roar passing over them all as Baronyx rushed back to the den.
"well done, everyone. the prize is near. get your guns ready but DO NOT FIRE!"
* *
baronyx flew faster than he ever had before. he growled  as he swooped down toward his den and saw the two-legs. he screeched in protest as cables wrapped around his wings and limbs. forcing him hard into the ground. "Nick you *******!"
the white man grinned, "so we finally meet
Again, baron. and you have a nice little family i can use to my advantage now."
baronyx looked at tali and Lyra and loosed a mournful moan deep in his throat. "what do you want, nick?"
the man stepped forward and replied, "i want you, back in my show, just like old times. or i'll torture your mate AND this lovely little child of yours. sound like a deal?"
baronyx shut his eyes and nodded as a tear trailed down his cheek. "just know... when i get out, everything will burn... just like old times..."
(add on 1)
The white man and the other two-legs shackled Baronyx and his family with heavy chains and electric collars that would shock them randomly. they were put on a train car headed east and the collars were taken off. Baronyx immediately examined Tali's neck, the brand already scarring over in a whitish pink Omega. tali's voice was hoarse and tears came to her eyes. she buried her head into her father's chest. "i'm so sorry tali, lyra... this is my fault.." the family embraced as they knew there would likely be very little contact with each other after the train stopped.
the train traveled a little while longer and the family shakily said  their goodbyes as the air brakes hissed violently. the doors shrieked open and they were met by Nick. immediately. baronyx pounced on top of him and roared. they stared eye to eye for a moment before they heard the clicking of the two-legs metal spitters. baronyx kept his eyes on Nick and said quietly, "touch her again... touch EITHER of them... and
I swear, no amount of metal spitters or electricity will stop me from hunting you down and tearing off your head."
as baronyx stepped back, nick stood up and replied, "i won't harm either of them, hell, i'll give them whatever they want, as long as you do as you are told, Baronyx."
baronyx thought this over and after a few moments said, "i have one more condition, i want full access to them. whenever i choose."
nick chuckled a bit, "we'll see... we'll see... it all depends on how you perform."
baronyx nodded. "then lets get this over with..." the white man beckoned some two-legs to lead Tali and Lyra to the cages inside the massive pavilion that stood before them. two of the men brought the brand again and put the Omega on Baronyx's throat much like they had done with tali. he gritted his teeth and let the tears come but did not cry out or roar. when the pain had subsided, he asked nick, "when do i start?"
nick looked up at him with a sinister twinkle in his eyes, "right now."
*
Nick and a handful of two-legs escorted baronyx back onto the train, but not the same traincar. this one was blue and had ornate gold lettering on each side. once baronyx was inside, a string of lights came on and he saw his old armor plates each polished and the dents pounded out. he took his helm and stared into his reflection.  "i swore i'd never touch this stuff again..."
an intercom system beeped above him and nick's voice filled the car. "Baron, you have five minutes to suit up. the game starts as soon as we arrive."
baronyx sighed and donned the cold armor one peice at a time. he looked into the mirror on the wall and turned away in disgust.
"for tali and lyra..." there were a few peices left, the ones he never wanted to see again, they were sharp talons that fit over his claws. in the show, he had to use these to **** his opponent. nick's voice came over the intercom again, "arriving at the arena now, the press is fired up for your return, baron. DON'T disappoint them."
Baronyx growled and said a silent prayer for his family. the train screeched to a halt and the door opened. baronyx stepped out onto a black carpet and was assaulted by blinding camera flashes and the deafening roar of the crowding two-legs. over the crowd, an announcer shouted, "Its the Baron! he's back and looks better than ever!"
baronyx kept walking until nick stopped him for the game briefing. "you'll be going up against a group of wyverns, so you should have no problem killing them." the wyverns far outnumbered the dragons, wyverns being the dragons' slightly smaller, less intelligent cousins.
nick began walking away when baronyx asked, "what do they get if i win?"
nick turned, "they?"
baronyx bared his fangs. "my family. what do they get in return for my win?"
nick thought this over for a moment before replying, "they will eat, sleep, and live in their own hovel. and depending on your performance i'll let you stay with them."
baronyx growled, "then lets get this over with."
*
Baronyx was led to the arena doors and he waited patiently for his introduction and call to the game. he looked around at the all too familiar sights, the fight screens, the scoreboard, and the dim light that would signal his entry into the arena. it would be a few minutes before the match and in the meantime, he thought of all his old strategies and gameplans. "i wonder if tali and lyra will be watching..."
nick came out of the shadows and said, "remember, their future depends on what happens next."
the light turned green and the doors opened, spilling light into the room. when baronyx's eyes adjusted, he saw the all too familiar sight of the ****** arena, mangled corpses being dragged away from the last battle. "the baron! he'll be going up against seven wyverns from the northwest territories." baronyx roared as loud as he could as he stormed into the arena. the wyverns on the other side cowered for a moment before charging him. the first one lunged at him and was caught in his
Claws. baronyx looked into the wyverns eyes and saw the fear, the terror of a beast facing his own demise. "for them..." baronyx tore the wyvern's throat out with his claws and threw the body at the next assailant, bowling him over.
the next wyvern was impaled by baronyx's tail and tossed aside to bleed out on the ground while he set about killing the others in various other ways. when the bodies stopped twitching, baronyx's armor was coated in blood. the crowd was silent and he became worried. he looked to the trainer's balcony and spotted nick, who gave a subtle nod of approval. baronyx looked at the timer: one minute seventeen seconds. it was a new record, the shortest match in history. the crowd roared and applauded long after he was led out of the arena. "an amazing, record setting performance by the returning champion, the Baron!"
baronyx was met by the press' cameras outside the arena. Nick's two-legs stripped the ****** armor and allowed him some room to move around.
The camera flashes continued to blind baronyx but his mind was elsewhere. nick finally showed up to answer the press's questions, while baronyx glared at the group of reporters. after an hour of questions and his agitation reached its breaking point, baronyx growled at the reporters, silencing them. when they didn't move, he bared his fangs and roared, forcing them to make hasty retreats and fleeing the conference. once they were gone, nick turned to baronyx and sighed, "thanks. i thought they'd never leave..."
baronyx stared down at him. "we had a deal."
"so we did. and for that breathtaking performance, you will stay with your family in their hovel."
baronyx started walking towards the train, "then i have to go."
*

The Social MePhone Justice Commandos of Toxic Doom

In the unending quest for social justice
Schoolroom shootings, unisex bakeries
Tornados, a steak, a snake, get off the plane
They’re all the same to the Omigod cult:

“Omigod Omigod Omigod O
Migod Omigod Omigod Omi
God Omigod Omigod Omigod
Omigod Omigod Omigod O!

“Chapsnat bookface tubeyou my relationship
It’s complicated Omigod Omi”

valley mountains high,
cattle there to serve us,
rugged men are men,
sheep are very nervous,

megan's dentures in a jar,
pug face snoring porker,
drove llambo to his wellies,
the mountain mutton stalker.

valley commandos camouflage dress,
headband, wellies, wooly string vest,
llambo llewellyn up to the test,
heads for the hills searching his quest.

english may laugh,
and label us sinners,
while we **** sheep,
they eat them for dinners.

Little ant, so small and insignificant
Yet in numbers up an elephant’s snout
How easily you make him indisposed
Lesson to learn: strength in numbers
Maxim to remember: unity of purpose

Oh termite, thou destroyer of civilizations!
How mighty when surreptitiously you creep in
Such ingenious civil engineering feats everywhere
Orderly highways with neither jams nor congestion
And tall imposing castles kissing the air proudly
Result: new architectures plagiarizing your prototype!

And you wasp of constricted waist and mean toxin
You make no attempt to hide or disguise your dwelling
Yours is a house built upon a hill for all to see and tremble
They say when a man has no obvious protection keep away
Lest you trigger subtle forces that mesmerize and pulverize you
Lesson from this: commandos are modern day human wasps

Everybody owes the bee everything, from sweetness to health
The bees a-buzzing speak of persistence and how it breaks barriers
In the end you listen because the message is ceaseless and urgent
And oh sweet bee of the hot sting shot from your posterior
No cordon bleu chef anywhere can ever approximate your finesse
Your formula and patent are hedged with natural mystery
Lesson to learn: the bitter and the sweet in judicious mixture!

Now little man recently so puffed-up and conceited and ever so inadequate
Hear ye this and know it well lest you stumble and fall into dark precipices
You’re nothing and you’ve created nothing; there’s a prototype of everything
In nature’s wonder store of huge surprises and unassuming wisdom
Lesson from all this: one day the other world will rise up and assert it itself
So steer your course differently and beware of those who bide their time
Grim in their purpose and determined in their unshakable resolve

As the vultures cautiously defend their broken gift , a panic stricken ,  innocent creature lays mortally wounded , another tribute to suburban encroachment , killers quite fittingly cloaked in orange attire , warning the civilized world of their presence , roam unchecked throughout Georgia's woodlands .
Paper doll wannabe commandos , indignantly evoke prayer and 'god given rights' , esteem their kind as protectors of the environment . An obvious cover for blood thirst and killing instinct , blanketing raw , scheming , murderous culpabilities ..

God's son
Jesus of Nazareth
He loves me and you

This life is so hard
You know this is true

A terrible time is coming soon
There is nothing we can do
They have great
Military force too

The globalists don't care
Please be prepared
And pray if you believe

America will not be the same





SEAL MAN UPDATE;WAR WITH RUSSIA HAS ALREADY STARTED -US SERVICE MEN AND WOMEN TO BE STUCK OVERSEAS

Friends and family are going to be stuck over seas, killed overseas and everyone back here is clueless. My nieces husband is suppose to be coming home from Iraq on September 4th, imagine how I felt knowing the likelihood of that is about 10% as she told me this with her young son in her arms. I'm ******.

All indications that I have seen lead to a perceived U.S. ground war with Russia overseas, I know it's bold to say, but this is what I believe, it's happening now via NATO troops, and there are U.S. troops heavily involved. Something like this has to happen now, so there is a reason/distraction from the main reason all these military drills and equipment placement is being conducted, which is the fast approaching planet and its debris tail. The military escalation is offering an additional reason to implement martial law if the race riots/civil unrest does not happen soon. This is multi-faceted, with the primary goal being marshal law. Also, this is compartmentalized, so the troops involved (even high level officers) in this don’t realize this is all choreographed.



From FOX today: "US SECRETARY OF STATE ASH CARTER (he just replaced Kerry for this specific action) ANNOUNCES US is sending weapons, aircraft, commandos and enhanced intelligence capabilities to help NATO defend against growing security threats in Europe". They are letting us know, but no one is paying attention. This is choreographed.



Because of this, I believe a cataclysmic/major chaos event (possibly the beginning of a war) is just around the corner, there has to be a sizable distraction very very soon, before the public, those sleeping, realize what our government has gotten us into and lied to us about. Everyone is believing an asteroid event is coming, it's a lie. Anything resembling an asteroid hitting the earth, is from earth, we did it, it will be holographic. There eventually will be asteroids, but they come later, during what is referred to in the bible as Gods Wrath.



I'm sticking to my assessment Steve. The Popes visit will be on the heels of orchestrated chaos, which avenue of chaos? The avenue the computer program (Jade Helm) picks here very soon. The Pope arriving on the heels of chaos will insure his messages will be heard, and the beginning of the acceptance of his messages. We have several big time alternative media moguls showing signs of stress. These reporters are now seeing that what they have been reporting on is actually fact and coming true, this just wasn't entertainment like many of them were led to believe. Many of these reporters have been made promises and lied too, and they are now finding out they have been used, that is why you see them freaking out, they now realize they are dead once this starts.



Repent and be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth. Pray for your family, friends, neighbors and countrymen.

SealMan..........

.

I touched the field of amber pleadings
with eyes only sure enough to find that hidden light
Long lost in the sea of forgotten grasses,
brown from the sun, parched by a drought,
exhaling diversions as I stand facing time,
expecting faces to appear but hands caught the sorrow,
passing it down to an earth that is baked and sore,
thirsting for more, a longer plain in this universe

Weeping cocoons snug in the brambles
oblivious to what the outside wears,
blend in with the endings slowly creeping
awaiting metamorphosis
as a tree falls, no noise, no energy for that
Rooted in dismay, clogged by last season’s air,
pausing only to capture one final view
of the smoke stacks, brick faced commandos,
circular spewing pillars
where beneath wealth is created
but eternity is shortened at wholesale prices

Grey skies, a constant color
pressing doom and gloom
into the landscape, fitted like wedges
force fed in spoonfuls of ignorance
Gathering place settings at my feet,
stirring up dust, blurring the wishers
wondering where the water went,
dry beds, serpentine emptiness,
spilling into garbage piles where lakes once
reflected the ripples as they slowly left,
as not even mud stands a fighting chance

When on a hill I see them, the youth,
our future, backpacks and bubblegum,
ear buds and sunglasses, well meaning,
looking for the next iphone, not being taught
that an apple is actually a fruit
Reading comic books about heroes,
caped crusaders who will save the planet
(that must be what the S stands for)
one colored page at a time

And I sit in the dirt, leaving my impression
for that is all I have left, no answers that
have not been asked, no solutions
that remain passed over, just a wild hair
out of place in this take all world
as highways trickle across farm lands
and corn fields are as barren as my stare

But there is hope…there is always hope...

I hope

END THIS MENACE SOON
Leaping flames and rising fumes
Billowing through shattered panes
Of Mumbai's majestic Taj Hotel,
Choked the helpless inmates
Who knew not why and what
Had caused the terrible blast:
Trapped inside burning rooms,
Scampered and struggled                              in vain
To flee from the spreading flames
And bullets fired from Kasab's
guns.
Shocked and stunned,
the whole nation
Watched with horror and bated
breath,
On TV screens the terrorists' siege
And the commandos' daring acts
To rescue victims and seize
the fanatics
Who maimed and killed innocent guests
And left painful scars, indelible,
On the minds and hearts
of survivors.
When will the world find strategies
To end this menace of
recurring crimes
And save peace loving people
in  all nations?
        * M.G.N.Murthy
Hyderabad, India.

Commandos of respect holed up in the lights
of the medical machine
you are the only thing going on in my head
when I am not trying to think

found leaden footage of stock still bunting
from out the abattoir's grand  open day
on the HB pencil museum's HD security cam

voice can't open wide enough
to say your dead summer name aloud
since evil pixie told me to preserve it in its own silence

saw dead things twine in with tweetie pie's twirling bow tie
polo neck wool brings sling blades to a stop
pull throttle into tug of war  till I blacks out again

fourteen lunar wards later
still can't untangle the sad laughter
of  the neat tarantula  that came out in sympathy
shed her wee skin twice so she did
to make me a nice pair of fingerless gloves

two cold green sparks stood and stared  
at the throw away keep sakes
not dying just going under to cool off for a bit

third hinge blew off  and the song circle bled
and I placed its wound in totemic jello till it went the way of all flesh feathers

my share of the pain didn't give yours a moan in edgeways, it clum back down the thorns of  white gore rose
it was near to the end bit of life
where the gentle killers hung around

Uh-Oh my rhyming machine's got stuck again
see you in a moe toe flow blow sow foe bow crow snow low grow doe .............
.................there's no
such thing as zero
said bronzed gecko with crab arms for munch lips
like his song said
-never let now and then get too close together
-never put rainbow colours near any metal when in in a liquid form
-never hug when giving the kiss of life
-never put infrared furniture in dark living room
-never preserve a sadness in an artificial laughter
then when the music was over itself again
my foetus shaped ears clung to my head
like phantom limb headphones
we turned ourselves  back on
and up
and out
of the natural low
till we were beside our old selves again

A young mother cradles her broken child
Amid the fragments of her world, her soul.
Blood drips.  Rain-sodden insulation drips.
Stillness between storms.  The trees are all gone.
A dark Sargasso Sea of shattered wood,
Bricks, clothes, books, toys, rags, glass, papers, bodies.
In the gasping heat the rot begins now.
No houses.  No lights.  A helicopter
Floating valley boys with plastic boxes
Taking cruel pictures and O-My-Godding
For the telescreen (between soda ads).
And in fortresses of personal affronts

(Safely far away)

Keyboard commandos leap into inaction:

People who choose to live there deserve it.
We told you that global warming is true.
We didn’t have these things ‘til they kicked Jesus
Out of these here schools. And paddling, by God.
It’s Obama’s fault.  Or is it George Bush?
It’s the Republicans. Public schools. Gaia.
British Petroleum.  Coal.  SUVs.
Suburbs.  Not reading the Bible.  Comets.
You’re stupid. Well eff you back.  Eff you more.

While in the second lowering line of storms
A young mother cradles her broken child.

Upon Learning that the Southern Poverty Law Center Maintains an Enemies List

Does anyone maintain a list of friends?

The construction flagman who smiles and waves
The neighbor’s boy who visits for a game of chess
The Friday morning coffee commandos
The waitress who flirts with all her old men
The helpful sackboy at the grocery store
The man who repairs your air-conditioner
The nurse-practitioner who makes you all better
The crossing guard who keeps the children safe

Does anyone maintain a list of friends?

Summon the Strategic Air Command
The world could use more rock bands
Load the B-52's with Ludwig drum sets
and Marshall stacks , tie a twelve string
around the paratroopers backs
Saturate the zone with music books , score pads
and stands
Run missions non-stop , send commandos behind
operational lines bearing SG's and Les Pauls
Microphone stands and PA's , Roland keyboards
on every corner , continue dropping supplies till the world comes
to order* ..

a drinker's ultimate rubric...
           and while listening
   to "conspiracy theories"...
  well... we know that
the luftwafe
    ingested: pervitin
    when doing night raids
on London...
   the english commandos
went into war: drunk as
a skunk... might be:
  jolly good humor to boot
  (die krupps: nazis
                            auf speed)...
but for the love of
god, i don't know what
came over me during
the past 3... 4... 5 days?
   i stopped talking,
     i...
             slept for about 14
hours... skipping the day's
worth of sunlight...
   went to sleep with the shy
sun of sunrise
   and woke up during the night...
i thought that changing
the music i usually use
to k.o. myself to sleep
was wrong...
    so i switched from
the hellraiser II soundtrack
by christopher young:
i can really butcher that soundtrack...
i mean: on repeat,
night after night...
    like someone with
a fetish for mechanical drill sounds...
so i tried the alternatives...
poliça (shulamith)...
         good... in being awake,
but also forgetting you're
awake...
        some sort of elevation
from portishead...
   rotting christ (rituals)...
even the screaming doesn't
sooth me...
      then the ultimate
condender retribution
for the fued between
   the dandy warhols
   and brian jonestown massace...
nothing but: seminal...
        aufheben...
then i had to quench my
love "affair"
   with northern lights -
choral works by ola gjeilo...
no good...
   2 days pass, 3 days pass,
4 and then the 5...
   i'm in limbo...
  counter to anything that might
resemble either
a social, or a political animal,
more: schatten-ratte ghoul
        than a happy-to-go-to
monkey shaman...
                 until
the breaking point comes...
   drank enough
  to put a horse into a *******
coma...
         persistent in
my pedantry of keeping
to strict spelling...
            but not eating so much...
then a chance discovery
in the kitchen...
        opti-
            men...
  took a bite into a sausage
that almost made me gag
with some HP sauce...
           looked at the plastic bottle,
and read the following rubric:

                                              % RI
vitamin A        400μg          50%
vitamin D           10μg         200%
vitamin E            30mg        250%
vitamin K            75μg        100%
vitamin C         225mg        281%
thiamin              4.0mg        364%
riboflavin           4.5mg        321%
niacin                   54mg       337%
vitamin B6          5.4mg       386%
folic acid               90μg         45%
vitamin B12        9.0μg       360%
biotin                   180μg      360%
pantothenic          18μg      300%
acid
calcium               120mg        15%
magnesium          80mg       21%
zinc                        12mg      120%
copper                  2.0mg      200%
manganese          2.0mg      100%
selenium               30μg       55%
chromium          120μg        300%
molybdenum       80μg       160%
iodine                   100μg      67%
boron                     2.0mg
amino acids       1000mg
      - L-leucine      400mg  
      - L-isoleucine 200mg    
      - L-valine         200mg
      - L-glutamine  200mg
green tea extract     20mg
citrus                        7.0mg
      bioflavonoids
ginger extract          20mg
                                                            (they for
                                 forgot turmeric,
            never mind)
olive leaf                  20mg
extract
rutin                         20mg
alpha lipoic acid    25mg
chlorine
      bitartrate            10mg
inositol                      10mg
lycopane                   500μg
lutein                         500μg

this has to be the ultimate
rubric, to counter drinking fatigue...
pop one of these gram
submarines and
       you can return to
   drinking again...

and then the amitriptyline
will kick in,
hopefuly with some
paracetamol or better:
naproxen
   and... we're good to go...
for the next couple
of days
having to have
"forgotten" to eat
      something decent...

i guess i'm one of those
people that eat, to live...
rather than
   fine dine and look
up my **** when writing
a food critique
or a restaurant critique...
guess i don't live, to eat...

how else would anyone
deal with these Daesh
    amphetamine knock-offs?
a drunk...
  like in world war II...
armed with a bottle
of scotch... and a decent
vitamin supplrement.

It's stiff competition
Amids people
To do better,
To get much praise,
To fill their coffers.

No criticism.
It's their nature,
Their heritage.

But the doors
Have nothing to prove,
To receive.

Honestly, sincerely,
They accomplish their work;

No disparity they make
Between the king and the pauper.

Like the courtiers
They welcome us,
And keep us safe
By standing
Like the commandos.

No applause, no respect still;
I'm sorry for their life.

Today,
I wish to honour them,
And set up this as a custom.

Kindly follow me
If you think it's a noble step
And have some feelings for them.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                  The Dime-Store Philosophy of Kahlil Gibran

            How The Prophet Made Kahlil Gibran a Household Name in
            America ‹ Literary Hub (lithub.com)

The dime-store philosophy of Kahlil Gibran
                    (“Daddy, what’s a dime-store? And what’s a dime?”)
Reposing mostly undisturbed on brick-and-board shelves
The free-verse love-salad of Rod McKuen
And Lord of the Rings in 50-cent paperbacks

The Seekers played over and over on the phonograph
                     (“Daddy, what’s a phonograph? Is it something bad?”)
Have you heard The Mamas and the Papas’ latest single?
Peter, Paul & Mary in “stacks of wax”
Three-chord commandos in every coffee shop

Looking back - it wasn’t the greatest stuff
But for the time and place, it was good enough

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim’s Journal of Life, Literature and Love
Fellowship & Fairydust (fellowshipandfairydust.com)
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                       What WE Did in the War

                               For all those Keyboard Commandos
                               Who Can Quote Every Line in Patton

You talk about what WE did in World War Two -
Well, I wasn’t there, and neither were you

printing 20 copies of a cirriculum vitae...
tomorrow's london job convention,
and i'm...
                    criticism of one's writing,
writing per se,
              i never actually like anything
i write,
   on the odd occassion:
the process of doing it...
                                                  mid-30s...
regrets?
     don't know...
                 is there anything worth
the attention of regret?
                     i have the c.v. in my face...
and i'm thinking...
          half a nurture of lies,
half a nurture of truth...
     tomorrow i'll play the inquisitive child
with it...
    i just figured...
if only a job as a trash collector...
or...
      an executioner...
    something that requires
    eager,                            itchy hands...
of the latter?
   not from a perspective of pleasure,
derived from sadism...
   i just had to pick up a posthumous
bukowski publication
   and think to myself:
    when it comes to novels,
i will never reread them...
   i don't know how people manage
to reread books,
   then again:
   i can be found rewatching movies...
but...
i guess that's why i gravitated
toward poetry...
   like painting,
   like blinking...
   a poem? oh a poem i can
reread, over and over again...
until... i'm still staging an
anti-pedagogy practice of memorißing
poems -
that famous memory
  errosive substance...
   no... i won't memoriße
a poem...
   for the simple fact that,
i'll sooner return to it,
reread it,
   and experience a pondering
tool...
       who doesn't like poems
                          like strait-jackets?
oh, they're "out-there"...
they usually rhyme...
   or they make the application
of poetic technique
                              overtly known...
sometimes i'm less
a "poet" and more: a butcher...
   i'm given raw language,
i reply with raw, language:
pork chops, chicken thighs,
you name it...
          as ever:
   metaphor is no release,
  but a constricting glutton blob
of exhausted patience
   when it should serve one,
   to speak directly,
on matters of no transcendent potential.
- but i guess that's why
poetry appeals to me...
   like painting, like anything,
suddenly the gargantuan
blocked-toilet
    of human traffic under democratic
conditions...
where is the authenticity of fame
when...
   the only "authenticity" of fame
  is best served by a posthumous revelation...
otherwise?
  the current selfie of
                  a isa longwell...
**** me, i was looking for
what can be best described as
the "hollowed-out" Y in english...
i couldn't find it...
   ply, dry... it wasn't there...
i had to look up something in welsh...
there! there! the ******'s there!
     ddu meddwl yn
                                ngoleuni

sorrow: tristwch
     pride: balchder -

you know what helps with
the welsh W?   the ****** Ł...
   and you know what
helps with the welsh CH?
       no... it's not chitty chitty bang bang...
it's not chatter...
   it's... akin to the ****** CH...
hem... hem... hem...
not a hark...
              a dried out ha-sound...

chwerthin (h'łer'θin)
                θ / φ / F...
            to θink about θou(gh)t per se...
is a lessening of the awe construct /
motivation,
within the confines
of the genesis of φilosoφy.
          
           llawenydd (joy)...
oh sure, sure...
   all the ****** surnames are bad...
they have, "too many"
consonants...
   i'm reading a few words
in Welsh and i'm thinking...
great sparring partners...

        i could actually pull of
a decent Welsh
                  pronunciation...
      well...
they're hardly what the English
joke is about:
about pushing a sheep off a cliff...
and...
     sheep-*******
         (ddafad-rhyw)...
        (rył - masculine
   past participle of
           of: ryć -
                      to burrow;
  ryła? feminine
past participle of... ryć:
    which is gender neutral);

finally,
   my phonetic counterpart...
at what point was making
an insult the terms
of agreement for expressing
being endearing?
   right about now...
   as with the picts being...
                             bagpipe *******...

   this sort of language?
                   i'll need to find something
akin to being a *******
lumberjack...
     or something that can allow me
to not...
                  bump into people...
i could very much do
away with being a warden in
a lighthouse...
             to do something,
that is absolutely necessary...
   but doesn't entertain
  the debilitating circumstances
     of some variation of hierarchy...
safety pin commandos,
paperclip generals...
      whatever you call them...
at this point?
  who the who would want
to be an α-male...
    when... all that opposite ***
attention, also implies
                           a β-male drag?
imagine a job...
where...
you're as indispensable as a *******
hammer... in a sea of nails,
and countless canvases of
planks of wood.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

         Someone’s Beating on the Door of the Gospel Radio Station

I switched on the scanner when the weather turned foul
Hailstones and lightning, and clouds in rotation
Through the static came a voice in a cop-speak growl:
“Someone’s beating on the door of the gospel radio station”

I tuned then to Jesus on the radio dial
Wondering what drama I might happen to hear
I listened to the three-chord commandos awhile
But never learned the cause of the caller’s fear

Maybe for the music, or from fear of damnation -
Someone wanted in at the gospel station

They are like commandos these sheep
rolling over the cattle grid
I don't know why they do it
there is nothing on the other side of the road

No greener pastures
no future here in these lands
for there are sheep here
with their rams and lambs

Come back if you can
but I think it's too late. I don't kid
never I think you will roll
back over the cattle grid


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

American commandos in Taiwan
Preparing for the fight
Hope it does not happen
But democracy just might

Transform ancient China
I watch the Buddha light
Ordinary people
Confucian the insight

                   101!