INTRODUCTION TO THE FIRST WORLD WAR
            BY RAJ NANDY: PART ONE

                   INTRODUCTION
  “What passing-bells for those who die as cattle?
         Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
        Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
    Can patter out their hasty orisons.”
      -by Wilfred Owen, British Army Lt. killed in
        action in France on 04th Nov 1918.

The Socialists called it the ‘Imperialist’s War’,
and it was the ‘Trench War’ for the soldiers;
But Europe hailed it as ‘The War to End All Wars’,                
Expecting it to end prior to 1914’s Christmas!
But alas, it soon became a mighty global war
fueled by national and ethnic aspirations and
territorial lust!
The assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, heir
to the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, -
On the 28thof June 1914 at Sarajevo, was the
spark which triggered off this great catastrophe!
During 1876 when German Chancellor Bismarck
was asked about chances of an European War at
a future date;
He felt that Europe was like a big store house of
gunpowder keg!
While pointing to the volatile BALKANS he had said,
That European leaders were smoking in an arsenal,
where a small spark could cause a mighty explosion!
And 38 years later the world had witnessed,
Bismarck’s unfortunate prediction!
This war ended on 11th of November 1918, after a
four and half year’s long duration;
With 16.5 million military and civilian deaths, and
many more wounded and missing in action!
For the War had spread beyond the traditional
killing fields,
Killing many innocent civilians following the
bombing raids by German Zeppelins!
Now, before proceeding further some background
information here becomes necessary,
To understand the socio-political events leading
to the unfolding of this Great War Story!

         PRELUDE TO THE GREAT WAR
The Nationalistic fervor aroused by Napoleon,
And the February Revolution of 1848 in France,
Inspired Europe’s inhabitants to preserve their
ethnic and racial identities, without leaving
things to chance!
The Italian and German unification, and the
Hapsburg Austro-Hungarian polarization,
Aroused the expectations of the Slavic people,
Who remained spread all over Central and
Eastern Europe!
The various ethnic groups forming the Slavic race,
Always dreamt of an independent Balkan State!

         CAUSES FOR ‘THE GREAT WAR’
Imperialism, Nationalism, Militarization, Alliances,
and finally the assassination of the Archduke
Ferdinand,
Are the five main causes for this war, which is
generally mentioned by our Historians!
However, I shall now try to acquaint you briefly,  
With some relevant events from our recorded
History.

BRITISH IMPERIALISM:
Towards the turn of the 20th century Britain was
the dominant global imperial power;
And since the mid-19th Century it was seen that
the sun never set over the British Empire!
The British had a vast mercantile and a naval fleet,
To trade with, and administer their far flung colonies.
At the turn of the 20th Century the British Navy was
changing over from steam to oil power like other
big nations;
So the oil fields of the Middle East was important
for British militarization.
Also passage through the Suez Canal was vital for
maintaining their colonial possessions!
These facts will get linked up in Part Two of my
later composition!

GERMAN NATIONALISM:
The nationalistic fervor aroused in Germany
since Chancellor Bismarck’s days,
Made the Germans try to outstrip the British
in many ways!
This fervor was reflected in Goethe’s poetry and
through Richard Wagner’s musical notes;
Between 1898 and 1912 five Naval Laws were
passed in the German Reichstag, by majority
votes,
For building battleships, cruisers, and 96 torpedo
boats;
Which later became a scourge for Allied and
British shipping, known as the U-Boats!
The German nationalism and militarization went
hand in hand during those days,
While her industrialization also progressed at a
rapid pace.
Kaiser Wilhelm II had sought “a place in the sun”
by trying to outstrip the British in the arms race!
Statistic show more number of German scientists
had received the Noble Prize for their inventions,
Between this period and World War- II, when
compared with the combined winners of other
Western nations!

AUSTRIA-HUNGARIAN MONARCHY:
In 1867 by a comprising agreement between
Vienna and Budapest the capital cities,
The Austro-Hungarian kingdom became a Dual
Monarchy!
Many ethnic groups had composed this Monarchy
in those early days as we see;
With Germans, Hungarians, Romanians, and Slavic
people like the Czechs, Poles, Croats, Slovaks,
Serbs, and the Slovenes!
While the Austrian Officers of this Monarchy spoke
German, the majority of the soldiers were Hungarians,
Czechs, Slovaks, who never spoke German!
So the soldiers were taught 68 single-words of
German commands,
For the Austro-Hungarian Imperial Army to function
collectively as one!
While Francis Joseph their sovereign and emperor,
aspired to become a strong centralized European
power.
But out of the 50 million people of this Monarchy
around 23 million were Slavs,
Who always dreamed of an independent Slavic
Kingdom in the Balkans!

THE BALKANS & THE KINGDOM OF SERBIA
After the Iberian and the Italian peninsulas of
Europe, the BALKAN peninsular is seen to be
lying in Europe’s extreme south east, -
South of the Danube and Sava River, bounded
in the west by the Adriatic and Ionian Sea.
In the east is the Aegean and Black Sea,
With the Mediterranean Sea in the south, -
washing the tip formed by Greece with its many
islands around!
Now much of the Balkan areas were under the
Ottoman Empire since early 14th Century;
And here I cut across many centuries of past
European History!
Following a series of revolutions since 1804
against the Turks,
The Principality of Serbia was carved out in the
area of the Balkans!
A new constitution in 1869 defined it as an
independent State of Serbia;
Was internationally recognized at the Treaty
of Berlin in 1878, to later become the Kingdom
of Serbia!
This kingdom was located south adjoining the
Monarchy of Austro-Hungarians, much to their
annoyance those days,
Since the Kingdom of Serbia was looked upon
as a ‘beacon of liberty’ by the Southern Slavic
race!

THE BOSNIAN CRISIS (1908-1909)  
This dual provinces of Bosnia and Herzegovina
in the Balkans,
Were formally under the control of the
Ottoman Sultan.
With permission of the Congress of Berlin in
1878, it was administered by Austria-Hungary;
Though the legal rights remained with Turkey!
But the Slavic population present there had
Nationalistic ambitions,
Aspired to join the Slavs in nearby Kingdom of
Serbia, to form a pan-Slavic nation!
The Slavic population in Austria-Hungary, also
entertained such dreams wistfully!
Now in 1908 a ‘Young Turk Movement’ based
at Macedonia,
Had planned to replace the absolute Turkish
rule in Bosnia!
And by modernizing the Constitution hoped
to rejuvenate the sick Ottoman Empire.
These developments set alarm bells ringing
in Austrian capital Vienna!
So on the 6th of October 1908 they quickly
annexed Bosnia and Herzegovina!
After having lost a war with Japan, and following
an internal Revolution of 1905 the Russians,
Prevented an escalation by staying out of the
Bosnian Crisis!
But the annexation of Bosnia had angered the
Serbs greatly,
So they started to train secret terrorist groups to
liberate Bosnia from Austria-Hungary!
These terrorist groups operated in small cells,
Under the leadership of Col. Dimitrijevic, also
known as the ‘Apis’ those days.
Now, a secret cell called the ‘Black Hand’ operated
in the Bosnian capital of Sarajevo with Gavrilo
Princep as one of its members;
Who was trained and equipped in Serbia along
with other ‘Black Hand’ members.
The Austro-Hungarian Monarchy had remained
distressed about these subversive activities by
the Slavic race!
So in Jan 1909 they obtained the unconditional
support from Germany, in the event of a war
with Serbia even if Austria was the aggressor!
And also secretly hoped in a war to annex
Serbian territory!
For in the two Balkan Wars of 1912 and 1913,
Serbia had greatly extended its territory to
become a powerful adversary!
Serbia had also obtained an assurance from
its protector Russia, should a war break out with
Austria!
Now, as tension mounted upsetting the delicate
balance of power in the Balkans gradually,
Archduke Franz Ferdinand with his wife Sophie,
planned to visit Sarajevo from Austria-Hungary!
It was a God sent moment for the secret
organization the ‘Black Hand’,
To plan the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand!

THE ASSASSINATION: SARAJEVO 28TH JUNE 1914
Now when I look back in time I pause to wonder,
How such an amateurish assassination plot could
have ever succeeded,
Without the cruel hands of destiny and fate!
The 28th of June was a bright summer’s St. Vitus
Day and a holiday in Serbia;
And also the 14th marriage anniversary of Franz
Fernandez and his wife Sophia!
Several assassins were positioned along the route,
Which was to be taken by the Archduke!
While the motorcade proceeded to the Town Hall
a bomb was thrown,
Which bounced off the rear of Archduke’s car,
Injuring few bystanders and a passenger in the
rear car!
The Archduke however refused to cancel his trip,
Saying that it was the act of some lunatic!
After completion of the Town Hall ceremony, the
Archduke wanted a change of plan deviating from
the laid down route;
By wanting to visit the patients in the hospital,
Injured by the bomb which had struck his cars
rear hood!
But the Czech driver was not briefed and took
a wrong turn by mistake;
Reversed trying to correct himself, stalled the car
stoppling next to Gavrilo Princep!
Presenting Princep with a stationary target, a
cruel work of destiny and fate!
Prince pulled out his pistol and fired two shots  
at a point blank range, killing both Ferdinand
and  wife Sophie;
When Ferdinand cried out ‘’Sophie, Sophie,
don’t die, live for the children’’, - words which
now remain enshrined in History!

TRIAL OF PRINCEP & THE CONSPIRATORS
The trial began in a military court on 12th of
October at Sarajevo,
With three judges and no jury, when Princep
pleaded 'Not Guilty'!
Killing of Duchess Sophie was an unplanned
accident,
Since he wanted to **** the Governor instead!
He claimed to be a Serbian nationalist working
for the unification of the Slavic race,
and detested the annexation of Bosnia by the
Austo-Hungarians!
Along with 15 other accused, Princep was found
guilty of high treason;
But being underage, was sentenced to 20 years
labour in prison.
But died three year's later from tuberculosis!

           CONCLUDING PART ONE
  ''Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead!
   There's none of these so lonely and poor of old,
   But dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold."
      -Rupert Brook, part of the British Naval Expeditionary
       Force, buried in Skyros, Greece 1914.
Now, looking back over a hundred years in
hindsight I do realize,
That this assassination was not the immediate
cause or the spark which triggered this War,
But only an excuse and a pretext for the
Austro-Hungarians to carve up Serbia,
And distribute those territories between
Allies and friends of Austria;
Also enhance the prestige of their Empire!
Since the war had commenced almost two
months after the Archduke’s assassination,
Austria had lost the high moral ground for
vengeance with righteous indignation!
It was a cynical and a predetermined plan
of Austria in connivance with Germany,
To destroy Serbia and squash the hopes of
Slavic people for a pan-Slavic State, - as we
now get to see!
This war ended with the dissolution of four old
Empires of the Austro-Hungarians, Ottomans,
Tsarist Russians, and the Germans!
While new nations of Czechoslovakia, Yugoslavia,
Austria, and Hungary, got created from the
dissolved Empire of Austria-Hungary.
Russia gave up lands creating Finland, Estonia,
Latvia, and Lithuania.
The Ottomans gave up lands in SW Asia and the
Middle East, and in Europe retained only Turkey!
Thus this Great War had creating new nation states,
And gave Europe its new revamped face!
Composed by Raj Nandy of New Delhi,
Thanks for reading patiently!
   TO BE CONTINUED LATER AS PART TWO
**ALL COPY RIGHTS ARE WITH THE AUTHOR

I
Colonel Zaev(1), our commander,
Lived seventeen years in Angolian land.
There are no Luanda’s(2) experts better
Than him- he met its ambassadors two hundred
Times. He smashed UNITA(3) and weakened SAR’s (4)
Power. He supported Fidel Castro(5)
And he became famous for counter-attacks.
The Angolians call him Victor-Pastor:
He does always set the young on the right path:
Aoi!

II
Roberto Holden6 was the foe of Neto
He was a monarcho-tribolist.
And he happened to declare vendetta
To foes. His aim’s to banish socialists.
He invited China’s instructors to teach his
Soldiers the skill of fighting retreating under
Kifangondo(7), he’d not swiftly yield positions
Colonel Callan(8) retreated farther
With him. He was a cruel and fearless
Rascal, he was good at arranging ambush in
Woods. He fought hand-to-hand many times
But he was taken prisoner by the Guard
He declared political indifference but the court
To his grief didn’t believe him so that
Then he was quickly and publicly shot.
Aoi!

III
Savimbi Jonas(9) continued that war
Robin Holden quitted his Motherland –
It’s hard to revise views. What’s to be done for
Tearing a half away for his Fatherland?
He went to America, got a Baptist,
As preacher – he was the lost’s lecturer.
He didn’t wish just to be a pessimist
He wanted to live till times more fair.
Savimbi Jonas founded UNITA –
He made up his mind to go underground
MPLA’s detachments were defeated
By the Cubans but they were free quite
For diversions in the city. A new spiral
Of resistance began – two ideologies’
Confrontation took place and in final
It did cost life to many people for this.
Aoi!

IV
Our Victor Zaev, the commander
Of marines often trained us tirelessly
And all of us were not up to laughter
In gas-masks. We loaded incessantly
Our guns, we crossed the equator, anyway
In a moment Poseidon glorifying
By recompense. We stuck to the right fairway,
Neptun’s Day(10) became a great undertaking.
Aoi!

V
Coming to Luanda was usual rather,
The port’s scenery was bright, beautiful.
“Well, beauty!” exclaimed Igor, a warrant officer,
Zaev added: “It’s, brothers, very wonderful!”
Our councilor climbed up a deck as
Head of the Soviet military legation
He tried to explain the situation to us
Continuous seemed to be his Head’s duration.
Then the Cubans’ crew met us, their commander,
Did happen to know Russian at his fingers’
End. He valued the bearing of our landing
Force. And he was called Francisco Ortis.
Aoi!

VI
Here Agostino Neto came with
His suite consisting of twelve grandees
The President was cordial and gay. This
Day was marvellously fine, in his
Speech he praised the ******’s guard arranged
To meet him. He’d not fail to give his regiment
For it. “What an array!” admired said
Antonio. And at this moment
Tanks floated forward out of the hold
To display Agostino manoeures
Antonio began to sweat: old
Allies can always surprise friends, of course.
The Angolians were invited to dinner
And contented officials were standing
But “No!” was Neto’s serious answer,
“We should return for the fight’s resuming!”
Aoi!

VII
We reached Kanton on cruisers. A warrant
Officer cried: “Sound urgently bells”
The Angolians didn’t let us on to the port,
We anchored no outer roads. What was else?
Mattheu Kureku visited us then.
The President of far mountains of Benin,
And we’d appreciate his being of those men
Who were as modest as Ibn- Sina.
We displayed him gifts and even more
Than we wanted: hand- to- hand fight,
The landing force’s landing to the shore.
Mattheu said us his warm good- bye after that.
Aoi!

VIII
Soon we headed for Luanda, how
Long an action had been fought in its suburbs
And suddenly we saw a fishing scow
Six fisher- men were rowing in the ocean’s
Water catching the sight of us they began
To row faster knots increasing as
If punishment waited them but the race did happen
To be transitory. But cruisors’ powers
Are not boats’ powers equal and at last
We caught them, their fish fell to our lot.
The fish’ reserves were enough for a month.
We said with thankfulness: “Thank you a lot!”
The meeting was pleasant for them and us.
Aoi!

IX
Suddenly came order of the day:
To bring in an identification prisoner. Stas
A secrete service man, volunteered. Anyway,
His own fist was of the bull’s head’s size.
And Grigory, head naval petty officer
Then did volunteer to follow Stas.
“Well, who is else?” were the sailors asked after
It. Silence. It’s better to live on deck. At last,
Watching this the captain himself intervened
In it. His bas was heard even in far hold: “Oh,
You, cowards, I’ll feed you to whales, mind it!”
And phrases were not necessary any more.
Thus six more sailors gathered together – they were
Superheroes as if they were handpicked
The detachment of sound, strong men. Chernomor
Himself would take them so quick-witted.
There are not more safe people in the fleet,
There were not, there won’t be, indeed!
Aoi!

X
Here the scouts came down from the deck and they
All went so deep into a foreign land
A hundred verst’s was their sailing away
From the port. Ships from their Motherland
Were seen. Their commander
was the major lieutenant
And he said: “Motherland is calling us!”
In the fleet he was just called Kostya Brandt –
He did lead the scouts bravely forwards!
Aoi!

XI
The detachment marched into woods being dense,
The jungle were rustling around Luanda. It
Was raining cats and dogs, there was entrance
There, there was no exit for retreat!
They covered their necessary ten versts
More on that day they heard their foes’ voices.
They thought: it’s, perhaps, one of hostile posts.
A good luck attended them! The members
Of UNITA waited for them ahead
Savimba knew of Brandt’s group so dare –
Devil. He was warned by an Angolian friend,
The general had friends everywhere.
Aoi!

XII
Even Kostya Brandt didn’t know it
And he led his vanguard through a marshy path
Sailors were like brothers in the detachment.
Everybody was ready to sacrifice
Himself! And suddenly they saw in front:
Tents standing in forty meters from them and
And something went pit- a pat in Kostya Brandt
And he stretched his hand to a pistol hard.
They stole up to the last one, went into it:
It was empty, there were only playing- cards
There: and perhaps it seemed to them far, indeed?
On the ground there were three machine-guns.
Aoi!

XIII
Meanwhile Savimbi Jonas gathered troops
And he made such a speech when warriors gathered
Together: “We’ll die for freedom as heroes
We do not want another Motherland!
We will repulse all the Cuban occupants
We’ve recently sacked all the colonists!
The Soviet landing force’s scouts
Are going here. Near are the communists!
We’ll organize ambush for them behind the tent –
I’m sure they will go into it a at once.
I was informed that there are less than ten
Of them. We’ll **** the foes at once
We’ ll win because there are much more of us”
And selecting one hundred and forty men,
The strongest ones, Savimbi encircled the scouts.
Aoi!

XIV
“Well, that’s all, forward”, Kostya said strictly
The tent’s bed- curtains having half- opened
By his hand. But suddenly he was slightly
Taken aback- he saw foes get in his road
And he did cry: “We shall die for Russia-
Not disgracing ancestors or the Motherland!”
He stepped forward like a sent messia
He had no right to run away like a coward.
Aoi!

XV
Ours defended each other by backs hard
The battle was hot as it was hand- to- hand.
Two sides’ supporters did not know fright
This region was home for the partisans. And
Brandt fought as an ancient lion Neimeyan –
No pistols’ bullets could reach him at all.
He was a mighty, stately warrior European –
UNITA’s terror and poets’ idol!
The partisans had also a strong warrior –
He was called Manuel by Luanda’s citizens
When hunting he became a hero of yore –
He could hit varios marks without miss.
He took aim at the lieutenant’s back so that
A sharp bullet could pierce his heart. He pressed
The sear. And it did hurt Konstantin and
Shroud overshadowed his consciousness
And a celestial disk burning low, meciless
It’s opening a picture before his eyes:
His own mother’s meeting him and he is
Whispering her: “Mum, I’m going to the skies ”
And fell onto the ground Kostya breathless:
People’s blood was shed as the river around
But ours fought desiring nevertheless
To be gone with foes in the palace. Wounded
Stas’ll hit and three of them’ll fall without
Life’s signs. When he hits on the right–eight
Of them’ll fall at once although there are a few
Epic heroes all of them are heroes dead.
The dead can’t be responsible anew.
Aoi!

XVI
They all were dead. There were
three times more foes
Ours and UNITA collected the dead.
And that very day happened to be worth
A week. Bitter news of blood that was shed
Killed us. Our ship was anchored for five days more
We covered Cuban troops from the sea there.
On the sixth day we sailed from the shore,
Painful grief left an after- taste in their
Mouths. And Victor Zaev, our bold
Colonel, was silent in painful sadness,
He had done the last deed for the dead of old.
He presented them with rewards: “For service”
Putting them on each of coffins. All the ******
Were standing being in their low spirits.
Aoi!

XVII
Thus the song of Luanda came to an end
We paid our duty to military Motherland.
We’d drawn up and the commander said:
“Fine fellows! I wish your life to be quiet!”
Then he sailed not a little, I must say.
He waged war in seven companies. “Glory!”
Cry we to him in Navy Day today.
That is the end of the Luandian story.
Aoi!
The Civil war in Angola represented armed confrontation between
quarelling with each other groups: MPLA (People’s movement for
Angola’s liberation, the Labour’s Party), (port.Movimento Popular de
Liberaçao de Angola- Partido de Trabajo, MPLA), UNITA (port. Uniao
Nacional para a Independencia, Total de Angola, UNITA). The war began
in 1975.
1.Victor Zaev is the main hero of the given poetical work, he is an
invented personage;
2. Luanda (port. Luanda)- Angola’s capital;
3. UNITA – see above;
4. SAR – South African Republic;
5. Fidel Castro – Fidel Alejandro Castro Rus; he was born in August,
13, 1926; Biran, province Oriente , Cuba. He’s a Cuban revolutionary,
party and political figure, Chairman of Ministers’ Council and Chairman
of the State Council of Cuba (president) in 1959- 2008 and 1976- 2008.
6. Roberto Holden- Holden Alvaro Alberto (port. Holden Roberto;
January, 12, 1923, Mbanza- Kongo(its former name is San- Salvadordu- Kongo)- August,2, 2007, Luanda). He was also Jose Gilmore, an Angolian founder and many- year leader of the National Liberation’s Front (FNLA). An active participant of the war for Independence and of the Civil war in Angola. He’s a conservative monarcho-tribolist, anticommunist.
He was a member of the Angolian Parliament.
7. “…under Kirfangongondo…” – this battle was from October, 23
until November,10, 1975 in Angola. It was the first common victory of MPLA and the Cubans.
8. the colonel Kallen… – he is also “colonel Callan, a British service
man, corporal of parachute troops’ regiment’s corporal.” He’s an ethnic
Greek and Cypriot (Greek. Kώozaç Γιώργιoν). He’s a participant of the
Angolian’s Civil war, on FNLA’s side. He was executed according to the
court’s sentence in Luanda, on July,10, 1976.
9. Savimbi Jonas Maiheiro, (August, 3, 1934- February, 22, 2002),
an Angolian political and military figure, a partisan leader, the rebel
movement’s founder and the political Party UNITA’s founder from
March,13, 1966 to February, 22, 2002. He was an active participant of the
Angolian war for independence and of the Civil war. He was candidate
for President in Angolian elections in 1992. He was a prominent figure
of Cold War and world anti- communist movement.
10 Neptun’s Day-Nepptun’s holiday, sometimes it’s called “Neptun’s
Day”. It’s a water show. Sailors founded this tradition after their crossing
of the equator.

{2018}


ПЕСНЬ
I
Наш командир – полковник Виктор Заев(1)
Семнадцать лет прожил в стране Ангольской.
Страну Луанду(2) он отлично знает –
Встречал раз двести местное посольство.
Разбил УНИТА(3) и ЮАР(4) ослабил,
Поддержку оказал Фиделю Кастро(5)
В контратаках. И себя прославил.
Зовут его ангольцы Виктор-Пастор:
Он молодых советом наставляет.
Аой!

II
Роберто Холден(6) был врагом для Нето –
По убеждению – монархо-трайболистом.
И объявил противникам вендетту,
Поставив цель – изгнать социалистов.
Он пригласил инструкторов Китая
Учить своих солдат уменью драться.
Под Кифангондо(7) в битве отступая,
Он не хотел стремительно сдаваться.
С ним отступал назад полковник Каллэн(8) –
Головорез жестокий, но бесстрашный.
Засады ставил он в лесах умело,
Не раз бывал и лично в рукопашной.
Но был пленён он гвардией. И вскоре
Всем заявил свою аполитичность.
Но не поверил суд ему на горе –
Он был расстрелян быстро и публично.
Аой!

III
Савимби Жонаш(9) ту войну продолжил,
Роберто Холден родину покинул –
Переосмыслить взгляды очень сложно:
Как оторвать Отчизне половину?
В Америку уехал, стал баптистом,
Как проповедник – лектором заблудших.
Он не желал быть просто пессимистом
И до времён хотел дожить до лучших.
Савимби Жонаш основал УНИТА –
Борьбу свою он перевёл в подполье:
Отряды МПЛА кубинцами разбиты,
Но для диверсий в городах – раздолье.
Второй виток пошёл сопротивленья –
Противоборства двух идеологий.
И жизнями платило населенье –
Война тогда коснулась очень многих.
Аой!

IV
Наш Виктор Заев – командир морпехов -
Тренировал нас часто, неустанно:
В противогазах было не до смеха -
Мы заряжали пушки беспрестанно.
Пересекли в один момент экватор,
Прославив Посейдона воздаяньем,
Наш путь лежал на правильный фарватер.
Нептуна день (10) – большое начинанье!
Аой!

V
Приход в Луанду очень был обычным,
Пейзаж портовый – яркий и прекрасный.
«Ну, лепота!» - воскрикнул Игорь-мичман.
Добавил Заев: «Это, братья, классно!»
На палубу советник наш поднялся –
Глава советской миссии военной.
Он обстановку дать нам постарался,
Поскольку был там, кажется, бессменно.
Затем кубинцев встретила команда –
Их командир знал русский в идеале.
Он оценил всю выправку десанта –
Франсиско Ортис команданте звали.
Аой!

VI
Вот Агостиньо Нето подошёл
Со свитою двенадцати вельмож.
Был Президент приветлив и весёл,
И день был удивительно хорош!
Он похвалил матросский караул,
Поставленный наверх его встречать.
«За них бы полк отдать не преминул, –
Антонио сказал, – вот это рать!»
Из трюма танки выплыли вперёд –
Маневры Агостиньо показать.
Антонио пробил холодный пот:
Союзники умеют удивлять!
Ангольцев пригласили на обед –
Чиновники довольные стоят.
Но Нето отвечал серьёзно: «– Нет,
Нам возвращаться надобно назад!»
Аой!

VII
На крейсерах в Катону мы приплыли
И крикнул мичман: «Склянки срочно бейте!»
Но в порт ангольцы нас не пропустили –
На якорь встали мы на внешнем рейде.
Затем нас посетил Матье Куреку –
Сам Президент из дальних гор Бенина –
Заметим в дань ему как человеку –
Он скромен был как мудрый Ибн Сина.
Ему мы показали все таланты –
И даже больше, чем хотели сами:
Бой рукопашный, высадку десанта.
Матье тогда тепло прощался с нами.
Аой!

VIII
И взяли курс мы снова на Луанду –
Велись бои давно в её предместьях.
Вдруг видим мы рыбацкие шаланды –
По океану плыло ровно шесть их.
Завидев нас, они быстрей поплыли,
Узлов прибавив, будто ждёт их кара!
Не долгими, однако, гонки были.
Любая лодка крейсеру не пара!
Догнали их. И нам досталась рыба –
Запасов тех на месяцы хватило.
Сказали мы признательно: «Спасибо!»
И после встречи всем приятно было!
Аой!

IX
Нежданно вдруг пришёл такой приказ:
Любой ценой доставить языка.
Тут вызвался морской разведчик Стас –
Его кулак был с голову быка.
И главный корабельный старшина
Григорий захотел идти за ним.
– «Ну, кто ещё?» – спросили. Тишина.
Уж лучше быть на палубе живым.
Тогда вмешался лично капитан –
Был даже в дальнем трюме слышен бас:
– «Ну, трусы! Всех скормлю сейчас китам!»
И больше не понадобилось фраз.
Так набралось ещё шесть моряков –
Супергерои – все как на подбор –
Отряд здоровых, крепких мужиков.
Их взял бы даже Дядька-Черномор!
Надёжнее людей на флоте нет
И не было, не будет и вовек!
Ушло в разведку восемь человек.
Аой!

X
Вот с палубы разведчики сошли
И углубились в даль чужой земли.
На сотню вёрст от порта отошли –
Уж не видать родные корабли.
Руководил всем старший лейтенант.
И молвил он: «Нас Родина зовёт!»
Его на флоте звали Костя Брандт –
Он храбро вёл разведчиков вперёд!
Аой!

XI
Отряд вступил в дремучие леса –
Вокруг Луанды джунгли шелестят.
Льют воду каждый день тут небеса –
Зашёл туда и нет пути назад!
Прошли они ещё десяток вёрст,
Услышали чужие голоса.
Подумали: возможно, вражий пост –
Счастливая настала полоса!
Унитовцы их ждали впереди.
О группе Брандта сам Савимби знал –
Его ангольский друг предупредил:
Имел везде знакомых генерал.
Аой!

XII
Сего не ведал даже Костя Брандт
И вёл отряд болотистой тропой.
Любой матрос в отряде был как брат.
Готовы все пожертвовать собой!
И вдруг увидел каждый впереди:
Стоят палатки метрах в сорока.
У Кости что-то ёкает в груди
И к пистолету тянется рука.
Подкрались к крайней и в неё зашли:
В палатке пусто, карты на столе –
А может, померещилось вдали?
Три автомата было на земле.
Аой!

XIII
Меж тем собрал Савимби Жонаш войско
И речь сказал собравшимся такую:
– «Мы за свободу все умрём геройски,
Ведь не желаем родину другую!
Дадим отпор кубинским оккупантам –
Прогнали ведь недавно колонистов!
Разведчики советского десанта
Идут сюда. Уж близко коммунисты!
Устроим им засаду за палаткой –
Они войдут в неё, уверен, сразу.
Мне донесли: их менее десятка.
Возьмём числом: врагов положим разом!»
И отобрав сто сорок самых сильных,
Пошёл Савимби окружать разведку.
Аой!

XIV
«– Ну, всё, выходим!» – Костя молвил строго,
Палатки полог приоткрыв рукою.
Но только вдруг... опешил он немного,
Когда врагов увидел пред собою.
И закричал: «Умрём же за Россию –
Не посрамим и предков, и державу!»
Шагнул вперёд, как посланный миссия –
Он не имел бежать позорно право.
Аой!

XV
Стояли наши все спиной друг к другу,
Был жаркий бой, поскольку рукопашный.
Из двух сторон никто не знал испуга –
Для партизан был этот край домашним.
И бился Брандт как древний лев немейский –
Его не брали пули пистолетов!
Могуч и статен воин европейский –
Гроза УНИТА и кумир поэтов!
У партизан был тоже сильный воин –
Его луандцы звали Мануэлем.
Он на охоте сделался героем –
Без промаха стрелял по разным целям.
Прицелился он лейтенанту в спину,
Чтоб сердце пуля острая пробила.
Нажал на спуск. И больно Константину,
И пелена сознание затмила.
И тут картину взору открывает
Небесный диск, на небе догорая:
Родная мать с войны его встречает,
А он ей шепчет: «Мама, умираю…»
Упал на землю Костя бездыханно:
Людская кровь лилась вокруг рекою.
Но бились наши – было им желанно
Нести в чертог жизнь вражью за собою.
Изранен Стас: ударит – лягут трое,
Направо стукнет – лягут сразу восемь.
Богатырей хоть мало, все – герои
Погибшие. А с мёртвых долг не спросят.
Аой!

XVI
Все полегли. Врагов – в три раза больше.
Забрали павших наши и УНИТА.
И день тот был иной недели дольше.
Мы были горькой новостью убиты.
Ещё пять дней на якоре стояли –
Мы части Кубы прикрывали с моря.
На день шестой под вечер отплывали –
Осадок был от тягостного горя.
И Виктор Заев, наш полковник смелый,
Молчал угрюмо в тягостной печали.
Последнее для павших сделал дело –
Он «За отвагу» им вручил медали.
На каждый гроб он положил награду –
Все моряки в унынии стояли.
Аой!

XVII
Так завершилась песня о Луанде.
Отдали долг мы воинский Отчизне.
Наш командир сказал тогда команде:
– «Вы молодцы! Желаю мирной жизни!»
Он по морям потом немало плавал.
И воевал ещё в семи кампаньях.
В день ВМФ кричим ему мы: «Слава!» –
На том конец Луандского сказанья!
Аой!
{31.12.2015}

Гражданская война в Анголе представляла собой вооружён-
ное противостояние между враждующими группировками: МПЛА (Народное движение за освобождение Анголы – Партия труда (порт. Movimento Popular de Libertação de Angola — Partido doTrabalho, MPLA), ФНЛА (порт. Frente Nacional de Libertação de Angola,
FNLA) и УНИТА (порт. União Nacional para a Independência
Total de Angola, UNITA). Война началась в 1975 году, а завершилась
в 2002 году.
1. Виктор Заев – главный герой данного поэтического произве-
дения, вымышленный персонаж;
2. Луанда (порт. Luanda) – столица Анголы;
3. УНИТА – см. выше;
4. ЮАР – Южно-Африканская республика
5. Фидель Кастро – Фиде́ль Алеха́ндро Ка́стро Рус (исп. Fidel
Alejandro Castro Ruz; род. 13 августа1926; Биран, провинция Орьенте, Куба) – кубинский революционер, государственный, политический и партийный деятель, который являлся Председателем Совета министров и Председателем Государственного совета Кубы (президентом) в 1959 – 2008 и 1976 – 2008 годах.
6. Роберто Холден – Холден Альваро Робер-
то (порт. Holden Roberto; 12 января 1923, Мбанза-Кон-
го (тогдашнее название – Сан-Сальвадор-ду-Конго) –
2 августа 2007, Луанда), он же Жозе Жилмор (порт.José Gilmore)
– ангольский политик, основатель и многолетний лидер Национального фронта освобождения Анголы (ФНЛА). Активный участник войны за независимость и гражданской войны в Анголе. Консерватор, монархо-трайбалист, антикоммунист. В 1992 – 2007 годах– депутат парламента Анголы.
7. «…под Кифангондо в битве…» – это битва при Кифангондо,
которая произошла с 23 октября по 10 ноября 1975 г. в Анголе и стала первой совместной победой МПЛА и кубинцев.

8. «…полковник Каллэн» – настоящее имя Костас Ге-
оргиу (греч. Κώστας Γιώργιου, англ. Kostas Giorgiou; 1951 –
1976), он же «Полковник Каллэн», Colonel Callan – британский военный, капрал парашютно-десантного полка. Этнический грек-киприот. Наёмный участник гражданской войны в Анголе на стороне ФНЛА. Казнён по приговору суда в Луанде 10 июля 1976 года.
9. Савимби Жонаш – Жо́наш Малье́йру Сави́мби (порт. Jonas
Malheiro Savimbi; 3 августа 1934 – 22 февраля 2002) – ангольский политический и военный деятель, партизанский лидер, основатель повстанческого движения и политической партии УНИТА. Лидер УНИТА c 13 марта 1966 по 22 февраля 2002. Активный участник ангольской войны за независимость и гражданской войны. Кандидат в президенты Анголы на выборах 1992. Видный деятель Холодной
войны и мирового антикоммунистического движения.
10. «Нептуна день…» – Праздник Нептуна, иногда –
«День Нептуна». Водное представление. Берёт основы от тради-
ции моряков при пересечении экватора.

Translator - I. Toporov

My friend and I talk about it
Neighborhood got decimated this year
One after another the corners of community are gone
We touch the elder memories
as one might touch a head in blessing
as loved ones pass

We linger longest over John

Found dead after ten hot days
by other-worldly hazmat crew
flanked by cruisers
with their special, yellow truck
and zipper bags

...found 'im
glasses folded neatly on the night stand
in his jammies
all tucked into bed

No one thought it strange
that strange young guy would die
already decomposing in his head
Lost
among his personal effects
his fleet of rusting cars
and half-assed projects
Deck tacked to garage
his herds of “pets”

Easy to pretend he wasn't really there
between jail stints or some imagined threat or theft
of crap
haunted by the shadows of his persecutors
caught in motion lights
and cameras' blinding evidence of
jungle-jumble and malfunctioning alarms
going off in the wind
Everyone's out to get his stuff
We could dismiss him--

mostly
sorta

...except for times
he mowed his grass at night
or hand-built “the lunatic tower”
just for mom
from scavenged scraps and
hammered hours
power-sawed
through the housing codes
and horror
of the neighbors...
...Such a special spectacle...

******* crazy-- John!

He was enough for one day at a time
like when

he flung that threatening bolder
on bilco doors
for percussive effect

"Get off my ******' property!”
(not using his “inside voice")
“Next time, that'll be your head!!

He announces his intent
to not get mad, behave himself
to call the cops on me instead
Fake-dialing
While his mother screams in dread
“John is off his meds!”

My phone is set to speed dial
911
__

“How did we miss this?
How did we not miss him those quiet days?”

How we miss him now
How quiet

Man had come far,
And had worked hard.
Space was no longer a frontier,
But a home.

It began long ago,
When science in its heavenly power, bestowed,
Among the beasts of man,
Black Hole Harvestation.

Changing the very shape of worlds,
The speed of light and beyond,
All became possible,
When and where nothing exists.

It was an age of warfare and destruction,
The likes of which are untold,
The number will never be found,
Trillions were lost in those Black Wars.

But a few did survive,
An extinct Earth,
As they fled to make their new home,
On the colony of Mars.

Ironic though it was,
Seeking Peace,
On the God of war,
They made their new land happy.

If anywhere in any time,
Was truly the land of “milk and honey”,
Then It was them and then,
Back in the very first days…

Of a galactic empire.

Hundreds of years pass now,
In the blink of an eye,
Earth had been reclaimed, reformed,
Along with a galaxy to go a by.

Humanity is now at the apex of its power,
Ruled together by the ultimate congregation,
The Delegation of Stars,
But Pride doth come before the fall.

Everyone had their say,
And for all the wonders and riches then,
It was hard to say nay,
They shall go to the core.

To the Universe’s lore,
They went flying in their fleets,
100 Juggernaughts from Syntrax, on the fringes of the Great Nebulae Sea,
734 cruisers from Ralon in the Hose-Head system.

A thousand ships minus one from Earth,
And a mere six from the Gemini Apollo colony,
And countless others from all over,
Led by the Fleet of Mars, who’s glory and majesty, was beyond mere men.

They left in moments and arrived in light years,
Waking in seconds refreshed and surprised,
What they found , what they’re greatest of technologies could not see,
Inside the densest of Super Black Holes.

Was the remnants from three Big Bangs hence,
Harvesting ever since,
You think millions of years is a lot for man?
Try trillions for one.

It was a battle not a slaughter,
As communication broke down,
This was the last thing we expected,
We who entered there.

From that day on,
The Battle was named,
The Loss at the Core.

A retreat was ordered,
As black holes sprung up from within their machines,
Their weapons surpassed each and every defense,
Some older ships were hacked and turned against each other.

One ship stayed behind,
Defiant even in defeat.
The Flagship of The Empire,
Named “Justly Sweet”,
It’s last report was,
2 years ago today,
It showed the bridge going to hell and gone,
As the devil was unleashed.

But all throughout, the captain stood there,
Commanding, leading, fighting,
All the way to the end.
A warrior’s death.

The race then named,
The Paraplex,
Found a new reason to be,
To destroy us, we who shed their and out blood.

It was a year since that battle,
Our whole northern sector had fallen,
The plan was simple, taken from history,
A choke point at Thermopylae, with the greatest defensive systems this side of mars.

A million guns had been constructed,
Ever since the war and before.
Particle dissimulators from moons, orbits and the planet.
One, bigger than some suns.

The plan was simple,
The Western Sector,
Well, it was in charge of defense,
It’s formidable shield and anti-quark technologies, would save us all.

Meanwhile the Eastern, Southern, And C.C. (Central-Capital) Sections,
The offensive flank,
They would of course bring.
Once a battle has begun, then they would be flung.

It was of course, perfect.
But so much was already lost.
Planets, Systems, whole Galaxies,
All but gone.

This was worse than the Black War,
There would be no recovery,
You can always change what is there,
But what’s gone is gone.

The military was ready,
The Civilians were evacuated,
Now comes the calm before the storm.
And then the lightening across the sky, it erupted.

In the opening seconds,
Their fleet was almost demolished,
Ambushed beyond belief,
Plasma ripped tears in space and time.

The black turned green and red and cosmic blue,
The space itself was warped by the colors of war,
The guns blazing their sub-atomic blasts,
Invisible to the naked eye.

The gamma ray bombs,
How they exploded in such wonderful forays,
We were blinded, of course,
We could stills see through their computers and technologies.

Losses were few, it seemed true,
That the adamant technologies,
Of the Western Section,
Held up beyond belief.

It was a beautiful carnage they unleashed,
And to complete their victory,
The Northern, Eastern, And C.C.,
Upon black hell’s they ran.

But OH! The Greatest blunder in Human history,
The enemy snatched victory from the hands of defeat,
For this was but a suicide mission,
One for just a minor army.

It was inconceivable to us then,
How useless a life is to them,
After trillions of years,
We would have won the battle, yes that’s clear.

But then it became something,
Something darker and crazy,
A Super Nova they unleashed,
A technology we had yet to discover.

The Entire System was destroyed,
In a matter of milliseconds,
The greatest of shields, the biggest of guns,
Fell instantly, to the miniature big-bang.

So many soldiers…
So many ships…
So many generals…
So many friends.

In mere seconds they died,
For how far we had come,
How much we had lost,
As innumerable as the stars.

No one talks about that battle,
The Slaughter at Thermopylae.
No one can,
We can’t afford to cry.

The battles still continue,
Here and there.
But ever since then,
They’ve basically divided and conquered.

The Paraplax, ****** into our wings,
And took away our flight,
The West and East both became silent,
Faded into the night.

A galactic siege of an empire spanning
Millions of light years,
Soon began,
But first came the worst.

In the Capital of the Southern Section,
They betrayed us and were betrayed.
For they had no use for slaves,
Mercy was an unfamiliar word to they.

The surrounding was complete,
The end result quite clear.
We wouldn’t be able to make it past the new year.
And slowly, methodically, they came.

What did they have to fear?
And planets fell,
My wife did on escape,
Systems were crushed without notice, without faith.

Now there is just us.
A Battalion and Mars.
There is not much point to it all I guess,
We’ve basically been eradicated.

But they keep playing that video,
All on every screen.
The captain, as explosions and black holes erupt around him,
Yelling quite furiously at his subordinates, seeking victory in defeat.

He didn’t give up,
If we’re going to die,
Then we’ll be men about it,
For there is not much time left.

To any race in the future or the past,
Who ever encounters out Swan Song,
This includes our entire history, in more detailed account,
And our greatest treasures.

We send it to you now,
The Universe,
Echoing forever,
Among the waves of sound.

So ends the last report,
Nay the last words,
This is John Ashton Upston, the 354th,
President of The Empire Fallen Among The Stars

The black, iron God arm punched
placid-blanched clouds, and dangled
cat cable down to lemon-vested men
with chalkboard faces.
Basic algebra, today's date, daily
syllabi, God-fearing anecdotes,
and the evils of homosexuality.
Fornicating with other dudes
is like moving Jesus' rock
with your ******'d *****.
Let sleeping dieties die.
We find them buried deep beneath
**** ceramics by T.V. criminals,
rapists, murderers, buzzers, free-
lovers, angelheaded sweethearts.
They have nearly four dollar souls,
barely enough for a Wilpo dinner
at Hepburn Diner. #2 breakfast
with one cup of Columbian cartel
coffee with a pinch of whole milk
to take the edge off, so he won't
be gripping the booth vinyl when
a "freedom" flash cop car passes.
Police cruisers are just bigger bicycles
that we're afraid of, sporting cereal
box baseball cards in the spokes.
Cops were the kids that needed help
their first time fresh off training
wheels. Training academy training
them for low-speed cat chases through
flower beds.
Sweet daffodil, you didn't have to die
like this. You could've drank straight
from the pitcher at a stranger's dinner
party potluck, seen the guts of a New
York highrise, shared the coke left
beneath a woman's botched nose job.
You could have been more than this.
You could have been more.
You could have been.
You could have.
You could.
You.
You, daffodil, stamen-down
in Miracle Gro and dog ****

could have been more.

His bike was a twilight sky, his eyes were new leaves of spring as sunlight poured through
If it weren't for us the path would've been vacant
Hearty laughter & gentle giggles would be far from the sight
The sea foam tide's beauty would be left unappreciated
I would sit alone people watching, wondering who I identified as in this world as strangers strolled by
He would lay in bed as "12:51" by The Strokes blared aloud
But that's not how the cards played out

I pedaled just behind you as you screamed your favorite lyrics
Released unnecessary angst I suppose
Then our two bikes inhabited a pebble painted beach
We laid facing one another as summer's warm breeze kissed our faces
You'd express with such desire how you saw the world
how you saw the past
how you longed for your future to be
But all that mattered now were the two beach cruisers that somehow linked us together
You sat atop your blue mountain
I hugged my lilac meadow, with you in mind
This euphoria was only transient but felt imperial to me

OUR motion on the soft still misty river
Is like rest; and like the hours of doom
That rise and follow one another ever,
Ghosts of sleeping battle-cruisers loom
And languish quickly in the liquid gloom.

From watching them your eyes in tears are gleaming,
And your heart is still; and like a sound
In silence is your stillness in the streaming
Of light-whispered laughter all around,
Where happy passengers are homeward bound.

Their sunny journey is in safety ending,
But for you no journey has an end.
The tears that to your eyes their light are lending
Shine in softness to no waiting friend;
Beyond the search of any eye they tend.

There is no nest for the unresting fever
Of your passion, yearning, hungry-veined;
There is no rest nor blessedness forever
That can clasp you, quivering and pained,
Whose eyes burn ever to the Unattained.

Like time, and like the river's fateful flowing,
Flowing though the ship has come to rest,
Your love is passing through the mist and going,
Going infinitely from your breast,
Surpassing time on its immortal quest.

The ship draws softly to the place of waiting,
All flush forward with a joyful aim,
And while their hands with happy hands are mating,
Lips are laughing out a happy name--
You pause, and pass among them like a flame.

Jack Cornwell was a Boy, First Class
On the Chester’s forward gun,
There to relay the settings with
A pair of headphones on,
He’d turned sixteen just months before
Was trained for his chosen task,
And hoped for a life of adventure as
He sailed, before the mast.

The Chester sailed to join the Fleet
That had left from Scapa Flow,
The Grand Fleet with its battleships
Sailed under Jellicoe,
They’d intercepted the German codes
And knew that they’d put to sea,
Hoping to split the British Fleet
And gain a victory.

The Chester turned to meet the flash
Of gunfire, far away,
The light was poor before the dawn
And the mist was thick that day,
Three funnels of a German ship
Came gliding through the mist,
And the Chester turned to starboard
Ready to show the British fist.

But the German ship was not alone
And the shells began to rain,
From the following battle cruisers
Shattering decks, in blood and pain,
Jack Cornwell stood at his post while all
His gun crew lay there dead,
Ready to take his orders, though
The Chester turned, and fled.

The medics found him with shrapnel wounds
Steel splinters in his chest,
He wouldn’t desert his post, he was
As brave as all the rest,
The Chester sailed for Immingham
Disembarked the wounded crew,
Put Jack in Grimsby Hospital,
There was nothing they could do.

He died just two days afterwards
Before his mother came,
She’d hurried on up from London
Where she’d caught the fastest train,
They buried Jack in a communal grave
So many men had died,
Fighting for King and country
Steeped in duty, worth and pride.

His name was honoured from lip to lip
How he’d stood beside his gun,
Determined to fight the German ships
‘Til the Chester turned to run,
Such courage born of England
Where it was tempered at the forge,
Was so inspiring in one so young
Said the Navy, to King George.

‘For shame,’ then cried the ‘Daily Sketch’
When they heard of the communal grave,
‘Is this how we treat our heroes,
Jack deserves the nation’s praise!’
The coffin was shortly disinterred
And draped with the Union Jack,
Drawn on an open gun carriage
With the Navy at its back.

His name went down in the history books
As the boy who stuck to his post,
In the midst of dead and dying men
As they made their way to the coast,
King George conferred the highest award
That there was, for bravery,
Awarded him the Victoria Cross,
Jack Cornwell, Boy, V.C.

David Lewis Paget

The neighborhood was surrounded
by looming trees and basketball hoops,
shrouded in a blanket of blinding sunshine
that burned the petals
off of the white magnolias
and the pink petunias
that all stood crooked in the rigid garden,
the soil entrenched with dead caterpillars
and corpses of black birds.  
There were large holes
that were pocked in the slanted driveways.
Tarnished, ruby red sedans sat side by side,
their tires deflated and front fascias
caked with mud and grime.
Each house had a flat roof with peeling shingles,
and wide gutters that were strewn with brown leaves
which fluttered down to the front lawn
when the winds from the Northeast
pushed through to cover the neighborhood with
freezing air.
A little girl was chasing a little boy,
swinging at him with a whiffle ball bat,
hollering until her voice was hoarse,
the white sundress she was wearing, frayed
on the edges, her long hair bleached from the sun.
The boy had a deep shiner on his left eye
and snot flying out his nose while he giggled,
running around in circles and circles,
pulling up on his trousers which kept
slipping below his waist, the buttons
on his dress shirt dangling against the fabric.
A short woman with hunched shoulders
was leaning back in a rocking chair,
snapping open a cold beer,
tapping her blue slippers together,
gazing at the children, her chin in her hand,
wishing she could run freely without
the bones in her legs cracking and bending
from one end to the other.
The weather was muggy, slicking
the pools of water that had been collected
beneath the lonely streetlamp, its bulb opaque
on one side, and naked on the other.
I remember that we were sheltered in this environment,
imprisoned from the blaring sirens atop the police cruisers
and the nasty rodents, which crawled along
the winding streets looking for innocence in children.
And now we are living apart from our gated communities,
decaying away in our studio apartments and cozy bungalows,
watching Reality TV shows and college football games
on our 50 inch screens while we indulge in pistachio ice cream
and IPAs, thinking we are safe, thinking we
deserve our privilege, thinking that we need more.
More income, more flesh, more vehicles.
When all we need is a half-hour of conversation
with someone who cares about our disposition
dreams, and longings. And does not require
our status, our background, or our possessions.
We were sheltered from this world of hate and love,
and had to find ourselves through material objects,
and careless people.
But we can change and become better,
better than who we are now, beyond
what is said to be vibrant and beautiful.
Because we are human,
and are able to understand
what is right
and what is wrong.
Before we were sheltered
and now we are exposed
to the pain, to the suffering,
to the beauty, to the happiness.
The shelter has shattered
into many halves,
that do not have to be carried
on our backs
until we are old,
until we are gray,
until we collapse.

Typically British, rather insane.
English men do walk on water.
Ha ha, jolly hockey sticks, snooty noses up in the air.
A game of jolly cricket, in the middle of the sea.
Just an annual event; as  tide resides and holds up a bank.
Supporting stumps and a scoreboard.
The water got scared and bailed out.
A gang of weird cricketers stroll across the Solent.
In between the smiling waves.
A quick match indeed, for after the sea recedes, the tide creeps in, the pitch is gone.
Jolly funny posh folk, trot home for a scone and a bubbly fizz as stags and hens, they head off to the shore.
In their cruisers of pleasure, hey **, off they go!
As when the tide is in they cannot walk on water.
To hold posh debate on the final score.
To muse of experience just left at sea.
Guess no groundsman needed and pitch never weeded.
(c) Livvi

I am outside the circle of ***. Just as well. Population control,
the biome's survival instinct. Or I'm old. Look
in mirror, skin over bones. Young girls
on bicycles, running, have that granddaughterly smile for me,
all is safe, well. Much is well.
                                                  The neighborhood safe,
the nation a non-violent helpmate among nations. Until
food shortages, weather crises, nuclear mischief apply.
Police patrols. I was proud of Massachusetts
voting to decriminalize ******. Let's go all the way:
free all non-violent offenders from their cells! Force police
out of cruisers to walk the streets and say hello.
What else can we try:
                                       Open the border with Mexico. Let labor
flow like capital.
                              What has this to do with the self,
the temperamental, fragile self. The one that leaves no footprint
in eternity. No smell.

Fortunately, there were five modern toilets having
Lavatory flushing cisterns like those invented by
Sir Harrington in one thousand five hundred ninety-six, being
Built near the kitchen because the air in this room was dry.


This cook-room was constructed in a place where it was deemed safe
To have a cooking fire; it had a good layer of lime
With an air space to insulate the brickwork from the unsafe
Adjacent timber; the brick walls were expensive at that time.

The room had two brick fireplaces and boiling was the method
Of cooking while three coppers with lids were set in the brickwork.
With some funnels passing through the deck head, they were connected
That protected the kitchen and allowed the steam to perk.

Firing on the uproll could mean a shot going into
The rigging; the sailors and the passengers took the pumps
To extinguish this fire, doing all they had to do.
The pumps made of leather were assembled from the dumps.


And coupled every fifty feet with brass fittings; their length
Was about twenty-three meters; this ******* worm engine
Was made by John Lofting in 1690; its strength
Was pumped by a team of men working to relieve the tension.


The fire was small, but it could extend to the cabin cruisers,
Which were nearby; while the men were working hard to escape
The danger, the strange man as one of the fast movers
Deliberately entered the gun room; Cruz saw his shape

Entering and descended the stairs in a hurry
To stop him; he entered the gun room and took a gun.
The stranger turned to Cruz and shut him, but his eyes got blurry,
When the room was suddenly filled with the rays of the sun.

(Cruz shut this man in the face. Both of them fell down. The women were in a boat and Fargo made efforts to bring them to the shore.)

A big wave hit the boat, causing Geraldine to go
Overboard; she fell off the boat into the water.
Fargo jumped in the sea to save her and started to swim below
The water; she screamed for help; the waves rose up to scatter.

She could not remember how she fell; her head and arms
Were barely visible above the waves; Fargo swam
Toward her and brought her aboard, '' you're safe from harms.''
She vomited, ''I want to be far away from where I am.''

Meanwhile, Bella lost her balance, and within a split second,
She fell off the boat and tried in vain to hold onto
Chiara's hands while asking for help, but her fate beckoned
When a giant jellyfish stung her arm on back to fronto.


Chiara saw her treading the water and moving her head,
But lost the sight of her after a few seconds ''She's gone, '
Said Chiara; after saving Geraldine, Fargo said ''she's dead, ''
He turned around the boat, ''Look, that jellyfish is coming on! ''

(Fargo jumped in the sea to rescue Bella. He brought her aboard, but she has been underwater much more than she could resist. His resuscitation efforts were unsuccessful. All along the ragged shore, there were a lot of stones under the water. They got down out of the boat and walked in the water while bringing the boat to shore. Meanwhile, ten pirates, after swimming in the water, climbed on the carrack to **** everyone on the board. Fortunately, they didn't see the boat.)

(To be continued...)

Poem by Marieta Maglas

i spent the back half of freshman year as a ghost, drifting through these halls without ever touching anything, haunting my own bones with nothing more under my skin than an echo, watery lungs and glassy eyes that couldn’t see past my own transparency. floating. i don’t like to talk about it.

i spent the start of sophomore year as a zombie, revived but not quite alive again, less like glass and more like porcelain, trailing my hands along the murals and trying to feel again. i existed, but i was still searching for existence. in january i found pieces of myself in a meteor, and in amethyst geodes and lunar eclipses i found that i was less undead and more E.T.
either way i didn’t feel quite human, like i was off by two shades, so i doodled UFOs into the corners of all my notes and wrote poems about people who smiled like stars in the halls, whose laughs made me feel like i was finally home.

i’ve spent all of junior year driving. nothing feels okay in the same way that leaving does. highways sing lullabyes with road signs, other late-night cruisers sending Morse code messages to the helicopters overhead. i don’t have to think.
i’ve spent all of junior year side-stepping every single pestering question about what i’m doing with the next ten years of my life, signing away my soul to banks for student loans, all for a degree that statistically i won’t even need down the road for anything past sharpening my job resumes, like “hey, look, i’ve got all this debt in the pursuit of a higher education, please hire me.”

i’ve spent my junior year catching up on breathing.
i’ve spent my junior year catching up on sleeping.
i spent the first two years of high school half-dead and fully awake, chugging along like a train destined for nowhere, nothing.

i want to spend my senior year moving.
i want to spend my senior year running.
i want to spend my senior year finding life through expelling the ghosts in my bones and burning the skeletons that always left dust on my conscious whenever i reached past them to get t-shirts out of my closet.
i want to spend my senior year shouting.
i want to spend my senior year knowing that i am already everything i ever will be combined with everything i already was.
i want to spend my senior year forming galaxies with my fingertips.
i want to end my high school career knowing that there is a universe of possibilities inside of me.

i spent freshman year as a ghost, but ghosts are best used as metaphors for memories,
and something i’m best at is forgetting.
there are days where i still feel like a zombie, but who doesn’t feel like that at least every single monday morning?

As I walk the streets
I wonder about Eddie
and the Cruisers, mashing
my makeup with my believe.

Have you taken the latest quiz?

It's one of the quickest
way to
drive site visits.
That and lists. People
luv lists!

Riddle me this Batman!

What kind of narrative has no quick
answers to political questions?

If my Brand answers
can't match stock candidate's
sound bites
does it mean I don't
believe anymore?

It's complicated and I have issues but no policy.

60% match with Rand, 70% match with Bernie
and the dichotomy is split.
Libertarian or Progressive?
Yin or my yang,
Always a montage of my yang!

We've come in nonsense
face, believing Third Vehicle ways,
like Tea, or Green,
or Green Tea Party Girl!

My narrative doesn't match yours.
Does it mean we can't date each other?

There'll never be a complete
fit, no
soul mate here
for our consensual policy
making.

'It's sadly true, dear grandpa,
That the rough men are so rare
And that folks who uphold the law
Face tasks that none should bear

But I see things, dear grandpa,
That your tired eyes yet miss
And if only you could see them
It would fill your heart with bliss

For I see them in the alleys
And I see them on the streets
I see them in their cruisers
And i see them on their feet

I see them in my church
And I see them in my school
I watch them as they search
And bring justice to the cruel

I see them from the backyard
And I watch them far from home
As they take the giant's path
To places none should roam

You say the rough man's gone
But i see him every night
As my pajamas  i don  
He is gearing up to fight

And he stands up in my tree house
To keep watch behind my fence
And he stands there through the night
Without ego or pretense

The goons wear different masks now
But their faces never changed
And the less we choose to cow
The more they become enraged

But still those brawny thugs wait
With bated breath in thrall
For the chance to berate
And to pound and break and maul

The rough men walk among us
And they strike out swift and strong
And we'll walk home safe tonight
For I'll one day join their throng'

'It's sadly true, dear grandpa,
That the rough men are so rare
And that folks who uphold the law
Face tasks that none should bear

But I see things, dear grandpa,
That your tired eyes yet miss
And if only you could see them
It would fill your heart with bliss

For I see them in the alleys
And I see them on the streets
I see them in their cruisers
And i see them on their feet

I see them in my church
And I see them in my school
I watch them as they search
And bring justice to the cruel

I see them from the backyard
And I watch them far from home
As they take the giant's path
To places none should roam

You say the rough man's gone
But i see him every night
As my pajamas  i don  
He is gearing up to fight

And he stands up in my tree house
To keep watch behind my fence
And he stands there through the night
Without ego or pretense

The goons wear different masks now
But their faces never changed
And the less we choose to cow
The more they become enraged

But still those brawny thugs wait
With bated breath in thrall
For the chance to berate
And to pound and break and maul

The rough men walk among us
And they strike out swift and strong
And we'll walk home safe tonight
For I'll one day join their throng'

There was this kid in college
pursuing his growth with knowledge
Towards elders he payed his homage
although troubled inside ;

Everyday after classes
fraternities caught em slackin
They told em he should be packin
he should not hold no pride ;

He questioned why they aint like em
they beat em and tried to sike em
Quit often at school he's frightened
out his mind he would go ;

After he called his master
jehovah many don't know off
The holy among the holies  
he would cry for his help ;

Why do you let them do this
they ruthless
Beating me toothless
he knew this but he said nothing
It was all in his plan ;

Walking from class and thinking
he saw em tried to avoid em
They followed to leave em hollow
he was angry inside ;

They smacked em
about the action
One had a bat and swung it
they took his bag and they flung it
He type wanted to die ;

Now months had passed he was enduring the stress
grades declining
Sorrow climbing
wasn't doin his best

Oh how could he achieve
soar and reach for his dreams
When these ******* kept him under
forced a trick up his sleeve ;

It was sunny-
he was bummy as he usually was
He approached em after class
they where they usually was
They had laughed in his face ;
called em broke and a ******
Wasn't laughing for long
since he pulled out the matic ;

Sporadic they started movin
the fear in they faces soothin
He told em you try to run
im puttin lead in you all ;
One pushes his homie forward
while falling hes contemplating
Debating why they had caused this
bullets fly out the gun ;
He wet up the one who fell
they others had tried to scatter
A marksmen right at that moment
he had aimed for they heads ;

Laughing while he had killed em
four out of the five had fallen
The last of em slowly crawling
he walked up to him fast ;
Crouching he looked right at em
he pleaded we were just joking
Fun poking he said he's sorry
Jacob laughed in his face

Last of the fallen bullies
was crying as he was dieing
Delighted the bummy murderer put two in his brain ;

He said look at you now
i will not be destroyed
By the likes of you all
the police had been called ;

The sirens he heard em comin
he figured no sense in runnin
Since god had never responded
**** this life aint my own ;

His eyes had looked upward gazing
he felt his sorrow degrading
Visions of success fading as he let himself go ;

With the gun to his head
tried to finish himself
Heard it click several times
their were no bullets left ;

Now the cops are arriving
his heart was dropping and diving
His bravery was comprising of the bullets he had ;
figured jail was no option
They'd **** em
he couldn't stop em
So thinking quickly decided he would die by the ops ;

Their screaming telling him freeze
no time for buckling knees
He bolted headfirst at cruisers screaming top of his lungs ;

The officers open fire
fulfilling desperate desires
His soul would have raised higher had he tried something else ;

Now wet up he couldn't get up
but happy free from his burdens
His parents died long ago so he had no real regrets ;

DMT danced inside him
it took him to early childhood
Remembered when his parents had been loving him so ;

Toward fire he was descending
escaping is now pretending
While burning he saw the bullies he had sent to this place ;

While tortured they chained together
their skin was hanging and tethered
No laughing no getting over what his life had become ;

No resolve but the truth  
their was no going back
If your seeking revenge
you should prolly relax..

You were drunk
I was sober
The night was nearly over
When you pulled me closer
My heart had sunk

I was tired
You were wired
With feelings you didn’t understand
You were living a dream
I was living a nightmare
I glanced at my phone
And it was nearly two-thirty

You look in my eyes
I looked at your lips
I could smell the scent of your lipstick
Bright, vivid, scarlet
In the full colouring of your lips, I could sense your glory
In the absence of my own
Upon your lips, I could almost kiss you

Your eyes were ever so blue
But ever so out of focus
You were drunk
I was sober
But you got me intoxicated just by whispering sweet nothings
Into my ears upon a head so heavy with loneliness and doubt
Your words were like the cruisers you had been drinking

I don’t understand how you can see such goodness in me
When my own faith has left me
Abandoned by a growing cynicism
Broken and torn down by myself
At the instructions of others

Your fingers brush the side of my head
A curl of my hair falls out of place so you push it back
You smile
You laugh
I smile
I swoon

War is warning of chaos if the dragon is slain,
whathe-el, yes,
god, yes,

we have a myth for for this, for now,
a metaphor, aforethought, it is
that Promethean redemption,
aha, the sun goes down,
let the healing begin,

this is a classic,
not every inspiring thing has origins in a book.
Word, gramma say, way back,

-- reminds me, I put gas in the Prius today,
as I walked in to buy some papers,
in the little store where the
**** bays was, back when I first heard
Johnny Cash, thinking' he was some kinda
man in black, from assorted darkness legends,
I hear him singin'
I fell in to a burnin' rang o' fire, went
down
down,
the flames shot higher…

I was about seven… **** bays was where
hot-rodders and cruisers hung out,
if you grew up on a paved road
to California and Nevada,
at a junction in time and space,
~ 150-170 miles south of all the tests,
same winds that brang rain t' St. George…

The moment, the music, a crossover hit,
hallelujah,
like
-- reminds me,
as I walked in to buy some papers,
in the little store where the
young Chaldean manning the store hears me,
as I -- say, ******* HAHA, as I re-cogitate the first
bars of I walk the line, then I see the
guy behind the sneeze, wall agree,
I love this music, we both say,
and he goes on to say,
I wonder what it was like to be alive
when he was alive…
I swipe my card and say, it was like
being alive when I was alive.
like
-- reminds me,
mark that fact - you spoke to an old man
buying papers, this is the future,
did you never read of the last being first?
the boy bade me have a nice day.
So I did.

I’m a ship prepared to sail
Through aerial gales
To live a fairytale
Above scary jails
That sadly prevail
Below my trail

I look below me
To see hatred growing
While the lights are strobing
From the guns they’re loading
That are my foreboding
If I ever start slowing
I’ll hit the ground lowly
And the bullets flowing
Will get to know me

But I have protectors
Against those who hector
They watch my vector
And disarm the projectors
My protectors are my friends
My protectors are my colleagues
And my flight will never end
As long as they will follow me

Enemy insurgents
Become a disturbance
Creating turbulence
As they herd the dense
Until they’re furious
And shoot the breeze
With RPGs
Until my army sees
They’re harming me

My friends flank me in jet fighters
To protect me from the assault
And my squad keeps getting wider
By adding those I exalt
I fly in the clouds
With my friends all around
Breaking the barrier of sound
While never going down

Foes shoot missiles
Of dismissal
With words visceral
To make me miserable
But my valiant defenders
Shoot down the offenders
With consolation rendered
In their care so tender

We employ evasive maneuvers
To avoid the pervasive losers
And the invasive abusers
All of whom are cruisers
Flying low
Dying slow
Blinding snow
Lines their nose

But the enemy fleet is approaching
Our territory they’re encroaching
While we’re somberly toasting
Seeing the numbers they’re boasting
We try to fight
With all our might
But day turns to night
As I gain a suffering plight

The hovering helicopters
Shoot distracting flares
With tantalizing offers
Leaving my targeting impaired
So I veer off course
Like a lost horse
In a frost force
Of top torque

Once my squad is separated
The enemy is elevated
Showing the hell that waited
While my friends designated
Me as venerated
Like Satan irrigated
The peers I hated
Just being patient
Until I use a spaceship

The demons chase
Me into space
Until there’s no trace
Of the Devil’s face
But I can’t eject now
With space all around
While my crew starts to leave
Between asteroids I weave
While trying to grieve
My group disintegrating

They float into the nether
Quiet as a feather
As my ties are severed
They float away forever
And I start drifting alone
Drifting becomes my home
Drifting into the dark unknown
Depression drifts into my bones

Now the earth knows your body better than I do. Now the dirt
cradles you like a new mother—two brown hands
smoothing out a blanket for your bones. I guess I met you

by accident, at Ghost Beach, where the low winds beat at
bare ankles, where the feral cats chew on easy meat, where the
cabin cruisers smack against the water like angry fists. I went there because

I noticed the bell had started ringing again. I can't abide noise, no sir, my body demands a special kind of quiet—a coffin buried so deep that god himself would forget to rapture the poor soul inside. That's what led me to the sand. I wanted a

thin coast dotted with coral, I wanted ancient shells pressed to my ears, I wanted
an orange sun and a dark body and more life. You were different. You
wanted an exit. You wanted the pearly tides to undress you, to strip your

skin clear off, to husk you back down to guts and bones. I never saw such
a sad moth as you, all curled up in the summer surf, pale as a winter foot,
praying little prayers for absolution. Tell me, O winged one, when you finally

dipped a toe into the big scary blue,
was it because yours was ringing too?

Fish Food
They build their little tin can ships
So they can be seen to be strong
With new destroyers to take a cruise on
Along with big cruisers to fire missiles
And submarines to dive deep and follow dolphins
Not to forget aircraft carriers and their planes
Each of these shiny new ships is useless
If you put even a tiny hole in it
Down to the seabed it goes
The crew becoming fish food
Just what is needed for national progression
They should have built hospitals instead




******* Upside Down In a Blazing Avro Manchester Bomber – Poems from My Life and More

Nick Armbrister

we never danced on the beach
only walked leaving moonlit footprints
eyes open for cherry topped cruisers
hunting curfew criminals from
weekend teen aged assignations
cruising the shadows of canatara
silent among the others
hearts and breath trip-beating
as we spoke words
"that had just the right amount of letters.
just the right sound"
stolen from the top ten charts
to prove that ours was forever

we never danced on that beach
but i did with you at home in my room
writing in journals that you would never see
danced barefoot whispering in your ear
words that were mine and just for you.

from Cherish by the Association.

Aye sandman, I surrender to yar supreme governance
surreal spectacular soiree gifts subconscious sphere
soothing (analogous to natural palliative), ah...REM
member nought, asper exquisite entertaining cerebral
kaleidoscope replete with nonpareil visual trappings

aesthetically tantalizing unforgettable..., but lo' eye can't
captcha scenario upon awakened state, tis bothersome
transcendent, resplendent, quiescent,...transient dream
ticking escapement shuttered against recollections...
aye plead mercy to jog, (and gently jimmy - yeah of

course figuratively) shuttered facet slammed tight soon
nee immediately inaccessible dimension brought forth
teasingly, phantasmagorically, numbingly ephemeral,
nevertheless temporarily liberating, enshrouding, and
cocooning against incessant drubbing mine corporeal

wakeful body electric relentlessly fraught with profuse
inexplicable perspiration (principally palms) recurs
like clockwork (despite prescription medications), this
physiological discomfort hazards livingsocial quotidian
joyless agonizing oft times including courtesy, not

"FAKE" panic attack, these anxiety less debilitating,
when emotionally torturous teenage years wracked
every cell (no matter how fast I ran - just Kuwait, the
mailer daemons threatened) to undermine even flickr
of happiness, hence suicidal ideations (eternal slumber)

tantalized (still populate though processes) as surefire
solution to mitigate despite leaving those who love,
and especially hate yours truly, his existence bereft
of quality, though tranquil physical quasi rural setting
(Schwenksville), a naturalistic, fantastic, holistic balm,

here quiet as a cemetary removed, not considerably
distant from Philadelphia (hubbub disagrees with hair
trigger vulnerability), where madding crowd affects my
innate neurological predisposition, these lovely bones

easily rattled, quite aggravating to live verging upon
tremulous agitation assuaged through writing - catharsis
delivers temporary alleviation as doth solitary voluntary
sequestration poor substitute to relish L'Chaim!

Now Holy cow, I modestly bow vine
and dandy attired with New Times Roman font –
showing off me lix - plus iv ridging
despite afflicting unsuspecting reader  
to experience insufferable oh press
sieve corny word play yes
please lemme know and honestly profess
if profusion of words create lingual Loch Ness,
when hens can't come home to roost
especially, encountering
the following conglomeration
in Matthew Scott Harris patois.

He readily admits writing inventive
attempts usually ten tubby a literary mess,
thus finding innocent cyber cruisers
Angle fishing for Saxony fundamental fluidity
courtesy of Freudian stream of consciousness,
gabbling gibberish, muck not done on purpose
and certainly less
modest ambition to impress.

Gnome hatter intent toward
cogency, fancy ingenuity,
levity, the inevitable
resultant wrought gobbledygook
fascination for Lingua Franca
feeble endeavor splutters, splinters,
and splatters Asia Yukon guess.

Paramour status analogous with twenty six letters,
sans En gull Lush Mother tongue confluence
finds me submerged (as an Arctic Monkey)
swimmingly enervated
via ****** laced sentiments
perhaps finds bravely daring soul madly
hollering, gesticulating floundering,
(in close proximity to Davy Jones's locker)
to avoid drowning at sea
perchance comprehending passionate influence.

Upon espying a signature poem of mine
forces one pre ponder ring lurking predilection
tib hush anonymous re:
dears (dares) adventuresome mettle
taking him/her to the brainy
(briny) deep brink Icon fess

this (NON FAKE) pretense, why
aye metaphorically express
(via medium of ordinary Anglophile
alphabetic wonton soup,
or figurative egg drop soup
bubbling broth (el) doth brew)

pronouns Sibyl affectation
affliction sans plethora,
where each ladle full adrip with
richly flavor Verdana Font lee
and sincerely textured vocabulary.

Pluperfect mortals beings undoubtedly feel
(blindsided, how this hunger stricken author
suffers said sesquipedalian syndrome
particularly expectorating flashy

hoping tum bark on successful literary quest)
hyper aware aspiring paperback writers wannabe
might stoop to conquer, cheat, cadge
vis a vis plagiarize plethora
amidst storied plentiful English droppings.

Rather than succumb pretense feigning paucity
temptation to bask exultantly,
professed glorious unrequited love
announcing required sworn vow,
(el lye ding) avowed consonant covenant.