"fuhrer" poems
They came for us with tanks and guns.
We stood our ground—the old and young.
All our troops had mustered round
our Capital--Sacramento town.
A New Republic, we’d declared,
and its defense,
among all would be shared.
With the Bear Flag flying high
we all came to fight and die.
Young men in their combat boots
repelled the dictator’s first wave of troops.
Civilians came from South and North
to resist the fascist ruler’s force.
From Frisco and from San Jose,
from San Diego and L.A.,
from Calistoga and Marin,
thousands had come pouring in.
Then US bombers burned the city,
for the orange Fuhrer had no pity.
They won the battle, but we all know
from history, how these things go.
An occupation cannot last
against a people whose strength holds fast.
The tyrant’s troops will tire, while we
will fight on, until we’re free.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 11:17 PM UTC
Dear Poet Friends, Here is a poem by a young Canadian poet named Darien, which I found while browsing the Net! I would like to share this with you as a prelude to my poem about the 'Rise of The Third Reich', - which I hope to post on this Site shortly. Thanks, - Raj Nandy, New Delhi
World War II - ADOLF ******
by DARIEN, Aug 21, 2006
Austria raised a man so vile and vicious
His life was dark, callous and malicious
Passions of hatred engraved in his mind
As he plotted to create his own mankind
A soldier for Germany in World War One
War to end all wars had only just begun
The National Socialist Party appeared fast
Their numbers grew rapidly as time passed
Charismatic oratory and propaganda his tool
False promises made, people he would fool
Were Nazis the one to bring hope? Perhaps
Without their help Germany would collapse
The Reichstag Fire would be a stepping stone
Germany's President died, he took the throne
He became the fuhrer leader of all Germany
And would start the worst war of the century
War had been started with a Nazi-Soviet pact
Together with Russia, Poland they attacked
England and France were not ready for war
Marching of Nazis soldiers was not ignored.
Mussolini became his ally and supported him
For all other countries their chances were slim
Many countries were defeated in a few days
the Fascist and Nazis would give him praise
Blitzkrieg was a strategy that worked most
In defeating all his enemies he came close
The Nazis would spread all across Europe
But it would be at Stalingrad they would stop
Communist regimes were one group he did hate
Yet it was the Jews he would try to annihilate
In all cruelty, bloodshed, war would soon end
There was still so much for people to defend
On V-Day he saw all his armies demolished
****** and fascism in Europe was abolished
World War Two ended the areas were secure
From that evil, monstrous beast Adolf ******
- By Darien. (Canada)
..........................................................................
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 11:11 AM UTC
You told me once that I am your favorite writer.
I was hesitant and unsure. Your innocence might jinx me this time. Then you laughed, as you always do, like a child giggling while waiting the rain from the summer sky. Everything becomes clear. After all, whatever comes from you is never you.
Of course, you are as always an empty being.
Your emptiness tells many stories. Your emptiness fools me. Your emptiness is the real vessel of soul. Your emptiness is a parchment for budding thoughts. Your emptiness is a magic.
No wonder, I fell in love with that emptiness. I just do not know if emptiness loves me back.
Or, was it me who stares at the abyss long enough that a centenary gone by.
1900: The Boxer rebellion begun. Freud published his Interpretation of Dreams.
1903: The Wright brothers marked their first flight. In turn, Curtiss decided to invade the sky.
1912: Titanic anchored to Atlantis, to its final resting place.
Two years after, the first World War broke out. Horses galloped to the killing fields.
1925: The first among many trials of the century began. That day, Darwin risen for the second time.
1934: ****** became Fuhrer. The world becomes a theater. “Absurd,” says Beckett. “Cruelty” for Artaud.
1939; 1941: Second World War broke out; Pear Harbor bombed. Asia Pacific meets its infernal fate.
1945: Three mushroom clouds seen: New Mexico, Hiroshima, and Nagazaki.
1960’s: Humanity becomes obsessed with multiple wars: cold, space, nuclear, music, universities; not counting the mutants who played major roles in between.
1986: Itay wrote a letter to Inay. The letter reached Manila after a few days from Jeddah.
1989: Capitalism won. Berlin wall fell like a paper plane after its victorious flight. My parents met for the first time. Months later, they decided to cut the cake and get married.
1993: The World Wide Web saw its day. I was born.
Twenty two years later, I met her. A year after, Phil Collins sang once again Separate lives.
That time, I know, I will never be your favorite writer.
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
I remember when I walked the Earth
in the days before I died.
When ***** chancellor ****** rose,
after the Reichstag fire.
I remember a November night
with a million shards of glass.
I never felt more all alone,
that night my lover passed.
After that, I had no rights,
I was forced to bear this sign:
A pink Triangle swatch of cloth,
by this I was defined.
I remember some with David's star
would look down their nose at me.
We were under the same sentence-
had not our deaths all been decreed?
I remember when I walked the Earth
in the days before I died.
Before mein Fuhrer dug for me
my grave up in the sky.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 6:15 AM UTC
Poor little Donny.
Long ago all he had
Was his overlarge, pumpkin-shaped head,
His tiny baby hands,
And a small loan of a million dollars.
He struck out for himself,
With only that million dollars to his name.
And he became a success...
And then went bankrupt,
And then found success again,
And then bankruptcy,
And finally more success.
He bought himself a wife,
Made himself a daughter he wants to date,
And put in a run for president.
Now he stands atop a pedestal,
Spewing forth hate-filled words,
Xenophobic and mono-syllabic.
His white washed fans, bowing before their Fuhrer.
Our best and brightest spend their days decrying his actions,
Our true leaders point out his massive ineptitudes,
Our comedians creating thoroughly researched,
20 minute rants about this tiny-handed, pumpkin man.
The other leaders of the world stand baffled by Donny's popularity.
But still his stands behind his podium,
With his red hat,
Waving his baby hands and blubbering about his
"Great brain. The best brain."
And the
"Fantastic wall. The great wall. A Trump wall."
And so the question becomes,
What will this tyrannical child do
When his presidential aspirations are destroyed?
For he lacks the support of any minority group,
Any women's group,
And any level-headed person.
The answer is simple:
He will sue, or at least threaten to do so.
He will rant and rave like the lunatic that he is.
His racist followers will do the same.
But their blabbering will be lost in the words of the intelligent.
Or at least we hope that will be the outcome.
Why, oh why, little handed Donny,
Must you spew such hatred and xenophobia?
Why can you not return to your tower of gold,
With your expensed wife, and bobble sized pumpkin head?
Please leave us be.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya ;[email protected])
Du sie wunderbarkumpel
Ich habe im meine leben
Du habe immer mich beshaftigen
Ich mochte sprachen danken zu du
Du sie fuhrer ; much
Heilig ist die hand welche du geschaffen
Ich liebe sie mit meine kummerleute
Vergnugen !
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 9:14 AM UTC
Bigotry has a smell of death
The fuhrer would watch piles on piles of empty flesh
In the summer of 1941
On the grounds of Auschwitz, that place weighed heavier than a ton
Years after the shoah, would this understanding begin to unfold
That nothing stains the soul more indelibly than loathe
What do the blind see?
Your oratory abhorrence they forsee
They see, not your bitter visage
But their ears crush under the muscle of your burning rage
What do the deaf hear?
Even years after the passing of a yesteryear
I suppose, they hear words, like skin caressing skin
Your tirade tearing their tissues like a throw of javelin
Along Its path, since decades, turning into centuries
Before times were tamed
Even after times were maimed
Our tongues have plucked
Incessantly
The plumage of quarantined birds
With stubborn shame
And a sequence of demise ensues
Their voice also dies, so does their silence
Because after all
Bigotry has a smell of death
Mar 22, 2021
Mar 22, 2021 at 10:00 AM UTC
doom
dark ages and the death
of poetry
now here
arise poets
spark burning lines
arson the fake prez Fuhrer
all his followers
Nazis
(how original)
don't forget the weird
line breaks and
/ spacing / /
refuse punctuation
no caps ever
voila
yet another
lame lib lefty
yawner
Mar 2, 2017
Mar 2, 2017 at 9:25 PM UTC
Riding on a tank
I saw a dream walking on the sand
Or it could have been a hedgerow road
Wearing a hijab or a Sunday dress
Or a naked body covered in screams
The images laced with the faces,
Of the waiting ones, who for them,
Life is about nature walks
And laughing with their children
But now they only know shock
Nobody told them how to cope
With bombs
And the dreams of despots
I saw them
Their blank faces unable to reach me
Was I their savior
Or the reality of true power
I love my family
They believed in me
But to a stranger, I am a machine
A soldier ready to die
But it wasn’t that way
It’s not that simple
I don’t want to die
And yes, I am afraid
Yes, they do
The memory of a sacred ceremony
Do you have one?
They do
The defeated ones
They have a God
They have blood planted where you stand
You cannot erase a memory
Unless you **** a man
And his family
All of them
Then you can pretend it didn’t happen
We were sent with visions of glory
It is the way of war
But we cannot imagine it
For glory does not provide details
Only parades and salutes
And tears
It does not speak of panic
Of equipment failure
Of battle fatigue
Of another man willing to die for his God
Or his Fuhrer
You didn’t read it in the manual
Void and formless
Light
Oceans
Continents
Life
Vanity
Race
Predominance
Oppression
Death
Did he set it in motion
Or is he trying to turn it around?
I don’t want to die
But I am about to lose everything I have
My life now is like crossing a freeway
It can be done
You just have to know how to do it
Or just be lucky
Am I wearing the right clothes?
The women are dressed for their God
The Sunday dress
The hijab
They were ready
Except the screams of burning flesh is not a dress
I lost a fight once in school
Now I'm an assassin
A dangerous man
That’s all I need to think about
Killing another man
And I can **** another man
With a gun
Or a knife
They are supposed to fear me
They need to fear me
But I am afraid of myself
Violence is all that matters now
That’s what everyone wants
I walked out on the field
The crowd was cheering for me
Then my eyes met those of a kneeling man
A brave man playing a violent sport
I nodded to him
But he didn’t stand up
He watched me honored for surviving
For surviving something greater than myself
Right or wrong
And he knew that people hated him
They hated him for not honoring me
But I wasn’t angry
I could only think about those women
Sep 12, 2016
Sep 12, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
You should brew a batch
Of a tea that makes you bright
And if it works the rest of us
Can get some sleep at night
Because whatever tea you drink
As you plow your awful road
Is making you a truly lethal kind
Of hairy, ugly poisonous toad.
Tea for the Trumperman
For him and his bund.
Pay for it all with our
Stolen pension fund.
Make special batches
For him and his cronies
Look them up under the tab
High treason and phonies.
Maybe drink the kind of tea
That hippies still smoke
It might make you think
You are a bit less of a joke
But it won't ever make you
Less of a fool than you are;
The highly lethal driver
Of the Republican clown car.
Another kind of tea please
For those who called this fool a ****
But this time make this batch
Of primo quality hemlock.
The best way is to tell all
Those dim Trumpster finks
This is precisely what der Fuhrer drinks.
Tea for the Trumperman
For him and his bund.
Pay for it all with our
Stolen pension fund.
Make special batches
For him and his cronies
Look them up under the tab
High treason and phonies.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 3:29 AM UTC
•
• • • •
/\
000
The subtlety
Freedom is not as elusive as we claim
It to be
( just
Subtle )
••
We are not very subtle in our acceptance
Of gross slavery
//
Just a touch of Ugly
to mar the passage of the days
///
Tell me who your heroes are
And I will understand just what
You want or need
•
•
The days are heavy with the weight
Of sheer boredom
//
The search for Johnny Naked
Or
Mary in Chains
••
Walking round with Flaming Bush
til everybody goes insaner than they
Are already
( if it's even possible ! )
//
Wanting someone who wants to be free
In a real way
///////
////
//////
Well well we
Come to the end of another song
Hoping I got it wrong somehow
That really everything is swell
And that you all are doing very well
////
( Though we all know differently )
•
What !
Do I hear you snoring ?
Well
I told you UGLINESS is boring !
Dec 30, 2014
Dec 30, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
Sophie was just twenty two, arrayed in prison grey,
Sentenced to death for treason; this, her final day.
She was a faithful Catholic who defied the twisted cross.
She saw through the Fuhrer’s lies; those golden piles of dross.
Her boyfriend was a medic who served on the Eastern front.
Then, wounded, he returned with some hard truths to confront.
He’d seen the mass graves filled with Jews; the horror, the despair.
Demons such as ****** require more than prayer.
When they authored their first leaflet they surely must have known
That they would be discovered and how they would atone.
With each succeeding pamphlet they courted their demise.
Their Martyrdom a certainty; truth is treason in men’s eyes.
One by one the White rose died; death by the guillotine.
They had committed treason; their sentence guaranteed.
When Sophie heard the guillotine sing she knew what they had found;
As she, too, cast off her earthly cross and exchanged it for a crown.
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
No end in sight Afghanistan
Still burnin’ flags out in Iran
Chinese steel grip
The Fuhrer’s fist
Still poundin’ on the podium
As Appalachia still succumbs
To ethnic cleansing *****
Peace-keepin’ like a North Korean
Sleepin’ on a Puerto Rican
Leakin’ all the in between and
Still you people think he’s speakin’
For the huddled masses, middle classes?
Cuttin’ taxes
For the battle axes cashin’ in
On truth denial gasses
Maskin’ babies bodies buried in
The Stormy normalcy
And no apology for Johnny
See why Colin took a knee?
Or did you miss the racial murders
Every single ******* day
I guess you missed the homelessness
Or the unequal gender pay
And when the kids take to the streets
You shut them up with adderall
Then seal them up behind a wall
Until their world’s a shopping mall
And then the Columbine each time
A new disorder
Breaks the mind
Until the Nero anti-hero
Comes to muse of its decline
May 17, 2018
May 17, 2018 at 10:59 PM UTC
A systemic epidemic amid the pandemic
Shots off at capitol hill and alls a panic
Forensics takes money from the shooter
Proclaims the victim to be a looter
Throw lives away like trash on the block
Take poor lives at their sides a Glock
Stocks soar, Deaths soar, **** just our luck
**** on tour at mast is the patriots ****
Peace an option until they grabbed their piece
Take the lease call your tab a life will cease
Six six six its the nature of the beast
Money, greed, and avarice
All they want is every slice of prosperity
They flaunt a salary a workless propriety
Makers, producers, and workers in poverty
Still, they will rule with iron sovereignty
This goes on for four more I'm going on a tour
Camp on a grassy knoll taking shots of Cuervo
Not enough to throw off my aim though
My contribution is to the body flow
That's just how war goes, no justice no peace
Just taking justice away with a piece
When I feel a debt is to me I pull the lease
And I feel what is owed to me is some peace
That'll never happen till all my friends can eat
I may die in a miserable cell in complete defeat
At least my skin won't be fleece won't be meat
For wolves to eat I'll be a man crushed underfeet
Funny we still fight confederate beliefs
More like fight the degenerate beliefs
Of the weak and the meek thieves
Stealing rights and lives for conceit
Liberty or death is the creed of our founders
Yet when liberty is stolen everyone just flounders
Death is the only retort to fascist panderers
Tired of all this fake comfort as a ponderer
The answer soon to be immutable one last stopper
That can permute this course as the only offer
An election of a conqueror or a molester
Choice between a beast and death or a monster
One mimics ein fuhrer the other will fester
So whats best here civil war or uncle Chester
Months until the toll bell calls on her electors
To choose hell or tepid **** to quell the defectors
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 8:48 AM UTC
By autocrat I mean a domineering bossy pseudo-dictator of a basically free country.
No, I say, and he's doing a good job, but he has thing kinda harsh peopled following that probably wouldn't exist if it wasn't for certain pink lazy young people infiltrating the power structures of this country.
That sounds far-fetched, I know, and the babbling of a jealous old man, but that's my hunch - there are too many young people in high school who come home and plop themselves down on the couch to a bunch of inane TV with a whole bag of Lay's potato chips at their fingertips, irritating their right-winged father, cheating afterward, and getting educated in a technical field and offending dangerous psychotics off the street.
If Trump would just correct that and not take his hang ups out on us Latinos (I'm partially Mexican, Puerto Rican, South American, and Spanish, so far as I know) and Muslims like me, this country wouldn't disintegrate with mass murderers and such, who might have delusions that Trump is their der fuhrer.
He's kind of a know-it0all and becoming autocratic as it would seem.
He could prevent this from coming to full fruition by just minding the liberal media a little bit.
Aug 1, 2017
Aug 1, 2017 at 11:23 AM UTC
Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
But Mom, All the Cool Kids are into Genocide!
“Students! Be the Fuhrer’s Propagandists!”
**** poster ca. 1933, per Library of Congress: [Studenten seid
Propagandisten des Führers Hoch-u. Fachschulen bekennen
sich am 29. März zur Deutschen Freiheitsbewegung /
(loc.gov)]
All the cool kids are into genocide
Slogans and posters and bullhorns and cries
Abandoning their studies to march outside
And scream the same 2,000-year-old lies
The InterGossip commands, and they obey
Blocking the streets and clenching each fist
Waving misspelt signs and yelling all day
Never pausing to ask if there’s something they’ve missed
Am I a hollow echo for some sycophant’s squall?
Will I fail to think for myself at all?
Oct 22, 2023
Oct 22, 2023 at 6:58 PM UTC