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"minh" poems
MEMORIAL DAY May 26th, 2014 **************************************************** To all of you that have ever worn "The Uniform", the uniform of safety and security, the uniform of pride the uniform of freedom, the uniform of liberty THE UNIFORM OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ********** THANK YOU Thank you to all, in every branch, in every time From: The American Revolution (most of us have roots to our founders) The Civil War (North or South) World War I World War II Korea Vietnam Cambodia Laos Panama Nicaragua The Falkland Islands Somalia Yugoslavia Bosnia Kuwait Iraq Afghanistan Pakistan The Persian Gulf ** areas and battlefields such as (not all locations are listed with no dis-respect) Lexington/Concord, Gettysburg, Pearl Harbor, Midway Island, Normandy, D-Day, Berlin, Tripoli, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, The 38th Parallel, The Bay of Tonkin, Me Lei, Hanoi, The Hanoi Hilton, Saigon, The ** Chi Minh Trail, Baghdad, Kabul, Ground Zero Manhattan, Pentagon 9/11, a field near Shanksville PA. and many many more, you are all heroes and role models, not for a nation, for the world, not for American Patriots, for all humanity, not only on this Memorial Day, for all days and all days to come. You are appreciated! because freedom has high costs and you pay the price for all of us. ****************************** Godspeed, safety and peace where ever you are. Sincerely, Warner C. Baxter Jr. American Patriot Scottsdale, AZ. U.S.A. God bless America
0
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
warner-baxter
MAY 26TH 2014
MEMORIAL DAY May 26th, 2014 **************************************************** To all of you that have ever worn "The Uniform", the uniform of safety and security, the uniform of pride the uniform of freedom, the uniform of liberty THE UNIFORM OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ********** THANK YOU Thank you to all, in every branch, in every time From: The American Revolution (most of us have roots to our founders) The Civil War (North or South) World War I World War II Korea Vietnam Cambodia Laos Panama Nicaragua The Falkland Islands Somalia Yugoslavia Bosnia Kuwait Iraq Afghanistan Pakistan The Persian Gulf ** areas and battlefields such as (not all locations are listed with no dis-respect) Lexington/Concord, Gettysburg, Pearl Harbor, Midway Island, Normandy, D-Day, Berlin, Tripoli, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, The 38th Parallel, The Bay of Tonkin, Me Lei, Hanoi, The Hanoi Hilton, Saigon, The ** Chi Minh Trail, Baghdad, Kabul, Ground Zero Manhattan, Pentagon 9/11, a field near Shanksville PA. and many many more, you are all heroes and role models, not for a nation, for the world, not for American Patriots, for all humanity, not only on this Memorial Day, for all days and all days to come. You are appreciated! because freedom has high costs and you pay the price for all of us. ****************************** Godspeed, safety and peace where ever you are. Sincerely, Warner C. Baxter Jr. American Patriot Scottsdale, AZ. U.S.A. God bless America
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42
MEMORIAL DAY June 1, 2015 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To all of you that have ever worn "THE UNIFORM" The Uniform of safety and security, The Uniform of pride and liberty THE UNIFORM OF FREEDOM THE UNIFORM OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THANK YOU Thank you to all, in every branch, in every time From: 1776 - 2015 The American Revolution The Civil War (North or South) World War I World War II Korea Vietnam Cambodia Laos Panama Nicaragua The Falkland Islands Somalia Yugoslavia Bosnia Kuwait Iraq Afghanistan Pakistan The Persian Gulf ~~ War Zones and Battlefields, such as: Lexington/Concord, Gettysburg, Pearl Harbor, Midway Island, Normandy, D-Day, Berlin, Tripoli, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, The 38th Parallel, The Bay of Tonkin, Me Lei, Hanoi, The Hanoi Hilton, Saigon, The ** Chi Minh Trail, Baghdad, Kabul, Ground Zero Manhattan, Pentagon 9/11, a field near Shanksville PA. and many many more, (not all locations are listed with no dis-respect) You are all Heroes and Role Models, not for a Nation, for A Peaceful Planet not for Americans, for all Humanity, not only today this Memorial Day, for all days and all days to come. You are appreciated! because freedom has high costs and you pay the price for all of us. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Godspeed, safety and peace where ever you are. Sincerely, Warner C. Baxter Jr. American Patriot Scottsdale, AZ. U.S.A. GOD BLESS AMERICA Semper Vigilo
0
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 2:26 AM UTC
warner-baxter
MEMORIAL DAY
MEMORIAL DAY June 1, 2015 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ To all of you that have ever worn "THE UNIFORM" The Uniform of safety and security, The Uniform of pride and liberty THE UNIFORM OF FREEDOM THE UNIFORM OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ THANK YOU Thank you to all, in every branch, in every time From: 1776 - 2015 The American Revolution The Civil War (North or South) World War I World War II Korea Vietnam Cambodia Laos Panama Nicaragua The Falkland Islands Somalia Yugoslavia Bosnia Kuwait Iraq Afghanistan Pakistan The Persian Gulf ~~ War Zones and Battlefields, such as: Lexington/Concord, Gettysburg, Pearl Harbor, Midway Island, Normandy, D-Day, Berlin, Tripoli, Iwo Jima, Okinawa, The 38th Parallel, The Bay of Tonkin, Me Lei, Hanoi, The Hanoi Hilton, Saigon, The ** Chi Minh Trail, Baghdad, Kabul, Ground Zero Manhattan, Pentagon 9/11, a field near Shanksville PA. and many many more, (not all locations are listed with no dis-respect) You are all Heroes and Role Models, not for a Nation, for A Peaceful Planet not for Americans, for all Humanity, not only today this Memorial Day, for all days and all days to come. You are appreciated! because freedom has high costs and you pay the price for all of us. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Godspeed, safety and peace where ever you are. Sincerely, Warner C. Baxter Jr. American Patriot Scottsdale, AZ. U.S.A. GOD BLESS AMERICA Semper Vigilo
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52
Eratic Plastic Dysphemistic Euphemisms the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain while the dome in Rome is a place to call home and the gazoot in Beirut is in cahoot with the Neo in Reo and his brother Theo and Levi in Shanghai munches blueberry pie the roast on the coast has been burnt like the toast and my frog on the log barks like a dog its a pity how gritty it is in ** Chi Minh City never challange Mr Wong to play ping pong in Hong Kong or smoke a bowl with a mole in old town Seoul or the gendarme will storm the crowd in Pittsburgh Gomer LePoet...
0
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC
david-nelson
Eratic Plastic Dysphemistic Euphemisms
Eratic Plastic Dysphemistic Euphemisms the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain while the dome in Rome is a place to call home and the gazoot in Beirut is in cahoot with the Neo in Reo and his brother Theo and Levi in Shanghai munches blueberry pie the roast on the coast has been burnt like the toast and my frog on the log barks like a dog its a pity how gritty it is in ** Chi Minh City never challange Mr Wong to play ping pong in Hong Kong or smoke a bowl with a mole in old town Seoul or the gendarme will storm the crowd in Pittsburgh Gomer LePoet...
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24
They were not interested in the forests. Or how many Asians died? Nam Viet was a restaurant Open from 8am-11pm each day. And summertime in Hue, means cheap ***** and handmade suits. All around the girls in golden tight dresses, who can hardly walk in their six inch heels. Sell cheap cigarettes from table to table. Always with a smile and a look at their ******* On trips to Hanoi and Hoi An, the code to Vietnam's  literary treasure. They asked thin questions with no light “What about the Women Andrew” “What about the nightlife and the girls” “Do you think they’re **** "How expensive are they?" Someone in ** Chi Minh City asked me "Why do people think like this?" I guess it is easy, if ugly is all you know Calling to nothing, and the fall of the future.
0
Aug 16, 2018
Aug 16, 2018 at 5:02 AM UTC
andrew-duggan
Dating in Vietnam
They were not interested in the forests. Or how many Asians died? Nam Viet was a restaurant Open from 8am-11pm each day. And summertime in Hue, means cheap ***** and handmade suits. All around the girls in golden tight dresses, who can hardly walk in their six inch heels. Sell cheap cigarettes from table to table. Always with a smile and a look at their ******* On trips to Hanoi and Hoi An, the code to Vietnam's  literary treasure. They asked thin questions with no light “What about the Women Andrew” “What about the nightlife and the girls” “Do you think they’re **** "How expensive are they?" Someone in ** Chi Minh City asked me "Why do people think like this?" I guess it is easy, if ugly is all you know Calling to nothing, and the fall of the future.
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21
(for Nietzche, who cowers behind art.) The world calls the conquered ****** to remember that the sun every night yearns to rise, to rise, to rise when there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing. Yet still it yearns to rise, to rise, to rise. The world called Canaanites ****** while they traded and toiled along the shores of land promised to the aged heretic of Sumer, whose wife could give only love. The world called Hebrews ****** while they raised Pharoah tombs Provided respite from the eastern chariots Stubborn in refusal of the living gods Drinking only Eloheim's bitter grape That provides brief respite from his decrees When delving deep in one's cups. The world called Britons ****** When flogged Boudicea fought and fought and finally fell To Roman spear and gladius When Angles and Saxons raided then stayed When Cromwell climbed the pale cliffs The world called the Iberians, Gauls and Teutons ****** when Caesar crossed the Rubicon Pax Romana for Citizens born Land for the wealthy, voting rights too Taxes and tithes from their toil. The world called the Khoikhoi of South Africa ****** From the VOC to fatal Apartheid Up rose a man The heart of the land A man named Nelson Mandela. The world called the Viet Minh ****** from Can Vong to Dien Bien Phu 'till they slogged howitzers above to reign Napoleonic terror below. And to them it was just The American War After the world called them Vietnamese. The world calls the conquered ****** to remember that the sun every day yearns to rise, to rise, to rise When there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing yet still it yearns to rise, to rise, to rise 'though it never watches its own rising undoing raiment of fading embers swimming naked in the royal blue bathing all with daily newborn naked glory chasing the celestial tidal tease that seems to wander where it please reminding that all are born free but can grow into ignorance and be called ****** Seek truths that hold in unity; that provide nourishment beneath the lash allowing one to rise, to rise, to rise.
0
Jul 15, 2019
Jul 15, 2019 at 9:01 AM UTC
carnival-trete
The World Calls the Conquered ******
(for Nietzche, who cowers behind art.) The world calls the conquered ****** to remember that the sun every night yearns to rise, to rise, to rise when there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing. Yet still it yearns to rise, to rise, to rise. The world called Canaanites ****** while they traded and toiled along the shores of land promised to the aged heretic of Sumer, whose wife could give only love. The world called Hebrews ****** while they raised Pharoah tombs Provided respite from the eastern chariots Stubborn in refusal of the living gods Drinking only Eloheim's bitter grape That provides brief respite from his decrees When delving deep in one's cups. The world called Britons ****** When flogged Boudicea fought and fought and finally fell To Roman spear and gladius When Angles and Saxons raided then stayed When Cromwell climbed the pale cliffs The world called the Iberians, Gauls and Teutons ****** when Caesar crossed the Rubicon Pax Romana for Citizens born Land for the wealthy, voting rights too Taxes and tithes from their toil. The world called the Khoikhoi of South Africa ****** From the VOC to fatal Apartheid Up rose a man The heart of the land A man named Nelson Mandela. The world called the Viet Minh ****** from Can Vong to Dien Bien Phu 'till they slogged howitzers above to reign Napoleonic terror below. And to them it was just The American War After the world called them Vietnamese. The world calls the conquered ****** to remember that the sun every day yearns to rise, to rise, to rise When there is no guarantee, no promise, no sure thing yet still it yearns to rise, to rise, to rise 'though it never watches its own rising undoing raiment of fading embers swimming naked in the royal blue bathing all with daily newborn naked glory chasing the celestial tidal tease that seems to wander where it please reminding that all are born free but can grow into ignorance and be called ****** Seek truths that hold in unity; that provide nourishment beneath the lash allowing one to rise, to rise, to rise.
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62
1968  I remember 1968.. The land of milk and honey. The war was still cold but not The Tet. That ***** was hot. 1954 I made my debut. Lotta my boys did too. ** chi Minh amped up his crew. Can't. We all just get along. No way LBJ. Young guys all over town stressin the lottery. The randomness of body bag. Friday hip deep in rice paddy. Monday a letter to your moms.
0
Sep 25, 2012
Sep 25, 2012 at 2:16 PM UTC
geno-cattouse-1
The Nam #1
1968  I remember 1968.. The land of milk and honey. The war was still cold but not The Tet. That ***** was hot. 1954 I made my debut. Lotta my boys did too. ** chi Minh amped up his crew. Can't. We all just get along. No way LBJ. Young guys all over town stressin the lottery. The randomness of body bag. Friday hip deep in rice paddy. Monday a letter to your moms.
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11
When you approached me, I was smoking a cigarette listening to Macklemore outside my favorite coffeeshop in the rainy city You said something, but I didn't hear you, so I removed my headphones as you asked "Could you help a veteran out by giving him a cigarette?" I said yes, asked you where you had fought you told me Saigon "Oh yeah? Vietnam." you looked at me dressed in a coat that was a color of blue not found in nature face of canyons and told me "We got those ******* good. We did. We got those ******* good. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." and you walked away. I was stuck in a trance of What the **** was that and yeah, we did get them but I don't know if I'd lay down Agent Orange and call it "good" Take Civil and Guerrilla warfare and try to tie it next to butterflies and welfare checks I don't know what you think is good But me? I can't find any other words for 1.9 to 3.9 million casualties in a war that should never have been fought Than sad and wrong I wonder how many Vietnamese women gave birth to half American babies That they never wanted that didn't even desire to participate in the act of child making I wonder how many Loved their children anyway how many were honest with them how many of those children burnt that odd color of blue that should never exist in nature But then again neither should the bombs children are still unearthing in the North and South of Vietnam I want to know how many of their parents learned that American is another word for a ************ How many of these parents grew up telling their children never trust an American until you know where his gun is pointed because he's always got it pointing somewhere I want to know If you would understand where Saigon, now ** Chi Minh city is on a map if you had never fought there Would you be on the streets of Portland alone asking a college kid who was not alive when you fought in Southeast Asia for a cigarette I wonder where are you going? How many people did you **** how many are you sorry for killing? and then I realize I really don't want to know.
0
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 12:43 AM UTC
erik-ervin
To the Veteran That Needed a Cigarette and Got One
When you approached me, I was smoking a cigarette listening to Macklemore outside my favorite coffeeshop in the rainy city You said something, but I didn't hear you, so I removed my headphones as you asked "Could you help a veteran out by giving him a cigarette?" I said yes, asked you where you had fought you told me Saigon "Oh yeah? Vietnam." you looked at me dressed in a coat that was a color of blue not found in nature face of canyons and told me "We got those ******* good. We did. We got those ******* good. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise." and you walked away. I was stuck in a trance of What the **** was that and yeah, we did get them but I don't know if I'd lay down Agent Orange and call it "good" Take Civil and Guerrilla warfare and try to tie it next to butterflies and welfare checks I don't know what you think is good But me? I can't find any other words for 1.9 to 3.9 million casualties in a war that should never have been fought Than sad and wrong I wonder how many Vietnamese women gave birth to half American babies That they never wanted that didn't even desire to participate in the act of child making I wonder how many Loved their children anyway how many were honest with them how many of those children burnt that odd color of blue that should never exist in nature But then again neither should the bombs children are still unearthing in the North and South of Vietnam I want to know how many of their parents learned that American is another word for a ************ How many of these parents grew up telling their children never trust an American until you know where his gun is pointed because he's always got it pointing somewhere I want to know If you would understand where Saigon, now ** Chi Minh city is on a map if you had never fought there Would you be on the streets of Portland alone asking a college kid who was not alive when you fought in Southeast Asia for a cigarette I wonder where are you going? How many people did you **** how many are you sorry for killing? and then I realize I really don't want to know.
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83
tiny blue houses line the beige, red, and green grass that lines the runway the city from above is a rainbow mosaic of bustling focus, in markets, on scooters, in neatly trimmed parks now it fades to white, a blending for from ground to sky meeting, joining, the whispy clouds that lay, for now above Hồ Chí Minh city
0
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 8:16 PM UTC
sam-shoyer
Leaving Hồ Chí Minh City
tiny blue houses line the beige, red, and green grass that lines the runway the city from above is a rainbow mosaic of bustling focus, in markets, on scooters, in neatly trimmed parks now it fades to white, a blending for from ground to sky meeting, joining, the whispy clouds that lay, for now above Hồ Chí Minh city
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6
warm and fuzzy like a big blanket all draped like a Newfoundland flag over homespun homesick ** Chi Minh shoulders, shell shocked soul soldier mmm 'ho yes 'tis truly the seed of Morpheus lo good old blowhard old god of dreams tho I sleep not thru barely eye opened lucid reverie
0
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 10:28 PM UTC
WhereDoIGoFromHereDorothy
barely open
warm and fuzzy like a big blanket all draped like a Newfoundland flag over homespun homesick ** Chi Minh shoulders, shell shocked soul soldier mmm 'ho yes 'tis truly the seed of Morpheus lo good old blowhard old god of dreams tho I sleep not thru barely eye opened lucid reverie
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9
How can I ever explain it? Not without a full disclosure I will tell you every bit Your kindness to which I demure Soldiers fight their own private war Mine to protect the Hill Tribes Willing to suffer all the gore All credit to them I ascribe Upon arrival in Da Nang I gathered my field gear and rifle A mission with Colonel Vang Preparation seemed but a trifle My kind mountain Hmong Tribal ladies Give a great gift to me, your sons I will escort them through Hades I'll teach them to ****** with guns Wet their tongues in cobra's blood I have come to save you from doom The coming communist red flood Boys already made their own tomb We shall fly the flags of the Hmong We'll rally boys from the villes We must slaughter the Minh and Cong The Hmong will have their own Bastille I will take a dragon to wife Boys will nurture in her foul breath They will worship their ****** knife We'll dance the ritual of death I’m the lost soul forest monster Others have come before today They are pathetic impostors We will flow through the night to slay Other boys born beneath the palm They have come to steal your life's breath It's them that we target to bomb I'll walk among you as Macbeth My Duncan is among your kin Banquo will haunt me til I rot I will be fixed with mortal sin Unable to wash away the spot I will hide my hands from Odin A conundrum in which I'm caught Future will be among the Jinn My destiny from this foul plot Your sons buried in sacred ground They'll not be stained with my darkness Peace for them will be so profound How many thanks can I express Those boys in valor's selfless crown From gallantry, their future gone Sins I keep and can't beat down For many years, I must atone. I, far removed from battles roar Do fondly remember those boys Their smiles and laughter before Stand out among life's greatest joys No more the fierce warrior am I Just an old man with memories I am needing to just say goodbye And maybe, maybe my conscience appeases
0
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 6:33 PM UTC
bernard-t-windwillow
Warriors Lament
How can I ever explain it? Not without a full disclosure I will tell you every bit Your kindness to which I demure Soldiers fight their own private war Mine to protect the Hill Tribes Willing to suffer all the gore All credit to them I ascribe Upon arrival in Da Nang I gathered my field gear and rifle A mission with Colonel Vang Preparation seemed but a trifle My kind mountain Hmong Tribal ladies Give a great gift to me, your sons I will escort them through Hades I'll teach them to ****** with guns Wet their tongues in cobra's blood I have come to save you from doom The coming communist red flood Boys already made their own tomb We shall fly the flags of the Hmong We'll rally boys from the villes We must slaughter the Minh and Cong The Hmong will have their own Bastille I will take a dragon to wife Boys will nurture in her foul breath They will worship their ****** knife We'll dance the ritual of death I’m the lost soul forest monster Others have come before today They are pathetic impostors We will flow through the night to slay Other boys born beneath the palm They have come to steal your life's breath It's them that we target to bomb I'll walk among you as Macbeth My Duncan is among your kin Banquo will haunt me til I rot I will be fixed with mortal sin Unable to wash away the spot I will hide my hands from Odin A conundrum in which I'm caught Future will be among the Jinn My destiny from this foul plot Your sons buried in sacred ground They'll not be stained with my darkness Peace for them will be so profound How many thanks can I express Those boys in valor's selfless crown From gallantry, their future gone Sins I keep and can't beat down For many years, I must atone. I, far removed from battles roar Do fondly remember those boys Their smiles and laughter before Stand out among life's greatest joys No more the fierce warrior am I Just an old man with memories I am needing to just say goodbye And maybe, maybe my conscience appeases
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60
There lies a picture on the mantle of my grandfather, my step-father's father, clad in U.S. Navy fatigues and grinning slightly, almost a smirk. The year is 1960-something as he enlists for Vietnam and is shipped overseas on the USS Corral Sea to load sidewinders into fighter planes that ignite and **** It happens so fast. It happened so fast. Two months of time reduced to blinks and minute-long visits. This house could be cold as Mt. Meru's peak and I would hardly notice. The brain has ways of placing things on autopilot. His life has come to pass and I am left to wonder. I am not sure I ever truly knew the man. I heard stories, his helicopter shot down in Vietnam, his E&E; north of the ** Chi Minh and how he owned a gun shop on Main St. in the town I came to call home before it was my home. I cannot hear his whispering, small wind of existence sidewinding away from me and my youthfulness. In small time I've come to find life is meaningful if you take time to make it so. The day of his funeral is beautiful, sunny and mild and full of breeze. The gas tank of my mother's car is close to empty and I am worried of worldly things, will we make it and when can we fill up again. 21 guns gives my heart a needed beating.
0
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 3:55 PM UTC
christopher-hendrix
Hospice
There lies a picture on the mantle of my grandfather, my step-father's father, clad in U.S. Navy fatigues and grinning slightly, almost a smirk. The year is 1960-something as he enlists for Vietnam and is shipped overseas on the USS Corral Sea to load sidewinders into fighter planes that ignite and **** It happens so fast. It happened so fast. Two months of time reduced to blinks and minute-long visits. This house could be cold as Mt. Meru's peak and I would hardly notice. The brain has ways of placing things on autopilot. His life has come to pass and I am left to wonder. I am not sure I ever truly knew the man. I heard stories, his helicopter shot down in Vietnam, his E&E; north of the ** Chi Minh and how he owned a gun shop on Main St. in the town I came to call home before it was my home. I cannot hear his whispering, small wind of existence sidewinding away from me and my youthfulness. In small time I've come to find life is meaningful if you take time to make it so. The day of his funeral is beautiful, sunny and mild and full of breeze. The gas tank of my mother's car is close to empty and I am worried of worldly things, will we make it and when can we fill up again. 21 guns gives my heart a needed beating.
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36
there is a quick energy here the scooters flow without caution traffic courses like a delta changing, dynamic in every moment a city in the wake of pain constructing, making anew the streets are wet and ***** yet every bush is neatly trimmed
0
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 8:13 PM UTC
sam-shoyer
Hồ Chí Minh
there is a quick energy here the scooters flow without caution traffic courses like a delta changing, dynamic in every moment a city in the wake of pain constructing, making anew the streets are wet and ***** yet every bush is neatly trimmed
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8
The little brown diary lay on Doan's chest its final restingplace. Operation Indiana. Quong Nai province. NVA guerrila. ****** smoke and sticky fire. VC local yokals Dipping pungi sticks for effect. Hochi minh trickle trail.tunnel citties Criscrossing our lines. Bouncing betty saying high To your pecker. The pictures in his dairy makes him. Human Against my will. Hard I just killed their father. Two grown women now with an open question Relentless and tough. Cunning and rugged. The diary looks back at me the blood Splatter gives it a face that weeps And sneers the answer lies Back there. Close the circle
0
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 12:34 AM UTC
geno-cattouse-1
Charley CO march 66
The little brown diary lay on Doan's chest its final restingplace. Operation Indiana. Quong Nai province. NVA guerrila. ****** smoke and sticky fire. VC local yokals Dipping pungi sticks for effect. Hochi minh trickle trail.tunnel citties Criscrossing our lines. Bouncing betty saying high To your pecker. The pictures in his dairy makes him. Human Against my will. Hard I just killed their father. Two grown women now with an open question Relentless and tough. Cunning and rugged. The diary looks back at me the blood Splatter gives it a face that weeps And sneers the answer lies Back there. Close the circle
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19
Tracts of land inhabited by people A flower, a hero or revolution. To define a country is easy. A pulse of a nation ** Chi Minh. Defeat of the French, the Americans. But what about the prisons? French prisons American prisons Vietnamese prisons. 15 years in Con Dao 6 years in the Hanoi Hilton. Voices that still echo to this day. And now the pen, to free the corridors of our minds. Diaries, letters kept close Inside a cold place. Now they tell the world that doors are closed. And freedom is there. We move on.
0
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 8:59 AM UTC
andrew-duggan
Vietnam: A Country of Prisons
Tracts of land inhabited by people A flower, a hero or revolution. To define a country is easy. A pulse of a nation ** Chi Minh. Defeat of the French, the Americans. But what about the prisons? French prisons American prisons Vietnamese prisons. 15 years in Con Dao 6 years in the Hanoi Hilton. Voices that still echo to this day. And now the pen, to free the corridors of our minds. Diaries, letters kept close Inside a cold place. Now they tell the world that doors are closed. And freedom is there. We move on.
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25
Overslept and tired. An early start 17 hours a day. Broken with slashes of sound. 7.43 million Motorbikes in ** Chi Minh City. The street flowers dying, no air to breath. And miles to go before you sleep. The grass consenting to the dollar, packs up and leaves the city. Returning, resuming, threading your way between the grey faces. And the men looking for someone special today. The hurt and wounded pass by quickly. No soothing hand to pacify the restless all dark nights. Some suffer so much.
0
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 8:13 AM UTC
andrew-duggan
Movement in the City
Overslept and tired. An early start 17 hours a day. Broken with slashes of sound. 7.43 million Motorbikes in ** Chi Minh City. The street flowers dying, no air to breath. And miles to go before you sleep. The grass consenting to the dollar, packs up and leaves the city. Returning, resuming, threading your way between the grey faces. And the men looking for someone special today. The hurt and wounded pass by quickly. No soothing hand to pacify the restless all dark nights. Some suffer so much.
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21
I’m in Vietnam right now overlooking the city at 3am watching the ** Chi Minh lights work their shades of violet and jade into the black mass of night. there’s a lot of poverty out there and with it a lot of generosity. I commend them for that because while deep-rooted in the garden bed of desolation, I can’t override these frustrations on feeling defeated. I went to school, participated, put forth the effort and made the grade but the board felt I wasn’t worthy enough when it came to the final test. the only thing I achieved was retaining monikers such as loser and failure because I have lost and I have failed. the smallest obstacle had become my biggest hurdle and I am too mentally and physically exhausted to quash it. each step I take feels frozen and keeps dragging across wet cemented floors & the skies have listened to my screams but delivers no answers. my god, have I given up? it’s not likely for me to do so. especially when so much was riding on life. I watch the motorbikes zoom pass my psyche as a Tiger beer falls from the balcony and shatters in the debris. a wet heavy sorrow suffocates my heart. I sob. I weep. I cry. I fall. I wail. I must resurrect and rise like the sun, the smoke, the symphony but my focus escapes me and I lose my hope. my mind turns to the system; they decide who makes a better world and who gets tucked away in the dust. but I can’t blame the system, only myself and my inabilities to try once again until I’ve reached my success. I gaze over a man yelling at a woman while roasting a chicken down below. they’re trying to make it out there on the ***** streets of Saigon. fighting to survive. one more day. one more time. one more ounce of life. and my biggest struggle is only with myself. my stubborn brain clashing against everything I worked so hard for. beating myself up, tearing myself down, all that time, money and effort: wasted. it was all for nothing, I screamed, it was all for nothing as my half naked woman sleeps behind a green curtain and a red rooster crows at another new day full of possibility.
0
Jan 31, 2025
Jan 31, 2025 at 3:25 PM UTC
rick-3
loser and failure
I’m in Vietnam right now overlooking the city at 3am watching the ** Chi Minh lights work their shades of violet and jade into the black mass of night. there’s a lot of poverty out there and with it a lot of generosity. I commend them for that because while deep-rooted in the garden bed of desolation, I can’t override these frustrations on feeling defeated. I went to school, participated, put forth the effort and made the grade but the board felt I wasn’t worthy enough when it came to the final test. the only thing I achieved was retaining monikers such as loser and failure because I have lost and I have failed. the smallest obstacle had become my biggest hurdle and I am too mentally and physically exhausted to quash it. each step I take feels frozen and keeps dragging across wet cemented floors & the skies have listened to my screams but delivers no answers. my god, have I given up? it’s not likely for me to do so. especially when so much was riding on life. I watch the motorbikes zoom pass my psyche as a Tiger beer falls from the balcony and shatters in the debris. a wet heavy sorrow suffocates my heart. I sob. I weep. I cry. I fall. I wail. I must resurrect and rise like the sun, the smoke, the symphony but my focus escapes me and I lose my hope. my mind turns to the system; they decide who makes a better world and who gets tucked away in the dust. but I can’t blame the system, only myself and my inabilities to try once again until I’ve reached my success. I gaze over a man yelling at a woman while roasting a chicken down below. they’re trying to make it out there on the ***** streets of Saigon. fighting to survive. one more day. one more time. one more ounce of life. and my biggest struggle is only with myself. my stubborn brain clashing against everything I worked so hard for. beating myself up, tearing myself down, all that time, money and effort: wasted. it was all for nothing, I screamed, it was all for nothing as my half naked woman sleeps behind a green curtain and a red rooster crows at another new day full of possibility.
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30
Everyone in Australia and Canada, among men and women, girls and Asia Southern grass, drought, Russia, Europe, and let Googie in. Let us all be sure of Kristin, energy and lifestyle Imamondo singing whales, Spanish & Italian magazines, 500 artificial memories, German Memory, Memory in HD, a fortress, a kiss, a Memory Memory of Cicero's lifestyle, English, French, and the Kingdom of Health still Describes cutting travel to the victory of the English, to the very Kakajinawa Saka Farah Alaruk, Mary. Cicero's brother lies Brown (Mario Cicero), you cannot do with the fact that the United States, John Christian religion to you. a district on the regions of Asia and Arabia, and of, 'who sues for unto you the King of Asia who in Igun is a gunmaker of witchcraft and the death of his brother's house: and he is the one, who has died, and they can be positioned to cut, than the fact is that in exchange; But the most Elijah to use PS. "The communication wire on Monique, seven ***** men & an Ireland Race Track; Kalk best in bed, bed, Orlando Gibbons; Jenks Onki; Wanchai, birds, Amarescava Navar 'Yukuchu" ** Chi Minh Hijira in town, Canada, Russia, the ring, Canada, Google that attempts golf stars - Zymy hostility, China - High School Drogda Poetariacia new man, salad ... Thomas Polovie Malani Jagari Zahulputia soft Mohi Khushi Khost Patnaia want Color red, bitter 1000 2: 1 McLean's tour of Asia marine baking car the shopping center Shopping Asia city Asia Jogieglian Maisel Canada, Mexico, Yolb mid-June Prize Geo kind of Helleborus Hannkius with rice, Chase engagement, "1 am an Hakon vernulam chili, rice carrier locking - Innovation - - Carl Jung believed to be on board, Sangong Gijingu playlist to check with the robot. The colors pray for Cheetah   Chrome, sugar and a music player, a singer and the kids in his memory and for kids and money and kids: Yuku and the kid with the kids from the kids and the kids in other law 2,500 children, young girls, children, young people and young people and those young players varsity in July diameter of the well. Then Judas, who has heard from the Father, and He is not a it is designed for Puliolio 1000 Young J Steelji John would seem to be unknown to the FA, Jududu Maad, other than A, which is the 8 of FD Nangal, Ojajo, Siddhi, Vinayak, Janmuna!
0
Dec 3, 2018
Dec 3, 2018 at 4:18 PM UTC
johnny-noiπ
Ojajo, Siddhi, Vinayak, Janmuna!
Everyone in Australia and Canada, among men and women, girls and Asia Southern grass, drought, Russia, Europe, and let Googie in. Let us all be sure of Kristin, energy and lifestyle Imamondo singing whales, Spanish & Italian magazines, 500 artificial memories, German Memory, Memory in HD, a fortress, a kiss, a Memory Memory of Cicero's lifestyle, English, French, and the Kingdom of Health still Describes cutting travel to the victory of the English, to the very Kakajinawa Saka Farah Alaruk, Mary. Cicero's brother lies Brown (Mario Cicero), you cannot do with the fact that the United States, John Christian religion to you. a district on the regions of Asia and Arabia, and of, 'who sues for unto you the King of Asia who in Igun is a gunmaker of witchcraft and the death of his brother's house: and he is the one, who has died, and they can be positioned to cut, than the fact is that in exchange; But the most Elijah to use PS. "The communication wire on Monique, seven ***** men & an Ireland Race Track; Kalk best in bed, bed, Orlando Gibbons; Jenks Onki; Wanchai, birds, Amarescava Navar 'Yukuchu" ** Chi Minh Hijira in town, Canada, Russia, the ring, Canada, Google that attempts golf stars - Zymy hostility, China - High School Drogda Poetariacia new man, salad ... Thomas Polovie Malani Jagari Zahulputia soft Mohi Khushi Khost Patnaia want Color red, bitter 1000 2: 1 McLean's tour of Asia marine baking car the shopping center Shopping Asia city Asia Jogieglian Maisel Canada, Mexico, Yolb mid-June Prize Geo kind of Helleborus Hannkius with rice, Chase engagement, "1 am an Hakon vernulam chili, rice carrier locking - Innovation - - Carl Jung believed to be on board, Sangong Gijingu playlist to check with the robot. The colors pray for Cheetah   Chrome, sugar and a music player, a singer and the kids in his memory and for kids and money and kids: Yuku and the kid with the kids from the kids and the kids in other law 2,500 children, young girls, children, young people and young people and those young players varsity in July diameter of the well. Then Judas, who has heard from the Father, and He is not a it is designed for Puliolio 1000 Young J Steelji John would seem to be unknown to the FA, Jududu Maad, other than A, which is the 8 of FD Nangal, Ojajo, Siddhi, Vinayak, Janmuna!
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71
It was noon, sometime in mid-July; Imagine the road, a twisting highway to my grave. The bus, a roller coaster ride unhinged from the tracks. Dodging missiles with headlights, horns rattling my nerves. Just another three hours. It was midnight, somewhere out at sea, Somewhere in the universe, the Milky Way, another galaxy. A shallow heartbeat, a distant echo of a Chinese Karaoke show, but all else was still. The stars never seemed so vast, and I remembered that they were bigger than me, I was just a speck. It rained on the way back to ** Chi Minh, The roads turned to rivers, the scooters grew ponchos; under them a family of three. The city brought chaos; sad, tired faces, begging for one thousand **** a cent. The children danced in the downpour, jumping over sticks Like hopscotch. I thought of Ha Long Bay, just the night before, I couldn’t hear the silence; I couldn’t see the stars; a dingy hostel ceiling, grumbling strangers snores. I went to sleep dreaming of peaceful valleys, fresh spring waters, trees as far as the eye could see, For tomorrow was a new day, The next part of my journey.
0
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 3:35 PM UTC
sophia-14
The Journey
It was noon, sometime in mid-July; Imagine the road, a twisting highway to my grave. The bus, a roller coaster ride unhinged from the tracks. Dodging missiles with headlights, horns rattling my nerves. Just another three hours. It was midnight, somewhere out at sea, Somewhere in the universe, the Milky Way, another galaxy. A shallow heartbeat, a distant echo of a Chinese Karaoke show, but all else was still. The stars never seemed so vast, and I remembered that they were bigger than me, I was just a speck. It rained on the way back to ** Chi Minh, The roads turned to rivers, the scooters grew ponchos; under them a family of three. The city brought chaos; sad, tired faces, begging for one thousand **** a cent. The children danced in the downpour, jumping over sticks Like hopscotch. I thought of Ha Long Bay, just the night before, I couldn’t hear the silence; I couldn’t see the stars; a dingy hostel ceiling, grumbling strangers snores. I went to sleep dreaming of peaceful valleys, fresh spring waters, trees as far as the eye could see, For tomorrow was a new day, The next part of my journey.
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20
Ó morte! O silêncio de tua voz me é tortura, Pois suspiraste em chama tão cedo Colhendo de desesperança, o medo E secando fontes de virtude em tua bravura Ó morte! Por que recolhe tua graça obscura Quando nutre interna, minh'alma em segredo? Por que fazes-me ardilosa, teu lume enredo, Quando aviva-me o desejo de unção tão pura? De eras tortuosas, tece-me piedoso dilema Neste espírito breve, de impetuosa e extrema Flor desatada e imprudente E eriçam minhas razões para que a tema Mas bem sei que és gentil! Pois, da paz amena És tu quem guardas os tesouros eminentes
0
Sep 27, 2017
Sep 27, 2017 at 10:06 PM UTC
mrmnd
Paisagens de Primavera - I
Ó morte! O silêncio de tua voz me é tortura, Pois suspiraste em chama tão cedo Colhendo de desesperança, o medo E secando fontes de virtude em tua bravura Ó morte! Por que recolhe tua graça obscura Quando nutre interna, minh'alma em segredo? Por que fazes-me ardilosa, teu lume enredo, Quando aviva-me o desejo de unção tão pura? De eras tortuosas, tece-me piedoso dilema Neste espírito breve, de impetuosa e extrema Flor desatada e imprudente E eriçam minhas razões para que a tema Mas bem sei que és gentil! Pois, da paz amena És tu quem guardas os tesouros eminentes
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14
We're at Harvard, the same one as Bill Gates and Mark what's his Facebook, except we're not students anymore and our safety net are passing away from cancer and infection leaving us eating pizza and working long hours on things we're passionate about but if we fail we can't go home again because Love isn't there anymore to cook us delicious food that we pack back to school every weekend because she really did walk the walk and not just the talk, walking in the sand of Christ's Word she believed in so much, loving everyone even though we all have little cheats, private incentives and selfish priorities-- but really, is protecting favorite nephews from a harsh world so that we won't have Viet Minh from a forgotten war haunting our dreams, coming to get you because we're French Colonial bad brand, bad? In the end it makes no sense-- we all become practical capitalist selling catfish to a buddhist America who talks a good talk about free love trade zones but the not so hidden agenda unilaterally transfers wealth with USDA inspected protectionist condoms.
0
Apr 29, 2016
Apr 29, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
jojo-nguyen
steamconscious@Harvard
We're at Harvard, the same one as Bill Gates and Mark what's his Facebook, except we're not students anymore and our safety net are passing away from cancer and infection leaving us eating pizza and working long hours on things we're passionate about but if we fail we can't go home again because Love isn't there anymore to cook us delicious food that we pack back to school every weekend because she really did walk the walk and not just the talk, walking in the sand of Christ's Word she believed in so much, loving everyone even though we all have little cheats, private incentives and selfish priorities-- but really, is protecting favorite nephews from a harsh world so that we won't have Viet Minh from a forgotten war haunting our dreams, coming to get you because we're French Colonial bad brand, bad? In the end it makes no sense-- we all become practical capitalist selling catfish to a buddhist America who talks a good talk about free love trade zones but the not so hidden agenda unilaterally transfers wealth with USDA inspected protectionist condoms.
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1
Dark spotted room luminous stage flare and fire from the bandstand reverberating energies I hold a shipwrecked bottle in my hand people are screaming to the transient and the metaphor and the silent sky I hold wicked form in my other hand KURT     VONNEGUT    PLAYS (Not a piano) The room is faster and chuckling heavy set back row phone call girl scratches her lottery ticket It's freezing out I got a job at a movie theater, new time starts NOW and we're all trying to make something out of tonight Sylvia is shaking through the ferocious storm that Sylvia, the same colors as an inspired tattoo belonging to a year everyone's on about including ** Chi Minh City and all it's superhighway narrowness n sunshine What a hell of a year this one has been (Blackout---Springboard--Parade--Pendulum--Butterfly--???) SO LONG! SEE YOU LATER! THERE'S AN EASTERN SONG I MUST PLAY FOR THE CHILDREN OF VIETNAM! IN A LANGUAGE THEY DON'T YET UNDERSTAND! After the show is done I emerge and the modern rebel puts on his jacket where written on his back with hard tape reads “WAR IS OVER” the hysterics go back to their usual voiceless catatonia and I wonder at that moment how we can feel so alone with so many of us here.
0
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 7:44 AM UTC
connor-j
Fifty-One Days
Dark spotted room luminous stage flare and fire from the bandstand reverberating energies I hold a shipwrecked bottle in my hand people are screaming to the transient and the metaphor and the silent sky I hold wicked form in my other hand KURT     VONNEGUT    PLAYS (Not a piano) The room is faster and chuckling heavy set back row phone call girl scratches her lottery ticket It's freezing out I got a job at a movie theater, new time starts NOW and we're all trying to make something out of tonight Sylvia is shaking through the ferocious storm that Sylvia, the same colors as an inspired tattoo belonging to a year everyone's on about including ** Chi Minh City and all it's superhighway narrowness n sunshine What a hell of a year this one has been (Blackout---Springboard--Parade--Pendulum--Butterfly--???) SO LONG! SEE YOU LATER! THERE'S AN EASTERN SONG I MUST PLAY FOR THE CHILDREN OF VIETNAM! IN A LANGUAGE THEY DON'T YET UNDERSTAND! After the show is done I emerge and the modern rebel puts on his jacket where written on his back with hard tape reads “WAR IS OVER” the hysterics go back to their usual voiceless catatonia and I wonder at that moment how we can feel so alone with so many of us here.
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39
All round my hat I wear a lot of badges, all round my hat, for many and many a day. A disc of abalone shell from New Zealand; a jester’s mask decorated with four glittering glass jewels (Venice, though we weren’t there for the carnival) : the Stars and Stripes, given to me in New York in the weeks after 9/11, when you could hardly move for huge examples of the national flag; three lions, for England; a bull, for Spain, even though I hate bull-fighting; a liner (Alaska Cruise,2000, but we've done other cruises) : and a gold-coloured jet plane, for all the journeys we have made; a small badge of a very large statue, Christ the Redeemer (Rio) : the seashell of St James, with his special cross on it (Santiago de Compostela, though we didn’t walk the Camino) : a very tiny badge of the ****** of Guadalupe in Mexico; and a shiny gold-coloured outline of a dove (Carcassonne cathedral) representing the Holy Spirit; King Kong, my biggest badge, appropriately: a smaller-scale hero, Winnie-the-Pooh, a gift from my daughter: a koala decorated in crushed opal (Australia) : a stripy cat on a tartan ribbon (Edinburgh) : a dolphin from the Azores, though we didn’t see any there, (but we have seen dolphins, so it counts twice) : a miniature cookie-cutter in the shape of a moose (Canadian rockies)   – but it would make impossibly small cookies; a toucan (Costa Rica) and a puffin (Iceland) admiring each other’s beaks; heroes of the Revolution: Chairman Mao, bought in Beijing: the Hồ Chí Minh League of Youth badge (Vietnam) : the star representing Yugoslavia, though even when I bought it Yugoslavia was no longer a country; the face of Che Guevara, looking handsome and intense (Cuba) : and not forgetting the daddy of them all, Lenin, on a red and flaming star; the Hand of Fatima (Tunisia) for luck; and the Eye of Horus (Egypt) , because you can’t have too much luck. And if anybody asks me the reason why I wear them, they remind me of places – and people – that are far, far away.
0
Apr 19, 2018
Apr 19, 2018 at 4:03 AM UTC
paul-hansford
All round my Hat
All round my hat I wear a lot of badges, all round my hat, for many and many a day. A disc of abalone shell from New Zealand; a jester’s mask decorated with four glittering glass jewels (Venice, though we weren’t there for the carnival) : the Stars and Stripes, given to me in New York in the weeks after 9/11, when you could hardly move for huge examples of the national flag; three lions, for England; a bull, for Spain, even though I hate bull-fighting; a liner (Alaska Cruise,2000, but we've done other cruises) : and a gold-coloured jet plane, for all the journeys we have made; a small badge of a very large statue, Christ the Redeemer (Rio) : the seashell of St James, with his special cross on it (Santiago de Compostela, though we didn’t walk the Camino) : a very tiny badge of the ****** of Guadalupe in Mexico; and a shiny gold-coloured outline of a dove (Carcassonne cathedral) representing the Holy Spirit; King Kong, my biggest badge, appropriately: a smaller-scale hero, Winnie-the-Pooh, a gift from my daughter: a koala decorated in crushed opal (Australia) : a stripy cat on a tartan ribbon (Edinburgh) : a dolphin from the Azores, though we didn’t see any there, (but we have seen dolphins, so it counts twice) : a miniature cookie-cutter in the shape of a moose (Canadian rockies)   – but it would make impossibly small cookies; a toucan (Costa Rica) and a puffin (Iceland) admiring each other’s beaks; heroes of the Revolution: Chairman Mao, bought in Beijing: the Hồ Chí Minh League of Youth badge (Vietnam) : the star representing Yugoslavia, though even when I bought it Yugoslavia was no longer a country; the face of Che Guevara, looking handsome and intense (Cuba) : and not forgetting the daddy of them all, Lenin, on a red and flaming star; the Hand of Fatima (Tunisia) for luck; and the Eye of Horus (Egypt) , because you can’t have too much luck. And if anybody asks me the reason why I wear them, they remind me of places – and people – that are far, far away.
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41
You drown your potential I swim with the sharks You get sentimental I break broken hearts When you lie to yourself I'm the serpentine grin When you count all your wealth I'm the ghost of Chi Minh When you fail to confess I'm the guilt in your chest Where you see the oppressed I'm the civil unrest You regret nothing? Oh, is that so? Well I do I lament every moment And know you do too You are scared to be what I release from its cage Just an unmuzzled mutt Layin' waste to this page
0
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 10:20 AM UTC
michael-marchese
Freak off the Leash
You drown your potential I swim with the sharks You get sentimental I break broken hearts When you lie to yourself I'm the serpentine grin When you count all your wealth I'm the ghost of Chi Minh When you fail to confess I'm the guilt in your chest Where you see the oppressed I'm the civil unrest You regret nothing? Oh, is that so? Well I do I lament every moment And know you do too You are scared to be what I release from its cage Just an unmuzzled mutt Layin' waste to this page
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20
Imagine just how life might be Without the old apostrophe That humble punctuator we Should deem to not be necess’ry Of course, in all sincerity We’d go on with what’s custom’ry Just using them, so flippantly From ** Chi Minh to gay Paree A punctuation KGB Would roam the streets incessantly And persecute those, foolishly Who slip one in ’twixt N and T For every single time that we Should use that little stroke, you see Shall cost us, it will not be free We’ll pay a high apostrofee As months do pass, eventually The use of an apostrophe Becomes rare as a butterflee Forgotten most entirely With passing years, we’d eagerly Write words in their entirety Remarking, “is it not so twee That words are not perfunctory?” Our compromised efficiency Would bother neither you nor me And so arrives the time that we Will make the world apostrofree.
0
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
cameronsanderson
Alt + 0146
Imagine just how life might be Without the old apostrophe That humble punctuator we Should deem to not be necess’ry Of course, in all sincerity We’d go on with what’s custom’ry Just using them, so flippantly From ** Chi Minh to gay Paree A punctuation KGB Would roam the streets incessantly And persecute those, foolishly Who slip one in ’twixt N and T For every single time that we Should use that little stroke, you see Shall cost us, it will not be free We’ll pay a high apostrofee As months do pass, eventually The use of an apostrophe Becomes rare as a butterflee Forgotten most entirely With passing years, we’d eagerly Write words in their entirety Remarking, “is it not so twee That words are not perfunctory?” Our compromised efficiency Would bother neither you nor me And so arrives the time that we Will make the world apostrofree.
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28
-->In the past Martin Luther King Jr Antonio Gramsci Were waging a fight For the observance of Their likes' right, Also like Frederik Engels Crossing-floor or Transcending class There were some Who were struggling On the side of The oppressed mass. Making Proletariat internationalism Their intent The likes of Che Guevara ** Chi Minh ,Castro Proved freedom fighters Beyond the perimeter Of their continent. A selfless sacrifice Was what They were expecting As a price. Like Mandela's stance "Lick not your wound" Was what  was deemed Sound. Unity, genuine democracy and Freedom was the catch word All in one tied By a political cord. -->  Currently So called politicians' intention Is towards themselves Drawing attention. Fabricating a political tension Deconstruction history And dishing out A scare-tactic fiction They bring into play a given Ethnic or religious Group's ,once up on a time, Suffered lance, Their hidden selfish agenda To advance, Rallying the mob truth And fiction that Fails to balance. Moreover for fishing In troubled water A hotbed they give a chance. Optimizing own benefit Is their price. Self-seeking, Triggering ethnic-conflict Many societal-harm they inflict. They adore blood To flow like a flood. Disintegration and hate speech Is what they preach. "Chase that religious group And that race!" Is what They expect  credulous Followers to embrace. Machiavelli is their Political bible To translate into action They make a dabble.
0
Oct 28, 2019
Oct 28, 2019 at 10:50 AM UTC
alem-hailu-gkristos
The political train is going off track
-->In the past Martin Luther King Jr Antonio Gramsci Were waging a fight For the observance of Their likes' right, Also like Frederik Engels Crossing-floor or Transcending class There were some Who were struggling On the side of The oppressed mass. Making Proletariat internationalism Their intent The likes of Che Guevara ** Chi Minh ,Castro Proved freedom fighters Beyond the perimeter Of their continent. A selfless sacrifice Was what They were expecting As a price. Like Mandela's stance "Lick not your wound" Was what  was deemed Sound. Unity, genuine democracy and Freedom was the catch word All in one tied By a political cord. -->  Currently So called politicians' intention Is towards themselves Drawing attention. Fabricating a political tension Deconstruction history And dishing out A scare-tactic fiction They bring into play a given Ethnic or religious Group's ,once up on a time, Suffered lance, Their hidden selfish agenda To advance, Rallying the mob truth And fiction that Fails to balance. Moreover for fishing In troubled water A hotbed they give a chance. Optimizing own benefit Is their price. Self-seeking, Triggering ethnic-conflict Many societal-harm they inflict. They adore blood To flow like a flood. Disintegration and hate speech Is what they preach. "Chase that religious group And that race!" Is what They expect  credulous Followers to embrace. Machiavelli is their Political bible To translate into action They make a dabble.
Continue reading...
71