"spartacus" poems
“The essence of reality is contradiction”
- Hegel
Ang tao ay likas na malaya, nabubuhay na malaya at dapat na maging malaya. Walang karapatan ang sinoman na mang-alipin. Hindi tayo pag-aari ninoman at walang taong ‘pweding umangkin sa kapwa n’ya. Ito ang batas ng kalikasan at ng uniberso. Walang panginoon at busabos, walang dapat na nag-uutos, at wala dapat mga alilang tagasunod. Sana ang buhay ay puro na lang Rosas at walang posas.
Subalit nagdilim ang kasaysayan nang maghari ang kasakiman na pinukaw ng matinding paghahangad ng iilan sa kayamanan. Kailangan na makakuha ng maraming kalakal nang lumawak ang merkado. Pero teka sino ang gagawa nito? Edi kunin ang mga mahihina at gawin silang mga alipin, pilitin na magtrabaho sa ilalim nang hagupit ng latigo. Hawakan sa leeg o di kaya naman ay kitilin, sa ganitong paraan sila dapat na pasunurin.
Tanang pagmamalabis ay may wakas. Hindi lang si Spartacus ang nag-alsa kundi pati ang mga itim na alipin. Sumiklab ang himagsikan sa paghahangad ng mga alipin na kumawala sa kanikanilang mga tanikala.
Dumating ang panahon ng Piyudalismo, nagbagong anyo lang ang halimaw at muli n’yang inalipin ang mga kapos-palad at mahihirap. Nangibabaw ang Aristokrasya na parang maitim na ulap na lumalambong sa himpapawid kaya hindi makita ang sinag ng araw. Salamat na lang at bumagsak ang Bastille at nagtagumpay ang rebolusyong Pranses.
Mula sa mga guho ng lipunang piyudal ay lumitaw ang mga bagong panginoon, ang mga Burgis. Sila ang mapagsamanta at naghaharing-uri sa ating panahon. Mga kapitalista, elitista at mga burgesya komprador.
At tayo na nasa baba, tayo na ang puhunan para mabuhay ay dugo’t pawis, tayo na mga proletaryo ang s’yang makabagong alipin. Mga alipin ng burgesya na ating pinapanginoon, tayo na lumilikha ng yaman ng bansa ang s’yang laging pinagsasamantalahan at binubusabos. Tinatakot na gugutomin kapagka hindi nagpa-ubaya at sumunod sa utos.
Habang tumatagal ay tumitindi ang mga salungatan at kontradiksyon sa pagitan ng mayaman at ng mahirap. Bulkan ito na sasabog sa bandang huli.
Ang batas ng kasaysayan ang nagsabi na ang lahat ng uri ng pang-aapi ay magwawakas. Nag-alsa ang mga alipin, naghimagsik ang mga pesante hindi magtatagal gustuhin man natin o hindi titindig ang mga proletaryo at sama-sama nilang ibabagsak ang kapitalismo na itinataguyod ng mga burgesya komprador.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 1:25 AM UTC
I'm Spartacus
Well I'm asparagus according to predictive text
The leader of the Christian slaves a vegetable?
Don't you love technology
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
I've been searching, and in my tone of lost hope, I call for you
Many have answered, claiming to be my heart's Spartacus
They battle for my love, only to show they aren't you
Like a famished agnostic peasant, I question your existence
With every experience, it becomes easier to disprove you
Are you really there
Will I ever find my matching pair
Is it true
That it's in the darkest hour, the light will shine through
Is this a test of my loyalty to your love
If it is, I must admit I will fail
I've soared higher than any bird in search for you
Only to share the mistake of Icarus, and fall back down
I've swam deeper than any fish in search for you
Only for Poseidon to help me drown
Traveled the driest desert in search for you
Only to be revealed that you are an emotional mirage
I've been blinded by faith
Deafened by tales of you
Devistated by love
Jul 28, 2013
Jul 28, 2013 at 7:27 PM UTC
Looking at me, you see a pure, young soul.
But look inside me, you sweet summer child.
Inside me are so many people
I am Che Guevara with the lance of poetry
I am Vladimir Lenin with the shield of quick wit
I am Petőfi Sándor with the armor of ambition
I am Mahatma Gandhi with the horse of music
I am Fidel Castro with the arms of an endless mind
I am Spartacus with the flames of unending hope
But I am The Uncharismatic Man with the burdens
The burdens of a tired arm
The burdens of a twisted tongue
The burdens of clipped wings
The burdens of a deaf ear
The burdens of numb thoughts
The burdens of a dying sun
I've risen up and gone down just as quick
My rebellion was for naught this time
I've grown exhausted from the fights
But I'll never put down my arms.
I'll never cease the struggle.
This war never ends.
So fight with me, brother.
Fight yourself, goodfellow.
Defeat the oppression, comrade.
And never give up...
Not until I give you the call to surrender.
Nov 23, 2017
Nov 23, 2017 at 1:23 PM UTC
Let me be your Spartacus, baby.
I'll break down these prison walls
and I'll rescue you from this thrall.
Let me be your Spartacus, baby.
I'll take a thousand lashings for you
and I'll fight all of Rome if I have to.
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 2:51 PM UTC
i find it strange to be politically correct,
without actually exercising any political
career-motive as a member of a government...
because that's what's we're being sold:
to be politically correct, without a career in
politics. doubly strange, to foster non-antagonising
views on everyday matters,
to later realise that whoever we're antagonising
from an environmental bias (rather than
a personal bias) we will never share a dinner with...
so like our opinions mattering in the first place
was by-and-large, just a media hoax to
ensure we were all prescribed the safety of
walking the tight-rope... and never really
designating ourselves the freedom of the constitutional
rights - this leftist bias remains intact,
on the canvas of freedom of speech, however
that freedom allows us to see rural endeavours in talk,
the once appreciated freedom is becoming a polarised
freedom to name & shame... a media hammer or nail...
because it's only freedom when enough people
agree with "us", to allow a bicep expression of
being backed up like some Spartacus...
i mean, i don't agree with most expression,
but i wouldn't **** the hornet's nest with the media
frenzy to appear politically correct... when
so few of us actually have any political power....
being sold free speech, to be later curbed with
political correctness is a bit cancerous....
given that free speech is equated to the voting X
from the age of mass illiteracy...
i don't see how free speech became a vehicle for
acquiring constrained speech dynamic -
when did we forget the chastity of speaking the airy-fairy
things in life on the informal basis, and when did we
become so ****** friendless, estranged, outsiders
to everything that matters... and now, supposedly
between butcher and greengrocer, talking about
the weather in cocktail smocking and bow-tie?
free speech gave us the rights to not ask for political powers...
on whatever governmental tier...
prescribing us political correctness has given the everyday
John the delusion that he can process political power...
the once famous strive for speaking what the hell you want
but not wanting political power changed into
being prescribed political correctness but no political power...
so i ask you... what's the point of being politically
correct, if you gain no political power,
unless you're a rat, a snitch, spying on your neighbour
to grass them out? because that's what political correctness bred,
snitches... those given political correctness laws
were never given any other political power...
added to the fact that they wouldn't have said anything
interesting / provocative anyway.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 9:50 PM UTC
**I am a man locked in a cell,
Not a slave; not a free man.
I am trained to fight, trained to ****
A man trapped in hell.
My cloths are simple and *****
And the food is tasteless, bland.
A bowl of slop, is all I get,
That is all that is put in my hand.
I am trained to fight to stay alive,
From hour upon hour.
Until I can hardly move a muscle,
Or until I can hardly stand.
But I will be free one day,
To live the life I deserve.
To fight for freedom, and my right to live,
To put my family first.
I died to save the people from slavery,
And my bones were burned to dust.
But I live on in history,
My name is Spartacus!!
Sheila..**
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 11:00 AM UTC
12/10/2012:
A very mellow day,
A day that makes one’s golden years actually golden.
Happy in retirement?
There’s a joke:
You slave like Spartacus in the Libyan salt mines for 30 or 40 or even 50
years, and now you’re supposed to re-calibrate the machine, re-gauge
one’s anatomy and metabolism for a habitat so far and away grindstone
gone.
The muckrakers Studs Terkel and Barbara Ehrenreich remind us:
Work is the only thing we can do for 8 hours, other than sleep.
Perchance even to dream out that Roman **** or Bacchanal.
No, alas, 4 hours is the legal limit for an ******** lasting that long,
During all our joy-juiced carnal desires,
Be they under the elms or elsewhere.
**Cialis! ******
Names already living it up in infamy.
A simple truth about Retirement:
Stop working and die.
A most intense public service announcement,
A vast digital image out of Yeats,
A very special Spiritus Mundi P-S-A.
Targeting Baby Boomers, especially:
“You better find yourself something,
Or someone to occupy your mind.”
Brought to you by the good people at
OCCUPY BRAIN STREET,
First a national, then a veritable global movement,
However so short-lived;
Like all the others.
Oh, Boomers, your attention span is down to 8 minutes.
Your mnemonic links are frayed and tattered,
Your hard drive noodle fragmented,
Yet still whirring white noise jazz.
A New Orleans Dixieland funeral,
And Al-Zheim trumpet blast to go out on.
Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,
But I am relatively well adjusted in retirement.
And today—previously mentioned as a mellow day--
Today is one reason why.
As is medical marijuana and the sultry voice of Chrissie Hynde,
With or without her band of Pretenders.
And let’s throw in a lovely bottle of Temecula red wine--
Doffo, if you’re going to get fussy on me,
Another blithe distraction cultivated and custom-made for old age.
Indeed, a very mellow day.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
GLIMPSE
My heart a pouch of rich wine overlays yours
a drop of blood spilled over an arum lily
waits with longing intense, retains no tears
as it remembers its cringes of final fear when it
jumped into your chest of steel, smell of fruit juice, water and old leather all around
My soul lays naked in a room of light while your music plays next door
two plumed serpents dance slow dances to rhythms of drums and pipes, notes of knowingness, sounds repeated
I listen again and again
Spacious a white room waits aged and innocent
in a no-zone forest of mushrooms, poppies and pebbles as the piano vibrates with silence
while Goddess does not speak of a mission that never ends, watching for symbols that appear and vanish while progress moves worse than a snail with a footsore over splintered glass
Surrender struggles to be free !
Drops in space hung on Venus threads
******* heaving and falling, passing tests of temperance, strength, solitude
swallow death and darkened silence deep
in a psyche of five thousand years
Across oceans of space my thoughts travel
not knowing whether they reach your light or
hermit in your head or the warehouse in which
you play with waves of froth on ***** sand
seals and gulls glide and shout
A lighthouse looks on still and sure
muck in the harbour awaits an embrace
fried chips beckon and call to fill my open belly of waiting Sun as love struggles for freedom on a higher plane with yours in ether on a wall I read
Still you sleep a hundred thousand sleeps of
fear and watchfulness
in the distance runs Skeleton Woman with tangled bones to be untangled
knowing that long ago she completed her work
of inner peace with honours
Spartacus and Helen looking on
I wait not for you alone but to fill your Heart
for another work of love, to drink your tears
slate your thirst ~become one, two, three to
ten again as dough rises with surprises inside
eggs fresh full, two yolks and cream to be
eaten on a jetty of harmonious voids
Love lost and found, lost and found
all over again
©ghairodanielspoetryandsong2003
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 4:55 AM UTC
War, war never changes.
The suffering of the many at the hands of the few,
the overwhelming invasive force,
the authoritarian, oppressive government.
But in the darkness of war there's always light.
There are always those willing to stand up against them.
The lights in the darkness.
The Spartacus, the French resistance, the common man
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 3:08 AM UTC
I hate the ****** things
But I love them
Tangled round my feet
And I have to be so careful where I step
Midnight killers
The remains of night feasting on my conservatory carpet
To greet me in the morning
Who wants to spend hours with a ball of black fur sat on their lap?
Yes, that's me
Maxemillion, Merlin and Spartacus
My black shiny boys
Three brothers who I don't own
I don't own! Simple really, we don't own cats because they own us
I hate cats
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC
Morning came, Monday again but not as cold as yesterday
She shuffled like a caterpillar emerging for the spring
Tucked up in her onsie, a safe place to hide, all toasty warm inside
She spent half the night stary eyed, gazing into the sky
The first cup of coffee like a jump start to the soul as she silently screamed "AHA"
The game was afoot!
A poem to read from her friend and co conspiritor, but just hold on a mo, "Oooh Ladyboys" it isn't what she thought!
So Sherlock Shaw was on the case to try and find the truth, not like the BBC and Cumberbatch their "Bitter ******** sleuth
She smelt a rat or was mistaken was it someone else?
Too early in the investigation to shout " let battle commence" it was more like "Deputy Dawg" in Sherlock Shaws defence
So Google this and Google that in a bid to find the truth.
Skip past Sonia and Fernando and Lyn if you must, focus on the detail.
Who is Micheal Wolf?
A name is but a name like
"Bang I'm James Bond"
The devil is in the detail
Like many other things!
So this time lets have laughter as you read, as tears were my last wish
As Alan Partridge said:-
"Smell my cheese you mother"
I'm exactly who I said
Not Spartacus or Michael Wolfe
Just a bloke on the tinterweb
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC
The hills of Monte Mario
Drinking his goblet of wine Gallo
Well, Hello! I see the colored sands
Those far away places but no
happy faces in the promised land
I could imagine pinks swaying
the corals her lips always playing
All love to be artistic with morals
Mezzaluna my moon awaits
Hearing my voice more shapes
of the Grecian countryside how it suits
both of their taste
The temples keep drawing
inside our hearts
Like a restaurant name Spartacus
love sometimes ruins us colors
Stay true like the rainbow
But time elapses and spoils us
Taking the whole dessert just
the two of us
Or love divided one of us
Beauty in our walk Green Gables
More Pillars to design
Temples and rear find artifacts
All shapes and colors you see coming
on the outskirts
Grecian beachy sand Godly waves
with your lover in the water
Got stung how it hurt her feet
Mezzalemium hearing playful drums
Hearing a familiar beat
Playing in the wilderness of dirt
The ****** of the night *** cake
he hums
The ancient stadium hard work pays off
The roses color shades divine pink
Lips high as the pillars red wine stained
your Grecian silk pillows
Thr Grecian times of food colors
and desires all mine
The colors that I shadow
Weeping beauty willow
Lifted her juices of sexuality
(Sunshine Grand Marnier)
something
sparks my vision
The color of pleasure French
Pillars stand tall and slender
Handsomely love fusion
His color I try to mellow
My color touched another
The mind of drama
((Grecian Goddess))
It's not handing for a hand
in a marriage like a pixel
The big statuette like models
We also treasure the thing we lost
The colors will be there
We will always see them
They are in our family never
to leave them
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 12:47 PM UTC
this came into my mind while i was working.
The roar of the crowd started to settle
And the smoke started to clear, and in the
Middle of the arena “stood one man”
He was not a giant of a man as you may think
However, all his enemies lay at his feet
The enemies with all the weapons known to man
Had fallen to the ground under his hand.
He was not a gladiator skilled in the arts of war
And self-defense, and did not have the strength
Or hair of SAMPSON or strength of HERCULES.
Yet he had more followers than SPARTACUS
Could ever imagine.
If you was to take all of his followers and put
Them on a battlefield, they would cover entire continents.
Who was this man who had so much power?
His name is JESUS!
His words and his followers can bring nations
To a complete standstill, and yet he was only a carpenter
Born the son of GOD.
Out of the smoke rose three champions with JESUS
They was LOVE, HOPE, AND FAITH
And on the ground laid hate, hopelessness
Lie and deceit – against JESUS they could not compete.
Now when you feel like you have been on a battlefield
And the smoke starts to clear – look for JESUS
He is always near
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 9:49 PM UTC
so many bodies
in Spartacus' wake,
his body never found
the historians say,
six thousand men
crucified a horde of others
dead, all along the banks
of the river Sale,
in the High Sele Valley,
Nowhere was he found.
His life a myth now.
His purpose also, a question mark,
what his intent was ,
whether he tried to free enslaved people,
or escape with his hoard into Gaul. His mission
and mistakes paint a vision..
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 10:21 PM UTC
"Jesus, son of Stada, is the Jesus, son of Pandira?"
Rav Hisda said, "The husband was Stadia and the lover was Pandora. His name was Spartacus & her name was Pythia."
"But was not the husband Nicodemus, son of Socrates and the mother Juno?"
"No. His mother was Raet-Tawy, who let her hair grow long and was called Maccabees." Maacah says about her: "She was unfaithful to her husband."
"But what of the roots of his tree?"
"The fruit that you see be not enough?"
"What of that which still eludes me?"
Do you still wonder?
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 4:40 PM UTC
but you speak a tongue that's
not exactly exactly!
where's this balsamic vinegar you
speak of for dressing,
or the ****** olive oil?!
i'm not saying what misery -
but what baptism of sweated blood
have you addressed to
keep the crucifix a sanctum?
every, single, time,
you are left with no chance to progress
from this Babylonian investigation -
each night you pray
for sleep and wait for death -
each day death never comes
and you wait for sleep even more,
so the day might be shortened
and indeed be deemed absolutely
insignificant as it should be insignificant
given the tier of spending -
shortened to squeeze in a sneeze -
my life but a cameo -
sacredness of the cross out of cameo -
better cite Aesop as proponent of Spartacus;
but honour invoked by each
replenishes a loss of populism -
no money was to be made from them, r.i.p. at least -
whatever honour was grieved died
on Golgotha mound - for some many came
to utter his words, and so many came to the same
fate, as in so many came as paupers and left
with riches - what virtue was sacrificed
for this to happen with gleeful approval
and lack of critique?
Jul 19, 2016
Jul 19, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
Kawehi : Part Two
You are not the most famous singer;
Adele may be, but you are a wow!
You make a song, one piece at a time, even better.
I am addicted to your sound; you have a hold on my soul.
Come with me and dislike Britney,
But sing her songs to show her what she could and should have been.
I want a mind-meld connection to listen to your tunes,
So you can see how much I love the music you make
And all those things that you do.
Entice me into your covers and sing a song we know;
I think, I truly have found my soulful soul a new musical home.
You make it look so simple, but it is so unbelievable;
The music you make is perfect and unforgettable!
I guess I just can’t explain the way you make me feel! Oh!
You are my afternoon delight and you make the morning sun shine.
You bring a little bit of joy into my heart and how the time goes,
When I am having fun.
I am not Spartacus! IamKawehi!
And I love my mind.
Take all of my love; I have an endless supply for you.
I will just leave your voice on repeat and close my eyes and dream.
Wishing I could find more music, that is new,
But nobody is as good as you to my ears;
So I will play your music, time and time again and I will feel at ease.
Deeper I sink into the world of Kawehi;
If you want to love me, then you must share her empathy.
She rises with the machines and loves music so much;
A digital heart, under the headphones, sending out the sounds of love.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Apr 25, 2018
Apr 25, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
Spielberg had his scary jaws
Hitchcock filmed his crows
Lucas serialised Star Wars
As rocky balboa came to blows
Tarrentino pulped his fiction
Oscar Schindler built his ark
hammer house scared us shitlees
pet cemetry had left its mark
Di caprio sailed with his lover
Gone with the wind,was just a sham
Titanic would never ever recover
633 squadron aimed to break a dam.
Eastwood never been unforgiven
et never did return back home
The long short and tall of it
Private Ryan was never alone.
exorcist the omen, scary movies two
hills have eyes,spit on your grave
Elvis Presley's film Hawaii blue
Aliens predators,King Kong on a tower
Papillon catching Hoffmans butterfly
As the triffids begin to flower,
****** and the ****** shower scene
the beauty and the beast
Snow White and Hannibal lector
Joining us for the annual feast
Having breakfast with Tiffany
Dancing on the African queen
Spartacus oh Spartacus with
Tom hanks brilliant mile green
John Wayne died at the Alamo
The film an all round total flop
Eddie Murphy made millions
as Beverly Hills finest cop.
Little shop of horrors
blues brothers darken pair of shades
My personal view is
Toy story was the best film ever made
Apr 22, 2017
Apr 22, 2017 at 11:47 PM UTC
Spartacus, grant me a wish. In a world of pale neutrals,
give me the kiss of a new light. The fruitful lips placed so
gently on my largest vein, rushing life blood thru my
body to my brain and heart again; pulsating
rhythm in my chest. Please grant my request.
The honey gold drip: a warm thick gift from the
universe's infinitely expanding infinitely collapsing pieces.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 1:59 AM UTC
Alam Sayed
My dormant dreams remained in the primordial soup.
As an amoeba I dreamt about you eons ago.
In the sacred hollow of my mind lives your shadow.
Scrawny leaves of memory in the gutter of my brain
remain fossilized.
I waited for you in the Precambrian mud.
I roamed in the puzzling field of Cambrian jungle.
I dreamt about you being sheltered inside the body of a dinosaur;
Among acid rains my dreams were burned.
I searched for you amid the cry of stars.
My dreams were washed away during Noah's flood.
I wept for you near the stones of pyramids.
I reluctantly cut the throats of my blood brothers
in the Colosseum of Rome,
and fought the ****** battles with Spartacus;
and I saw our blood bloom as red flowers
in the reddened field of Capua.
I didn’t want to be a witch hunter
in the muddy medieval jungles,
and I didn’t want to be a gladiator of modern times.
I didn’t want to be a vampire of corporate age
******* the blood of my postmodern friends.
Perhaps, you will never be born in the craters of
ever hungry tyrants.
And, perhaps, in the world of fanatics and *******
you should never be born.
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 1:23 AM UTC
The Bolshei has chosen the right ballet
To spin the tale of its homeland spirit,
But the characters IDs are all amok.
The heart of Spartacus does not
Pulse in putin’s hollow chest,
He is Crassus incarnate –
Arch-enemy of freedom and justice.
The true heart of brave Spartacus beats
In the torsos of the Ukrainian people
Who stand dauntless in defense
Of their sacred liberty and honor.
So dancers of the heralded Bolshei,
Do not delude yourselves!
There is no art or prowess fine enough
To culture-wash the blood
from the murderous hands of those
Who slaughter their Ukrainian siblings.
The immortal caring arms of Phrygia
Enfold the children of Ukraine as if
They had emerged from her very womb.
The russian people wait in pain and sorrow.
For their bold new Spartacus,
Who will have both steel and soul to love
his neighbor’s freedom as his own.
Aug 23, 2022
Aug 23, 2022 at 8:33 AM UTC