Banana Republic
Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered,
Through eighty per cent of my allotted span,
Occasionally awoken, when dissent is spoken,
And I invent another cunning five year plan,
Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned,
So I borrowed from the French and Robespierre,
Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth and claw,
And let my all equal Citizens appear,
Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime,
For there is another election looming,
I have to appear sincere, for part of this coming year,
And assure everyone that everything is booming,
Never mind strict quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters,
And told them which party let them stay,
Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed everyone of note,
You never know what might happen on the day.
So to be on the safe side, I swallow all my pride,
And allow my people to hear my hallowed voice,
And roll out the charade, put on the facade,
And even make believe they have a choice,
Next time around the crown, will be trampled underground,
House of Lords and Lord Chancellor history,
With the other Chancellor gone, I alone will soldier on,
Yes, then there will only ever be me,
Ill hold elections for you, as all dictators do,
And fill positions with those that grease my palm,
As for civil unrest, there is always house arrest,
Or secret imprisonment for those that mean me harm.
So from national nursery, via educational history,
You can in time join the New Labour Youth,
Be taught gay is fun, and the state is number one,
And any other opinion is untruth.
Ask the media if unsure, or philosophically impure,
Brainwashing British Citizens is their forte,
They will surely put you right, or visit you at night,
Either way they will stop you being naughty.
Meekly follow all the rules, laid down in our schools,
Where state is all and learning is suppressed,
And you can safely be ignored, not seen as being flawed,
Just be another number like the rest.
Better far to be, a part of mediocrity,
Within your state and the seeds they have sown,
Than to disappear, or to live in constant fear,
For having a mind and will all of your own.
How is it that we, lost the option to be free,
How did we give away our right to choice,
How did we believe, whilst being deceived,
When did we decide to lose our voice.
How did we select the politically correct,
Why are we victims of unpunished crime,
Were we such fools as not to see the tools,
Or did we think they would go away in time.
The tap is darkly dripping, droplets that are gripping,
Our throats today our minds in time to come,
We must turn the tide, and reaffirm our pride,
We must prove we are not deaf and dumb.
It is no good wailing, chained up to your railing,
That you want the vote back like before,
For no one hears your plea, they are deaf to you and me,
No on cares about us any more.
This is about manipulation, of us and of our nation,
This is about illusions triumph over actual reason,
This is about lies, and the power to mesermerise,
This is about a slowly creeping treason,
This is about the eviscery, of the neutral BBC,
This is about what poison will soon take its place,
This is about five year plans, and Citizens of Euroland,
This is about civil service, with a very red face,
This is about soaps and plays, which in very subtle ways,
Try to put into our minds new sets of plausible truths,
This is about newspaper demise, in the guise of purveying lies,
Whilst the state preaches Pravda through schools to our youth,
This is about vision and sound, and any means that is allowed,
Trying to persuade you against your own common sense,
This is about duplicity, making seem true what cannot be,
And hoping you will at very least sit on the fence.
This is about unelected expertise, being paid huge taxpayer fees,
Alaister Campbells school of used car salesmen integrity,
This about usage of such curs, and their lies, and their slurs,
To pull the wool over the eyes of you and me.
Maybe feeble opposition is fuelling this submission,
But this is not about parties or their competence,
This is simply a war, not about who to vote for,But who to definitely vote against.
Malcolm Pugh was a civil engineer then a systems programmer - slightly deranged retired now.
MORE RESOURCES:
Rajasthani poet's tribute to Tagore Times of India "Anjali Gitan Ri" is the first poetic translation of the Gitanjali in Rajasthani language. It is being published by HM Bangur of Shree Cement Ltd. Gitanjali, or 'Song Offerings', have been translated into many Indian and foreign languages. |
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 The Express Tribune | Recital Haiku poetry: Celebrating old ties, in traditional style The Express Tribune By Sehrish Ali Local Haiku poets made their presence felt at the Rawalpindi Arts Council on Wednesday. PHOTO: MYRA IQBAL To celebrate the 60th anniversary of the establishment of diplomatic ties between Pakistan and Japan, a recital of Haiku poetry was ... Haiku helps strengthen diplomatic relations Haiku recital celebrates Pak-Japan diplomatic relations |
 National Endowment for the Arts | Mississippi's Kristen Dupard Wins 2012 Poetry Out Loud: National Recitation ... National Endowment for the Arts Washington, DC -- Out of a field of 365000 students, Kristen Dupard, a high school senior from Ridgeland, Mississippi, has won the 2012 Poetry Out Loud: National Recitation Contest. National Endowment for the Arts Chairman Rocco Landesman and Poetry ... Vt. student 2nd in national poetry contest Ridgeland senior wins national poetry contest Vermont's Poetry Out Loud Champion |
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 Minneapolis Star Tribune | Poet John Caddy wins McKnight Artist Award Minneapolis Star Tribune It is nature, poet John Caddy says, that saved him when he was young and escaping a rough life on Minnesota's Iron Range. And it is nature that saves him now, 17 years after a stroke paralyzed his left side and left him with a non-working arm, ... Minnesota poet John Caddy named McKnight Distinguished Artist Forest Lake poet wins prized state arts award Poet John Caddy named McKnight Distinguished Artist |
Plinko poetry, a burrito printer, and more at NYU ITP's tech-art showcase The Verge Though if I had to choose a highlight, I'd point to Deqing Sun and Inessah Selditz's "Plinko Poetry," an interesting take on the classic game of chance which uses news tickers and a color-tracking camera to construct a string of absurd non-sequiturs. I Let A Weird Man Rub Me For 10 Minutes, In The Name Of Journalism |
Highland/Fulton: Three Reservoir High School students win awards in Poetry ... Baltimore Sun By Chuck Gait, chuck.gait@gmail.com 301-854-0867 Reservoir High School students Chaz Atkinson, Caroline des Jardins-Park and Carl Gaytano were all winners in the Howard County Public School System's Poetry Alive writing contest. Chaz is in AP French, ... |
Poetry Is Different Huffington Post (blog) Dreaming in Darkness (Winter Goose Publishing, 2011) is a stunning collection of poetry and prose that chronicles the pain and anguish of loss that life often hands down. Jessica throws open her deepest emotions and lays them bare for all to witness. |
 Los Angeles Times | Poetry replaces placards as Russia's Occupy protesters camp out Irish Times Occupy Abai takes its name from the monument to a hitherto little-known Kazakh poet, Abai Kunanbaev, where protesters have gathered, as well as a dose of inspiration from the anti-capitalist movements that have “occupied” public places from Dame Street ... In Moscow, a Poetic Occupy Protest Russia's Occupy movement is not up to the task Moscow stirred by unprecedented anti-Putin sit-in |
Rhymes of an Ordnance Man [Vietnam War: 1971]
Rhymes of an Ordnance Man[Vietnam War: 1971]An eleven part poemBy Dennis L. SilukI had went to Vietnam at the age of 23 [1971], and it was most interesting, there were 205,000 troops there when I arrived.
Footprints to Mantaro Valley (a poem in Spanish and English)
Footprints to Mantaro Valley(English version)In what retreat art hid?-Where falling mountains groanIn shadow and amongThe rapids of the Rio?Is not your name Mantaro Valley?Beyond the footprints of the Andes--?I can hear your voice in echoesI can hear thy voice, divinely low.I do but know thy by a glanceAs the clouds above me know? .
Cruel World
Azra, Azra,Wake up Azra.Wake up Azra,It is time to go.
Shaking out the Rugs [Following the Poet]
Let's follow the poet to hisHell and heaven! Count hisGhosts and dilemma's?Reach out to touch hisStretched-out skies; let's followThe poet to see where he lays.Let's follow the poet to his end;To see if he can?whateverHe wants to do, do over again?.
Two Poems on the Traditions of Peru [in English and Spanish]
Atahualpa's Game[Peruvian]Sometimes, it's not wiseTo share your wisdom---as did, Atahualpa (The Inca King) in the Game of chess; thereafter,He was condemned to death.6/6/05 #713Note: Atahualpa, was the most famous of the Inca Kings, in the 16th century of Peru, I do relieve, and was held for ransom by the Spaniards.
Mechanical Poetry - Part Three
Have you ever read the lyrics of a Simon and Garfunkle song? Pure poetry. Want to write poems like that? Start copying them.
In Poetry: Meaning of Words [And ...Rocket-belt]
In Poetry: Meaning of WordsWhen I write poetry, I check out the meaning of words for too often they sound the same, but once written, and if spelled wrong, in consequence, give a complete different meaning of what I had intended; this I call a moment of damage control. If my rhyme is flat, and my cadence is off, so what, I can survive, as long as the meaning of my words are not; and are as I meant them to be.
Find the Magic
FIND the MAGICFind the MagicAs you release old bondage Come out of hidingAnd see the starsFind the MagicAs you expose the painLet the tears flowAnd find beauty in your bodyFind the MagicAs you scream from the beatingRun from the threatsAnd feel the warmth of a hugFind the MagicAs the little girl is silencedTold she is too smart for her own goodAnd she finds her place of honor as she speaks her mindFind the MagicAs the ghosts creep into dreamHaunt your daily lifeAnd you meet them at the crossroads and move onFind the MagicAs you drift out of your body, avoiding the angerObserve the separationAnd you join the body temple once again to rejoice in this unique wonderFind the MagicAs you listen to the conflicts andWatch in horrorAnd emerge from the water whole and beautiful in a rainbow of colorsFind the Magic, For you are whole once again 2004 Susan BaconSusan Bacon is an researcher, teacher and author. Contact her through her web site http://www.
Africa
AFRICA(to africans in diaspora)africa here i come, africaafrica of the black soul the soul of an ancient culture the culture of your timid tribes.its your voice i hear africa your voice of the talking drumsyour beaded drums and the royal trumpeterthe metal gong of your town crieri have come to see your music dance i have heard of your ageless minstrelshave i not heard of your swinging hips!i have heard enough and have come to watchwouldn't you dance for me africaafrica here i come africa would you not show me to your tribesthe timid tribes of your sweetened tongues the varied tongues of your virtuous menafrica, black soul africa tell me about your gods your gods of the sky and of the mother earthyour gods of the hills and of the rivers aboundshow me to your kings africayour kings of the ancient dynastythe ancient dynasty of rusted spear and shieldafrica, here i come africaHEAVENLY GUESTheavenly guest heralding thunderously in its own awakepelting on men as well, the godsgathering itself drop by drop.
Article on Poetry and Two Poems
Writing Poetry for TomorrowWhat does a man need to be a poet, or tomorrow's literary giant? Questions many a student has asked, from Harvard all the way to the community college in one's hometown. What is the answer? Well, I can give you mine, and I'm sure if you asked a hundred writers, or a hundred scholars, you'd get two hundred different answers.
Kafka Re-Trial
Kafka lands resurrected in Crewedeposited by a silvery alien craft,And whilst he is wondering what to doHe is asked to show his passOr pay an instant one off fineAt a cash dispenser of his choiceAnd they are checking all the timeOn his irises face and voice.And of course they find that he is not,They discover he just cannot be there,Although he seems as if he is visible,And has hands and toes and hair,If he is not on the Great Data Bank,He plainly and simply cannot be,He is not listed and he is not rankedHe is surely not like you and me.
Three Poems: Liberty, Death, and a Frog [with Commentary on Liberty]
Frog SummerSummer grows hot, for theNew-blooded frogs;The bugs are thin, yet theFrogs stay fat, young and sassy.In these palsy times-they Only listen, as we wither away.
Beautiful Dreamer, Stephen Foster, Americas First Folk Song Writer
"Beautiful Dreamer" was written by Stephen Foster just before his death in 1864 at age 37. The song became one of his most famous and most popular.
Kens Poem
How wonderfully sweet to be a dwellerdwelling on the road of goodbye.Bittersweet tears fall as I thinkof all the places I'll never see,all the faces I'll never know,all the joys I'll never share,as I head for the unknown.
Key Largo - Frater Albertus
Key Largo:The fans turn lazily in front of the doorThey open wide showing mangroves galoreAn egret in the everglades stalks its preyHaltingly it walks along its wayOn another bright and sunny dayA woman's floppy hat shades her beauty not so brittleThe silken scarf that holds the hat flutters just a littleShe pauses in the threshold of the doorSurveying what she's looking forShe is looking straight at meHer beauty flaunted all to see.'Where are you from?' while noticing I had a frownOn the other couch she elegantly sits downIn the small hotel lobby bar'A city north and very far.
A Hundred and Fifty Dead [Korean War--l952]
There I sat, ninety-five degree weatherOutside; the bookstore caf, was cool.An Old Timer stood by me, explaining:"There were two-hundred of us on the Island,Near North Korea, back in '52-We guarded 16,000-prisners?"All of a sudden, all hell broke looseThree-hundred North Koreans cameOver the bob-wired fence, in pursuit"It all happened in a matter of secondsThe machineguns killed 150-of themThat's all I saw in the war of '52.
Black Blood, in Jeremiahs Vines - A Poem and an Article
Black Blood, in Jeremiah's Vines[A Dream Poem]And I heard the crackling of wood, and I noticed the Lord God had made men of wood, and fire came from his mouth.Then the wind poured its grief upon us-over our sins; and I heard the words for the seventh time, "Go to the mountains!"Foolish people of this land pray and understand-for He cometh! Thereof, toss yourself to thy knees, for the roar of rebellious men will bleed: black blood, through the vines of Jeremiah.
Ive Learned
You cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved.
Eight Poems
Out of the eight poems provided here [all previously unpublished], four are Poetic Prose, a few Visionary [what I call Vsionary anyhow], a few Free Verse, and a few with more form and structure, more closely to the Auden style of: stanza, metrical rhythm, and rhyme. In saying that, I do believe all the poems are conveying a rich network of meaning, some of them painfully close bond between pleasure and destruction.
Biography of Charlotte Bronte
Charlotte Bronte (1816 -1855) Novelist and Poet.Charlotte was the daughter of the Rev.
