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:
 Sun-Sentinel.com | Less poetry, music but big Miami book fair goes on The Associated Press MIAMI — Poetry and music have been cut and there will be no parade to kick off the Miami Book Fair International as in years past. ... Leading ladies of the book fair: Novelist, poet kick off Book Fair |
AFTERNOON OF POETRY Norwalk Plus Magazine Friends of the late Herb Davison will honor his memory with an afternoon of poetry hosted by local poet Ira Joe Fisher at The Ferguson Library Sunday, ... |
Billy Collins does a 180 with poetry Charleston Gazette 16 at Fairmont State University, served two terms as the country's Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress. He held the post from 2001 ... |
Diyala poetry festival shows signs of peace in Iraq Xinhua 6 (Xinhua) -- Basim al-Dafaie, an Iraqi poet, was optimistic when he saw the restoration of art and poetry festival in his province of Diyala after four ... |
 Jamaica Gleaner | 'The Sweetness of Poetry and Tings' Jamaica Gleaner The Philip Sherlock Centre for the Creative Arts presents 'The Sweetness of Poetry and Tings' - a lunch-hour concert featuring Joan Andrea Hutchinson, ... |
 Washington Post | The architect's own place, small but full of poetry and surprise Washington Post But his basic design premise remains unchanged: "Your day starts and ends in your house -- it should have some poetry and some surprises because your house ... |
Poet arrives 'out of the blue' to take Aldeburgh first poetry collection prize guardian.co.uk "I had hoped it might affect people in the way books have affected me in the past," the poet said on winning the prize at the 21st Aldeburgh poetry festival ... |
 Times LIVE | With her American accent and 'big ass', she is performance poetry personified Times LIVE In 2002 I discovered the Joburg underground scene and the Jungle Connection in Doornfontein, which used to host lots of poetry sessions - and which was ... |
Editorial Ultramar Launches Miami Hispanic Poetry Collection Reuters ... de Miami" ("The City of Possible Unity, A Collection of Miami Poetry"), a book featuring more than 100 Spanish-language poems by 32 Hispanic writers. ... |
Write poetry to help the homeless (plus see our poems of the day) StarNewsOnline.com One of our offerings is a poetry reading. I know that with that being a weekday you would probably not be able to make it to Hillsborough, NC for this event ... Robert Pinsky Former poet laureate Pinsky will jazz things up at FSU |
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 café, 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.
