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Ode History Poems | Ode Poems About History

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Details | Ode | |

MY ODE TO THE NETHERLANDS

I sat down to study the Netherlands tried to gather all the scoop
Entering every contest cause I'm new to Poetry Soup

I read all the poetry masters to grow I must surely invest
What I've discovered in almost no time is why Soup poets are the best

Zerbst wrote an anthem with some amazing poetic twist
Made me wish I was from Freisland this sprawling sealand really exist

Dr. Ram wrote a history thesis he even quotes the great Shakespeare 
The Netherlands in an Italian sonnet another masterpiece was here

Cornish obviously did his homework in couplet form he holds command
Displays the heart and pride of the people when I read his words I want to stand

Andrea's the Soup contest master so you knew she'd draw her pen
With perfection her ode to Freisland, Ms. Dietrich has done it once again

I could go on with the works on Netherlands a shout out to John, Ralph, and Tim
A descriptive write by Huberta van Akkeren, these odes will make sweet Elly grin

So I learned all about the Netherlands another ode wasn't needed from me
To be proud of this majestic country... May she ever be beautiful and free!

Sponsor: Elly Wouterse
Contest Name: Your ode to 'my' Netherlands and/or 'my' Friesland

3-4-14
*Happy Birthday Elle!
 


Details | Ode | |

Ode to Troy

Your buildings were burned,
Your walls they were torn,
And just like that Priam's Kingdom was no more.

Your damnation was brought on by the lusts of a young man
named Paris,
For a young woman named Helan who was declared the fairest.
This is what brought to your land the Achaeans other wise known as the 
Greeks,
Their soldiers,slaves, and their king,
To destory the trojans is what they did seek.

For ten long years there was blood,sweat and so many tears.
With no relief or gains,
Just more deaths and battle pains.
Untill Achilles and his shield,
Killed your bravest son Hector on the field.

The gods themselves were divided,
Ones on each side fighting,
All this for one young couples desire's

And so your buildings they were burned,
Your walls they were torn,
And the life of Priam and his kingdom and sons were no more,
destroyed they were,
All for one girl.


Details | Ode | |

Lady Diana

She swept away the tired day
with purple broom that stained the sky
and the sun swept under the rug
was the sparkle in her eye

She walked on a bridge of cloud
with such glowing presence and luminescence
that it left crumbs of stars in the sky.


Details | Ode | |

The Unknown Poet n' the Lover with an Immortal Heart (Part 5 Final)

This new born day I celebrate your souls release from guilt n’ captivity since that day you 
felt a carnal touch of sin within as your hands played poetically upon the curves of your dead 
lover’s silken skin…
I know now  you made your way to the top of the rocks to plant a tree to guard this sacred 
place where I fell from thee n’ you repeated the poetic chant of love’s abandoning to follow 
me into our karmic destiny…

On that fateful day your soul bled away at the top of this crest by a solitary juvenile tree, 
your body of words fell to the rocks at the base of this cliff, embroidered into the blood of 
me…
The one who would hold a feather to her face on this crest by the sea n’ remember finally 
the days gone by of you n’ me, our deaths from love’s abandoning when you my love were 
lost to this world n’ me for ten centuries…

I now await destiny as we will love forever more with immortal hearts…


Details | Ode | |

In Memoriam (Che Guevara)

                            I
I woke up this morning with tears in my eyes,
your face was in the morning paper;
they shot you dead like a dog,
hunted you out all day and night.

                            II
They said you'd always been a bad seed
and youths were dying because of you;
they said you're a criminal on the run
with a dirty face and shaggy head.

                    (Refrain)
But I know you better than they do,
you preached love to all the people;
you fought for them, young and old,
you lit up their nights with your heart.

                            III
And now as I see you lying dead,
it seems my dreams have vanished as well;
they can call you names, any names they want,
but I know there's only one like you, 
there's only one like you, 
there's only one Che Guevara.
              (Repeat Refrain)
                
You lit up their nights with your heart,
you lit up their nights with your heart,
you lit up their nights with your heart.



Details | Ode | |

Roast of an UNNAMED Poet

He's packin' magic Viagra
Muse infused grooves set the mood
grab ya' and stab ya' 
we're opposites 
still we speak the same language 
teach and preach truth
every time I stop to see what he's droppin' 
my dang pen commits sin, flips a lid  
ink pours, runs down the paper like Jill Abramson did the NY TIMES
just in time verse transfers kinetic energy 
activating a semantic force field
formulating symbiosis through synergy   
swimming in puddles of puns
changing sans rays into rays of sun 
you can hear bums humming metonym hymns from the Twin Cities to Tuscan
igniting a revolution of prostitutes and hooligans on hallucinogens to scoot  
loose from futons 
learn to earn and swim with loose Louis Vuitton boots on 
whacked out kids from Pakistan with crack in hand hear his pen 
and pack into Shaggin' Wagon vans to kick up sand and
do their dance and just hold hands 

the whole globe huggin' like cousins 
uncovering hovering heteronomy mysteries evading lexicographers throughout 
centuries of history
he's teaching wide eyed chicks to utilize polysemy by demonstrating thermal 
viscosity rates of his balls and prick
my mental lexicon is spinning 
so I'm sinnin' then  I'm grinnin' and grabbing inflatable girlfriends over for 
dinner then dessert to be followed immediately by frenzied poetic circle jerks

I must admit the fabric of his hyperbole allegoristic-ally makes me 
wanna  on·o·mat·o·poe·ia in my pants and break into a hyper pole dance!
he's coordinating conjunctions
box munching at the junction
whole heartedly gets retarded with descriptive hard-ons 
vast array of play-on words for you ladies to chew on
verse for verse
inch for inch
tit for tat 
this and that 
hot and heavy with romance 
enough to make a man wear a hard hat 
there inside the high rise 
under construction in the pants
damn Mister (CENSORED), atta-boy!
and though I'mma boy with no vagina, boy 
(you don't mind if I call you mister by design there boy?)

Man, the images your tongue twisters send 
I must commend and admit 
if you had a different rear end...
then WO'-man
I might have to apprehend your ass with my ten inch night stick, oh hell, it's 
just past a hard seven, but who's countin' man? 

As you see poetry is a curse conjuring harmful words of demonic proportions 
reading your scriptures' depictions interrogatively tells me these inscriptions 
are precisely the prescription I need to erect the sword which could ultimately 
lead to seismic abortions...dang...
Did I just type that? 


Details | Ode | |

THE CRY OF HOSANNA

His message to Mankind was divine love, much louder than 
the desert wind hissing through the tall palm trees;
they heard Him, but sadly contempt built up when
they defiled the Temple by selling and trading instead of praying on their knees...
so Jesus got the whip and the lame and the blind cried out the word, " Hosanna! " 


Hosanna! Hosanna! 
Hosanna! Hosanna!


Christ was the faithful servant who was scourged, derided and crucified,
now, is the friend of all who believe in Him, not in a sinful world....
the Redeemer who carried the heavy cross to Calvary and died;
His resurrection was a victory over death making Him the eternal Lord!
Who besides Him is more worthy of God His Father, are we?
Anytime Jesus prayed, He finished that prayer with this holy word, " Hosanna! "


Hosanna! Hosanna! 
Hosanna! Hosanna!


Nothing has changed...it was an unjust and mean world, and so it will be;
they lived for lust, power and money getting greedier than Judas who chose death;
find that good soul that resembles Jesus...is it that poor man who seeks mercy?
We can gather much gold, make him a crown and place it on his bruised head!
And while he sits there waiting for compassion, his feeble voice proclaims," Hosanna! " 


Hosanna! Hosanna! 
Hosanna! Hosanna! 


All nations strive for supremacy, making useless and massive weapons so destructive,
they have no love for their neighbors...they hate peace and every beautiful place;
we have made it to this century...will others see a tomorrow not dark and delusive?
Pray like Jesus did and put your fate in the hands of the Almighty who's grace! 
No joy or possession is greater than faith...get up, look up and shout, " Hosanna! " 


Hosanna! Hosanna!
Hosanna! Hosanna!










Details | Ode | |

Ode to my Father

Alms Inn, there is the place again, and here
I, far away, muse in the house I grew
O this village of my love, has grown too
The golden hills with lilacs filled, the sweet
Soft of morning dew, and my dusty feet
Leaving his brighter sun for school and care
Whilst he with poetic dreams filled the air
And orange blossoms buzz with fragrance fair
And O, orange blossoms buzz when
In my mind I hear his voice again.

Father, fragile though festive fold of hills
Where drought walks dissonant on dribbled dreams
Your memory abides here still, and bright streams
Of laughter where you paced or sat unveiling
History and poetry and farmed feeling
Of the world. Like a nightingale's voice spills
Through the village gate, sublime as sacred thrills
The organ dissipates, and crannies fills
With thy deep eloquence and pride
And thy wide eyed child by your side.

Regal of an African line, birth low
Amidst the Maroon bramble, up you came
Out of the German mire of blood, a flame
Carrying bushman and midwife through night
The falcon feathered for the frolic of flight
Over foreign spires, in the bright rainbow
Father, still your footsteps that path does show
Mud deep, bright towards the future we go
Athlete, scholar, tempest and mist
Man above men will foes insist

And I today churn in praise my new lines
Waking like a womb of fresh beginnings
A virgin voyage of my form, deep gleanings
Of the mind's creativity. I bring
It, tribute to you, blush before my king
For whose awesome form my love matchless pines
Seeking your worth in joys of new designs
To carve your honor on our human minds
First of our black place to unfold
Upon white space petals of gold.

This proud veterinarian, this wave
That pulse across the Caribbean's shores
This first in rank in all the shackled chores
This noble patron of the arts, this child
Of business, that upward through nights here toiled
To say I am free, stir now gloomy grave
You shall not hold him forever a slave
When jubilee comes, and our God shall save
For of all the joys that is known
He loved his God, and grace was shown

Time and us are leashed memories
With time I tell love's true stories
And so its oft, when love in fancy strays
I to Alms Inn, where my boyhood still plays
In St. Elizabeth, behind the brimmed drays
Here in white pattern of dust I reclaim
The glory of my father, all my name
For we are nothing who have no past, sir
No identity the shard soul to stir
Shorn from the traditions of father's ways.


Details | Ode | |

THEY BELIEVED IN THE SAVIOR

The were the three Magi with mantels and beards, traveling
on strong camels as far as Bethlehem and having 
seen a wondrous star, they began their long journey 
by bringing precious gifts, but they warned Joseph and Mary 
of Herod's malicious intent...so they fled to Egypt
on a donkey that never complain of a sore hip! 


They believed in the Savior as Herod himself full of pride,
and being very wise, they never returned
to tell him what kind of child they had found! 
They brought their gifts and knelt at a child
whose fate as foretold was to die for us all,
and he gladly accepted them hearing His Father's call!


Not having heard from the Wise Men who had lied to Him, 
Herod sent his soldiers to kill all children under three: screams terrorized Bethlehem;
no, they weren't moved by their mother's painful cry
and shedding their innocent blood they revenged that lie!
O mothers of Bethlehem, Jesus knew that they were slaughtered because of Him!
O mothers of Bethlehem, you wept and moaned as they bled as a sacrificial lamb!


They believed in the Savior from what they had read,
and wanted to see for themselves the glorious event that Daniel spoken of:
the brightest star shining over Bethlehem as angels sang, 
announcing Christ's birth in a small town groping on a hill of citrus and clove!



Written on December 16, 2012


Details | Ode | |

HAIL TO COURAGEOUS PATRICK

" Hail to courageous Patrick! "
The Christian Irish loudly sang,
taking their chant to all Ireland...
and that made Milchu very sick!


In his veins ran pure blood of Roman nobility;
at that brutal era, Druidism was Ireland's religion,
and he, the follower of Christ, felt much contention...
but armed with determination Patrick fought it fiercely!  


" Hail to courageous Patrick!"
As a saint he never accepted defeat;
he was bread and water for the weak...
endless fear for the High Priest!


" Pagans, you shall not worship neither the Sun
nor idols, Christ is your true Lord! "
He preached in all villages ignoring any frown
from that warrior waving his sword!


Would he had never been captured
and sold into slavery, all Ireland wouldn't have known liberty;
his task was to tend sheep as David,
but choose to give his entire soul to God to wipe out idolatry!  


" Hail to courageous Patrick! "
Every man, woman and child shouted without being afraid;
they knew that God had sent this holy and kind man to them
to teach prayers of fervent faith!


Details | Ode | |

A LIVING LEGACY: The Berean Baptist Church 157th Anniversary

the land was valued at $240, where they built "the little church on the hill"
established by a group of abolitionists and free blacks for they knew that was God's will
they named it Berean Baptist and its congregation was integrated
but after only a short time the membership separated
the church continued to prosper for the members were godly inspired
they would not let anything keep them down not even those two fires
the congregation would continue to rebuild for their faith could not be pricked
they got smart and moved  two blocks over and erect a church made out of bricks
it was a little chapel yet membership would continue on the up swing
the church needed more room, so they then added on two wings
from  Dr. Brown to Drs. Matthews, Eldridge and the Rev. Dr. James
anointed men of God who helped Berean establish a good name
from Rev. Roman  and now  Dr. Griffith with their powerful evangelistic ministries
and after 157 years  Berean is a great church with a lasting and living legacy
and with the Lord's continued blessings, His mercy and His grace
The Historic Berean Baptist Church will always be the place
where anyone and everyone can come to get godly inspiration
for Berean is the church that will set on the path to salvation


Details | Ode | |

The true story Of Fanny Lynes

The year is1762 and a tale of murder or mystery they boast
 A teenage girl, a drunken parish clerk and even a ghost
About hordes of aristocrats and wealthy men assembling
 Crowds rivalling Covent Garden Theatres were now descending

To a house near St Paul’s on a road named Cock Lane
Although three stories high one room on each floor it had for its fame
Owned by Richard Parsons a clerk with a passion for drink
Forever in debt borrowing money, but to repay it he never did think.

He evicted poor Fanny and her partner William Kent
Even though he borrowed money from them and they could pay rent
A short time later smallpox took poor Fanny Lynns from this world
But her 'said to be' husband engraved no name, and then this story unfurled 

He explained in truth that they were not wed 
He didn’t want her family knowing poor Fanny was dead
She left all her goods to her partner William Kent 
He didn’t want to share them not a penny not a cent

Two years later a report on Fanny hit the news
It seems Parson was Kent’s character now going to abuse 
Through Parsons daughter it was said that Fanny had spoken
The ghost of Fanny Lynes with a scratching sound had awoken
 
From the lips of the poor deceased Fanny Lynes 
The tales of murder and scratching begins
She says she died not of smallpox, but of murder most foul
And she wants her revenge and is now on the prowl

Kent denied murder he loved his Fanny so
But of the scratching of Fanny now most people did know
To the house in Cock lane the crowds rallied round
Entrepreneurs learnt how to make a quick buck, a quick pound

Selling food and drink and seats by the door
As Fanny was said to tell of her murder and more
But it seems there may have been trickery and lies from Parsons not Kent
As it was to his daughter Elizabeth that Fanny’s messages were sent.

Parsons was found guilty of lies, a fine he was ordered to pay
As he did not pay to jail he went and spent there many a day
The case against Kent dropped and Fanny’s ghost did now sleep
But years later maybe her revenge she finally did reap

As the years passed more investigations were made
 Her coffin was dug up and her body displayed
On poor scratching fanny of Cock lane it was observed
No smallpox was found but her face was preserved

 Was it then arsenic that killed poor Fanny after all? 
 Whatever the truth in the house of three stories tall
No one knows now as the grave held no engraved name
But still there exists the tale of Scratching Fanny in Cock Lane.

© GG 30/1/2014


Details | Ode | |

MICHELANGELO'S HANDS

                                MICHELANGELO'S HANDS

When eyes delight upon a work of Michelangelo—gut wrenching art-- Creation by a mere man, from his enchanted hands explode results of David –perhaps a heavenly message to impart To the earthbound, scattered world flung far in lands mountain wrapped, plain dirt plains or seabound rocky shores. Vagabonds, they come to marvel by foot or cart. In awe they stand before the stone made man. Walking through the door, drawn to David’s splendid daunting beauty—his far gaze imparts to the viewer-- in that instant, in this life there is nothing more of beauty needed to be seen. Years pass, nights will follow days yet thoughts of this wondrous creature never waiver, never fade but haunt delightedly. What manner is there to praise the artist for a gift so long lasting? Repeated thoughts played reflecting David's beauty --and played again—durable throughout the years, Clarified and Magnified in time, not diminished--when mind is disarrayed suddenly a glimpse will flash—through grief’s unbidden tears David will stand in mind’s eye, unchanged , ever manly strong-- beauty possible by stone conscience unblemished by dreadful acts or craven fears. Thus it is --creation of a man who does no wrong. Perhaps it is the reason Heavens blessed the world with Art which reaches all-- both rich and poor--announces to the throngs-- Look to men of stone to find the rare and pure of heart.
Victoria Anderson-Throop © 11/28/12


Details | Ode | |

My Memories of JFK

John Jack Kennedy
was as brilliant as could be
A studied Harvard graduate
A navy hero of the sea

He was from Massachusetts
A lover of the dunes
and used to walk beside them
on summer afternoons

He was a much loved President
His spoken word was magic
I never did understand why
his ending was so tragic

I can remember him so clear
but time flies quickly by
I remember Jackie's pill box hat
John-John and Caroline

It is a shame that violence
brought his colorful life to end
the Kennedys' profiles in courage
were an absolute Godsend

There is so much happiness
around JFK's short term
His fun sense of humor
A smart, well read bookworm

We all will never forget him
Those of us who loved him so
The articulate, animated speeches
The radiant look he'd always showr


Details | Ode | |

An Ode to Weary War

Within the stand where armies hide
with little but sticks and stones 
come forces too large to abide
who’ve traveled far from home.
Armed to the teeth with planes and tanks
they’re here to garner wealth
for when the rebels meet their end           
they’ll be little need for thanks
and certainly none for stealth
and little left but corpses to attend.

Civil war bring the vultures out in men
the mercenaries who fight for gold
the corporate war mongers rush to attend
The starving do as they’re told
for why not fight for mother land
and die for those left behind
a bullets death is easier than wasting
and is what man’s honor demands
If only, if only, man was less unkind    
less prone too warring and debasing.


Details | Ode | |

Ramesses II, Remembered Still

No raised pinnacle marked the place
No pure white limestone shining
Where Ramesses slept looked commonplace
to foil the robbers scrying.
Yet he had moved the earth and sky
this pharaoh disdained all rivals.
His bounty buried beneath the sand
portrayed a life beneath blue skies 
his star encrusted tomb ethereal        
his Ka rising from Death’s hand.

The hills of Thebes his place of rest   
and beneath him his father lay            
amongst the great he’d be the highest 
his battle standards on display.             
He ruled with iron hand on staff          
as a Godhead he was portrayed.           
Most mighty and acclaimed, no man
was he, who felled the Hittite chaff;    
beneath his chariots wheels flayed      
the denizens of Egypt’s land.

Worshiped was he in temples true
his semblance graces Abu Simbel       
with eyes wide o’er lake so blue
his gaze belays the infidels.  
Beside him she, Nefertari
laid claim to a sacred place
held above all others his wife
most renowned for her beauty
a love to last through time and space
may all true hearts pay such tariff.


Details | Ode | |

An ode ter sheep an' mountain things

Whee am i, eh?
A'm Cumbrian thats whee, like eh.

Red, Green, Yellow

Once a year ower the Cumberland show,
Livestock, ter an' fro, ter an' fro.

Yan, Tan, Tether

Gypsies, jockeys, towns’ folk alike,
Appleby 'orse-fair awwer the dyke.

Red, Green, Yellow

Scotland has i's 'aggis, Lancashire i's ho' pot,
We 'ave uz sausage an' tha' does uz lo'.

Yan, Tan, Tether

Ice-cream a' Allonby shiftin' ter Silloth on sea,
Righ' round Wes' Cumbria an' back yam fur scordy, like eh.

Red, Green, Yellow

Up a' five an' ou' a' dawn,
The 'aaf-ne' fishers, early morn, like eh.

Yan, Tan, Tether

Keswick, Caldbeck an' Seascale too,
All the visitors passin' through.

Red, Green, Yellow

There’s Por' Carlisle on the warl,
People comin' yan an' all.

Yan, Tan, Tether

Whee am i, eh?
A'm Cumbrian thats whee, like eh.


Details | Ode | |

Ode to ALSEP

With all the world waiting, we turned our eyes skyward. 
Remember that day when we all looked through 
Our electric windows on the universe, 
Seeing old spheres from a new point of view? 

Three times again, and again, and again, 
Descending on dancing flames, 
They scurried, slow-motion, through ancient dust 
Who still now remembers their names? 

They did the unthinkable, achieved the impossible, 
Went where none had preceded, and more. 
"Ho-hum! ...another launch, you say? 
Is football on Channel Four?" 

Mechanical colonists left behind 
When we blasted back home in our ships 
Drew life in their bellies from shattering atoms, 
Energizing electronic chips. 

They sensed the heat of ancient fires, 
Moon-embers, banked deep inside. 
They felt the star-bits streaming, 
And the rumbling silent tide. 

ALSEP voices, talking to Earth 
In chattering bits and bytes 
Sent their colonial treasures back 
Through the lunar days and nights. 

They measured the limb-shocked solar winds, 
Changing the charges in sputtered lands, 
And vibrating signals crossed the void, 
Twitching inked fingers on metal hands. 

The footprints and tire-tracks, unchanging, remain. 
Like paths to the future, they glisten. 
Solipsistic sentinals converse with themselves, 
But there's nobody left who can listen. 

George Hastings October 1, 1977


Details | Ode | |

ODE TO HISTORY

There is a field where Sherman marched
Across the bloody South
Just beside a freeway, that connects it to the North
No one builds and no one plants on hallowed bloody ground
And late at night tis said there’s ghosts that hover all around

In the spring there’s beauty on this poor forgotten place
No one live remembers the men who died with grace
No cell phones or gadgets to escape the fear and dread
Letters lost or just delayed were part of war twas said

Brothers fighting brothers in a bloody senseless brawl
Shattering a country while a death rate took its toll.
Marching cross the U.S. burning towns just shortly built--
Lynching and destroying without a modicum of guilt.

Streamlined education doesn’t bother with “ancient” facts
Parents want a fast track deal –full deductions in their tax
Highlight education is the modern style—on line.
No room for the how’s and why’s –there simply isn’t time.

So, if you seek reflection in a conversation pit
Find an avid reader for a talk with any wit.




Details | Ode | |

Independence Rock

A soliloquy comes over me as a testament to this great rock.
The names and dates and markings from generations ago unlock, 
those that past this way on foot and ox and horse,
and those that never made it here; to chisel and endorse.

Silent now are the graves that sit beside this place,
and the thousands that pass by and give respect to unknown names.
A rot-iron fence sit's where some say they lay
the children that may have died here;  is also where they played.

Stone scratched history, tar and paint,   
the rolling Sweetwater accentuates,
this giant rock where thousands now have trod,
left with only the name, 
of Independence Rock.


Details | Ode | |

THE TRUEST ODES OF WAR

Such heavy artillery,
To whom shall we run,
To God have we come,
In pain and sad form,
To state our hearts' deform,
To stake our rights and reforms,
You know that where two Elephants fight the grass suffers,Do be well informed,
My youngmen you have been, deeply misinformed,
My insane Leaders and their wanting to negotiate a arms surrender,
Mines! Please do deactivate those heating "Death crumbs",
See the most hit at war having mucored loafs in luxury and style,
Locale Warlords feasting on roasted swine,Marijuana's wisdom and four gallons 
of rum,
Only the rich and mighty are are afforded the luxury of flying their families abroad,
We see vivid pictures of crime and business working in consortium,
Drugs and Arms circulation,
Or shooting the innocents,Genocide!
The world powers sidewatching as if they lack 'Parties' to side,
or on which peace steps to decide,
Please my Brothers-in-arm let's put hate aside,
Or on what "PEACE" plans to carryout from the inside,
Histories that co-incide.
Come,
Come! Peace and at this market-square shame war,
Peace do come and defy war,
The gory memory of steaming blood on his matchete,
Or my deafened eardrums beaten soft by these insultive BOMBS.
 
War,
Torture,
Rum,
Drugs,
Arms,
Rape,
Youths,
Tapes,
In war man's dearest friends are Sickness,Starvation and Illiteracy,
Learning the precious ways of The Ants,Bugs,Monkeys and electric fish,
Ladies and how they learnt their lesson in prostitution,
Beer bottles or bullets sealing the evidences,
My ink,My quail, and this page,
Cant tell, If in your age this will be read off Golden scrolls on diamond podiums,
Writing not for this time but for generations yet unborn,
Read the annals of history and learn that all who started a war or abetted 
one,Worship and Kiss the devil in the anus,
Or they are Madmen-in-coats-and-Briefcases, Smoking piped marijuana in the 
Natinal Asylum,

Do you think I loved to kiss the red lips of rage,
Or suck the succulent bossom of 'Hate the Mother-adder',
War sets the bait,
Guerillas set the pace,
Government gorillas hold the day,
Youths and guns,
Maids and nails,
Only the dead can see the end of war,
Not only deep breath can still the tremors of bombs,
Or greed the might of crumbs,
May God's almighty blessings be bestowed on Relief,Aid,Donor and Charity 
Agencies that stand the risks of war and its deaths.
Wars are a confirmation of a Civilization in Rust.


Details | Ode | |

The hunter has been hunted

The nation is thrown into grief.
Our national flag is flying at half mast.
Everyone is wearing a sack cloth.
The dangling axe fell on us.
And the mighty has fallen.
Our hearts are filled with dread,
And our eyes as heavy as lead.
Nigeria, Africa’s number one soccer nation, 
Has been given a run for their money by the Ghanaians.
Culminating our early exit from the African nations cup.
The green and white jersey that we adore,
Have been dragged in the mud.
These are not the Eagles we have been celebrating.
Or are these Eagles suffering from bird flu,
That they cannot glide.
Their spirit  was willing but their  flesh were weak.
When we were young, we were strong,
Now we’ve grown but we are weak.
The reputation that took us  years to build,
Have been destroyed over night.
Because we went to fetch water with a basket.
The baby has been thrown away with the baby water.
The Midas touch we used to have have been used on us,
Because we could not strike while the iron was hot.
The hunter has been hunted.
And we have fallen from  frying pan to fire.
Football has kept us together as a nation for many years.
The Ghanaians has put a knife on what kept us together.
And we have fallen apart.
Once beaten, twice shy.
We hide our faces in shame.
No one is to be blamed.
What is sauce for the goose is also sauce for the gander.
Every dog has its own day and it was not our day.
A soldier lives to fight another day.
And never says never because quitters are losers.
The big question is,
Shall our bones rise again?
Or have we withered like the cursed fig tree.
Only the bowel of time will Tell.


Details | Ode | |

HIS WEALTH 2

our children dacing
dacing at the sight of lighted bulbs
like when the eclipse occured
but their hope dashed

but his wealth  is intact
for his greatest grand children
children that are more equal
more equal than the others

our mouths now salivates
on seeing mere nuts
like dogs for bones
bones of our lost sons

sons last seen on april
april of the pools
pools of ballots
ballots of inec

our stomach now speak
speak like the dogs
dogs that came beyond the sea
but they have learnt
learnt to look
look since their demands were not meet

our youths now play in moonlight
play games in the sand
games out of fustration
fustration  due to lack of job

our graduates now employed
employed in barrow pushing company plc
with first class honours
obtained from war front

our universities now battle fields
our wards soliders
only to come home
with paper to prove it

all their hopes in it
in the designed paper
paper that cannot feed
even the fetus in the woman

they made him believe them
them that are beyond the sea
that his wealths are safe
though they beautify their land with it

he knew not that the value of  
his wealth has been used
used to tare their roads
used to build schools
used to build hospitals
used to make things better
used to empower their people
used to make them what they claim
those beyond the sea

though his wealth are safe
it have generated hundred times
to say the least, its worth
he claims to be rich,

the cock that crew
the dogs that bark
the cricket that creaks
the youths that riots
the children that cries

all are saying in Unison
wake up and behave
like a black though are
for our blood flows in you

let them know that we have an origin
our origin so strong
our strenght so wisely use
our wisdom cannot be decieved

wake up and take from them
the wealth they took from us
wake up and suprise them
and make our homes the dream land

the dream land of our fathers
those that fought till sleep came
and those that still wait for sleep to emerge

wake up and let them know
that our wealth we can manage
to make our homes eden
the eden our fathers lived in

For our tribes are stong
as strong as the lion
the lion accros the equator
our home the heart of Africa


Details | Ode | |

HIS WEALTH 1

HIS WEALTH

He was renowned for farming 
ploughing lands as large as atlantic  
but his harvests he keeps beyond the sea
beyond the sea all he got

Down here, his roof leaks
his town roads untared
they make use of his wealth
to paint their town more white

he thinks his wealth is safe 
but the value they use
promising him security and secrecy
to shut their mouth from his people

his pots occupied
by cockroach and rats
as had been aboandoned by his wife
his children grow everyday
developing big belly and head

He goes back to use ibeleju as lamp
but he claims to be rich
his children goes fishing to pay their fees
the school fees he has refused to pay

they built a school for their wards
and beg them to look inside papers
nobody pays a penny
those are the people beyond the sea

his wealth is intact
but had been used
times without number for their anuual budget
they beyond the seas

Worms leak his intestine
and his offsprings from six to two
he took their looks to the people
the people beyond the sea

they gave him a name "Malaria"
Malaria took them all
contented he came
carring no less for his kwashiokor wards

His bicycle like buried iron
yet he appears before his kinsmen
to speak in language that tingles
they smirk at him

though the gods let him live
his expliots and wealth
managed and utilized by the people
the people beyond the sea

he claims to be learned
while they have brain washed him
he trusted them
and left our heritage

the gods forbide
our black heritage
that our fathers died to protect
like our brotherly love

Our heritage
that forbade greed
he forgot our maxim
that of Unison

him that our fathers gave the "Ofor"
the Ofor that represents power
power to protect our interest
our black interest

the gods bear us witness
witness of our unquenched suffering
starving in front of plenty
plenty at the so called bank

banks beyond the sea banks
the name for their civilised theft
theft because they use the value
the value of your wealth
to reinforce themselve

the Ofor has fallen
from his hands
the gods has departed  from him
but he will not believe

our chambers now lagoons
lagoons from the light shawers
our tables now canoes
and soup spoons paddle

mosquitoes now our pets
nursing our children
our working age amended
starting from 6  to sleep

our heads now bald
not from age
but from fetching water
water from the eden 


Details | Ode | |

The Unknown Poet n' the Lover with an Immortal Heart (Part 4)

You regret your foolish disclosure, as you confessed to be a cold hearted lover for she was 
lost of hope n’ sacrificed herself from this crest for her love for you consumed her totally, 
though her broken heart, in the care of the angels choir, now sings reforged in the fires of  
immortality…
You lived your life in the garments of a scar around your heart, covered in bark, thrombosed 
to the love of another, it now cries in virtue n’ chastity from the sentient tree that consumed 
your ashes n’ dust in the grave at the top of the crest by the sea…

I give to you Poet my blessing, so you can relinquish your guilt n’ pain of love’s abandoning 
from the bed of blame you made of your grave, for your quill is at peace till your 
homecoming into this world, my sweet poet come back to me…
For time was your crest from this day you have leapt, you are forgiven my love so rise, let 
go your purgatory n’ perhaps one day we will meet once again as your soul escapes the 
gravity of captivity, now owlish n’ wise let it fly to our destiny…

Though not a word is spoken in these moments of conjuration from a lover long gone in an 
age of castles n’ quests by the sea, it stormed all night n’ I remained by your grave side till 
sunrise n’ the flame in your eyes became the Immortal’s fire to reforge a tarnished heart, 
for your tortured soul now understands n’ through the flames your mind will follow…
Now I see the picture you have painted in the illusion of the rainbow n’ I sense the birth of 
humility n’ grace as the sun breaks through the storm clouds, for your poem of remorse 
finally rests n’ you my love are reborn with angel wings to ride mother earth’s breath…


Details | Ode | |

The Unknown Poet n' the Lover with an Immortal Heart (Part 1)

On a windswept hill crest by the sea there is a lonely ancient sentient tree that seems so 
figuratively familiar to me, I wonder why this can be n’ who my heart longs for when
I’m here n’ why love gives no guarantee…
Though I visit here frequently, today I was summoned, beckoned by the branches of this 
solitary tree swaying in the breeze, to this charming yet purgatorial space...

I knelt down upon this strange magical place n' was carried away as my fingers traced an 
owl’s feather to my face n’ wondered why I loved n’ despised this fateful place…
My body shivered, internally tingling n’ with grace, some kind of enlightened knowing I could 
not erase n' like the sentient tree that cradles you within, I sensed your ethereal embrace…

Silence ends where you begin, I heard the likes of Aeolian sing “Oh my Immortal”  n’ your 
poetic voice disturbed the chaos in the winds of my mind n’ there within returned the 
memory of your handsome androgynous face…
I said… “Come let my hands play upon your skin” n with my thoughts gathering to replay a 
scene across time of broken hearts n’ love’s abandoning reflected in the fire of your eyes n’ 
a touch of a feather upon my face…

I’ll never know your name or how many tears were cried in the oceanic depths of your 
pleasure n’ pain, though the salt I can taste in the tempest of this darkening day as the wind 
heralds your scent n’ presence unto me…
I’ll never know all who walked hand in hand here before me or where each discarded shell 
has been as the seasons flew away, yet I now know why a thousand Halloweens were  your 
destiny n’ you summoned me to transcend my mortality n’ the meaning of silent words at 
play this day…

Our ancient bodies lay together here beyond mortal touch, though in my present existence I 
no longer recall our names, they are lost in my many lifetimes yet kept in the Goddess’s 
providence…
Though no longer you feel my touch or pleasure n’ pain I'll plant a flower as a blessing on 
top of our grave, above the waves, where your soul is a slave to this sentient tree cradling 
your ashes n’ bones returned to dust…


Details | Ode | |

The Forgotten Anthem

There is nothing like one’s home – 
A haven which flows with milk and honey,
A home built by hands from holy heaven
Which we bought not with money
But with obedience which was no burden.
We have become strangers in a foreign land
Because of our sin and perversion.
Give us a second chance in that lovely land
To create, O Creator, the first impression.
Just a glimpse of home would make us less forlorn.
O Albatross, lead us to the East
From where we were hauled to this lawn
Where even red wine and bread made with yeast
Make our hearts sad, yes, forlorn.


Details | Ode | |

An Ode triplet

DAVID+BATHSHEBA-AN ODE
Desire filled his face,
it lingered like perfumeof love,there was no trace

Passion welled within,
deceit fuelled by need-
this fire turned to sin

Lust failed to satisfy,
though power reigned supreme-
their child,stlll was to die
 full story @2sam 11/12


Details | Ode | |

FAITH IS STRONGER THAN RELIGION

What religion has created through the ages 
is a false gospel with much incredibility;
a helpless Christ on that cross...
instead of a resurrected One 
ascending to His glory;
He's still mocked and alone!

Faith is stronger than religion,
it trascends all souls
in search of truth and hope;
and it can't be taught by words alone!
Faith was the stronghold
of prophets and saints!
Let it become our fortress
in the days of weakness,
and fervently pray with confidence
that no harm will come from others!

The sacrificial altar needs no lamb,
the ultimate sacrifice was made...
the reconciliation between Man and God,
and a Mediator to atone every sin committed;
many still believe in a harsh punishment...
by demons who dwell in Hell!

Let's be like David who exalted Jehova God always, 
and proclaimed His greatness for all ages!
Let's fear no man, but trust in the God of Moses...
who parts our waters in troubled times,
and lets us walk safely to our shore;
let's be as faithful as they were!


Details | Ode | |

SOME WILL KNOW GREATNESS

Our modern world has become
so advanced and sophisticated,
and its technology is at our fingertips;
unlikely yesterday when everything was slow-paced,
now fast-food and credit cards are a convenience...
and poverty is the plight of low-income!

Some will know greatness,
for having made unthinkable strides,
and they will be honored or even immortilized;
and I like to be one of them...simply remembered!
The great minds of the past, like those of today,
struggled to come out of obscurity,    
until Popes and wealthy people recognized their genius;
and those names became so glorious!  

Each one of us is born with an amazing gift,
and through vocation and inspiration,
it can grow in size and scope...
if it's used with good intention!
Painters choose the colors of their images, 
writers create the words of their moods;
sculptors carve out  faces with a chisel,
and  composers imitate the feelings of the soul!

Some will know greatness,
and though riches may not ever be theirs...
their works are the reflection of themselves,
or of others who made a difference;
we have seen them, admired them
and applauded them with excitement!
And they are as detemined as we are,
fullfilling a mission beyond compare!
  


Details | Ode | |

El Che

Executed life 
Sunglasses and little peaked caps
Mass burials for those chaps
Stands at the window
As letters arrive from widows
There relentlessly chased princes 

Death in the empty school of one mans dreams
I rise to take the led like a man 
Sit down !
I should have died on the battlefield
So i will take it where i stand .


Details | Ode | |

Cassandra's Curse

She told no lies, from behind her all- seeing eyes.
Cassandra could not return the love of  Apollo,
 His curse upon her truth belies.
And left her prophesies empty and hollow.

She knew  the destruction of Troy would come.
Her  voice to land on the ears of disbelief,
It was truth she spoke to become
The Greeks emerge victorious, Troy is led to grief.

The daughter of an ancient Trojan king
Her  beauty must have been abounding
For the love of such a powerful god to bring
Apollo’s gift to her was astounding.

The gift to see all the matters to come
But love for him she  could not conceive
From a gift to a curse it would become
For her prophecies, no one would believe.

She would rave the truths along the walls of Troy;
As a mad woman she was perceived by all.
Her father. King Priam. her ranting would annoy
She was imprisoned, that her word would not befall.

She knew of a child that would seal the cities fate,
His name ,Paris, left for wolves to raise.
He would come to take his love and her king to berate.
A thousand ships, Helen’s face,  to them she betrays
.
As she watched the burning skies
Soldiers spilled form the bowels of the gift horse
Tears were  streaming from her eyes
As  she had told,  the Greeks ran their course

Amidst the cities destruction
Cassandra was free from the prison walls
Hoping to avert a further abduction
She took refuge in Athena’s halls

Unaware of the hidden peril waiting
She did not see Ajax the Greek
Standing adorned in amour plating
He raped and took her, her spirits bleak

Taken to Mycenea to become a concubine,
Of the Mycenean king, Agamemnon.
Of who her life was to entwine,
A rivalry with the queen this would spawn.

Cassandra tried to warn the king,
To deny the queen’s request. 
To walk a purple carpet, its sacrilege  to bring,
Both were stabbed upon their chest.

Cassandra’s fate was undeserved.
A victim of her gift and her torment.
Of which she powerlessly served,
Of which was  her solemn discontent.











Details | Ode | |

None, Ode to Longfellow's "Aftermath"

Alas, we must mow again, again
The Shallow grass, the poppy fields,
The tuliped glade o'er yonder glen
Until in solemn rest we mend.

Not for this time of rest we seek,
Our swords, not plowshares, 
And our shields, our burdens heavy
Carried 'til we meet and on this field
Our foe defeat.

In long rows the harvest comes,
The youthsprigs' archaic drills!
The scathe we raise in unison
A fire so bright outshines the sun!
Cut down, cut down!  And then were none.


Details | Ode | |

Larry Rice

Larry Rice did something nice
When he made his life a sacrifice
Larry Rice did something right
By turning someone's darkness into light
As I wonder about right and right
I wonder what God did to Larry Rice
And I see visions of the bitterly poor
Those cursing God for being so poor
I see visions of Gods children 
being without
without a home, without a coat
without  food, without pity
Then I see a vision of God
raising up a man
A man who would turn pity 
into repentance
And then turn repentance
into a gift
to and from God
And not just stop at pity
God did something very nice
When God made Larry Rice


Details | Ode | |

Ode to the Archer

The sinew stretched taut,
The yew wood begins to bend. 
This battle has long been fought
And even now will not find an end.
My sight’s upon the coming men;
I will not miss my mark.
Features of stone, my hands are still. 
I’d die for my brethren.
I do not fear death’s dark.
I stand here by my will.

Bows take aim besides me,
Shieldsmen kneel in front.
Unknowing approacheth the enemy:
We are reminded of the hunt.
The king’s army stands as one,
Our shadows are cast down
As the sun rises in the east.
They see us here yet do not run,
With swords drawn they keep their ground.
My arrow is released.


Details | Ode | |

Painted Over Graffiti

It's more than painted over graffiti,
The trouble with our world today.
The problem's mass is sweeping
More like a paint brush,
Used to wash wanton layers,
Time worn colours, away.

Strategic historical scholars, studied to rote,
Besmirch budding Buddhists babies,
Learning to vote by thinking.
What a novel concept!
If people would just pay attention,
The entire world could get smart.

The youth keep shouting louder,
Falling fast, far, and as hard,
As earlier generations did.
They are THE hope of our nation.
Shouting in codes their passions,
Spouting a shiznit with voices hid.

There's something wrong in this country.
It's been simmering in a brew quite a while.
The hippies got old and face graying,
While the youth now do their own thing
With a new fashioned font style.

No lessons learned,
Old leaves not even turned
To compost for human renewal.
Few values passed along the trail
Because values, then,
Weren't the popular thing,
To be in, with it, man.
Can you dig it?

There are 50-odd million Americans
Staying, saying, and swaying,
"We won't let you whitewash us away,
Like grains of sand in a rip tidal bay."

So I'll face every day on my own terms.
The representatives stand for me, too.
One must be true to his conscience
As the rest pigeonhole patriotically
Into immigrant shades of red, white, and blue.


Details | Ode | |

Ode to 9/11

This day shall be in remembrance of all the lost souls.
Each one remembered proudly on every flag pole.

This day shall be in remembrance to the fire fighters and all the crews.
Who rushed in giving up their lives, knowing what they knew.

This day shall be in remembrance to each soldier who followed their course.
The Army, Navy, Marines and the Airforce.

This day shall be in remembrance to all the brave and willing strangers.
Who came together to help and comfort, not knowing the dangers.

This day shall be in remembrance to the brave policemen and women.
Who came and worked side by side with with other laymen.

This year shall be in remembrance to all the who gave to the oppressed laden with hardship.
Whether it be a stranger or simply a friendship.

This date shall be forever etched in our hearts and in history.
Let freedom reign, the eagle will soar with such gallantry.

In reverence of 9/11, I kneel to pray...
As I write this, each tear falling don't come close to all who was lost that day. 

Each year passing, shall be in remembrance to the brave red, white and blue.
That we came back stronger, braver and always renewed.


Details | Ode | |

Damned Yankees

I could smell the ballpark in my glove
Lose myself in the crooked sky above
Hear the roar of the crowd in my bat
Oblivious to your epitaph called stats
Dreaming a dream, called baseball

But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees

So you bought a curse named Ruth
Not to mention 26 Octobers to boot
Did you do it to spite this game
Integrity sold for the price of fame
Dreaming a dream, called baseball

But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees

You built a cathedral from which to boast
Helped the Babe exorcise Gehrig’s ghost
Buried Maris beneath a Mantle of shame
Sleeping with a bottle and two dames
Dreaming a dream, called baseball

But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees

Joltin Joe swinging that Marilyn clout
The mighty Casey you struck out
Too old for a springtime affair
Welcome Jeffrey Maier
Dreaming a dream, called baseball

But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees

Three times a charm in the Bronx zoo
Reggie’s knockin them out, Billy too
Who needs a bookie if you have a boss
You can bet you’re fired after a loss
Dreaming a dream, called baseball

But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees

Beware the seduction of pinstripe sin
Immortalized by Jeter’s cocky grin
Four more pennants in five years time
Selling out is winning’s soul crime
Dreaming a dream, called baseball
 
But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I say
Damn Yankees

So tell me George, when will it end
Is 200 million a salary cap or a trend
If it’s a general manager you seek
I hear the Devil comes real cheap
Dreaming a dream, called baseball

But that was all taken from me
From an evil that does not sleep
Forgive me if I pray
Damned Yankees

I could smell the ballpark in my glove
Lose myself in the crooked sky above
Hear the roar of the crowd in my bat
Oblivious to your epitaph called stats
Dreaming a dream, called baseball


Details | Ode | |

LAMENTATION FOR ITALY

O adored Italy,this lamentation
for an impossible longing,never repressed,
will echo throughout centuries yet to unfold!
Will I be forgotten for my prediction?

A revocation of tiepid nights,intently
spent staring at the twinkling firmament,
confirmed beliefs which have guided me
in days of bitter regrets and discontent!

America enabled me, to land on its wealthy
and productive soil; and her generosity
spilled over an enormous ocean and sea,
and offered me the infallible promise of security!

Now, like two protective and fearless soldiers,
defending her from intruders and envious alike,
my visible rainbow draws its colorful arch
with foundations resting on each side;
with joy,gratefulness and endless pride,
I owe them both:   life,dignity,and happiness!     

O adored Italy,this lamentation
springs forth with fervent words of affection;
I regret that my sixsteenth year was
was an unexpected and sorrowful farewell!
O adored Italy,your distant son...
still has that memorable recall
of your motherly tenderness and loveliness,
beside your unchangeable principle of justice!


Details | Ode | |

Old Warrior

Old warrior, in the bar...
Sips on his small, warm beer...
It's still 1943 to him...
And inside he still holds fear...
The world hanging on the edge,
Of uncertainty....
What the future held,
No one could see....

Served his country,
Of that he's proud....
Seems no one any longer cares...
And his fellow warriors are now,
Above the cloud...
Soon he'll climb those stairs...

Vanishing like dinosaurs,
This American-Spartan hero...
Has little left to do...
Ask him about World War II,
He'd be glad he met you...

To show interest
In his sacrifices...
His wounded memories...
His changed life...
His long dead buddies,
His long dead wife...

His mate long gone,
He stares blindly at the TV,
Dressed in the poverty he lives
No one can get inside his head,
Save those so long dead...

He has nothing else to do
Be home alone, with old address books,
Of all his long dead friends,
Photos meaningless,
Except to him,
Time has cheated him,
By leaving him here
In the lonely bar, so dim...

Struggling to make ends,
Six dollars on the bar,
The past in the air,
At home he never cooks,
He just no longer seems to care....

Cigarette smoke in the air,
A forbidden pleasure now,
No one seems dare...
Used to be normal,
Things have changed so,
But not our old warrior,
He'll be the last of his kind
To go...

If today is his last,
That's just fine with him....
His future days will be the same...
The final die is cast.


Details | Ode | |

The Black Breed

I see a people...
a people in whose vein flow
a crimson of stream of noble blood;
whose minds house a vast well of creativity,
fountains of inspiration,tactflness,
unquenchable zest and passion for survival.

A people whose voice thunder emulates;
whose heights the trees envies;
whose color the brightest of lights cannot hide;
whose steps quake the earth;
who farts and clouds gather,rages and mountains erupt.

A people too beautiful to psych,dudes and dames alike;
whose due has the strenght of a legion;
chests,broad enough to house a billboard;
eyes,bright enough to see through the dark.
courageous enough to take a whole city,
and brave enough to woo Her Majesty!

I know this people...
they're the sons and daughters of a kind,
the special specie that spices up creation
designed by nature.
A rare breed,the black breed.
I wish I could be like them.
Maybe I'm like them,maybe I'm them.


Details | Ode | |

Ode to Smiley Faces

The People stopped smiling,
so they made up plastic buttons
with eyes and a smile.
The people applauded
and went shopping.

The People stopped smiling
while their armies
burned and raped
villages of children as
the yellow smile smiled
all the while
making someone rich.

The People stopped smiling
marching through semantics
stench as 
the garbage sweep swept
charred remains of protest
and the piece of a
smile.


Details | Ode | |

The Apology

What would you say
If after this time
You reawakened this day
Long out of reach, your prime?

Would you still ride the horse of your forms
Bequeathed by Poseidon forever to be
Or from your eyes 
Would your reality emerge
Amidst this positivist sea?

Would it be theology you adorn
Like most of the lepers strive to see
Would you heal their eyes
With a synthetic judgment
A Kantian reprieve?

Philosophy is deceased
Or so many decree
Encumbered in Zarathustra's sleep
Like Jehovah into its blackened lungs
The breath of life -- could you breathe?

Would you still be the peripatetic mentor 
Of Dante's "the master of those that know"
Or would you still wish to be the protege
The protege of he with no letters to show?

Would you defend your apology 
Of a traveling heretic
A heretic for corrupting the young
With the idea that politicians and beaurocrats
Must abide by an inviolable ethical form
A form of chivalry this day much unsung.

And so this apology I must afford to you
For allowing the Sophistry
Of your age
To come anew.

Leaders still begin wars
With the flower of youth
Not their own
Petals wilted and crushed
Under the jackboots of those lacking
The concept of God or father.

Fear creates a protean enemy
As sure as the incited mob's voice
You witnessed at the ripe age of twenty-eight
Snatched your second father
And afforded him no easy choice.

Justice is not easy
Your life was about defining
Something this day has been lost
It's essence forgotten, always at a cost.

After this apology
Can we still have a hope
That you could rescue this world
Fill the holes and set it afloat.

After all of the centuries
Some forgotten
Some abhorred
Would you still be able to prove?
 
That all of human thought and hope
To you is indeed but a footnote?


Details | Ode | |

Ode To Charlie

You showed us our children
in action.
Who exactly did you kill?
Kind of like Hitler
on the hill at the dacha
while his butchers gassed the innocent.
But, who did he kill?
But then Big Boys
never get their hands dirty,
they just send out the troops.

You showed us our children.
Now you rot in a cell
for you are a threat
to what, I can't tell
but it must be awful
cause you'll die there
as you go through years
of parole sham
and the children
head for Iran.