There is no difference,
the saints whisper and every enemy and ally
wake to forever’s difference,
that neither knee nor tongue will deny.
Doubt bit into Innocence and sold
the first coffins wrapped in pride.
Creation became a seed – a box filled twofold,
when under silt, Eden died.
Secular tides engulf their last season
to bury God and Baal,
synthetic rainbows enlighten treason
fulfills the fool’s tale.
Escape suffering to bend
love to an abstract sum.
Detached absurdity when
a false bliss is done.
Not enough of Earth’s blood
to sustain paved veins,
a technological flood
of isotopes and labor pains.
Fiat economies root for
the drug and gun,
made the bomb’s core
hotter than the sun.
infusions of contraband’s revenue
numbs the inconvenience of sin.
A dream’s fence became headstones ensue,
declared wars we can’t afford to win.
Seeded skies less blue to breathe,
the incense of death and device,
ivory towers babel and seethe,
lies spoil the last grains of paradise.
One rich man though licked by the flame,
still sees Lazarus as a servant and to those
who tear Christ off the Cross to make him the same,
Judas still hangs in the shadows.
Contest: Saints and Sinners
Sponsor: Silent One
Copyright © rob carmack | Year Posted 2016
Jerusalem, in the white of night,
with all the ages steeped upon your shoulders,
and the tombs of fading kings;
history has been unkind to thee,
and the desert sea laden with endless enemies ----
thou shooting star who shawn too bright! ----
how wan the dying rose with Mecca roaring in the wind!
how it whispers a new witchcraft....
A new shackle the zealots bring, on hallowed ground....
where angels fear to tread, lest they spill blood,
like the lot of man, the rockets shall bring peace, they say!
and from the east the Palestian, crushed like grapes in a winepress,
betwixt Hebrew and madmen;
'O Jerusalem, how the Lillie's lilt in thy wan shadow,
how the purge of men shudders to hear your final breath....
no sun shines on thee like a risen Christ;
no banner he bears but love,
no weapon formed but wisdom to silence paranoia;
lay down your swords, and he shall rebuild thee in three days
you old arrid hero,
who needs but the nectar of peace to heal thy ancient bones,
an old name whispers on the wind.....
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2016
His daddy is fighting in Iraq.
His mommy is fighting tears.
His brother is fighting death.
He is fighting his desolation and fears.
Friends are but a dream
and companions are an illusion.
School is a concentration camp,
but he stands, though alone, in the midst of confusion.
His training school is loneliness.
His milestones are fears, thrust in lies.
His only weapon is faith
and his bullets are soft "hallelujah" cries.
Strength left his fragile body
and he lost the fight in life so coy,
yet on his knees he conquered agony
and I call him the little soldier boy.
Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013
They come from a different era
where patriotism is a just cause
they would fight for the true blue
never mind who was right or wrong
they stood staunch and egos proud
their chest out, backs straight and chins up
they come from an old style of thinking
I fight today as my father and grandfather did too.
fighting for an eye for an eye tooth for a tooth
I will die to serve my country even if its a lie
if you try to invade our land
we will come and conquer you
we are defenders of the truth
but the old timers forget
and the young ones have a narrow point of view
there was a time when the immigrants were Irish, Italians and jews
racism was rampant and that hasn't changed
Christians today still preach
'Jesus is savior they say repent your evil ways
pushing their rhetoric just like the roman empire did
amazingly America seems to be doing the same
history seems to repeat itself time and time again
war, religion, oil and what we perceive as freedom
we invade again and again and call it defending democracy
yet the intelligence comes from spies and other governments
because they have shared interests in different types of policy
they all carefully choose their words
because one slip of the lip could trigger war as it has happened before
todays war on terrorism is a campaign designed to instill pain
and un-trust to drain our resources from us
And our leader claimed up front this is not a religious war
yet he paraphrases from the bible we'll get those evil doers
you see bush fooled our religious leaders too.
he used their belief in Jesus he tricked 'em all just to get their vote
he claims he's a born again Christian and this Christians embraced him holly
but then one day bush spoke to Jesus and asked what to do with Iraq
Jesus responded Invade that country
Now dont get me wrong Jesus was not about war
he taught of peace, love and compassion
however his message has been twisted and turned over time
and history shows the hands of Christian religious leaders are always bloody
because they twist the truth to control dictatorship is always the goal
Bush had been plaining war before a judge handed him the seat
on his first day he signed a bill into law prevent any criminal charges against him
Copyright © Ron Flatow | Year Posted 2007
We salute every soldier who’s
served this great nation.
And offer a heart of thanks
We salute each member
of our armed forces.
And are thankful for their
efforts and resources!
We salute the many who
protect our borders too.
We’d be in trouble…
If not for people like YOU!
We salute every son and
daughter lost in a war.
YOU are what serving this
country is meant for!
We salute the officers who’ve
guided our women and men.
Our prayers are with you!
And our love from within!
We salute our veterans!
Wherever they may be!
Those who served on
land, air and sea!
Offering prayer to the
Lord is our belief…
That he will guide our
As we observe Memorial Day this year…
Let’s offer our soldiers
love, hope and cheer!
May God bless them in
all they endeavor
And his peace be with them
today and forever!!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
Land of the free
Home of the slaves
The blood, sweat and tears of my ancestors resonate
Amongst the soil where they were slain
I’m hearing their struggle
I’m feeling their pain
I can’t imagine being forced to part from my family
All for massa’s gain
So I pay homage to those who promoted change
People like every slave who tried to escape
Nat Turner, Ms Carlotta, Harriet Tubman
And the safe houses who were in accord
And peg leg Joe with his song
Follow the drinking gourd.
People like, the disregarded - those thrown overboard
And who was dismissed and defamed
The ones who were stripped of their soul, their pride, their names
The list could go on
The full will never be told
So I pay homage to others who were bold
Like John Brown, The Freedom Riders, Sojourner Truth
Ida B Wells, Phyllis Wheatley, Maya Angelou,
Langston Hughes and Charles Drew
George Washington Carver, Ruby Bridges
Booker T Washington and Mary McCleod Bethune
Charles Houston, Ralph Bunche, Fredrick Douglass
WEB Dubois, Paul Robeson, Ralph Abernathy
Benjamin Banneker, Marcus Garvey and Crispus Attucks
Who’s death by the way
Symbolized the American lie
You cant declare the rights of all men
While the people of African decent rights get denied
But still we rise
Thanks to Dr Martin Luther King, Malcolm X,
The Black Panthers, the Buffalo Soldiers and Tuskegee Airmen
None who were showed any love
Yeah it’s an uphill battle,
But obviously greatness can be done.
We can rise above this stigma
That blacks are lazy and daunting
That our worth is null and void
And in essence minus nothing
And of all the names mentioned
And the greatness of their successes
No one has been able to erase the evil transgressions of a racist mind
And once you have experienced just a taste of it
It changes your perception of time
The oppression beats like the drum on the chariot
Of when it was finally time to escape to freedom
Copyright © humble b | Year Posted 2011
FINALLY, WE WON
Evil flaming arrows wail-- spirits in shields of faith
5:55 pm; November 30, 2014
Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2014
Whiter than the bright
Light at the dawn of the day
Like an angel I fly
... High across the skies
A giver of life where I can
Amidst the dying bands
God's healing hand
To suture broken lands
Nobility fluorishes as
I furiously and faithfully fly
Throughout terrestrial turf
Adhering my hierarchy's call
Not long before dusk
Sets and soon befalls me
Then my deific identity
Rises rapid to fall
As a flag fully masted
Once the day ascends
Decorating my alter
As its ego impends
Reams of robust ravens
Hover atop my haven's roof
As eery emblems exposing
My man in living proof
His character concealed
Behind his closed corridors
Capricious components conflict
Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
One way one day, then the
Succeeding day someone
Like Paul, wrestling knowing
The good I want and aspire to do
Yet like Peter live a lie
With depthened knowledge of truth
Loudly speak godly resistance
To demonic temptations
Yet quietly play in persistance
With their tasteful sensations
Real revelations revealed as
I trail through the night
Crying creeks and confessing
Raising rage to the light
Clearer, vivid visions unveil
What my mirrors masked
Revealing the vibrant vase
That was shattered like glass
The total truth ALAS!!!!
Has told its tragic tale
Of daytime's white angel
Who by night demon fell
No longer mimic the virgin
Who within was a harlot
No longer wear white robes
With others raided in scarlet
Transformation's tough touching
Totality's taken its course
Then tapes the truthful shape
My soul will seal and endorse
Copyright © Leonard Gage | Year Posted 2013
Fourteen-thousand years ago, a devil played a game
In his garden with an angel whom I shall not name.
The angel won or so he thought, “Now you must pay what’s due”
I’ll take your mirr’, your favorite one, and break the thing in two.
The mirror was a magic one of evil dark and black
“The beauty of a perfect world, now what’s the fun in that?
This one’s far better, it twist, it pulls it shrinks before my eyes.
Instead of showing true reflections, this one shows me lies”
“I’ll tell you what, you won it fair, it’s yours but let’s do more;
I’ll help you break it here and now and it will be no more.”
The angel smashed it into two, his hammer in his hand.
“But why stop there?”, the devil said and smashed it into sand
The Devil grinned, “Good work my friend. See, I don’t even care”
He scooped a handful of the dust and blew it in the air.
Among the people of the earth, the grains of mirror blew.
The angel warned them “Close your eyes!” and blew his trumpet too
“What gift is this?” some people thought, Eve’s lesson was not learned.
and soon awoke with crusty eyes that itched and teared and burned.
“I see it now!” the faithless said “I am no longer blind!”
“Don’t be cross” the devil said, "Their eyes see now like mine".
Some were seized with a panicked fear, “The enemy is nigh!”,
and with cruel rocks marched on their neighbors and sentenced them to die.
Others were charmed by shiny stones “Supplies are running out!”
The simple gifts that God had given were left to lay about.
Some saw themselves with grandeur high “I’ll wear this mighty crown”,
I’ll be the King, you be the serf, and bow when I’m around.
The other ones yoked to the plow, “These types aren’t men at all”.
I’ll tolerate your presence if you're at my beck-and -call.
Of arrogance and fear and greed the mighty nations grew.
And men would starve and wars would rage for these unfaithful few.
So hear me now you righteous ones whom the devils would refuse:
In the game of life Good always wins, but bad will never lose.
Copyright © Yort Watson | Year Posted 2014
Neither a fable,
Nor a tale,
This is a fact,
A story to tell,
To everyone, female and male.
To generations, younger and frail.
About a threat, a monster from the East,
That struck the world like a beast,
Attacked Europe by cold and mist,
Oceans of horsemen, millions at least,
Ravaged cathedrals, and crucified the priest,
How to cope and fight and face the ghoul?
How to reason with a barbarian, a crazy fool?
How to prevent a suicidal conflict to pacify and cool?
How to save the lore, the patrimony and the living soul?
How to reconcile with the unknown and use the best tool?
That was the question...
That was the wisdom to lead and rule,
The Pope decided to answer in peace,
Then sent Carpini after a blessing..And a kiss,
Advising him to inform...and not to miss,
To meet the Eastern father, son nephew and niece,
To call for salvation and the Chris,
As soon as the monk began to trace,
With a great shock he started to face,
An unusual nation that was in race,
With time, with weather, with the cosmos and space,
No one could classify it, No one could place,
Its barbarity, Nay! its grace,
They consume everything, greens, pulses including rice,
They are carnivorous, they eat mice,
They spare not a single creature, including lice,
All seem to them, healthy and nice,
They worship Shamanism, horses and they play dice,
They conquer for pleasure, and race with the skies,
When Carpini reached the rising sun,
The great Mongol..The supreme Khan,
Who crashed Empires, who enslaved the Han,
Who scared newborn babies, woman and man,
Who, no one refused him, and who dared had to run,
For his life, for his family, for his entire clan,
Then Carpini approached the formal bar,
And addressed himself to the Lord Tatar,
Explaining to him that he came from far,
To preach Christendom not the Latin Lar,
Before the monk finishing his say,
The lord stood up! Angrily, with a reply,
"Go back to your Pope! Before I'll flay,
You" and tell him that the Tatar ray,
Is invincible in a warfare-play,
Fearful, the priest returned deceived,
More than what he saw and what he perceived,
How would he break the news? How would he read?
The powerful message, the humiliating creed!
In the end, he stood on his heart and then he did,
Europe was ready for the Great War,
Nations of the crucifix, thousands and more,
The bells of alarm sounded the lands, and the shore,
To prevent the conquest, that was the heart! And the core!
The call was "fight or flight" or seal your door!
But halfway...they turned blind,
To change plan, they did not mind,
To strike east, and there to find,
A city of lore of rich and kind,
Baghdad the marvel that enlightens the blind,
There! They killed; they mutilated in countless,
There! They burnt libraries that were priceless!
They pillaged, they raped they were heartless,
No mercy, no help, the Baghdadeans were helpless,
To defend themselves against the infidel
No place was spared from vandalism,
Places of worship and mysticism,
Circles of learning and sciolism,
Poetry, literature and euphemism,
All had gone with "Gog and Magog" the cataclysm!
But "Ain Jalout" was the battlefield,
For generations to pick and read,
In history, and faith and heretical creed,
Where all religions had met indeed,
In a bloody war, all had to bleed,
In the end, the Armageddon had to finish,
To slow the spiting dragon and diminish,
Its arrogance, its myth and tarnish,
Its long lasting reputation, had to vanish,
Forever to allow another war and a skirmish.
How would I judge? What would I say?
Was it a truth or was it a lie?
Genghis Khan, and Kublai Khan,
Hulaku, Munghe Khan and low and high,
Were they all barbarians, or were all lasting heroes not to die?
This is the last verse and point to specify.
Copyright © Abder Derradji | Year Posted 2015
The road is rough
Even though I may seem tough
My soul purpose and strength comes from above
He showers me with good grace and love, but is it enough?
Guardian angel on my shoulder telling me to turn right,
But ignorance makes you blind to heavens might, the
gates of hell are now in sight
its time to fight
for the light of the heavens upon us
shines so bright
Copyright © Phumlani zwane | Year Posted 2014
As the snow falls around me, I marvel at God’s wholesome and worthy entity.
The Lord, on his special day, has given me a gift so precious and special;
He has opened my eyes to his wondrous glory.
The Lord above all has allowed me to see the beauty in the smallest of things:
The stars and moon at night, and the clouds and sun by day;
The little trickles of freezing cold, yet clean, fresh, clear water
Running down the mountainsides, quenching my insatiable thirst;
The trees in all their grandeur,
That provide my warmth when I gather their branches;
The leaves and pine needles at my feet,
Providing soft beds for me and all the forest creatures.
Best of all of these, however, is the snow.
The beautiful snow in which no two snowflakes are the same.
The same biting cold, yet strangely comforting and fulfilling snow,
In which brings forth light on the darkest of days.
I must thank the all-loving God, who has bestowed upon me this glorious gift.
Me, a pathetic excuse for a soldier who has run away
From the sight of bloodshed because I cannot stand to fight another friend.
Me, a coward who is now running from the law,
And living solely in the forest for fear of being caught and hanged.
Me, a God-believing man who has sinned greatly.
But I have repented. I have asked God for forgiveness of my sins on Christmas Eve night,
And He has replied by giving me snow on Christmas morning,
showing me that I am not alone, and that I should not be afraid.
And, by His grace, when all I have been seeing was darkness and despair,
He opened me up to allow me to see the beauty and light in all his creation.
“I praise You, oh glorious God, for giving me this most wonderful gift!
I thank You for forgiving me, a sinner, of all my wrongdoings,
and for giving me this awe-inspiring gift, for which I have done nothing to deserve!
I exalt you on high, oh Lord, for all that you have done and given me,
and will do for me and give me! I will love and praise you always!
Copyright © Josiah Rutter | Year Posted 2013
It appeared on the doorpost as a Cyclops' smiley face
For some Cyclops WhatsApp icon, but red-themed application
Yes gruesome red, in contrast to the expectation
You would get from a smiley face, even for a Cyclops.
It quizzed my curiosity and I dug further on Google’s interface.
It appeared on the search page as the queen Isis,
Long told in Hieroglyphics, Cyrillic and Roman alphabet,
Patroness, mother, queen, blessings with love met,
But unlike these grim Arabic script in an ominous logo,
And tales of death, pain littered with deeper crises
It told of “nuun”, 14th letter of a blessed script
In which many beautiful and wise thoughts found life,
A letter which told of blessing and not of strife
Being in a position multiple of seven, a number blessed
By God Himself when he Earth and Heaven in 7 breaths whipped
It told of the Magen David, a shining star, which should be a good thing
Only that it brings memories of gaunt bodies piled in trucks
And human experimentation, and as history at our door knocks
And Isis or Isil opens to let in what we dread most
“Nuun” is stuck in my iris with pain and scary sting.
For I have seen the blank stare of heads painting in red drips the pickets
And Leonidas’ 300-style gore re-enacted in modern city streets
As heads are divorced from bodies and all around are scared heartbeats
For even bloodied child clothes cover head-less bodies,
As Christians are beheaded like one would roast crickets.
It brings back memories of my ancestors up in the Samba regions,
Fleeing the harsh choice given to them by the jihadists:
To adorn the village picket or join the cause of the Islamist,
Forced to create a third choice, which was to leave their homes,
Friends and family to pseudo-Islam or lurid lethal lesions.
Is it that time again for Iraqi Christians?
Shall the world once again watch the Red Indians’,Tutsis’, and Jews’
Story take gruesome form and hack through human sinews?
How many litres of innocent blood, and kilogrammes of hacked Christian flesh
Are needed to realise the vanity in the life of Homo sapiens?
Copyright © Nyonglema Pisoh | Year Posted 2014
Fairhair’s youngest son the good, for peace trickery repaid, by hawk upon the knee Norse blood raised an English king, hid from the bloody axe until his reign A Christian in a pagan scene A God Thing in a Frost Thing old ways die hard drunken jarls twelve leaping things hot yule-beer, boiling horse flesh He signs the cup a cross to bear in heathen affair Raven-feast a king tries to bring his people the Hope of the New Living Thing Pushing back the fires of bloody axe, he fought Eric’s sons blue-toothed Danes Annihilator of all other Skalds recounts Haakon's Song his good night Outnumber six to one by Danes all weapons pointed, at the golden helmet though mocking refrains now hidden by poet's hat thrust on through you shall find Quernbiter, cutting runes and the Norse king, putting to flight the Danish plight whirling recoil of the fleeing Erikson a lonely arrow finds Haakon's heart upon the flat rock lay slain though the Dark-wolf again eats the land a Christian king has the hope of a God thing * * Notes -Hákonarmál is a skaldic poem,EARLY KINGS OF NORWAY by Thomas Carlyle,THE THING SMALL LOCAL COUNTRYSIDE THING --Thing (assembly)
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2014
NEWS Item AP: TOGO
LOME – In an effort to topple a government set up to end a 24 year dictatorship rebellious army troops seized the state broadcasting station yesterday, then left the building but returned several hours later and recaptured it. Up to six people died in the clashes. The rebels forced a broadcaster to report demands that the prime minister Joseph Koffigoh resign and dissolve the high council set up to oversee the transition from military rule to democracy.
Revolution in Togo
I was lying on my lawn chair on a sunny summer day
With a dozen pack of Heineken and there I planned to stay
My wife came screaming from the house, most upset I must say
She knew there was trouble brewing, that I’d have to go away
In her hand she had the newspaper, waved it wildly in my face
I looked quickly at the headline and my heart began to race
What, I cried, a revolution? That could not be the case!
A revolution out in Togo? But we all came from that place!
“That’s impossible” I shouted, it is such a peaceful place
A revolution out in Togo? What a terrible disgrace!
I wondered what was brewing, what the problem there could be
My imagination then took over and the rest is history
I could see the picture clearly, I could see it all come down
It was all about the money, and the purse strings of the town
John Mulroy’d been in opposition for two terms maybe three
He was sick of watching the corruption and all the bribery
The foreigners came from Makaroff and San Clara and took hold
Taking all the jobs and contracts, lined their pockets with our gold
Johns support from Runnymede and Kamsack were stuck outside
Getting menial jobs and thinking they’d been taken for a ride
Rollie Hamel was Johns inside man, he was working for the town
Telling John what was going on and what was coming down
John was now determined to stop the debauchery
And raise himself an army to set the people free
He got the Nabe boys and the Burbacks and a couple of their friends
To mount an armed insurrection and bring this to an end
They quickly took the broadcast station in the back of Richies’ store
Within two hours the regular army came crashing through the door
What a standoff as they stared each other down with dirty looks
Talking about the law and the dubious entries in the village books
It was turning ugly for no one was backing down
But Richie’s store was also the only liquor store in town
In the meantime I had panicked with a sense of responsibility
For there are times when a man must fight to protect his dignity
I sold my house and all my toys to buy supplies and guns
To try and save the homeland from the invading Huns
I arrived in Togo just in time to get to Richies’ store
And found a bunch of bodies lying passed out on the floor
What happened? I cried, with dread to anyone that could hear
John Mulroy said, with groggy head, t’was the best party of the year
“We came down last night to have a beer and watch the hockey game
Drank a too much and passed out on the floor here, what a shame
We drank up all the whiskey, the whole supply in town
Then we finished off the moonshine as the third period wound down”
I said “What happened to the revolution going on here at home?”
He looked at my newspaper article and said “No, that says in Lome”
Lome I said, confused now, where the hell is Lome?
He said that’s in a place called Togo, I said well…. that is my home…..?
He said “No you idiot, that’s not here, it’s an African country
Everybody’s heard about it”, I thought “Yeah, everyone but me”
I said “Damn it, I’ve got loads of equipment, what can I do with it?”
He said “Sell it I guess, to tell the truth I don’t really give a shit”
So, I have two dozen crossbows, two hundred arrows and 3 Willis jeeps
I came fully prepared to fight the war, prepared to play for keeps
I have enough stores and weapons so any revolution I can dowse
I’m trying hard to sell it now so I can buy a house
Copyright © Vic Pister | Year Posted 2013
Are we awake or are we still sleeping?
Blind to the hurt, and deaf to the weeping.
Ashamed of religion and supportive of the new,
Aware of the lies and hidden from what’s true.
Worship the evil and turn away the pure,
Developing disease with an unknown cure.
Starving the poor and overfeeding the wealthy.
Killing the sick and drugging the healthy.
Going to war for some kind of power,
Building tall structures over all types of flower.
Cutting the trees and polluting the air,
All out of greed, with no sort of care.
Turning us against our own,
And help from up above.
Making us beings of hate,
Instead of ones of love.
Demonizing the mystic,
Criticizing the wise.
Making our own family members,
Into people that we despise.
Awaken to the torment,
Be aware of all the pain.
Those who are misleading,
And claiming that we are insane.
Copyright © Alyssa Waters | Year Posted 2013
In a room filled with a solitary red hue
The bourgeois spins a wheel
With no destination, nor need
She will spin until her brittle Hands bleed
Just to satisfy her ennui and artifice
But she does not see - the rien I see
The monster approaching her empty dreams
Spinning still - she does not know
The insomniac rose will begin to grow
The thorn of clandestine and ebony
Ostracized for he began to realize
What lies in nonsense is decadence
Which sparks interest
Who's lover is a dadaist
But his story is over now
As Seth lead the way
A poet dies in dismay
The thorn as she spun penetrated
A distraction and a lack of action
She knew the temptation for she so loved the sensation
Of crass, rebellious - ways
The thought laid it's seed
In her Gaulish mind it breeds
She has no other need and no regrets
So she proceeds and the smile lets
With full intention and desire
Caring none of her fate that will transpire
She presses her finger on the thorn
So now she bleeds knowingly
she did not recede
Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012
Still streaking down their lonely cheeks,
so many tears are shed.
With cries throughout the longest nights,
those nightmares are widespread.
I've maybe heard them once or twice,
but please bear this in mind -
there's so much shopping I must do
and outfits I must find.
The birthday parties I attend,
the weddings, funerals too -
and holidays are coming soon.
Oh, what am I to do?
Or maybe I am all wrapped up
inside my fav'rite teams -
the one that's in the playoffs now
fulfilling this fan's dreams.
For those who live outside my world,
how can I really care?
What can I do while I am here -
and they are over there?
To rescue someone? Tell me how.
They don't live next to me.
How can I hear their cries for help
when they, I cannot see?
Once unaware of torture, my
snug ignorance was bliss.
But why should I now waste any time
here telling you all this?
The raping, loss of self-respect
and murdering of girls,
can't push important things aside
like shopping now for pearls.
Do I hurt anybody? No!
It's Jesus I exalt.
So do not tug at my heart strings.
Their pain is not my fault!
And don't think I'm not thankful here
in warm and toasty bed -
between my clean, soft cotton sheets
as pillow hugs my head.
But muffled screams - I hear them now.
They, in my mem-ries, stay.
They linger through the cold, dark nights
and pester me all day.
Oh, who can hear those victims scream
through distant, starry nights?
And who can hear survivors cries
from cruel and futile fights?
Though innocent, survivors moved.
They had no other choice.
They lost their homes and furniture
and with it all, their voice.
I cannot see those makeshift tents
or taste what they call food.
I cannot stop those terrorists
or change my attitude.
I'm done with sports and shopping now
and buying myself stuff.
Their screams have fin'lly reach my ears.
I've failed them long enough.
I do not buy new outfits now.
And football's not my game.
I'm focused on the "least of these".
My life is not the same.
I once thought it important here.
I now no longer do.
I'll start by giving all I can
to come to their rescue.
It's serious, the plight they're in.
Please understand their worth.
As sin runs rampant over weak
around this evil earth.
Our Congressmen must focus too
while evil men connive.
Please vote to stop the terrorists
to save those still alive.
Still streaking down their lonely cheeks,
so many tears are shed.
With cries throughout the longest nights,
those nightmares are widespread.
©2016 lg ganderpoems.org
Copyright © louis gander | Year Posted 2016
Father's here and also there.
I've come to see Him everywhere.
The flowers that bloom, the birds that sing;
Natures' gifts His bounties bring.
An angry sky, a perfect storm;
His children quake as dark clouds form.
Fury reigns and day is night.
God sends His son to give us light.
Then threats are thrown in someone's face
And lives are lost without God's grace.
A father grieves and women weep.
A child cries out in its sleep.
Should God alone the earth repair,
The poisoned air and land laid bare?
God left the earth in mankind's keep.
What man has sown, so shall he reap.
July 5, 2015
Copyright © Janece Terry | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
The caustic tongues of the evangelists,
Across all creeds and faiths,
Seem as brittle as an old bone.
For they promise heaven and they spew forth threats of hell
While neglecting the words of that man who walked in Galilee
'let him who is without sin, cast the first stone'
the caustic tongues of the evangelists...
across all religions
new-age and the ones of old
baffle me even as I hear
a single simplistic sermon
for they really do, view us all
as blind imbeciles
scurrying around like faithless vermin
the caustic tongues of the evangelists...
wag on and dazzle us with visions of an eternal paradise
while here and now
their hypocrisy festers
within their earnest
'...dil mein hai khwaaish-e-hoor-o-jannat
aur zaahir mein shauk-e-ibaadat
bas hamen sheikh-ji aap jaise
allah-waalon se allah bachaaye...'
'...in your heart you desire the maidens of heaven
yet in the now you practice the rituals of piety
o' sheikh, may allah protect me
from the people of allah like yourself...'
is my tongue as caustic as the tongues I write about?
if so, then glad am I
for they shouldn't be the only ones
who preach and rant and continually shout
from their pulpits ever so high in the sky
from their hubris of comfort in possessing the 'truth'
from their 'knowing' that heaven or hell
awaits both the strong as well as the meek
while oblivious to the reeking foul smell
that encourages prejudice and hate
and visions not of peace
but of endless chants and prayers
which they, in their opium haze
rattle on and on
as they never seem to cease to speak
and though I’m sure that all this bile that I have spewed
take pity on me instead
for it'll surely be I
who'll burn eternally
impaled by a benevolent god
on a slightly warmer than normal day in hell
on a crude wooden spike.
Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses | Year Posted 2013
Wearing the only belt that sets you free His righteousness flowing like the sea Covering my bosom in judgment is faith and love In season and out good tidings cover beautiful feet swiftly flowing like a river is the Gospel of peace The faithful shield, quenches all fiery wicked darts A Spiritual sword raised sharper than any two-edged sword Forged from the pure, quick and powerful laying any heart bare A helmet of hope, wearing salvation upon my head Safe behind a strong tower with a wall of fire about me Lord Jesus your mercy and your name given burning like a flame Even with all the armor of light shining bright Gracious Lord you’re the one that is mighty in battle Your glory for a defense delivering us, from those that hate The enemy is shaking and rattled crushed beneath the weight So you go before me gloriously and have already won the fight 12/31/2015
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2015
The winds of war sweep through the land.
Our final days are soon at hand.
Evil gathers polluting the world.
The flags of good and evil are unfurled.
Prepare now your forces children of God
as he goes to smite evil with his staff and his rod.
Long have we waited for this land to be purged
from Satan’s evil and powerful hordes.
The valley of Megiddo will be deep in blood
as the armies clash like a never ending flood.
Just when evil starts to prevail,
when all seems lost and doomed to fail.
The clouds will burst open revealing the Lord ,
as a great earthquake will shake hands from their swords.
Jesus will come down with all of his might
And Satan will fall to his knees in fright.
As the evil army crumbles and falls,
the saints will claim victory in the name of the Lord.
Satan will be bound and cast in the pit
along with his demons whom we soon will forget.
Peace will reign for a thousand years
and the Lord will wipe dry all of our tears.
Copyright © Terry Burns | Year Posted 2013
You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart beats out of your chest
Ready to consume the final climax
I know who you are - when the lyrics fail to resemble
Letting your poison drip straight from your lips
Portraying, entertaining the image of sex's delusion
You know only rape - manifestation of hate
Lack of the fruit of the beauty of a human mind
Depths you'll never penetrate!
She was only a doll - type of a lost father's adore
Impaled into a desperate whore
Shamefully out of broken safety's choice
She bore embryogenesis of morose
May your rusty blades caress as they please
So confront the masses with the halt of embryogenesis
Let the worship of machines be
Leg them construct us cell to cell
Nature's just in the way
Of our race of perfectly engineered machines!
The burden of conception
Surrenders to the will of
The New God
Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
I look and saw how much war veterans like me suffer when we come back from war,We don't have anyone to comfort us,the power is on the side of those that beat us down,I look and saw how much war veterans like me suffer with tears in ours and sadness on ours faces,We don't have anyone to comfort us,the power is on the side of those that beat us down,I look and saw how much war veterans like me suffer,where we should be treated right,we are treated wrong,we have no one to comfort us,the power is on the side of those that beat us down,I look and saw how much war veterans like me suffer,where we should be treated fairly we are treated unfairly,the power is on the side of those that beat us down,We don't have anyone to comfort us,I look and saw how much war veterans like me suffer,where we should be treated kind,we are treated unkind,the power is on the side of those that beat us down,We don't have anyone to comfort us,I still can see the tears of war veterans like me suffing from coming back from war,We don't have anyone to comfort us,the power is on the side of those that beat us down,I look and saw war veterans like me suffer,where we should be treated good we are treated badly,I still can see the tears of war veterans like me suffing who are still on this earth while ours conrades have paid the price and die for this country,We still don't have anyone to comfort us, the power is on the side of those that beat us down,I look and saw the country on 9/11 when the enemy came and bomb the USA,We was there to comfort the country and the people that lost love ones,the power was on the side of the military of the USA,We beat them down,so I ask this question????? Who are going to comfort us now,we are no longer soldiers but war veterans all mess up we was not born this way but got this way for fighting for ours country////// SSG Jack Thomas Kirt
Copyright © JACK THOMAS KIRT | Year Posted 2013
Joan of Arc was the holiest one living in an era of kill-and-take,
she led the French army against the British who were slowly advancing;
was she forced to disguise herself as astutely as she could by wearing
soldier's clothes to prevent brutal attacks and possible rape?
Tied to a pillar like the Witches of Salem,
she screamed in fiery blazes invoking angels for comfort while she was dying;
they accused her of heresy, but her humble words were true and convincing...
" I proclaim truth as Jesus of Bethlehem! "
" Burn, warrior, burn for your lies until your bones turn into ashes! "
Were the cruel insults of the raging British soldiers blocking out mercy;
" I have seen saints, not demons: I ask for compassion, not sympathy! "
Joan of Arc shouted Christ's name overwhelmed by smoke and flames.
Who was to blame for her atrocious death? The British? The French? The Clergy?
Who didn't have a tarnished conscience, not believing she was a true saint?
" I forgive you for your madness; free me now, spare me the pain of agony! "
She begged the mocking soldiers who didn't feel a bit of pity but continued to chant.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2015
A life that the many once lived,
Where their freedom was deprived.
A war that those in power contrived,
Where only a few have survived.
How can those who remain,
Forget all the trauma and pain.
For those left, how can one explain
That serenity, no one can now obtain.
How can their lives ever start a new
And enjoy the peace that they are due,
When even in sleep the nightmares grew.
Gone are the happy days they once knew.
The war may have very well ended.
The casualties may have been unintended;
Yet there was no mercy that was extended
By those whose conscience had been bended.
The blood of those lives that were taken,
The lives of those remain that were shaken;
To a past of tragedy they have been forsaken,
Yet their hopes and faith had been awaken.
Copyright © Grushen Guazon | Year Posted 2013
HI HE'LL I
MADE IT THROUGH
DON'T YOUR WINDS EVER
SATAN WHEN WILL
YOUR MADNESS EVER
TAKE A DETOUR
JUST WHEN I FEEL LIKE
I CAN'T TAKE YO
EVIL TRICKS ANYMORE
JESUS REMINDS YOU
AFTER EVERY BATTLE
WHY YOU DON'T BELONG
IN HEAVEN ANYMORE
YA PUNK I MADE IT THROUGH
THE GNASHING OF TEETH
AND ETERNAL DEATH
JESUS PROMISES FOR
THE SOUL OF BULLIES
SO I MADE IT THROUGH ANOTHER
HA HA,I LAUGH AT WHAT ELSE
CAN GO WRONG?
Copyright © Akilah Babb | Year Posted 2016
Armageddon, the prophets wrote
about it and Christ spoke of it. These
events must take place.
As the darkness unleashes, the beast
will come to do what he pleases and
ruthless wars will arise. Nations will betray
one another like Judas. Evil will have domination
over all nations of the earth. The ground will rumble
and every building will crumble. Volcanoes will erupt,
earthquake and hurricanes will tear the world apart.
Armageddon will come and the world will end
Copyright © Haile Tesfaye | Year Posted 2014
When all your luck has brought you down,
Your dreams lay shattered on the ground,
Just think of all that God has done,
He gave his one and only begotten Son.
You might recall the perfect plan,
The sacrifice for fallen Man,
There's not a power beneath the sun
to snatch the saved from the Holy One.
Pain is on the run, rejoice!
Lift up your voice, and rejoice!
What better choice,
Pain is on the run, rejoice!
When there's no joy left to be found,
You float like a wraith in a forlorn land,
You might recall the war's been won,
because of all the Lord has done.
Take your torment to the cross,
And put your trust in Jesus' love,
Cloak yourself in righteousness,
Then sing praises and rejoice.
Fear is on the run, rejoice!
Lift up your voice, rejoice!
What better choice,
Failure's on the run, rejoice!
Copyright © Carl Halling | Year Posted 2015
Scraping the valley floor leaping skyward like a large locust prepared for war Thunder’s neck turns nostrils spewing glory Fiercer than dusky wolves that are hoary Flying like an eagle swift to devour while the dragon’s breath shows its fire power The thundering hand of death ripping flesh Breaking bone regarding not they do thresh This flying army with boots on the ground Is the first eyes you meet a hellish hound
Copyright © John Beam | Year Posted 2015