Long Bayonets Poems
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THE CRYING WILD CREATURES.
Nzongi Mwero.
Oh, we recall the bygone times,
The days of the golden past,
That chirping with our merry mates,
Flying around the parks,
Gone the joys of the nests,
That freedom restrained,
Coming at our will in parks,
But hindered and chained in the parks.
Oh, we feel painted at our hearts when we recall,
The scene in the parks unsmiling,
No glistering dew drops from the trees,
All big trees were cut down,
We can’t forget that lovely shape of the parks,
That endearing our faces.
Oh, life was real nice in the vernal shade,
Oh, we miss the sweet voices of our brothers in the parks,
Would that we had the strength to break the predators,
What a bad luck have we?
Can we pine for another park?
Brothers let us think of the weapons and tactics,
That we could escape from poachers and predators.
My friend Antelope- You can use your speed in retreating,
You Tortoise- Use your shield or bomb shelter,
My friend Chameleon- You can use the camouflage,
You Porcupine- Please use your swords or bayonets,
My friend Snake- Use your poisoned knife,
You Stunk- Please Use your tear gas or poison gas,
My friend Octopus- Use your smoke screen,
You Electric Eel- Please Use your electric shock,
Then my friend Gecko- You can Use your diversionary tactics,
And finally me Elephant I will Use my tusks.
Everyone has a duty to perform his defensive way,
To deal with poachers and predators,
But still human beings have more brains,
They know how to trap us,
We plead those with good hearted to protect us.
Parks are our shelters,
Rivers are our shelters,
Oceans and lakes are our shelters,
Trees are our shelters,
The land is our shelters.
Oh, we beg you do not harm us,
You live on land- You live on land,
You drink water from the rivers –We live and drink that water,
You get medicine from trees- We live and eat those trees,
You collect foreign money from the parks- We live in the parks,
You use oceans and lakes to travel –We live in those waters.
Oh, we are all world creatures,
Why are you killing us for meat?
Why are you destroying the parks?
Why are you contaminating the waters?
Why are you cutting down trees?
Why are you burning the land we live?
Why are you hunting us for more money?
And already you are getting foreign money due to us,
Please stop hunting us or destroying our shelters.
...He reformed the routing patriots,
formed a line atop a rise, Perrine’s Hill,
brought in General Knox and the artillery,
commanding the mass through sheer force of will.
He needed to buy time for the main force
to march on and join up in the battle,
the British kept coming, soon to attack,
convinced they still had the patriots rattled.
Before in battle the Redcoats just had
to flash their bayonets in the bright sun,
that was enough to scare Continentals
and assure them the battle was won.
But they were no longer facing such men,
the Americans had learned Europe’s game,
they did not flee at the sight of steel,
gave hard volleys once the foe was in range.
Britain’s field commander, General Cornwallis,
made several attacks to break up the line,
only to run into fire and rage,
with his Redcoats turned back every time.
They he tried to turn Washington’s left flank,
the boldest maneuver of the fight yet,
but the main force had come, and pushed forwards,
striking hard under young Lafayette.
Seeing there would be no quick victory
the British withdrew there forces back,
both armies in defensive positions,
the fight would become a long slugging match.
Soldiers hunkered down as across the fields
artillery thundered and cut loose,
both sides trying to break up the other,
their foe’s ranks they sought hard to reduce.
The heat was such that many of the men,
suffered and even died from heat stroke!
One man passed out and his wife manned his gun,
fighting on alongside all the blokes.
Then Washington sent Nathaniel Green
with artillery up towards Comb’s Hill,
a high position on the British left,
from which the guns could enfilade and kill.
The British saw their hopeless position,
and quickly began an ordered retreat,
marching north towards Clinton’s main force,
having blown their opportunity.
Washington saw his enemy leaving,
and sent Mad Anthony Wayne forward,
to harangue the British as they marched off,
cutting down men despite their good order.
And through the battle ended as a draw,
for the nation it was victory,
they’d kept the field in an open battle,
and matched the Redcoats in soldiery.
This changed the calculus of the whole war,
all knew battles would be more costly now,
England would no longer campaign in the north,
hoping for easier prey down south…
AND THE MOTHERS WEEP
by
JOHN M. ARRIBAS
A young lanky sod buster with no place to go
Thought things would be better in San Antonio
Joined some of his Texas patriots at the Alamo
To declare freedom from a tyrannical foe
He and his friends were all destined to die
All slain. Giving rise to a sacred battle cry
“Remember the Alamo”
The fathers swear, and the mothers weep
A bright young man with a future to share
Awoke one cold morning at Ypres, over there
Fixed bayonets, following orders to prepare
Innocent of the burdens they will bear
Existing the muddy trench, charging en masse
They all succumbed, victims of mustard gas
“It’s a long way to Tipperary”
The fathers curse, and the mothers weep
A recent collegian learned to aviate
Totally innocent of the awaiting fate
Sailed into the pacific on the USS Enterprise
Trap is set, catch the enemy by surprise
Torpedo squadron raced to the scene that day
No members of the squadron survived “Midway”
“Lets Remember Pearl Harbor”
The fathers wrathful, and the mothers weep
A day in June the world arose to a horrific hell
Invaders from the north crossed 38th parallel
The lightning attack caught the south asleep
The slaughter was constant, the invasion deep
Pusan, the stronghold that stopped the attack
The price paid for by 58,000 that never came back
“Not War, a Police Action”
The fathers enraged, and the mothers weep
Mothers weep (2)
Moist and dense jungles, once known as Indo-China
The tragic battlefield producing murderous drama
58,000 paid the price, more than half million deployed
Napalm burned villages, ancient temples destroyed
Saigon once called the Paris of the orient
The Hanoi Hilton’s prisoners now absent
“Hell no, I won’t go”
The fathers bitter, and the mothers weep
Erect a stele to all women in a public place
On it etch the painful notices they may face
It will be a warning for those yet unborn
The unending years, that they will mourn
The fathers filled with vengeful cries
Seek retribution with watery eyes
The mothers turn and toss unable to sleep
And the mothers weep, and the mothers weep
The enemy has young men they want to keep
And the mothers weep, and the mothers weep
In May of seventeen seventy-nine
Henry Clinton was having a hard time,
so tired of the rebels still fighting,
had to somehow get Gorge Washington
out of the looming Hudson Highlands,
and then force the war to a final ending.
He marched his army to the north
meaning to shut down King’s Ferry,
threaten West Point and draw them out,
determined to up the ante,
no nonsense was he to bandy,
his men took Stony Point.
With the King’s Ferry now block and closed,
across the Hudson supplies couldn’t go,
Washington found himself in a hard place,
with a foothold beneath the Hudson Peaks
the British now could his main camps seek,
he could not let himself be displaced.
From atop a nearby mountain
he saw the British were building
abbatis and gun emplacements,
with scarlet the point was filling,
he knew that there’d soon be killing,
he would retake Stony Point.
But then the British made a mistake,
trying to set bait Washington would take,
sent Tyron to raid towards New Haven,
but Washington was not a damned fool,
he saw what they were trying to do,
and in the Hudson Highlands he remained.
Drew up a new plan of attack,
then Mad Anthony Wayne he called,
a general of temper and great skill,
they would see the British fort fall,
the garrison their troops would maul,
they would take Stony Point.
See when the British had fortified,
they had forgotten the river had tides,
and that a beach would soon be exposed.
It was a long shot, but one they would take,
if they could get behind the lines would break,
so only the best troops were picked to go.
No bullets would be in their guns,
stealth and steel would be their choice,
the only way they could be sure,
detection they had to avoid,
there really was no other choice
to penetrate Stony Point.
Wayne then split his forces into three
to face Britain’s seven hundred fifty
and sent Murfree to face the center,
his job was to raise hell and distract,
while to the north Butler’s troops would track,
from the south Wayne’s main force would enter.
At midnight they would all attack,
Under cover of the deep night,
white papers were stuck in their hats,
so they could see who not to fight,
bayonets set to stab and bite,
they marched for Stony Point...
CONCLUDES IN PART II
(for those in Kwangju: May 18, 1980)*
after Dante
Taking this peach within the mouth, the tongue
hovers around its sunset skin like a lover
and its Sappho sweet bite is heaven. A song
of honeysuckled rivers is like your
kiss… The night is in July. At once
Platonic love is redemption or
when the world is beyond our Kwangju…Please
let the streets be freed from anticipation
of the bayonet and gun… Let litter seize
this street or any avenue… Plan
my kiss and we will be happy and free.
The night is the peach---the dead sun…
Recall the dress you wore as a weapon, me
wearing---I forgot… Your raven hair, soft
yet sharp by its embroidery
of strands being held by one silver pin. The left
hand of God and right hands of angels
must have done it… It was my dry throat
drinking from Styx River which made the chills
even more pronounced at the sight of you.
The dress’ print was you. It was petals
of prints within splotches of orange, gold, red, too…
and white--- bandages… Horrible bandages.
I’m wearing black/white. Suddenly we choose
to hug underneath those flickering pages
of streetlights… we an arrow’s color shot through bodies---Rage…
*Excerpted from Chalmers Johnson’s Blowback : The Costs and Consequences of the
American Empire: “General Chun did not wait long after talking with Gleysteen (US
Ambassador to South Korea) to complete the coup d’etat he had begun the previous
December…On May 18, 1980, a few hundred demonstrators in Kwangju took to the streets to
protest the imposition of martial law. They were met by the paratroopers of the 7th Brigade
of the Korean special forces, known as the “black berets,” who had a well known reputation
for brutality going back to their service on the American side in the Vietnam War…Gleysteen
wrote, “Rumors reaching Seoul of Kwangju rioting say special forces used fixed bayonets and
inflicted many casualties on students… Some in Kwangju are reported to have said that
troops are being more ruthless than North Koreans ever were.” [When asked of the decision]
Gleysteen replied, “I grant it was the controversial decision, but it was the correct one. Do I
regret? I don’t think so.” (112-113)
Here lies the gallon of horse’s blood
and soldier lies beneath this hope now dead,
trapped within mans sin
waiting for bayonets kiss.
In this moment of war, these seconds of time
the shadow of foe merges into one
and fate is held in mind.
The trigger or the knife?
To feel a man as blade enters his heart
can only come from hate.
The trigger is easier the civilised way
This conscience that looks on helpless foe
expected to kill, just one bloody more,
feels the cross of servants war
that Kaiser bids by heaven and crown
to give reapers charge his due.
For crown has right to heaven’s door
and empire would deny me this.
Yet my hand it does tremble
to see the eyes of England.
This soul of man with broken colours
for he is the wretch of me,
and though we speak in mother’s words,
I hear only the voice of a common man.
For language can merge this pain
and our blood will always pour both ways.
And in this moment, these seconds of war.
My German heart strokes sorrow on comrade beast,
a reminder of edelweiss days
of mountain silence and the purity of home
and a tear unites, what has been lost.
Hate and foe are gone this day,
replaced by Bucephalus blood
For here lies a noble beast.
Bucephalus blood has touched the hearts of men
this moment of war is betrayed
The soul of a soldier can walk away
and dignity is mine this day.
And as I return to comrades trench
This moment of life is all I have.
The clock of war demands the kill,
And this reservoir of blood is deep
for men are but sheep
bleating before the gun.
And bitter is the taste of Bucephalus blood
I will not shoot at you?
To waste this nature, this flower of time
Taken from the valley of life
To be spilled by blind invention
My grave will carry not your cross
For Man is not worthy of gallant charge
His mind is drowned in tomorrow’s corpse
and killing is all that is planned
For Peace lies hidden in common man,
banished to a mountain of hope
which war refuses to climb?
And the rope has taken the drop
For the many who have tried.
This war will ride on Bucephalus back,
his spirit will die alone
and Alexander will weep among the gods
as brothers fall in Flanders field,
killed by the widows rant
and anointed with Bucephalus blood.
...And though the rifles were slower to load,
the Overmountain Men made use of trees,
concealing themselves from counterfire
in places that the British couldn’t see.
With countless snipers popping out to shoot,
all the loyalists there atop the hill
knew that something had to be done quickly,
so many had already been killed.
Ferguson ordered a bayonet charge,
old steel glinting as his men pushed down,
the patriots scattered, running away,
it seemed the British would hold the ground…
But as soon as the men returned to the line,
the Americans moved back in again,
two more charges had the same damn result,
flashing bayonets could not break these men.
As they kept shooting, chipping away,
the loyalists knew that things were dire,
too many of their brethren lay dead,
cut down by the frontiersman’s fire.
These patriots were men who shot for food,
missing for them meant their families might starve,
the killed so many that white flags went up,
leaving Ferguson rather alarmed.
He rode through, hacking the flags with his sword,
calling on his men for courage and grit,
but just then the patriots spotted his horse,
charged up and shot Ferguson off of it.
An American then grabbed the Major,
and dragged him behind the patriot lines,
it was here that Ferguson did something
seen by all as remarkably malign.
When asked to surrender by a soldier,
he pulled his pistol and shot the man dead.
The patriots all fired on the man,
until his chest had become mostly lead.
The remaining loyalists struck their flag,
and they came forth to try to surrender,
but the patriots remembers Waxhaws,
there was real danger of massacre.
They remember that the British there had
cut down men who had thrown up their hands,
but William Campbell, and John Sevier,
would not allow such dishonor to stand.
They accepted the British surrender,
near three hundred loyalists had been killed,
to only twenty-eight patriot dead,
with great relief the southern states were filled.
Major Ferguson’s words proved prophetic,
though probably not in his desired way,
no force could move him from King’s Mountain,
he lies under its slopes to this day.
Funkin AT THE CHICKEN SHACK – Tony Adamo - 1990
Jimmy Smith was laying down an incredible riff on a wall of kinetic sound that was oozing out of my car radio. I was on my way back from a singing gig at an Indian Restaurant. Saturday night is jazz night in the City by the Bay. On my approach to the Bay Bridge, I could see the fog was cold and watery wet, as it lay low and crept along like solders on night patrol in Vietnam.
I steered my Chevy Nova like it was a priceless Lamborghini the musical transition of thought. No traffic on the B Bridge…2:00AM on the steel span and all was right with me. Jimmy smith with friends Kenny Burrell, Stanley Turrenting, and drummer, Donald “Duck” Bailey were my musical guides for the ride.
I dug deep as I had to slow down. The fog was horror movie thick. Now I had time to think to the 100th power. Sho’ ‘ nuff and came up with Don Patterson, Richard Groove Holmes,Charles Earland, George Fame, Wild Bill Davis, Shirley Scott, Big John Patton, Baby Face Willette, Larry Young, Brother Jack McDuff, Jimmy Magriff. That’s where it’s at baby. The royal bloodline of B-3 players who brought us into R&B, Pop, Rock & Roll and Soul Jazz. Into the swingin’ feature goes Joey “D”. No boundries, no limits.
Bridge:
Back at the Chicken Shack people dancin’ to a kookin’ groove.
Breakin’ out into a funk sweat
Boogie sounds brewin’ from the B-3
Your twisted sister never danced like that
Reuben Wilson and his killer sounds was a stackin’ the beat shakin’ the Chicken Shack down to its feet
(Solo)
(Bridge)
What a beautiful and dynamic management of mind, body and intellect goes into coaxing Soul Jazz out of a fat Hammond B-3 organ. Was it the foggy, misty, jazzy night? Or…was it that I actually got paid to sing Jazz? No! It was Jimmy Smith’s playin’ that was vibbin’ me along the steel rail. The joyous atmosphere that hung in dense textures of musical thought was punctuating my life like bayonets turning to thumb prints on the consciousness of my creative mind. It was in thick reference to the wet fog rippling across the bridge, like fingers on a Hammond B3, Jimmy and me……free to be.
From Tony Adamo's Miles of Blu Cd/ Hipspoken Word
Voices from the ashes
I
Note that I was murdered to have risen transformed
Note that my flesh and blood was readily made dust
Note that my bones and skeletons got incriminated
Note that my impetuous voice echoe from the ashes
Note how I was silenced... to have risen transformed
Note how I struggled: from the liberational coercion
Note how I triumphed over the sceptre and bayonets
Note how I gamed over the war sceneries impeccably
II
Note that I was flawless, efficient, resilient, competent
Note that my energies were sapped during the event
Note that my knee crawled from valley to valley deep
Note that my aim was for the betterment of the kins
Note how I was enslaved* before and fought swiftly
Note how I become a guerilla in motherland, savage
Note how I raptured apart the foes and the schemes
Note how I became violent and vigilant in my domain
III
Note that I was a victor before I got engraved deeply
Note that my wrath did grew with the evolution peak
Note that my beloved comrade back stabbed his own
Note that my bornes has risen the ashes mold vessels
And let my long gone blood reflow from the pool of
That Impetuous distant rivers, and rekindle the lost
Blazing flames of the Chimurenga wars... Magamba
Josiah Tongogara the barracks named after decades
IV
Denote when I rise from the ashes I votes mercilessly
Denote when my passions gather I will spit of venom
Denote when my strengths grew I will fight back fists
Denote when my courage reverberates I will burst out
Denote when I become potent, I will reign over again
Denote when I am with the mighty I will aside favours
Denote when I reign the Augustus house it will report
Denote when I speak order will reign, reconstructions
V
Denote how the muddled economy will reboot again
Denote how the incubators of corruption will vanish
Denote how the lost zealous and confidence bestow
Denote how the ills and evils will be driven to extinct
Denote how the brothers will cheer from the drums
Denote how the sisters will break a leg to Jerusalem
Denote how the fathers will fail conscience off brew
Denote how the mothers will pail the yeild in joyous.
.Inspired From Sapper French's Diary from April 23. 1916
"Come On Over Fritz"
Rain like a shower down my back off a thin wooden lath
It’s cold and miserable unlike the remembered welcome hot bath
Air so bad we cannot breathe, today don’t feel much like taking this path.
Gas bombs are falling a thick yellow cloud is rolling our way.
Pray God the wind catches and sends it astray.
Thank God no gas lungs for us today…
We used the same trick as miners with a canary bird to test for gas
But we caged a mouse instead to test the air if it died we would not pass
We got sick, but the mouse survived, oh telling us; what an ass.
Got a cut upon my leg, the doctor says it’s septic
What a relief a hospital bed, lots of company, analeptic
I though this war was right, now I’m becoming a sceptic.
Back in the field scores of bodies lying dead
Personalities cut down stuck in mud ahead
Blood bath, bodies everywhere we tread.
Walking in water up to our knees without ease
Found water cress, so good with bread and cheese.
A little comfort, although not much sitting in this bise.
It’s strange something simple like finding water cress
Can give us an unsophisticated pleasure in this gory mess
Eating and drinking, amidst body parts - no less.
But we had to do what we could with for every inch we could gain
How the mighty fall the Germans came to our trench of mud and rain
With grenades, daggers and bayonets – most stayed, face down; slain.
A huge German solider was patched up by our own lads
An older man with a scratch; reminded us all of our dads
It’s remarkable we fight and kill, yet untold efforts to mend these cads.
August the tenth a strange day a German stuck his head over the barbette
One of our boys called out “Come on over fritz” as if he did it for a bet
Fritz relied in perfect English “no blooming fear” happy just to have met.
After the respite of banter back and forth
New orders went out to be followed henceforth
Anyone talking to the enemy would be arrested thenceforth.
Entered into Mark Toney's
Poetry Marathon mile 7 contest