Long Infamy Poems
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Open Letter to you,
MY LOVELY HATE SPEECH
I hate my speech today, yesterday and the day dust rises.
I was there opening my eyes carelessly, smiling like an idiot
I was gazing shamelessly, walking like an idler without course
Little did I notice my vehicle lose direction; little did I notice my head bleeding
I was just there; the settled dust rising, tables turning, grenades and bullets are now apples
Little did I know the power in my lovely hate speech.
What pride did we get after slaughtering fellow Kenyans like goats,
What are the stuttering rifles rattling about, are humans turning game,
What are the grenades doing in civilian pockets, are they keys
Why are the churches burning, you cannot tell me tis the holy ghost fire,
What has that neighbour done, why is that policeman lying there,
Why is no body answering me, am I alone, or are you wondering too
Should I assess the power in my lovely hate speech, am concerned.
My love speech I hate you, my hate speech I love you
Both speeches are one, are the same, of same taste, I hate my passion for you
I love my fellow politician, i love his dirge during my friend’s burial
You bleeding mammoth my friend, I like your corrupt tummy
You scavenger of your own carcass, I like your greed for power
You megalomaniac virus of a beloved country, we love you, let us be
Little do we know death will let you release us, How uncertain are we of you.
My eyes are full of your ocean, the palace you exhume immorality
My ears are preoccupied with your desert, the desert devoid of trust, and the just
My nostrils have your pungent infamy, your callous greed, your everything
My mind can’t decipher the thought of your sanity, your policies and you
You make me lose taste, you make me look like you, you make me you
I am youthful to the economy, i am youthful to the wise, am not youthful to your “youth”
Little do i know death will let you release me, How uncertain am i of you.
Am talking about you, what have i said about me? What?
I hope I know the promise in my Kenyan Anthem
I hope I have a plan of getting rid of the chaff, the you
I hope am not you, i hope you don’t like seeing me wise
I hope your son is listening, the son that wants my very own daughter
I hope am the government, the government of me, for me and by me
I hope i know peace, the peace am preaching, the peace you hate. I hope.
Yours Kenyan,
Mzee Emmanuel Mwau.
Who could forget what happened on that unsuspecting and sunny day,
when no visible clouds drifted over the Twin Towers?
Little after midnight, the cool rain adds to the melancholy
of the descending angels; and I join them in prayer to remember the tragedy!
This should be a day of remembrance, not of hatred for the ignoble acts
the wicked committed, but would God accept unkindness instead of merciful deeds?
They called it another day of infamy,
and like Pearl Harbor we were taken by surprise;
that was an attack aimed at the military,
but on September 11 the terrorists attacked the civilians!
It seemed like lightning striking down sturdy trees,
and then fire broke out with smoke trails of a thousands feet;
" O my God! ", every employee screamed...quickly running down
the stairs engulfed by fire...causing an indescribable chaos everywhere!
" Take my hand, I will lead you to safety! " the firefighter said to the coughing woman.
" Hold onto my arm! " the policeman yelled out to the frail man,
who had dropped his eyeglasses and couldn't see!
Every firefighter and policeman acted like them, rescuing many without fearing death;
and hundreds of them, that awful morning, never returned home alive...
what a tragedy for their families that watched in horror and couldn't help!
Who wouldn't remember the courage of their noble and willing hearts?
And furthermore, who wouldn't engrave their valorous names on plaques and monuments?
Up above, by the gates of Paradise...Christ and His Father awaited them to accept their souls;
while archangels surrounding God's throne, sung hymns that humans couldn't sing...
those hymns that all the earthly heroes will sing with them when Heaven mourns again!
Their portraits, pictures and memorabilia hang above the fireplaces,
and on the decorated walls of the victims' homes, precincts and firehouses;
how could anybody take them down as they were worthless items?
Prize them more than gold or diamonds, o friends grieving that tremendous loss even today;
don't hate those who caused you sorrow and unbearable pain, be forgiving and show mercy...
as God does toward us; o friends remember your heroes for their valor and sacrifice!
My poem is dedicated to the victims and survivors of the September 11 attacks on America.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
A hundred years have come and gone
to what wonder and tragedies
have you belonged?
My father:
Born in the aftermath of a world at war
danced to the flappings of the twenties roar,
a time when poverty and wealth wore torn in two
when the future feared depression's loom;
just a young man filled with wide-eyed dreams in bloom
where would steps move
in the prophetic ravings?
the Dust Bowl blackened clouds with farmers braving
drowning anthems of a Star-Spangled banner still waving
and the solo flight of history
forever remains a mystery;
political isms rise in freedoms slow demise
while Hollywood reviews the movies
in truth and lies;
the end of an era welcomed in the shanty towns
as Europe recovers with a parade of suicidal clowns;
off to war drafting historic days of infamy
when bloody battles raged
as alliances filled the stage
and at last, a momentary peace was cast;
with love and hope returned again,
life was never quite the same;
distrust, cold war gloom
threatened the next generations bloom
a hated war embraced love freely,
killed in a plaza at Dealy
perhaps too easily, we gave it all away
as nuclear power paved the new day;
the power mongers rose,
wealthy and the greedy exposed
life continued for the bold,
growing rebellious children in the fold
with yet a newer fear to mold,
wars and change in the aftermath
for everyone who has lost their path;
equality returned to the open stage,
the promise of an enlightened age
but time is never stationary
and no one man is a visionary
with walls torn down and freedom's cries
history burns with false truths and lies;
drugs and saturated imaged shadows quickly return
to clouded hazy minds burned
in foggy dreams to be unlearned
and fallen heroes disappear and die
close the century with disappointment
and no magic panacea provided ointment
now at the turn of time
in the final last hurrah
a battle rages yet no one with power speaks
of the lesson taught,
history must once again,
repeat.
Seen it all
my dear father
the foolishness, the truth, and lie,
in which mankind lives and dies
the messages by which the common man exists
is only the futures that we all resist.
A musing recollection on my father's 100 birthday. 8/19/19
The armies they are massing:
They line and ring every shore, every strand bristling with
The deadliest of weapons;
The tocsin should be sounded,
And every cannon is round at its bore.
Fires rage unchecked and unopposed throughout the
Entire world, and mankind, in part, prepares hastily and needlessly
Yet more and crueler,
Harsher atrocities, cruelties
And machines and weapons of horrific war.
Bloody folly and empty vainglory to
Embark imprimis upon the roads to all-out war,
I greatly fear that these are man's fate,
And though I attempt to raise the alarm
With this writing of mine, yet I fear I may be too late!
"Too late! Too late! This, then, is mankind's fate!" It cruelly mocks,
Crows and caws as the ebon raven,
Croaking its dread prophecies in my ever-attentive ear.
It chills even my waiting
Tankard of frothy, frosty beer;
Yet no beer-drinker am I,
No quaffer and lover of ales and lagers.
And still I hold a lonely vigil,
And keep a silent, motionless, breathless watch on the swiftly storm-filling sky.
5. Making steel-enclosed aeronautical, aerodynamical vessels sealed
And brimming only with overmuch indiscriminating death:
Dual-edged, oiled with and soaking in an abundant poison bringing
Vicious death to the poisoner as well as the poisoned,
Man is a violent, self-destructive fool: Lame, impotent,
Obsessed and somehow impatient of vilest death.
Death for his opponent, his manufactured,
Fancied nemesis:
Nay; his NEMESES:
Yet not for himself, this horrid death he dreams of bringing to an imagined enemy only.
Additionally, he hath built and placed all his faith in titanic weaponry of
Awesome destructiveness,
Possessed of the devastating potency of an angry, rampaging god.
And these vile implements of utterest extirpation;
Encased within a very nation of steel tubular;
They are as wayward, incorrigible,
Marauding, plundering, malicious gargantuan
Monsters:
Great, cyclopean giants of a horribly puissant
Destroying fury
Bringing only disaster upon all heads;
Anarachic, ultra-liberal in there dark and evil slaughterousness:
Slaying even their maker, having no loyalty, cold and cruel:
Delighting only in death, wanton destruction, infamy and cruelty.
No man nor nation should possess these terrible weapons,
Yet too many do.
Form:
Come, let us walk this broken street, you and I;
Explore the infamy we share before we die.
After all, will death not seize man's birthright
When this day gives way to night?
Signposts all along the way, today,
Creaking in the autumn wind as they sway
And swing their monolithic rhapsody -
No time to gently die with dignity;
Our tongues so rough and dry
Must see the wasted remnants
Of the world, before we die.
You ask me why?
Observations made though flawed as art,
Is all we have as we depart.
Our eyes observe for those whose
Eyes have long been pearls
Within the locusts' den
Where fog and dust now swirls.
I hear no sound of water's drip -
All is rock and pebbled sod.
No sound of wind-whipped sail
On seabound ship,
Nor voices raised in praise of God.
All be still at His last will!
Come, let us turn this corner to the past,
For there is where we find
All unexpected treasure mined
Will never last;
Our blood can boil
In passion's heat,
But cools and turns to dust
- complete -
After all, will death not seize man's birthright
When this day gives way to night?
Where are the jewels once sparkling in the sun
And woven through her black and braided hair?
The pyramids stand idle, each and every one,
Above the bones that wither there.
Was not their time as equal then
As ours is equal now?
And who should steal the sacredness
Within the sacred cow?
Those who follow desert prophets proud,
Or those without perception
Shouting loudest from the crowd?
Hear the purloined jester chuckle from the grave.
His light and airy voice spoke truth
About the grayness of the cave -
Plato's shadows tell the tale,
How reasoned men will surely fail.
After all, will death not seize man's birthright
When this day gives way to night?
Come, and you will see the mystery
That none have seen before -
The glory of society
Before the tyranny of war.
Nothing stays unique
Beneath this vast expanse of sky -
Lest brightness buries bleak
Which is unique,
As you and I pass by.
Come, if you will,
Notice all these brittle leaves
Upon the broken street,
So still,
As autumn breezes cease - complete.
After all, did death not seize man's birthright
As this day gave way to night?
Back in the day
of exclusively straight white male
****-retentive missionaries,
the Church
Whether monoculturally Catholic
(which may become an oxymoron
one enlightened day)
or Protestant,
But certainly not polytheistically ecstatic,
like a perfect Thanksgiving meal
shared with EarthMother's sacred
deeply co-passionate
mutually resonant
and co-invested
convivial people
Proclaimed religious education
in response to local questions,
and questionable behaviors
and thoughts
and feelings,
moral and legal dilemmas
about how to interpret diverse feelings
of erotic love
and exotic hate
Yet not so helpful
with all the dully boring
nuances of every tedious,
often traumatic, days
and nights
in-between ecstasy
and infamy.
This was rigidly civil education
about how to nonverbally commune
and verbally communicate
in positive touching ways
that feel mutually right
to ego happy minds
and eco-healthy bodies
financially and environmentally
and politically wealthy,
resonantly resilient
but less than fluidly brilliant
education from above,
transcendently monotheistic.
Today we have replaced civil
StraightWhiteMale privileged missionaries
with cosmopolitan
pantheistic and atheistic teachers
In neighborhood schools,
elite schools,
grade
and middle
and high
and tertiary
and graduate
and post-graduate
secularized schools
For learning
non-violently communicating
thoughtful inclusive reason
and deeply felt polytheistic
possibly artistic treasons
free of monotheistic dogma,
monopolistic colonization,
monocultural predation
At least on our best outdoor classroom
physical health
and metaphysical trust
and mental happiness days
And full through empty
GrandMother Moon blissful
indigenously erotic
nakedly wise
vulnerable
transparent
co-passionate
co-empathic
BodyNature/MindSpirited nights
Of bicammerally balancing,
multiculturally bachanal,
ecowomanist,
Whole Open Systemic,
win/win bipartisan,
bilateral
binomial
Double-cobinary
dialectical secular/sacred
enlightening/empowering
Left/Right
thoughtfully felt
informed outflowing re-education
Perhaps especially useful
for exclusively straight white male
****-retentive missionaries
for monotheistic monopolies
of unenlightened power-mongering.
1.
WHAT?
Are we going to enter the ill-fated whirlpool of
Unintelligible madness, and let calamitous folly,
Anchor its obscure ships of destruction in our
Harmonious hearts?
Or
Are we going to follow the discerning star of
Glowing reason and allow lustrous wisdom
Institute its simmering dominion in our
Tormented minds?
2.
Are we going to constantly give fortified shelter to
Detrimental fears and permit fatal pessimism
Establish its depressing presence,
In our serene lives?
Or
Are we going to evict, detrimental dread, from our
Excruciating consciousness and relinquish vivifying
Optimism to enact its invigorating message,
All over our agonizing planet?
3.
Are we going to stand, apathetically still in front of
Virtue’s constant devastation and grant mean vice,
Permission to grow its abominable fruit of injustice
In our loving society?
Or
Are we going to become vigorously implicated in
Rectitude’s resurrection by putting up a gallant fight for
The condemnation of dreary crime,
In our fearful world?
4.
Are we going to let fading belief steadily degenerate our
Blazing ethics and permit sinister infamy, build its
Damnable empire of anarchy, in our
Mystic souls?
Or
Are we going to work, with ever-expanding zeal to
Revive glittering morality by sanctioning compassion and
Regenerating empathy and bringing harmony in
Our damned society?
5.
Are we going to sacrifice illustrious truth on the
Wicked altar of self-interest and endure venomous lie
Undisturbed to flourish in the midst of our
Community?
Or
Are we going to courageously strive against the
Catastrophic falsehood by allowing rapturous
Veracity thrive and blossom within
Ourselves?
6.
Are we going to remain helpless prey of
Mischievous hatred and grand carnivorous war the
Permit to destroy and devour life on
Eternal earth?
Or
Are we going to transform ourselves to
Charitable giants and give birth to everlasting peace and
To ever-enduring love for every fellow
Living being?
7.
If your choice is not the former but the latter, my
Loving friend,
Then
Do not just whisper but ROAR!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
16 December 2020
PASSIONS
On the deck of his life’s boat
In a state of confusion
Was he sitting
Gazing at the horizon of
The unknown
Dark clouds of doubt were hovering
In his puzzling mind
His thoughts in disarray were venturing into a labyrinth
Of faint speculations
The dilemma was his, knowing not where to go
The roads of virtue and that of vice before him
They stood:
Equally appealing
Equally accessible
Equally demanding!
He tried to pierce the veil of life’s mystery
With his wondrous, enquiring eyes but
Every effort is a sound failure:
The riddle persists
The obscurity endures
The enigma remains.
Impatience enters now his troubled psyche and
Horrid panic becomes his constant companion.
Suddenly, his choleric aimless, and violent passions
Snatched the rudder of his life’s boat in their needy:
For control
Hungry for rule and
Thirsty for power
Arrogant, reckless hands and
In their eagerness to rule over his
Disorientated mind, enslaved
Reason: The illuminated helmsman
Hand-cuffed love: The tender-hearted captain and
Tortured understanding: The knowledgeable pilot and
Threw overboard benign compassion and
Holly mercy.
Shortly after, the humane crew of lofty virtues,
Subjugated to the newly established tyranny was:
Ruthlessly deprived of its power
Violently derailed from its course and
Brutally twisted in its meaning,
To fit passions’ newly adapted schemes,
Of infamy
Of turmoil
Of inconsideration and
Of shameful vice.
Then, as the sails of vanity and blind temptations
Opened wide and
The craven wind of uncontrollable urges rushed to
Swell them with corrupt impetuous desires,
His shaky boat unguided drifted to the open rough sea
Of self-destructive indulgence,
Through the hurricane of obscure ignorance,
Towards the perilous sterile rocks of despicable lust
Where it crashed and sank into the abyss of filthy appetites,
In the graveyard of lawless souls at which
Murky desperation eternally reigns!
Ah, if only he had chosen the path of virtue!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
18 January 2013
Back in seventeen eighty-one
The revolution hit hard times,
Britain had taken Charlestown
And at Camden had crushed the lines
Of General Horatio Gates,
Leaving nobody to resist,
Except the Swamp Fox Marion
Who alone was able to persist.
South Carolina had fallen,
And Cornwallis was marching north,
The patriots had to stop him,
But could not yet match up with his force.
So they called up Daniel Morgan,
A brawler who had earned his fame
With his actions at Saratoga,
As a soldier he knew the game.
He was sent to march out westwards,
To harass and gain new supplies,
Cornwallis worried about this,
Let Banastre Tarleton fly.
Tarleton was a cavalry fame,
His infamy now widely known,
He’d butchered his foes at Waxhams,
When upwards their hands had been thrown.
The patriots called him Butcher,,
‘Bloody Bann’ was his sobriquet,
Yet many feared the young colonel,
From his legion they would run away.
But General Morgan knew all this,
He was pragmatic in his approach,
Knew what his men could and couldn’t do,
Where they thrived, where they were laid low.
Knowing Tarleton was close by,
He found a spot called ‘Hannah’s Cowpens,’
Nearby the flooded Broad River,
Here all tradition he’d upend.
Knowing militia ended to flee,
And not face a hand-to-hand fight,
He put their backs to the river,
They couldn’t run to escape their plight.
Now they would fight, or they would die,
But he felt this wasn’t enough,
So he split his force into three lines,
Plotting an elaborate bluff.
If the first he put sharp-shooters,
Told them to shoot ‘Epaulet Men,’
Then set up local militias
To form a line just behind them.
And the back were Continentals,
Tried soldiers of many a year,
These he knew didn’t break and run,
They were the few the British feared.
To top it off he arranged them
All on the slopes of a small hill,
Then waited there for Tarleton
Who expected an easy kill.
Tarleton had seen it all before,
At Charlestown and Camden field,
These rebels could talk a good game,
But in a fight they’d run of they’d yield.
So when he spotted Morgan’s force
He did not bother to survey,
Bold and young, he rushed in headlong
Expecting the militia to break...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
The Caricature
You like to label it as a nefarious empire
brought to power by an unpropitious circumstance
paint a picture of evil and malfeasance
blood soaked canvas is the final image
mass murderers, the greatest genocide
no good they have done, just vile and hate
inspired by the dynamism of the leader
black and white, no shades of gray
just a rancorous order
the caricature, of evil
the caricature, of misery
black or white, no shades of gray
don't ask, just swallow what they say
the caricature, cartoon villain
black and white, no shades of gray
from what I have seen, not as heinous as they say
from elimination of unemployment
to the strength through joy program
workers rights protected by a benevolent union
clean streets and nonexistent crime
pride in Fatherland at an all time high
health and prosperity never before seen
a million strong salute at the Nuremberg rallies
black and white, no shades of gray
tyrannical order
the caricature, of evil
the caricature, of the maleficent
black and white, no shades of gray
don't ask, just swallow what they say
the caricature, what Hollywood portrays
black and white, no shades of gray
You talk of atrocities and monstrous acts
but for once lets exam the facts
ever question if the victor lacked on an ethical standpoint?
ever committed presumptuous acts that are odious?
Examining rudiment facts, they had death camps
where the Soviets murdered 28 million in Gulags
innocents witnessed terror raids night after night
where The Royal Air Force murdered 300,000 in Dresden
so I ask who is really the hero and who is the Villain?
Black and white, no shades of gray
the caricature, portrait of infamy
the caricature, video game mad men,
black and white, no shades of gray
don't ask, swallow what they say
the caricature, almighty evil
black and white, no shades of gray
they say don't question the official history
yet I want to know why they ensconce the truth
why do they fear us finding out what really happened?
It seems we have a dichotomy between fact and fiction
suppression of truth
history written by the victors
villainize the losers
gain their sympathy
money for your industry
spread the big lie