......The loss of Alexandria,
the burning of Ashburnham House,
the Grand Library of Baghdad
which the Mongolians tore down,
the countless Aztec codices
that the conquistadors all burned...
just thinking of the knowledge lost
sometimes can make my stomach churn.
Even Shakespeare claims a ‘lost play,’
this is not bound to antiquity,
Scott Joplin’s opera Guest of Honor
has been swallowed by history.
Even some tales by Hemmingway
disappeared in a lost suitcase,
happens still in our modern age,
a quite avoidable disgrace.
Only God knows just what we’ve lost,
and isn’t keen on sharing it,
what we still have is half the tale,
we’ve lost so much wisdom and wit.
It can fill a curious mind
with a sense of tired despair,
paper rots and the stone erodes
until it all just goes nowhere…
Perhaps, these days, the bits and bites
will keep all of our knowledge better,
after all, don’t the people say
the Internet is forever?
Isn’t it?
….on an unrelated note, I’m gonna go post this on every poetry forum I can find…
Categories:
mongolians, books, history, loss, lost,
Form: Rhyme
Venezuelans have taught me to laugh
Assyrian refugees how to cry
Russians have taught me diligence
Hindus to face hard times with a sigh
Koreans have taught me courtesy
Thais a sense of wonder
Mongolians have taught me love of country
Africans that they are NOT down under
Greeks have taught me exuberance
Turks a sense of humor
Saudis have taught me humility
Romanians, not to believe mere rumors
My job is to teach them all English, as best I can
The truth is that they have taught me, how to be a good man!
Categories:
mongolians, character, how i feel,
Form: Rhyme
Written on papyrus in the presence of different entities,
Thousands words written in Egyptian on a stone slab laid cryptic piece,
Dreaming realm of hallow wrath plague ridden disease,
Helms, spears, and tyrannical vengeance no apostle increase,
If the missions complete and the village is piled with burning deceased,
Then dear Nero let us move out and head on east,
For Gaul is in line, Germania is stuck with a barbarian decrease,
Mongolians are circling the river as the Goths retreat,
Growling lions, eagle insignia, war drum my heart beat,
Never falter, never fail, we die before we face defeat,
Bleeding feet on the pinnacle of this mountain surrounded with only sick to treat,
Macedonians upon ruination looking to Jerusalem to find the weak,
Holding back while we are cut off without a bite to eat,
A two prong pincer maneuver cutting off supplies while we sleep,
It will always be blood upon blood ravage savage feast, For when we die is the only time we will truly know peace.
(2017)
Categories:
mongolians, conflict, dark, history, poems,
Form: Rhyme