Nations split the atom
Unleashing impending doom
China stockpiles munitions
London rings europe's bell
Europe prepares for the inevitable carnage
America plants silos in the midwest
Russian bells are tolling
Kremlin halls are glowing
Nuclear war "can" be won
Under the "right" conditions
Contrary to what "peace geeks" think
Knights of "freedom" must rise
Let loose the lightning!
Echo the shattering thunder!
Holocausts and hellhounds!
Embers will "reign"
Ash will choke the skies
Dust, is but our "destiny"
Send them all straight to "hell"
The dins of war un-hushed
the jarring of munitions
the cacophony of starvation
the grating contempt for humanity
the discordant silence of the Free
. . . The World
there is an end
repetitive engaged
newer orders
where we come from
is where nothing returns
the service of birth
to not come home
on foreign soil
only to war
only for war was i thought of
this one will not win
this strategy of me
a world
they enjoy and toy with me you will
toil till death does its part with you
you tend to my munitions
i confer and advance
you engaged me
and again i gain ground
no fence?
know fence
no place
mine
handless land, crawling
time honored minute, non traditional
warfares itself upon the service
none shall attend
being built in a bottle
speak
In rare gustation dine we here tonight!
For you, my feast; for me, your pleasant sight!
And for them both, I raise my glass to cheer:
Let all that’s sober end before the year!
Let music, wine and wantonness prevail!
Let revelry erase the dry and stale!
And light your mortal youth that burns so strong,
For I, the God of Wine, who’s lived too long.
And when my followers stand - or rather, sprawl -
Across the landscape, shall the dreary fall!
And when my wine the final frown shall lift,
Then sprawled amidst the rest, I’ll share the gift!
Let wine make us wise, and feasting for all!
Till morning shall rise, or each of us fall!
Evil sobriety! It shall not last the night!
For I have found munitions, ample for the fight!
The vine divine, from whence the grapes of wine!
I tend its thirsts, and it doth water mine!
The beasties of the Earth and air,
I do invite to be my fare!
Every night a well-dressed puppet keeps score
of the deaths and casualties of the freshest war.
Some nights the tally is low like a soccer match
tonight, it's triple digits for the blue-collar man.
On the scorecard are soldiers, civilians and children
never makers of munitions, or wealthy politicians.
What of the wild beasts and dear family pets
lying twisted and bloodied in virgin bomb pits.
Forgotten in the backwaters of useless battles
a last meal of shrapnel and ear-piercing rattle
Their names never honored on the marquee
but they should be-they all should be.
‘9/11’ did not change me
for I’m a veteran Israeli
From the horrors of Munich ‘72
to the ceaseless terror of the intifadas
From the nightly Hezbollah missiles
to munitions that shriek and whistle
From the river to the sea
~ 9/11’s everyday reality
What is Britian doing.? Building munitions sites for
Shooting..Arms factorys in the ukraine (now today!)
I urge just think? again! Why not talk of peace? In
Which the world could grow.' And in better potential
Increase.!
Listen intently..' peace.)
Munitions roar' the worlds mouth!
Utter death! and denial.'
Much life is lost, too bad.!
How do we count? In evil score?
Let us wipe the slates clean.!
Dared to smile' to think?
Open a vista, the chink of plates
This cup overflow' cease.'
Awaken all peoples
To explore of each chance? piece'
Let it fall, in laps today !
Denying gloom, deny hate'
Give hope a breathing space
Listen intently.' Peace!
Kalamazoo kids went off to war
leaving giddy gals to go forward in fractured
factories ~from music to munitions
gay guitars would wait until battered boys
came hurriedly home...
or would they wait?
The thought was there but Gibson's gals
did not care for world war and behind
the building's walls would give guitars
attuned attention; first making munitions
then manufacturing those magical music guitars.
The Gibson Factory in Kalamazoo, Michigan is known for its iconic guitars... During World War II, many of Gibson’s competitors had switched to munition-making in an effort to support the war at home. Gibson followed suit—on the surface, at least. While it did hire more women than any other guitar-turned-munitions manufacturer, these women weren’t just making bullets—they were also making guitars. Specifically, the Kalamazoo Gals made Gibson’s Banner line of guitars, which were later used by musicians like Buddy Holly and Woody Guthrie. ~Atlas Obscura
Hey, Happy Clappies,
For all us chicks and chappies,
Thank God for each day,
Pray munitions right away!
Smiles are free for peace, okay!
First to the moon
first to Mars
We use AI
to drive our cars
Carbon-free emissions
stockpile of munitions
Our nation's a superpower
the world, ours to devour
Before we strike
here's what we're like ~
Execrable, ruthless
wicked, truthless
When I keep hearing this song so called "
South Africa supplied Russia munitions,"
I just laugh loudly ," Huh?Hahaaah! Hahaaah!
Hahaaah! Hahaaah! Hahaaah!
Hahaaah! Hahaaah! Hahaaah!
Hahaaah! Hahaaah! Hahaaah!
Hahaaah! Hahaaah! Hahaaah!"
Political language is hard to understand
Than mathematics and physics
Reason why some universities
Professors
Turned puppets
Of some politicians.
Don't ever underestimate
Some politicians in politic games
Because they can drible you and
You turn to be
their body guards
With your universities qualifications.
There is no African country
Which has capacity
To supply munitions
to Russia even Ukrain.
If it was about
some foods,
drinks,
cocoas and
other fruits
I could accept because many
African countries always
supplied those stuffs
To so many European countries.
I know that Usa , France, Germany, China, England and Russia are the biggest supply
of munitions In Africa.
By Alfonso Warally Ngengethe
Mussabwa Chris
They are dying
in the gutters of China,
welded into apartment cages –
children dismembered from the
arms of pleading mothers,
protesters pushed back by tanks~
oh well, a few get squashed...
too many people anyway,
environmentalists are silent
in agreement –
a complicit US media, those
flamboyant parrots with jeweled
wings, spouting government's lingo,
having gladly exchanged crumbly crackers
for meaty bones, expendable and not their
concern – not a meaningful word
from the Biden administration, Joe,
himself, a parrot of sorts – a facsimile
of what once appeared human, the devil
in his election. US Corporations
wanting China contracts, China's
digital to replace the buck, when
the American People wake up one
morning, the banks saying, you are
totally out of luck – Fortunes being made
from munitions, war mongers telling
fools they are necessary nutritions,
Hollywood yet worshiping the God
of their mirrors, bronzed and perfectly
symmetrical, to one another passing out
golden calf awards...the Devil alive
and well.
The birdscarers have been at work in Mariupol.
Not with firecrackers in barrels
But shells and rockets.
There is no birdsong in the trees in Mariupol.
The birds have left.
There are no trees.
The trees are splinters.
The flowers that bloom are Pion shells,
Blossoming red among apartment blocks.
Spring recoils at Mariupol.
An ashen winter has corroded buildings,
Left bleached and blackened skeletons;
A winter made in munitions factories
And spread broadcast like cancered seed.
There is no perfume of spring blossom in the air;
The smell of burning drifts across the rubble and
Sweet, sickly odours hang heavy.
There is no birdsong in the trees in Mariupol.
The birds have left,
All but the carrion crows.
Mayday tomorrow,
but the pole has been toppled,
the good earth churned by munitions,
and then seeded with Claymore mines.
There will be no dancing on rubble ruins,
as we bury desecrated corpses,
this year’s harvest will be lean.
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