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Daniel Caplin Poem
DISCLAIMER : THIS IS AN ACCOUNT OF THE MASSACRE
IN ORADOUR-SUR-GLANE IN FRANCE WHICH TOOK PLACE
ON JUNE 1OTH 1944
TO MY READERS , " SOME LINES IN THIS POEM ARE GRAPHIC , AND
SOME MAY FIND THEM OFFENSIVE . MY INTENT IS NOT TO OFFEND
ANYONE , MY INTENT IS TO SHED LIGHT ON THE GRAPHIC
REALTIES OF WAR AND EVENTS WHICH HAPPEND ON THIS DAY.
"Our voices will never be heard if we choose to remain silent "
Whispers of Hell
As I walked, no thought of what may lie ahead,
I strolled into someone else's frozen hell, now mine.
I swear, if I could have plucked my eyes to make blind,
And this day ripped my flippant tongue so not to tell,
Images that haunt and scar still this fragile mind .
The living remains of death, this mueseumed shell,
I would with all my heart, have wrenched this tragic find.
Encircled by Panzers, 200 raging beats rage, stealing peace,
Men shot where they stood , women the ultimate invasion.
Eyes like cameras snap each vivid detail, hate in eyes seared,
The Martyred village with tongues ablaze, and houses raised.
Man's courage smouldering , a child muted in terror hidden, peers
Afraid , a child once soft with purity of heart, another child erased .
Bodies piled by the roadside lost memories mangled in a heap .
And lifeless lives unsung, old and young, the sleeping dead,
Brains and beauty mass-acred , they'd huddled close in prayer.
Direct orders from Adolf Diekmanm , lay squarely on his head,
No sanctity of life as they nail a baby to the cross, in dare,
Religion raped in mockery, a crown of thorns upon her head,
The screams of crippled mothers laying, crying in despair.
The doors locked the torches lit, winged angels soaring, fled.
Thanatos through nostrils flamed, spits venom upon our world,
The vestry window open, a woman desperate, wriggles, squirms,
Outside Gods basilica in flames, lay the wounded and grateful dead.
As killers disguised as men herd all life, all life that isn't burning,
Those they had shot and wounded , no way to run and hide,
Eyes and hearts petrified, the marching helmets with devil's horns,
As mens eyes weep with guilt and shame, what has Man become ?
The ruins of Man's soul lays quietly within it's now guarded walls,
Where 642 women children and men, witnessed the irony in man-kind
And now where I softly tread where you once smiled and loved , I fall
To my knees and like the impending dead cried what has Man done ?
They were the fire beneath the earth , the keepers delivering Hell .
And from death and destruction, we have learned nothing from our God ?
I roam with heartfelt dread among the ruins and souls of the placid dead.
Their homes and hearts ripped out and eighty years on, the ruins lay untouched,
Gifts made by the loving hands of a father, destroyed by another man's hate,
Homes made by the love of two people, murdered, by the hand of Man's greed,.
Loving children slaughtered, "in lawful play", by enemy fathers, disguised as men.
My emotions are unequal to their suffering, Man's pain should not be in vain.
Our world has learned nothing from our past , a truth known all too well.
As today idly our world stands by . "Enjoying Saturday nights out with friends " ,
My only hope, come Judgement Day, is they will see, and feel the hand of God .
The boot stamp of war , embedded in memory, flickering images in my head:
Singer sewing machines in ruins lay strewn about the shells of homes destroyed
Ready to repair, to mend, to create, a message transcended from the martyred dead.
A message of hope, of defiance, of love, our voices heard over the whispers of Hell.
" Our words will never be read unless we choose to write them ".
A new village has replaced the old village close by and this museum has
Been preserved as a reminder of the evils of Man , mankind to horrors of
Which we are capable of , it is a part of every French schools curriculum
And every child must visit this museum with their school , so they learn
and never forget what happened Here on June 10th 1944 , four days after
the D-Day landings . All 642 people are buried here and only 7 people escaped .
There are monuments and graves across the site laying tribute to all those that died .
Copyright © Daniel Caplin | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Caplin Poem
I Am Time
Tick, there is no escaping my escapement,
Tock, as above the grasshopper resides,
Tick, blink and you will miss me, as I dine,
Tock, I am the reaper of all your time.
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick, Watch and listen to my silent flicks,
Tock, my tongue devouring every second,
Tick, your every waking moment beckons,
Tock, one day your movements will be mine.
Tick,
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick, the corpus coffin lids are opening,
Tock, in the slits between my eyes,
Tick, the walking corpses keep arriving,
Tock, my pendulum gracefully killing time.
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick, what's linked and fused I will remove,
Tock, I will thieve your most guarded dreams,
Tick, snatch each breath each longed for kiss,
Tock, for my existence has nothing to redeem.
Tick,
Tock,
Tick
Tock,
Tick, your every wasted second counts,
Tock, to claim God's love, I alone am primed,
Tick, and like a venomous serpent pounce
Tock, quietly listening to the toll bells chime.
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick, don't take life or this world for granted,
Tock, as I may come knocking one last time,
Tick, savour me without a second thought,
Tock, for everything you have depends on me .
Tick
Tock
Tick, for when all life is gone, I will still remain.
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick, unlike you, I have nothing to loose or gain.
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick
Copyright © Daniel Caplin | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Caplin Poem
Under Florentine sunsets, once home to maestros and Pope's,
Ruled Medicis shallow ego, carved in marble from impassioned breasts,
A Renaissance of heart creating visions of Man's Hope's,
Donatelli, DaVinci, Michaelangelo some of life's royal guests.
Each masterpiece a harlequin of dreams, unveiled before our eyes,
That dance skyward in gardens of angels, God's basilicas in bloom,
Creations unparalleled under Firenze's scaffolded skies,
Depicting the heavens above, below the depths of Man's ruins.
Sculptured from God's own hands each master breathes fire,
Immortality emblazoned reaching untouched minds and hearts,
Their spirits soaring the gothic dome Brunelleschi inspired,
Giotto's bell tower pealing, in crypts eternal maestros departed,
The seven hills of Rome embellished where the Vatican resides,
Visionary gifts to man, bestowed a world of beauty endowed ,
Where the Sistine chapel rises in the cloudless dome vaulted skies,
Each work flawless in presence of breathless centuries renowned,
A world without maestros is like a world without pain,
The more that you feel it, the more from life you gain,
Embrace the richness of Time, see their souls in their art,
Feel the warmth of their love embodied in their hearts.
Copyright © Daniel Caplin | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Caplin Poem
Thought For Always
If you never venture through Life's door
To taste and savour the outside,
You will never truly know the love
That lives and breathes on the inside.
Copyright © Daniel Caplin | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Caplin Poem
Colour me perfect in green white and gold,
A tricolour heart from the young to the old,
A land of giants from the causeway to swift,
A tongue silver sharp each Irishman's gift,
Born with a rainbow in each penciled heart,
Wilde, joyce, and Shaw all creators of art,
Samuel Becketts Godot and WB Yeates,
Fountains of words, the world still relates.
Words flow like water as blood flows like wine,
The last rose of summer it's rich soul divine.
Pygmalion a masterpiece by George Bernard Shaw,
Where tales of silk woven for a century or more.
Bram Stoker a name goes straight to the heart,
From the ruins of Whitby each stake plays a part,
And Saint Oliver Plunkett his limbs torn apart.
At Tyburn was Martyred by a king with no heart.
From the lakes of Killarney to the Rose of Tralee,
To the mountains of Mourne flowing down to the sea,
Theirs always a welcome Uische Beathe galore,
The craic and the ceilidh and legendary folklore.
A nation of people, resilient rich and strong,
Together united, hearts dreaming as one,
The voice of our Anthem singing , A Soldiers Song .
Copyright © Daniel Caplin | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Caplin Poem
Empathy Ink Not Blood / Trolls on the Run
An Army of pens descended, the battle lines were Drawn
As they scoured and searched for the Enemy,
'Til it was almost Dawn.
Pens to attention, Awaiting their command .
fingers at the Ready ,
The ink God Did demand.
Some fell by The wayside, Some of old age died,
Others felt defeated before they even tried .
Others felt dejected, while some just sat and cried.
A message from
General Pentorights
To
My fonts of
Knowledge said
"Remember pens, we are mightier than the sword,
Defeat is not an Option, we have Right,
And Calliope on our side."
The Underwoods, the Imperials and Remington's gave us joy,
The Mignons battled bravely, but their stylus was too slow,
Others fell by the wayside , those losses, a bitter blow.
We launched assault after assault, weapons of mass creation we deployed,
Up and down the country, armed a little girl and boy,
We all knew this was serious , this wasn't just any toy.
As they moved Into position, the battle cry did sound,
But not a single word was spoke,
As the pens moved side to side .
This was the real world , one we could not rehearse,
Just one wrong word , phrase , line, or verse
Where tears of blood are spilt, the tremors within the mind.
The narrative was loaded , the conText painful to read
As red ink spilt , the nightmares of our dreams.
Empathy is not just a word , it's an emotion we should breed .
The inkfantry were on the March again, it was no longer just the pen,
Black and blue the battle raged, the trolls were on the run,
And those that refused to choose empathy, well their ink was all but done.
The moral of this story, is that empathy is key,
And whether written in ink or text , language can destroy,
Because in the end, each one of us is someone's girl or boy.
The war will only be over, when we all act as one .
For we are merely fleeting visitors.
On our journey around the Sun .
Copyright © Daniel Caplin | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Caplin Poem
An Enigma Alan Turing
My secret has been finally revealed,
Which so pained my rainbow heart,
It was an illegal love I had concealed,
My life was over before it could start.
My Love began with Lovelace and Babbage,
King and queen of computer science.
The Enigma machine I invented,
Only then to be savagely mistreated.
The irony, as I was castrated by science .
I saved many lives in the Second World War,
An Enigma machine deciphering enemy codes,
Intercepting vital messages, and so
Prematurely ending the war.
But in shame, my life was about to explode .
After the war a lecturer I soon became,
My passion for bow tie, and not for a dress,
A lover stole from me a precious heirloom,
But it was I they found guilty without redress.
That was my first crime, of being so blind,
That justice was just, and I would be fine.
Snow White would be my second crime,
And with the apple we both sat and dined.
I had a strange fascination with Disney's Snow White,
So I laced the green apple with cyanide to bite,
My life was over, after the millions I had saved,
I was only a young man, 41, when put in a grave.
A royal pardon I received from the Queen in 2013,
A blue plaque was erected in Trumptington Street,
I waited longer for a pardon than I had ever lived.
My life covered up with lies, and a bitter deceit.
The second irony was the German Brothers Grimm,
The writers of fairytales and my passion Snow White,
My destruction of Germany went to the heart of Berlin.
And my name is of course no enigma, it's Alan Turing.
Our hearts all beat blue red, but justice was clear,
I was ridiculed and demonised for living my life.
I was a man of rainbow colours, I didn't belong to my world,
Even though millions of lives were saved, my life held no worth.
I was a human, who saved humans,who loved humans,
But my voice, my heart, my love, my life, was taken away.
For what ? For being so different to you ?
Foot Note :
Charles Babbage was a polymath born in 1791
He originated the concept of a digital programmable computer
He is considered the father of the computer .
After reporting a lover to the police for stealing a watch, they, the police were only interested in pursuing a conviction against Alan Turing for being gay , which was a crime in the UK , Turing could either serve time in jail or be chemically castrated. he chose the later and committed suicide as a consequence. Rumours years later said that the bite from Turing's Apple inspired the Apple logo , but Steve Jobs dismissed this rumour as coincidence.
Ada Lovelace or Countess Lovelace was the daughter of Lord Byron the poet
She was the worlds first computer programmer and was born in 1815
She was one of the greatest mathematicians of her time and worked on the Analytical Engine.
Babbage and Lovelace worked closely together regards computer science and would have influenced one of worlds greatest mathematicians and code breakers Alan Turing .
Alan Turing's nickname at Bletchley was the professor , and historians believe because of his invention the enigma machine ended World War 2 by up to 2 years . That's a lot of lives , if ever a legend existed , surely Alan Turing is one such legend .
Copyright © Daniel Caplin | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Caplin Poem
If you should leave
Before I rise,
And the sun
Yawns her first signs
Of willingness,
While the earth grinds
And tilts to greet her,
Pay my morning respects
To her brilliance.
And as we revolve
Around her wondrous
Love,
Blow a kiss to her
For shining on our
Existence,
Feel her warmth
Caress your heart
Her rays like fingers
Massage your soul
Know what it is
To be loved
Her beauty to be
Extolled.
Watch her bloom
Like a rose in heavens
Garden,
And set in the
Vapourous
Trail of Love's
Vermilion glow
Copyright © Daniel Caplin | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Caplin Poem
Aphrodite
The fugacious sun skims and courts celestial blue;
Vermillion arrayed lighter then darker fade;
Scarcely dressed, stretched a million themes,
Across the universe;
No time for life, no life to dream.
Unseen, she slips then flirts below, as darkness
Unfurls its wondrous beam, shimmering wavelets
Effortlessly, toward the sandless shore,
Where whispers a warm breeze.
Becalmed without lips, a lingering kiss upon my brow;
Eyes firmly closed, washes bare flesh pure
And seduces all that is unsure,
To touch, to kiss, to bathe in the beauty of her soul;
To love as Love was won,
from emptiness to nothingness ,
Retreats without words,
And so ebbs the flow of time.
In water writ her name in foam,
A love that was never mine.
Copyright © Daniel Caplin | Year Posted 2024
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Daniel Caplin Poem
Part 1
Fading glimpses of pained memories of the past,
Scarred a child and the tissues of a heart,
So many dreams, sadly I was never asked,
Loneliness and I co-exist, we're never far apart.
Memories encrypted in words and subtle verse,
Reserved for shadows in the loneliness and cold,
Glimpses of memories waiting to converse,
So many dreams I dreamt, now no dreams to be told.
I wished life's dreams had descended from up above,
I wished my world and the skies would one day open up,
I hoped more than anything that I was offered love,
To sip sweet nectar from someone else's overflowing cup.
To fill my thoughts with another's treasured past,
To feel the emotion of love and of never being hurt,
To never know the shame of a life that had been cast,
A pain inflicted a broken heart did not deserve.
Part 2
I am a flower that weeps in clouded dreams,
I am a rainbow that nobody has ever seen,
I am the sun, in radiance I beam,
I am but a heartbeat lost within a dream.
I am a butterfly who dances with the skies,
I am the last rose of summer, before she dies,
I am an angel without gaining his first wings,
I am the bird of paradise that soars but never sings.
I am the forgotten love who is carried by the breeze,
I am the handkerchief who captures every sneeze,
I am the violin when a sad lament is played
I am the crescendo when tears decide to stay.
I am the kiss just moments from your lips,
I am the ebony and ivory touched by finger tips,
I am a shadow that has only one thing left to lose,
A life of dreaming what else is their to choose ?
I am the sorrow that sleeps on window panes,
I am the collector of other people's shames,
I am the noose tied around my own heart,
An unloved child lost from the start.
Life's written script is coming to a close,
It's sadly not the one I chose,
For nothing in my world is ever what it seems,
When you spend your life chasing someone else's dreams.
Copyright © Daniel Caplin | Year Posted 2024
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