A Fiddler In The North

Amang the trees, where humming bees,
At buds and flowers were hinging, O,
Auld Caledon drew out her drone,
And to her pipe was singing, O:
'Twas Pibroch, Sang, Strathspeys, and Reels,
She dirl'd them aff fu' clearly, O:
When there cam' a yell o' foreign squeels,
That dang her tapsalteerie, O.

Their capon craws an' queer "ha, ha's,"
They made our lugs grow eerie, O;
The hungry bike did scrape and fyke,
Till we were wae and weary, O:
But a royal ghaist, wha ance was cas'd,
A prisoner, aughteen year awa',
He fir'd a Fiddler in the North,
That dang them tapsalteerie, O.

poem by Robert Burns
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Los Angeles

I met a man
He was a good man
Sailing and shoring
Dancing the beta can-can
Making me foreign
Oh yeah
I want to live in los angeles
Not the one in los angeles
No, not the one in south california
The got one in south patagonia
I want to live in los angeles
Not the one in los angeles
They got a bunch down in moleville
They got a bunch more still
I want to live in los angeles
Not the one is los angeles
They got one in twenty-five two five
Works just like a beehive
I want to live in los angeles
Not the one in los angeles

[...] Read more

song performed by Frank Black
Added by Lucian Velea
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Thankyou For Being the Best!

Thank you to the most wonderful friends....
as dark shadows may soon approach, , ,
you will always be the best ever more...

The best of friends do dwell deeply in one's heart
Ships, airplanes and trains can never keep the feelings apart
Emotions shared across the vast skies unconditionally
Souls gently connect forever in hearts with fragrance tenderly,
In that moment in time, the effect blossoms so undoubtedly.
Unspoken sweetness, words fail to express its divinity.
Memories special, designed with variable joys and sorrows
To awaken the hopes of a beautiful melodious, the tomorrows
So sacred the mysterious glow of every breathtaking sunrise
Unravels the deepest thought, cherishes the bond, the ties..
Paving the road that leads to a soothing peace and serenity
With good grace embracing the gifted days till eternity!

poem by Shirani Ibrahim
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The Boon of Discontent

Once an anthropoidal ape,
Hairy, savage, strange of shape,
On a day that was excessively B.C.,
In a forest damp and dim,
With his tail round a limb,
Hung head downward from a neolithic tree;
And appeared to be lost in gloomy introspection.

In his dull primeval style,
He considered quite a while
A comparatively thoughtful ape was he
Then he drummed upon his chest,
And remarked: 'I give it best!
Strike me lucky! This 'ere game's no good to me!
And I'm full up of the whole damn business!'
To the father of the tribe
He proceeded to describe
How upon a change of living he was bent.
Said the Tory anthropoid:
'Son, such thoughts you should avoid:

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Sick Leave

When I’m asleep, dreaming and lulled and warm,—
They come, the homeless ones, the noiseless dead.
While the dim charging breakers of the storm
Bellow and drone and rumble overhead,
Out of the gloom they gather about my bed.
They whisper to my heart; their thoughts are mine.
‘Why are you here with all your watches ended?
From Ypres to Frise we sought you in the Line.’
In bitter safety I awake, unfriended;
And while the dawn begins with slashing rain
I think of the Battalion in the mud.
‘When are you going out to them again?
Are they not still your brothers through our blood?’

poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Gartloney Rats

The boys from the village were festering sore
For a day on the rant with some music and more
Theyd drink porter in mauras way over in fore
And never get drunk but stay sober
There was harry the banjo and dunne of the swan
With whose bone from the wing hed beat the bodhran
And the song that hed sing was of ganders and all
Hed never get drunk but stay sober
There was woods on the guitar and auld squeeze box too
Who came from a time before aeroplanes flew
Hed sit in a corner and mule quite a few
And hed never get drunk but stay sober
There was mahon the singer who knew all the songs
And never was known to put a foot wrong
Hed sing through the night till the break o the morn
And hed never get drunk but stay sober
Then harry the banjo now there was a man
A bottomless pit if ever there was one
More porter hed lower that there was in the land
And hed never get drunk but stay sober

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song performed by Pogues
Added by Lucian Velea
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Confrontation with Baba Yaga

In Angola
I saw Baba Yaga
come out of the wood
and in the blue sky
she hanged dark and hideous
with a canon in her beak
and rockets on her sides
that draws red lines
when she eats soldiers
by wiping them out.

No uglier witch
you could get anywhere
and she hanged bony
in the air
above our heads
while she collected skulls
with a shrilling noise.

Day after day

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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A Cow Amid The Butchers

Labour of the day
Made me exhausted,
Rocked into the valley of sleep,
The world of strange happenings,
And I beheld an astonishing object:
A cow, enormous like a mountain,
Around her was a huge gathering
Of men and women, all Lilliputians.

They had sharp instruments,
Knives, axes, choppers, and blades,
Mulberry-baskets, bags of polythene.
From peon to prince,
All working and ruling figures
Of the land were busy in chopping the cow,
And the men in uniforms were having
Their own legitimate shares.

A man with crowned shoulders
And medals on the chest,

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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Puke On Cops

look at me now. full on the run. i can't stop myself from crashing. breaking grass, bumming a yard. fixing stuff that was never broken. pulling out all the stops. i'm gonna puck on the cops. i'm telling the kids, punk rocks. i'm gonna puke on cops. gimme a side of airplane noise or a half a glass of our resistance. add a dash of disobedient public nusant, richtor riot. pulling out all the stops. i'm gonna puck on the cops. i'm telling the kids, punk rocks. i'm gonna puke on cops.

song performed by NOFX
Added by Lucian Velea
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Taking Away Grandfathers

Fat as rainbows belching into the city
And in the suburban yards one or two city cypress
As new as truant children skipping from school;
And if you look into the mouths where lions yawn,
Whole kaleidoscopes filled with city school
Buses,
And the long, young yards cut up by palmettos:
When it rains tender hooks- the alligators snore,
And you spend a long, young time
Passing smoke between the mouths- and Roman
Candles send up hopeless flares to the
Finnish bellies of the airplanes who go and then leave
Like holidays,
Spreading their arms like superheroes- and then
Taking away grandfathers or whoever once existed
Before your eyes.

poem by anonym
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Day of Celibate Rain

Day of celibate rain,
Stamping the tomfoolery of birds
To the line.
Maybe the last time I saw your eyes
Was in high school graduation-
You said goodbye,
And now the rains, they keep up what the
Customers should,
They dampen boxes and wet wood.
And I know your name
While the airplanes go leaping,
Leaping on the weathered planes;
But it is so lonely not having you here,
And the rain makes me realize just how absolutely
Good it is to be alone,
Without a son drafted from your silver
Womb,
Without a plumber for his tomb:
And I want to think of your eyes somewhere
In the curtains of this weather,

[...] Read more

poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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You are free

Not by shooting bullets out of guns,
or exploding bombs and missiles
or tanks and armoured cars that conquering
beacon of land, or aircraft that make
the air their own will people ever really be free.

Not by the exclusion of others,
the reserving of work,
expropriation of land,
possessions and money
or merciless violence
will peace ever come.

Not by hate, despair, robbery,
murder, injustice measured out as just,
might, corruption,
force, impoverishment and indoctrination
are the population bound in a nation.

Not by killing in war,

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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Hammer Purged By Rust!

in cursed dread
with iron thoughts,
the rebel plows his fields.
neath napalm skies,
infested by drones and crows,
his hands are bound by time.
tis murder by execution,
truth revealed by blood!
the carnal cross,
the skulls of dreams,
and virgin bodies for seed.
who pays the price,
who tames the beast,
the child devoured by wolves.
with flags betrayed,
by human conscience,
and gods that shed acid tears!
and the sound of voices swells,
till the earth trembles and shakes.
faces drawn on tombstones,

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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Wistful

The wistful tiger wondered why
Some leaves were making noise...
He watched them slowly moving by
Yet knew they had no choice...
Something alive was very close...
And yet what could it be?
There was no scent that reached his nose...
It stayed a mystery...
Then all at once, as if by chance,
He saw some ants below...
They made those tiny leaves to dance
As onward they must go.
The wistful tiger humbly praised
The strength they all possessed
And marvelled as he stared amazed,
For teamwork made them blessed!
From them, that's how his hunting plans
Formed in his mind that day...
Wise is the mind that understands
That there's a better way!

[...] Read more

poem by Denis Martindale
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She Left On A Monday

She left on a Monday
She's a siren down the road
In your herringbone overcoat
That you don't expect to get back

And it's an ordinary sky
Today's like any other day
When all of the aeroplanes
Write her name in the clouds

And nothing's wrong
But it's already Sunday
And you know just how Sunday
Was the day that she would come around?

Go to her foolish man
What's the use of having pride if you don't have her?
She'll endure all she can
But you could make this easier on her

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song performed by Bic Runga from Beautiful Collision
Added by Lucian Velea
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We Need But Ask

Its sad to see our neighbours fall
To see our families fail
Its sad that they reject God’s call
And spend their lives in jail

This age of car and aeroplane
Of spaceships to the moon
Man’s wanton lust and selfish gain
Though Christ is coming soon

They’ve been to school they’ve grown so wise
But still The Truth they doubt
Their selfish pride has closed their eyes
To what this life’s about

They fail to see the facts at hand
The devil’s robbed their sight
Whilst heads are stuck in shifting sand
They fail to see The Light

[...] Read more

poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Pointless

It's pointless.
Though I like it still.
It pleases me so.
It fits the bill.
Continuing on through useless drills.
The absurdity of it really kills.
I love these old pointless horror films.
The plot is wretched and extrmely thin.
Their laughable attempts to be quite grim.
It never ceases to make me grin.
I love them tons.
With pointless puns.
Their exquisetlessly needless and quite dumb.
They never stop in endless run.
I want to see them all it's so much fun.
They're completley pathetic like this poem.
Going on in endless drone.
I like it still it's pointless fun.
You do to cause now it's done.

poem by Michael McParland
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Mass Suicide

A swarm of africanized honey bees,
Decided to commit suicide,
Because their queen told them,
It would be the fastest way to heaven,
And they would be enlightened.

Quickly, a scout found the source,
For their demise, and returned to the queen,
With the news, who instantly ordered,
All drones, breeding males, and all ladies,
In waiting, to follow her.

Swarming in the sky they located the subject,
Of their ignominious ending and all proceeded,
To vent their rage upon the man walking along.
Once only once they each stung him,
And fell writhing to the ground.

The man was stung several hundred times,
And unwittingly had become the last casualty,

[...] Read more

poem by Juan Olivarez
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1985

The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth
the vengeance; he shall wash his feet in
the blood of the wicked. Psalm 58

It was the fortieth year since Buchenwald: two thousand
Jewish refugees in Sudan starved while Reagan visited
the graves of Nazis. CBS paid off Westmoreland
for their rude disclosure of his lies and crimes:
he had killed thirty of the enemy, let’s not forget,
for every one lost us: he was owed something.
That year, though, no terrorist could touch God’s work
in Mexico and north of Bogota: an earthquake here,
volcano there, and numbers do not signify the dead,
each corpse incomprehensible as to the widow Klinghoffer
her Leon, shot, dumped overboard as if to make a point.
Westmoreland said, the Viet Cong could be indentified
from the attacking aircraft as all personnel in uniform
below. Their uniform, he told us, was the native dress.

poem by Brooks Haxton
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Brothers Under The Bridges

Saigon, it was all gone
The same coke machines as the streets I grew on
Down in a mesquite canyon, come walking along the ridge
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Campsites an hours walk from the nearest road or town
Theres too much brush in camp for the chp choppers to touch down
Aint lookin for nothin , I just want to live
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Come the santa anas and man that dry brush would light
Jimmy devon got burned up in his own campfire one winter night
We buried his body in the white stone high up on the ridge
Me and the brothers under the bridge
I had enough of the town oh and the straight life
Aint careful you end up on the wrong end of someones knife
Now I want no trouble and I aint got none to give
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Well I shipped home back in 72
And you know you were just a beautiul light in your moms dark eyes of
Blue
I stepped out on the tarmac, we were just kids

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song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
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