From A Full Heart

In days of peace my fellow-men
Rightly regarded me as more like
A Bishop than a Major-Gen.,
And nothing since has made me warlike;
But when this agelong struggle ends
And I have seen the Allies dish up
The goose of Hindenburg—oh, friends!
I shall out-bish the mildest Bishop.

When the War is over and the Kaiser's out of print,
I'm going to buy some tortoises and watch the beggars sprint;
When the War is over and the sword at last we sheathe,
I'm going to keep a jelly-fish and listen to it breathe.

I never really longed for gore,
And any taste for red corpuscles
That lingered with me left before
The German troops had entered Brussels.
In early days the Colonel's 'Shun!'
Froze me; and, as the War grew older,

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poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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GREEN, A Litany

green in the midst of drab desolation
green ‘til the tide in the street overflows
green that preserves green's green reputation
green behind curtains, like cellist & bow

green on occasions no green is permissible
green by inversion a negative flame
green in final disgrace & dismissal
green where the gravedigger shoulders his spade

green like the walls of Verlaine's Belgium prison
green woods, wolf & poet meeting on equal foot
green like embroidery on old smoking-jackets
covered with needlepoint dragons & soot

green like a murderer gone to the guillotine
green like the lawns of this land breaking through

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poem by Jay Mandeville
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13 Beautiful Souls

13 Beautiful Souls

Haikus dedicated to the victims of the Columbine School Shootings in the exact order they died in

(Rachel Scott)
Great beautiful soul
Taken by the shroud of death
Now she lives in us

(Daniel Rohrbough)
Died a hero’s death
Gave his life to animals
To free all his peers

(Kyle Velasquez)
Gentle and peaceful
Filled with love and affection
He will never share

(Steve Curnow)

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poem by Kartik Saraf
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End Of Austerity

End of Austerity

Winter had ice on the village pond, under elm trees sweet snow,
and our village was a postcard. Now it is about the price of potatoes,
no herring in the sea. Austerity, old women have been cooked and
made into lard. Old men have been rounded up, put in barrels and
salted; to be eaten, -as dry cod fish, - with green leaves of spring.
No winter wood, shot gun pellet damp and rabbits eat the carrots,
bankers live on curried eels rolled in euro notes, they let no one in.
Austrian mist dwells over Europe, yet there is the promise, EU has
disappeared like the romantic alpine fog; the drachma and escudos
are a legal tender again. Winter of discontent is over the English
will be scheming while waiting for approval by the USA (the special
relationship is a misty London dream) The French and Germans can
continue their natural enmity, as Belgium, Holland and Luxembourg
stir, as always, the big black pot of political intrigues.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Mario's Pants

I wrote this one for a Friend who now lives in Belgium. She teaches English to Foreign students. One day A student walked in with 'Purple' trousers. Prompting this.....

For the younger ones amongst us
I’ll take you on a trip
Where flower power was the fashion
And beehives made you “Hip”

This came back in an instant
When Mario walked in
With his purple drainpipe trousers
So allow me to begin

Teddy boys and rockers
Were looked upon as thugs
And Mods rode round on scooters
while Hippies played with drugs

Put your hand into your pocket

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poem by Simon Gowen
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Songs of Eurovision

Last night I watched the Eurovision
And I would have given my distinction
To Moldova or Ukraine with intention
The UK, I may have failed to mention

Songs of inspiration
To me is Eurovision
Songs of imperfection
To me is Eurovision

Belgium played the guitar with such exciting tension
France wiggled their backsides and got amazing reactions

Songs that reach out and touch the nations
To me is Eurovision
Songs that are unique and command attention
To me is Eurovision

Greece and its five guys displayed masculine domination
This was one moment to share for an unforgettable duration

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poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Walkin' Blues

Woke up this morning, felt around for my shoes
That's when I knew I had them old walking blues
I woke up this morning, felt around, felt around for my shoes
That's when I knew I had them old, mean old walking blues
Leaving in the morning if I have to, robbed blind
I've been mistreated and I don't mind dying
I'm leaving in the morning if I have to, robbed blind
I've been mistreated and I just don't mind dying
She got a Belgium movement from her head down to her toes
Breaking on a dollar 'most anywhere she goes
Well I got a good woman coming my way
Tried to try, some electric pantin', some electric chillin' cryin'
But, ooh, mistook, misgiven
Got me up and walking Baby, but I'm walking blue, walking blue
Well some people say boy, the walking blues ain't bad
It's the worst old feelin' I 'most ever had

song performed by Grateful Dead
Added by Lucian Velea
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An Old Twenty-Third Man

“Is that the Three-and-Twentieth, Strabo mine,
Marching below, and we still gulping wine?”
From the sad magic of his fragrant cup
The red-faced old centurion started up,
Cursed, battered on the table. “No,” he said,
“Not that! The Three-and-Twentieth Legion’s dead,
Dead in the first year of this damned campaign—
The Legion’s dead, dead, and won’t rise again.
Pity? Rome pities her brave lads that die,
But we need pity also, you and I,
Whom Gallic spear and Belgian arrow miss,
Who live to see the Legion come to this,
Unsoldierlike, slovenly, bent on loot,
Grumblers, diseased, unskilled to thrust or shoot.
O, brown cheek, muscled shoulder, sturdy thigh!
Where are they now? God! watch it struggle by,
The sullen pack of ragged ugly swine.
Is that the Legion, Gracchus? Quick, the wine!”
“Strabo,” said Gracchus, “you are strange tonight.
The Legion is the Legion; it’s all right.

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poem by Robert Graves
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Stand Fast!

Stand fast, Great Britain!
Together England, Scotland, Ireland stand
One in the faith that makes a mighty land,
True to the bond you gave and will not break
And fearless in the fight for conscience' sake!
Against the Giant Robber clad in steel,
With blood of trampled Belgium on his heel,
Striding through France to strike you down at last,
Britain, stand fast !

Stand fast, brave land!
The Huns are thundering toward the citadel;
They prate of Culture but their path is Hell;
Their light is darkness, and the bloody sword
They wield and worship is their only Lord.
O land where reason stands secure on right,
O land where freedom is the source of light,
Against the mailed Barbarians' deadly blast,
Britain, stand fast!

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poem by Henry Van Dyke
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The End

This is the end
My only friend, the end
This is the end
My only friend, the end
I'll offer you some
I'll offer you sexualism and a masculine man
You can rephrase my friend (alt: you can deface my grave, my friend)
The killer woke up in Belgium
And he poured a lot of syrup on his waffles
And he walked on down the hall
And he said, all I want is to have some hasbrowns and some grits
And then he walked on down the hall
And then he said, listen I got a quarter in my pocket
And I see that waffle house jukebox
And I'm gonna walk up to the coinslot
And then there's a direst line between my pupil and that cionslot
And I lift that quarter out of my pocket
And I said, I wanna hear the waffle house theme
So I walk up to the jukebox, and I said
Come on in

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song performed by Nirvana
Added by Lucian Velea
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On patrol in the African bush

The LMG was getting heavy and hot
in my hands
and somehow the H-frame
became a part of my shoulders and back
and the stinging and unremitting African sun
was taking the last moisture out of us.

From nowhere some gnats appeared
and hang circling,
above our heads

Thirst was burning my throat
like scraping sandpaper,
but we could smell the river
and its cold water
looked inviting to us.

We were spread in an attack formation
and the squad was armed with
two LMG’s, a mortar

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Snow Man

Christmas in Belgium was different
Than the ones spent in L.A.
The Christmas I got no presents
Still me and my brother played
Near the ocean makin' the snow man
On his face we were makin' a smile
Cuz just like a daddy
The snow man had style
CHORUS:
Snow man, snow man
Another Christmas gone
I got a chess game this time
A bishop takes the pawn
Sometimes I wanna go back where
The ocean swallows the shore
I could still see him smiling
When my snow man is no more, no more
Winter seldom passing
Where the memory doesn't sway
2 the smell of a Christmas dinner

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song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lady Luck

I got some bills this morning,
They tumbled through the door
I counted every penny but
The bills still came to more
And printed in the paper
For Pisces it did say,
"If you would just be bolder,
Then this might be your day"
It said, "Lady Luck apologises
For the way she's been behavin'
And she promises she'll change.
If you don't want to know her, she'll understand,
But if you'd like to take her hand,
She could be back at your command."
So I ran round the corner,
The bookies there I entered
Put ten quid on a mare
From a stud in Kildare
But though the jockey beat her,
In Belgium they will eat her.

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song performed by Proclaimers
Added by Lucian Velea
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Dancing In My Dreams

(b. russell, m. cawley, k. fleming)
Producer: trevor horn
Album: wildest dreams (96)
Ive been running from the truth
Ive been running since my youth, tired of running
I will stand here till you see
I am you and you are me, tired of running
There really is no difference when you look beneath the skin
Someday I know well go beyond this world were living in
Now when I lay me down to sleep I will be dancing in my dreams
Seeing the way it all should be I will be dancing
Now when I lay me down to sleep I will be dancing in my dreams
Seeing the way it all should be I will be dancing
Dancing in my dreams
Theres no hiding in the dark
From the beating of my heart its getting louder
Just as long as we believe
The truth will set us free, its getting louder
All that really matters is the light in your face
In you I see the longing of the whole human race

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song performed by Tina Turner
Added by Lucian Velea
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On The Road

October, and eleven after dark:
Both mist and night. Among us in the coach
Packed heat on which the windows have been shut:
Our backs unto the motion—Hunt's and mine.
The last lamps of the Paris Station move
Slow with wide haloes past the clouded pane;
The road in secret empty darkness. One
Who sits beside me, now I turn, has pulled
A nightcap to his eyes. A woman here,
Knees to my knees—a twenty-nine-year-old—
Smiles at the mouth I open, seeing him:
I look her gravely in the jaws, and write.
Already while I write heads have been leaned
Upon the wall,—the lamp that's overhead
Dropping its shadow to the waist and hands.
Some time 'twixt sleep and wake. A dead pause then,
With giddy humming silence in the ears.
It is a Station. Eyes are opening now,
And mouths collecting their propriety.
From one of our two windows, now drawn up,

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poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Barclay Of Ury

Up the streets of Aberdeen,
By the kirk and college green,
Rode the Laird of Ury;
Close behind him, close beside,
Foul of mouth and evil-eyed,
Pressed the mob in fury.

Flouted him the drunken churl,
Jeered at him the serving-girl,
Prompt to please her master;
And the begging carlin, late
Fed and clothed at Ury's gate,
Cursed him as he passed her.

Yet, with calm and stately mien,
Up the streets of Aberdeen
Came he slowly riding;
And, to all he saw and heard,
Answering not with bitter word,
Turning not for chiding.

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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Walcheren Expedition

Ye brave, enduring Englishmen,
Who dash through fire and flood,
And spend with equal thoughtlessness
Your money and your blood,
I sing of that black season,
Which all true hearts deplore,
When ye lay,
Night and day,
Upon Walcheren's swampy shore.

'Twas in the summer's sunshine
Your mighty host set sail,
With valour in each longing heart
And vigour in the gale;
The Frenchman dropp'd his laughter,
The Fleming's thoughts grew sore,
As ye came
In your fame
To the dark and swampy shore.

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poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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I Lost On Jeopardy

Oh-oh-oh-oh
I was there to match my intellect on national tv
Against a plumber, oh, and an architect, both with a phd
I was tense, I was nervous, I guess it just wasnt my night
Art fleming gave the answers
Oh, but I couldnt get the questions right, -ight, -ight
I lost on jeopardy, baby (oooh)
I lost on jeopardy, baby (oooh)
Well, I knew I was in trouble now
My hope of winning sank
Oh, cause I got the daily double now
And then my mind went blank
I took potpourri for one hundred
And then my head started to spin
Well, Im givin up don pardo
Just tell me now what I didnt win, yeah, yeah
I lost on jeopardy, baby (oooh)
I lost on jeopardy, baby (oooh)
Thats right, al--you lost. and let me tell you what you didnt win: a twenty colume set of the encyclopedia international, a case of turtle wax, and a yeards supply of rice-a-roni, the san fra
O treat. but thats not all. you also made yourself look like a jerk in front of millions of people. you brought shame and disgrace to your family name for generations to come. you dont get to

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song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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Childrens Crusade

Young men, soldiers, nineteen fourteen
Marching through countries theyd never seen
Virgins with rifles, a game of charades
All for a childrens crusade
Pawns in the game are not victims of chance
Strewn on the fields of belgium and france
Poppies for young men, deaths bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
The children of england would never be slaves
Theyre trapped on the wire and dying in waves
The flower of england face down in the mud
And stained in the blood of a whole generation
Corpulent generals safe behind lines
Historys lessons drowned in red wine
Poppies for young men, deaths bitter trade
All of those young lives betrayed
All for a childrens crusade
The children of england would never be slaves
Theyre trapped on the wire and dying in waves
The flower of england face down in the mud

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song performed by Sting
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ode To Your Ghetto Booty

I need no eyeglasses to see what you got in your trunk
Lord have mercy! A big beautiful badonkadonk
The way you shake it so bootylicious
More bounce to the ounce and so damned delicious

That backside is off the chain and banging
You've got a brother's pants sagging
I want to worship your tantalizing rump
Push that thing up on me and let me feel that bump

You've got a gorgeous bubble
I better take care before I get my butt into trouble
That big beautiful bottom
Those jeans you wear must be custom

Like a terrorist I'd hold your bottom for ransom
It looks good enough to be on a hip-hop album
I want to play on your bum like a drum
I'm begging you please O' please give me some

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poem by Wilfred Mellers
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