The Church of Brou

I

The Castle

Down the Savoy valleys sounding,
Echoing round this castle old,
’Mid the distant mountain chalets
Hark! what bell for church is toll’d?

In the bright October morning
Savoy’s Duke had left his bride.
From the castle, past the drawbridge,
Flow’d the hunters’ merry tide.

Steeds are neighing, gallants glittering;
Gay, her smiling lord to greet,
From her mullion’d chamber casement
Smiles the Duchess Marguerite.

From Vienna, by the Danube,

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poem by Matthew Arnold (1853)
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The Martial Courage Of A Day Is Vain

THE martial courage of a day is vain,
An empty noise of death the battle's roar,
If vital hope be wanting to restore,
Or fortitude be wanting to sustain,
Armies or kingdoms. We have heard a strain
Of triumph, how the labouring Danube bore
A weight of hostile corses; drenched with gore
Were the wide fields, the hamlets heaped with slain.
Yet see (the mighty tumult overpast)
Austria a daughter of her Throne hath sold!
And her Tyrolean Champion we behold
Murdered, like one ashore by shipwreck cast,
Murdered without relief. Oh! blind as bold,
To think that such assurance can stand fast!

poem by William Wordsworth
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The Castle In Austria

From 'The Boy's Wonderhorn'

There lies a castle in Austria,
Right goodly to behold,
Walled tip with marble stones so fair,
With silver and with red gold.

Therein lies captive a young boy,
For life and death he lies bound,
Full forty fathoms under the earth,
'Midst vipers and snakes around.

His father came from Rosenberg,
Before the tower he went:--
'My son, my dearest son, how hard
Is thy imprisonment!'

'O father, dearest father mine,
So hardly I am bound,
Full forty fathoms under the earth,

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poem by Clemens Maria Brentano
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saddam Hussein In New Iraq

He was the dictator
in the old Iraq
the once fertile
the abandoned garden
of Eden rushed

It was always his
first word as the final and executory
handed down from
holocaust- master the
Austrian blood Hitler
in infamous Nazi era

and Saddam tragic death sentence
provoked his old Iraq was beaten

and democracy is running down
in new Iraq alas!

million patriots cheer!

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poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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terrorism ***** SADDAM HUSSEIN IN NEW IRAQ

He was the dictator
in the old Iraq
the once fertile
the abandoned garden
of Eden rushed

It was always his
first word as the final and executory
handed down from
holocaust- master the
Austrian blood Hitler
in infamous Nazi era

and Saddam tragic death sentence
provoked his old Iraq was beaten

and democracy is running down
in new Iraq alas!

million patriots cheer!

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poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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True Love

man
can't believe this one from you
to the many places you have gone
australia, las vegas,
austria, and the rest of europe
asia,
oceania, arabic countries
deserts and
oasis
african safaris
the rivers of thailand
connecting malaya
at mid 50
you come back
set a party
have so many drinks
and stories
with an ending cry
that you are still
in love

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Chaconne

Wood polished into angel sighs
World of pirates hears the morning
Great steeples chime like hope
Masons sending their sons to masters
Good men born into fire
Stradivarius in the hands of love
Medieval wood varnished in renascence
Hellene in Austrian Pines
Tchaikovsky sees a star
Echoes of reason romantic as science

New fronteers sired in enlightemnet
Preludes with kings with tears
Lovely rosewood tables
Cherrywood chairs on blue gold carotets
Sculpted maidens of the river chalice
Sequitor sirens chittel sumptous limmericks
Born into the rezins of beauty
Ballay graceful as dignity
Ideals unfold on a elegant violin

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poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Home Sonnets--Address To Ireland

I

Mother of soldiers! once there was a time
When your sons' swords won fame in many a clime;
When Europe press'd on France, they fought alone
For her, and served her better than their own!
Those were the days your exiles made their fame
By gallant deeds which put our age to shame-
Those were the days Cremona city, saved,
Stood to attest what Irish valor braved!
When England's chivalry, sore wounded fled
Before the stormy charge O'Brien led-
When travellers saw in Ypres' coir display'd
The trophies of your song-renown'd brigade!
Mother of soldiers! France was proud to see
Your shamrock then twined with the fleur de lis!

II

Mother of soldiers! in the cause of Spain

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poem by Thomas D Arcy McGee
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Why?

Put a ton of diamonds on your shoes,
while children in America are starving for food.
Destroy plant kingdom while printing the news,
Grow hemp plants and only 1% of it is being used.
Kill sea life with oil spills,
so oil tycoon can fill their tills.
Turn faucets made of gold,
while farm workers have no pension when they get old.
Put addictive substances in cigarettes and food,
so people get cancer, heart disease that is not good.
Give Chrysler bailout money we Americans lost,
while Chrysler makes cars in Canada, Austria and China at our cost.
Maybe one day these issues won’t be no more,
It’s up to US to change the matrix to affect the score.

poem by Christina Sunrise
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Broken Girl

broken girl
come to me
i will guide you
to this austrian mirror

see yourself
your heart bleeding
your flesh rotting
your bones rattling
our nose twitching
your eyes crying
badly you are hurt
you are but pieces
scattering without
direction

broken girl
come to me
embrace me
i have this love

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Take Heed My Friend - A Trippy Verse For Welsh

Jonathan Creeks hoola-hoops are orbiting softly on a gentle breeze,
Flea bitten pigeons are singing heartily to the great Lord Cracken.
Dead and dying dogs with trippy cups of tea,
Green spring sprung, wet still makes mud,
Drink heartily my friend, she awaits you.

Take heed boy,
It’s a rare deed that must be sown for flight
To come to those unknown,
Take heed my friend,
Even ornithologists have oracles, debate,
Articulated moose regurgitate themselves for you,
Will you wait?

Mystic magician devouring imagination,
One more place still, no vacation,
Plastic insects, urban bizarre, photo opportunity for the blind,
Read it first, ha-ha
Opportunity has only two pees,
Two police men at your door, knocking shit into your mind,

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poem by David Lacey
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Goody for Our Side and Your Side Too

Foreigners are people somewhere else,
Natives are people at home;
If the place you’re at
Is your habitat,
You’re a foreigner, say in Rome.
But the scales of Justice balance true,
And tit leads into tat,
So the man who’s at home
When he stays in Rome
Is abroad when he’s where you’re at.

When we leave the limits of the land in which
Our birth certificates sat us,
It does not mean
Just a change of scene,
But also a change of status.
The Frenchman with his fetching beard,
The Scot with his kilt and sporran,
One moment he
May a native be,

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poem by Ogden Nash
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Little-Known Death Factory

Operation Barbarossa,
The German invasion of the Soviet Union
commenced on June 22,1941.
Behind the rapidly advancing Wehrmacht forces
mobile SS death squads, the Einsatzgruppen,
went into action. They killed Jews,
Soviet prisoners of war and political commissars.

The historian Raul Hilberg estimated
the number of Jewish men, women and children
murdered by the Einsatzgruppen
in the ravines of Babi Yar, in the forests of Riga
and many other places at 1.3 million.

On the outspread yards of a former kolkhoz,
a dusty Soviet collective farm,
the SS task forces set up a secret death factory.
Its horrible assembly lines creaked and cried
in the outskirts of Minsk of Byelorussia,
near the village of Maly Trostenets.

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poem by Paul Hartal
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My Darling

my love for her always boils down to
money, credit and ATM cards, and
trips and vacations,
expensive clothes, and flashy cars
and a modern house
in the suburbia

she slides
my ATM card, relies on my credit card,
and plans my trip to islands with white sands
and expensive margaritas

she imagines the next trip
in Hongkong, Singapore, Thailand
China,
and Austria, and i jokingly add
the North Pole
just to check how white are the glaciers
and how warm is it
inside the igloo

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How doth the Bee Improve His Salary? - Parody Isaac WATTS – How doth the Bee

How doth the Bee Improve His Salary?

How doth the busy little bee
prepare for flower power,
when honey garnered, daily spree,
will wax, - no waning hour?

The answer’s plain as plain can be,
hive votes for poll_en_dower,
for feathered nests with polity
Reps wait to line their bower...

Those set up in authority
elected seem to scour,
for “cash and carry” not to be
declared, - gold’s welcome shower.

As Tweedle Dum(b) and Tweedle Dee
In, Out, Out, In, they lobby,
when crime’s unmasked, like rats we see

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Ship Of Fools

Hello europe here we are, everything is easy
Lets cross the border without stop
Italian pasta mixed with fine french wine would be great
My stomach knows no state
Blond girls from sweden
And if thats garden of eden
I think thats o.k.
Turkish dope found a license of the pope
Dont think thats the only way.
Europe, europe rules!
Lets have a drink in a ship of fools
Europe, europe rules!
Lets have a drink in a ship of fools
Allright!
Belgium beer with a jgermeister-deer
Thats why we here, I think this ones not for you
And swiss francs brought to polish banks
Thats life! a hard bone to chew
I dont want no austrians be instructors
In my home I guess theres something better

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song performed by Fury In The Slaughterhouse
Added by Lucian Velea
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Napoleon's Europe

Europe my realm and my prized possession,
I instill in thee our novel ideals,
for your feudal laws our conquest repeals.
Our boisterous wind of emancipation
liberates Spain from draconian inquisition.
Of the proud Brits' stupendous earning power,
an Egyptian campaign would rest the case.
I have made subservient Austria to face
defeat and lasting capitulation.
By sheer divine providence, I soar
above my Italian inheritance,
bequeathed by Papal authority,
and placed in custody of my viceroy.
By my might, I brought to subjugation,
the recalcitrant fiefdom of Russia,
and the resilient kingdom of Prussia.
Not even Portugal dared resistance,
with her weak army debased like a toy.
But in sudden flight, and rare sobriety,
her sovereign lord bowed to abdication.

poem by Joseph C Ogbonna (5 April 2011)
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Irving and Ahmadinejad make the case

I'm glad David Irving is free
He should never have been on trial
Nor jailed on charges in Austria
Of Holocaust denial

I am glad of Ahmadinejad
And his conference on how many
Of my people were murdered
In gas chambers. If any.

Our Shoah should never cease to be
The ground of fierce debate
Its meaning for humanity
Its horror and its weight

They serve us, these provocateurs
To confirm we're hated well
To keep our vigilance, or be
Dispatched again to hell.

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poem by Frank Bana
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The Smoke Of My Handgun

this 10 mm handgun made in Austria
is in my hand.
My coming days are curious
say frightened about what i shall do next with it.
My temple is calm.
My head is full like a cup filled with hot water.
There is no taste of coffee
It is 4 o'clock in the morning
And the streets in this town are all empty
Of people.
There is the possibility of using this handgun
To kill those insane witnesses
Dragging me to a crime that i have not done
Though deep within i want to do it.
Kill! kill! Kill! Shoot them with all the bullets
Of this Gun
This is what my mind is screaming.

My cousin is afraid of the possibilities of
My life.

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tacloban At The Santo Nino Shrine

what i saw was the luxury of the past
ivory birds, octupus chandeliers,
chekoslovakian furnitures
russian dolls and persian carpets
these are all found here
icons of Christ and the Holy Virgin Mary
in marble chips from Italy
the paintings of Malakas and Maganda
the banig walls that took two years of polish and paste
it is totally a different world
thirty-seaters or twenty seaters
of chosen dignataries for dining
and dancing the wide halls
of this palace

the tourist guide guides us to different rooms
of this country of fools
each with an austrian mirror
polished black and white floors
the chosen hard wood and the glossy varnishes

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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