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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXXVII

WHO WOULD LIVE AGAIN?
Oh who would live again to suffer loss?
Once in my youth I battled with my fate,
Grudging my days to death. I would have won
A place by violence beneath the sun.
I took my pleasures madly as by force,
Even the air of heaven was a prize.
I stood a plunderer at death's very gate,
And all the lands of life I did o'errun
With sack and pillage. Then I scorned to die,
Save as a conqueror. The treasuries
Of love I ransacked; pity, pride and hate.
All that can make hearts beat or brim men's eyes
With living tears I took as robes to wear.
--But see, now time has struck me on the hip.
I cannot hate nor love. My senses are
Struck silent with the silence of my lip.
No courage kindles in my heart to dare,
No strength to do. The world's last phantoms slip
Out of my grasp, and naught is left but pain.

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poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Grieve England

Grieve, England, and hang your head
in utter shame,
as the tale of your inhumanity
rings to this very day.

Grieve about your fallen brave, England,
for no glory did your heroes bring
back from the battlefields of South Africa,
where they killed children
who did not want to betray
the whereabouts of their fathers.

What glory shines
in pillage and rape
and how does lament ring,
with the utter destruction
of farmsteads of a nation?

Grieve about the soulless slaughter, England,
of most of a nation’s women

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poem by Gert Strydom
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Are We A Dying Breed?

Bread winners, protectors
a little description what a man is
providers for all, soldiers for the defenceless

Fall short we have
cowards we've become
the destruction cannot be undone
hostage takers, boogie man we are

Rapist, child molesters
woman beaters and murderers
all that describes the majority that is a few

What real is, is not existent
we are becoming extinct
heroes and the brave
we are but a few yet plenty
cowards over-populate
and we decline
in numbers and in faith

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poem by Kelvin Owusu
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Principalities, Dominions and Thrones

Cathedral, how many times now
Have your windows been washed
By the tears of lovers, broken by the rack

How many times has the blood of martyrs
Flowed unchecked, across your cracked floors

How many vile plagues seeped in
Through the stained glass eye
Leering upward into the face
Of heaven's disappointment

How many effigies of the saints
Witnessed you turning on your own edicts
When other tides had turned against you

And how many statues were destroyed
In the raging quakes of anger
Inside the hearts of the downtrodden

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poem by Patti Masterman
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Julie Claire

Oh Julie Claire was very fair,
Yet generous as well,
And many a lad of metal had
A saucy tale to tell
Of sultry squeeze beneath the trees
Or hugging in the hay . . .
Of love her share had Julie Claire
When life was lush and gay.

And then the village wealth to pillage
Came the Teuton horde;
The haughty Huns with mighty guns
And clattering of sword.
And Julie Claire had honey hair
With eyes of soft azure,
So she became the favoured flame
Of the Kommandatur.

But when at last the plague was past,
The bloody war well won,

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poem by Robert William Service
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The Human Who Was Never A Saint(Revised)

People make the complaints.
Like baggage upon a saint.
He speaks of hearing this evil voice.
Who steers him towards all the fighting.
Bickering among friends look what I did he exclaims.
Making it sound as if it was a great accomplishment.
When in fact all he did was provoke what comes naturally for the human, homosapien, parasite and plague to this planet.
Among all the species the most similar is certain bacteria and viruses.
They will pillage, pilfer, and plunder just like us.
And duplicate like rabbits on steroids.
And once it is all gone, let me say their are no refunds upon their death.
One chance, one shot, so do not drink it so quick.
For once the buzz is gone, it is likely not to return.
A creature without a natural predator.
Population explodes out of check.
Food becomes scarce.
Depravity becomes the weapon of choice.
Cannibalism the eating ones own kind.
A kindred spirit.
Oh please oh please let me eat you.

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poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Walima (Wedding Dinner)

A ceremony where hidden absurdities,
Underneath the rustling dresses, coated skin,
Painted lips, combed hair and shaved faces,
Come up shamelessly to jump at the opportunity.

A competition of filling the big containers,
With sweet spicy warm dainty dishes,
Of chicken, beef, mutton, rice with salad.

How gluttonous participants stuff the bellies,
The leg in mouth wing in hand, chest in plate,
Avaricious eyes stare around to have more!
And how frantically like horses they eat,
When they are let loose in the lush green corn,
They eat less and spoiling pillage more,
As if the doomsday will cease the world tomorrow.

Ah! The simpletons move with empty plates.
With huge yellow greasy spots in front,
The uninvited seem happier than the invited,

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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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The Innocent Thief

Not a flower can be found in the fields,
Or the spot that we till for our pleasure,
From the largest to the least, but it yields
The bee never wearied a treasure.

Scarce any she quits unexplored
With a diligence truly exact;
Yet, steal what she may for her hoard
Leaves evidence none of the fact.

Her lucrative task she pursues,
And pilfers with so much address,
That none of their odour they lose,
Nor charm by their beauty the less.

Not thus inoffensively preys
The cankerworm, in-dwelling foe!
His voracity not thus allays
The sparrow, the finch, or the crow.

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poem by William Cowper
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My country is in ruins

My country is in ruins,
it’s a place that here and there is falling to pieces,
the decline is clearly visible
and the home of almost every white family is a fortress.

Maybe the writing is on the wall,
maybe people who pillage,
at a time will be send out in thousands,
to murder and rob as they did from their prehistory
and time and again I wonder
how long the peace can last?

Sometimes it looks as if integrity
is totally lacking from your fellow man,
as if every one wants to take revenge
for one or other reason,
as if people only living themselves
but maybe compassion is still hidden somewhere?

How much I want things to be different,

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poem by Gert Strydom
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One, Two, No Free Ride.

One, two, their no such thing as free ride. So im just going with the tide. Just so i can swim back again. So many victims of circumstance and happenstance. Excuse me I'm just looking to get by. Women come and go. Nothing ever sticks. Guilt is just a heavy bag of bricks. I throw them to ground and keep moving on. One, two, their no such thing as a free ride. So I'm just going with the tide. Just so i can swim back again. Where is the need for forgiveness if we just live and let live. Every day I cross that bridge. One by one the planks go missing. And the only way back is gone. No time to regret or fret. Just build another. Its a system. you can work with or against it. But who even cares. One, two, their no such thing as free ride. So I'm just going with the tide. Just so i can swim back again. Money burns like you smoking them as cigarettes. The house you live in will be pillage and plundered in the event of your death. Makes you wonder. What is it all for. Well of course its because life is so very precious.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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