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Pharsalia - Book VII: The Battle

Ne'er to the summons of the Eternal laws
More slowly Titan rose, nor drave his steeds,
Forced by the sky revolving, up the heaven,
With gloomier presage; wishing to endure
The pangs of ravished light, and dark eclipse;
And drew the mists up, not to feed his flames,
But lest his light upon Thessalian earth
Might fall undimmed.

Pompeius on that morn,
To him the latest day of happy life,
In troubled sleep an empty dream conceived.
For in the watches of the night he heard
Innumerable Romans shout his name
Within his theatre; the benches vied
To raise his fame and place him with the gods;
As once in youth, when victory was won
O'er conquered tribes where swift Iberus flows,
And where Sertorius' armies fought and fled,
The west subdued, with no less majesty

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poem by Marcus Annaeus Lucanus
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L'Homme Et La Mer (Man And The Sea)

Homme libre, toujours tu chériras la mer!
La mer est ton miroir; tu contemples ton âme
Dans le déroulement infini de sa lame,
Et ton esprit n'est pas un gouffre moins amer.

Tu te plais à plonger au sein de ton image;
Tu l'embrasses des yeux et des bras, et ton coeur
Se distrait quelquefois de sa propre rumeur
Au bruit de cette plainte indomptable et sauvage.

Vous êtes tous les deux ténébreux et discrets:
Homme, nul n'a sondé le fond de tes abîmes;
Ô mer, nul ne connaît tes richesses intimes,
Tant vous êtes jaloux de garder vos secrets!

Et cependant voilà des siècles innombrables
Que vous vous combattez sans pitié ni remords,
Tellement vous aimez le carnage et la mort,
Ô lutteurs éternels, ô frères implacables!

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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Canto the Eighth

I
Oh blood and thunder! and oh blood and wounds!
These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem,
Too gentle reader! and most shocking sounds:
And so they are; yet thus is Glory's dream
Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds
At present such things, since they are her theme,
So be they her inspirers! Call them Mars,
Bellona, what you will -- they mean but wars.

II
All was prepared -- the fire, the sword, the men
To wield them in their terrible array.
The army, like a lion from his den,
March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay, --
A human Hydra, issuing from its fen
To breathe destruction on its winding way,
Whose heads were heroes, which cut off in vain
Immediately in others grew again.

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poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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The Contempt of War

The contempt of war
With spewn bodies and limbs

A war cry
A man dies
There is anger within

They face each other
Tempers flare
Eyes bulging red
You lose control
The anger burns within

Screaming, shouting
Cursing and swearing

Burning rages
Fuels carnage and mayhem
The never ending screams

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poem by Kaila George
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The Episode Of Nisus And Euryalus

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ÆNEID, LIB. IX

Nisus, the guardian of the portal stood,
Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood
Well skill'd in fight the quivering lance to wield,
Or pour his arrow, through th' embattled field:
From Ida ton' he left his sylvan cave,
And sought a foreign home, a distant grave.
To watch the movements of the Daunian host,
With him Euraylius sustains the post;
No lovelier mien adorn'd the ranks of Troy,
And beardiess bloom yet graced the gallant boy;
Though few the seasons of his youthful life,
As yet a novice in the martial strife,
'Twas his, with beauty, valour's gifts to share –
A soul heroic, as his form was fair:
These burn with one pure flame of generous love;
In peace, in war, united still they move
Friendship and glory form their joint reward;
And now combined they hold their nightly guard.

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poem by Byron
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The Field of Waterloo

I.
Fair Brussels, thou art far behind,
Though, lingering on the morning wind,
We yet may hear the hour
Pealed over orchard and canal,
With voice prolonged and measured fall,
From proud St. Michael's tower;
Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now,
Where the tall beeches' glossy bough
For many a league around,
With birch and darksome oak between,
Spreads deep and far a pathless screen,
Of tangled forest ground.
Stems planted close by stems defy
The adventurous foot-the curious eye
For access seeks in vain;
And the brown tapestry of leaves,
Strewed on the blighted ground, receives
Nor sun, nor air, nor rain.
No opening glade dawns on our way,

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poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Battle Of Hastings - II

OH Truth! immortal daughter of the skies,
Too lyttle known to wryters of these daies,
Teach me, fayre Saincte! hy passynge worthe to pryze,
To blame a friend and give a foeman prayse.
The fickle moone, bedeckt wythe sylver rays,
Leadynge a traine of starres of feeble lyghte,
With look adigne the worlde belowe surveies,
The world, that wotted not it coud be nyghte;
Wyth armour dyd, with human gore ydeyd,
The sees Kynge Harolde stande, fayre Englands curse and pryde.
With ale and vernage drunk his souldiers lay;
Here was an hynde, anie an erlie spredde;
Sad keepynge of their leaders natal daie!
This even in drinke, toomorrow with the dead!
Thro' everie troope disorder reer'd her hedde;
Dancynge and heideignes was the onlie theme;
Sad dome was theires, who lefte this easie bedde,
And wak'd in torments from so sweet a dream.
Duke Williams menne, of comeing dethe afraide,
All nyghte to the great Godde for succour askd and praied.

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poem by Thomas Chatterton
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Picasso Sly Profiles Nazi Psychology

Picasso dissecting...
taking apart cubistic reflects
fragmented distortions

civilization sand scraping crawling
into ooze mud barbed wire World War One
lightning blitz Blitzkrieg World War Two

Picasso soul is screaming...
eclectic blood raw paint drops
fragmented cut paint lines

makes perfect carnage sense
why overtly explain corpsing ruin
war should be site explored

Picasso civilization imploding...
carnage has no redemption unison point
centuries away divine intervened

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Through a Barricaded Fence

When the carnival of carnage ceases.
And the pieces of self righteous egos...
Have been exposed as tremendously ignorant.
I hope forgiveness embraces and heals the pain.
And proves that needless suffering has no gains!
Nothing is obtained with a heightened greed,
And bitterness achieved!
The ultimate winners in all of this despair...
Are those 'deities' who are in control of the heavens,
Beholding the Moon and Sun.
And gently embracing our precious air!

When the carnival of carnage ceases...
And we all use our brains,
To become enlightened and aware.
We may look ourselves in the mirror!
And see the reflected images...
Of those barbaric beasts who stare!
That should end all fears.
When it becomes clear...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fire Rages

Rioters know no race
They have only ugly face
What have they to do with passion?
Leave behind plunders and only compassion?

Who is benefited out of it?
Black, white or locals who deemed it fit?
It is engineered to reap the spoils
The racial feelings is on boil

No one did any damage
For years they did manage
All of sudden carnage engineered
Many children and plunderers volunteered

You can see fire al around
What else is left to see as sound?
Country is on turmoil
The red blood is spread on soil

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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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