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I made all my generals out of mud.

quote by Napoleon Bonaparte
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Monsters Of Mud

Monsters of mud, covered in mud (made of mud)
Monsters of mud (made of mud)
Monsters of mud, covered in mud (repeat six times)
Made of mud, they're made of mud (repeat six times)
(2x)
Look at that mudman
It's disgraceful
Check out the dirt pile
He's got a face full
It's unbelievable, they're walking through the streets of town
They act like people, but they're shapeless, grimy, grey and brown
(Made of mud, they're made of mud) (2x)
It used to be that everyone you'd see was so well scrubbed
Everything's different now, ever since the monsters of mud
Monsters of mud, covered in mud (3x)
Made of mud (3x), they're made of mud
Made of mud, they're made of mud
Look out there's one right there
It freaks me out, It's covered in crud
All of our values have been challenged
by the monsters of mud
Here they slime
There they slouch
On your carpet
On my couch
Mud monsters everywhere
You can't escape the slobbering flood
We couldn't stop them
So we all became the monsters of mud
It's unbelievable, we're walking through the streets of town
We act like people, but we're shapeless, grimy, grey and brown
(Made of mud, they're made of mud)(2x)
It used to be that everyone you'd see was so well scrubbed
Everything's different now, ever since the monsters of mud

song performed by They Might Be Giants
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Generals & Majors

Generals and majors ah ah
Theyre never too far
From battlefields so glorious
Out in a world of their own
Theyll never come down
Till once again victorious
Generals and majors always
Seem so unhappy less they got a war
Generals and majors ah ah
Like never before are tired of being actionless.
Calling generals and majors
Generals and majors everywhere
Calling generals and majors
Your world war iii is drawing near
Generals and majors ah ah
Theyre never too far
Away from men who made the grade
Out in a world of their own
Theyll never come down
Until the battles lost or made
Generals and majors ah ah
Like never before, are tired of being in the shade

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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Generals & Majors

Generals and majors ah ah
Theyre never too far
From battlefields so glorious
Out in a world of their own
Theyll never come down
Till once again victorious
Generals and majors always
Seem so unhappy less they got a war
Generals and majors ah ah
Like never before are tired of being actionless.
Calling generals and majors
Generals and majors everywhere
Calling generals and majors
Your world war iii is drawing near
Generals and majors ah ah
Theyre never too far
Away from men who made the grade
Out in a world of their own
Theyll never come down
Until the battles lost or made
Generals and majors ah ah
Like never before, are tired of being in the shade

song performed by Xtc
Added by Lucian Velea
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The mud volcano Lusi

The world's largest mud dome, also called the mud volcano,
Is located in Sidoarjo, a regency in Indonesia and it is very active
It had erupted also on twenty nine May, only five years ago
Now it gushes forty Olympic pools each day being very emissive.

A mud dome emits helium, nitrogen, usually belches of flammable gas
Through a deepening lake of hydrocarbon fluids, acid water and sludge.
The temperature is as low as the freezing point for its fast-moving mass
It's associated with petroleum deposits looking like dark brown smudges.

The creeks transport amounts of sediment to rivers which flow into the ocean.
This time the Indonesian volcano displaced thirteen thousand families.
For saving their lives they had to leave their home being forced to run
They needed to escape, because the volcano showed an increased activity.

This volcano eruption will dropp to a manageable level in twenty six years,
And Lusi will continue to gush gray mud until it will turn into a bubbling volcano,
And the processes erosion will begin to bevel the mountain but until that the tears
Of people will not stop for those who were killed after Lusi erupted five years ago.

All these years the volcano Lusi, situated in Sidoarjo regency, East Java
Can become highly destructive, even it can sweep up almost everything
Even it is likely to gush gray cold or hot mud instead of usual lava
Thousands of people living there can die or live without saving anything.

Lusi's staying power and its lake of mud has now smothered twelve villages
To an incredible depth of up to fifty feet and just in the middle of this new lake
There is one hundred and sixty four feet real vent and it is not a mirage.
Even it wasn't specified this time that Yogyakarta was hit by another nearby earthquake.

The cause of the volcanic eruption which occurred five years ago was debatable.
Maybe an earthquake caused it, or maybe it was due to drilling a well in the zone.
The Indonesian government blamed the eruption on an earthquake which is contestable
Foreign experts said Lapindo Brantas didn't use the protective casing for its section.

Mud and gas accumulates when sea sediments are trapped in subduction zones.
The mud eruption is a hybrid between typical mud volcanoes and hydrothermal vents.
So, one tectonic plate slides under another, and can erupt out of volcanic cones
From a crack in the ground and this way mud volcanoes have burst on all continents.

Sixty six years ago an earthquake in Pakistan generated a tsunami very destructive
And caused the eruption of a mud volcano on the Makran Coast, in the Sindh region,
Which formed four islands, and everyone could see its gas flames while it was active
And could know about the petroleum deposits, methane, ethane and other hydrocarbons.

poem by Marieta Maglas
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MuDdY......... wAtEr............! !

MuDdY......... wAtEr............! !
Pouring muddy water?
I clean my self
Again he throws
Muddy water
I throw him out again
There walks a new person
Sprinkles little mud around
I dust them here n there
And I walk towards life
He stops me there
I turn back at him
He splashes the muddy water
I wash them again with
With waters of tears!
Words of apology
Gestures of forgiveness
He takes my crying face
And paints me again
Again with muddy water
No tears this time
Its blood I use again
To clear the muddy water
And I limit the days I want to live
In distress he pats my pats my back
With his right hand
But alas he was staining me
With his left hand
Muddy water was it again
I clear my seat
I tidy myself
Painstakingly not with
Brush nor broom
But with scalpel and knife
Cutting and chistlling
Callous and critical
Every inch of my individuality
But still he would silently take me
Take me to the corners of love
& again teem me with muddy water
There I attempt to kill myself
& he pacifies me again
With explanations of muddy water
Now I know scrubbing and scouring
Will never help
Virtuous and untainted
Spotless and shipshape do I wannu be
But its muddy water this lfe
So i`l go beneath heaps of mud
Cause however much of muddy water

[...] Read more

poem by Dr DHANA LAKSHMI
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Mud Slide Slim

Mud slide slim and the blue horizon
Oh, mud slide, Im dependent on you
I dont know but Ive been told
Theres a time from time to time
I cant eat, I cant sleep
But I just might move my feet
cause theres nothing like
The sound of sweet soul music
To change a young ladys mind
And theres nothing like a
Walk on down by the bayou
To leave the world behind
Mud slide Im depending upon you
Mister mud slide slim and the blue horizon
Ive been letting the time go by
Letting the time go by
Yes, Im letting the time go by
Letting the time go by
Im gonna cash in my hand and
Pick up on a piece of land
And build myself a cabin back in the woods
Lord, its there Im gonna stay
Until there comes a day
When this old world starts to changing for the good
Now the reason Im smiling is over on a island
On a hillside in the woods where I belong
I wanna thank jimmy, jimmy, john, nick and laurie
The no jets construction for setting
Me down a homestead on the farm
Mud slide, Im depending upon you
Mister mud slide slim and the blue horizon

song performed by James Taylor
Added by Lucian Velea
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Creola

By: jimmy buffett, ralph macdonald, william salter
Chorus:
Creola
In my sola
I loved what they were sayin
I loved what they were playin
Creola
Creola
On my victrola
Makes me feel like dancin
Fall in love romancin the melody
Creola, creola, creola for me
I remember as a child all the happiness and smiles
Flowed around my grandmas sunday table
While auntie mae was sayin grace
Papa t would sneak a taste
Catch a funny look from my cousin mabel
Then daddyd beat the drum
The old folks start to hum
Sing the only song that we all knew
Ambiance so fine, dancin drinkin wine
Sing about the lifestyle on the bayou
Chorus:
Creola (creola)
In my sola (sola)
Loved what they were sayin (sayin)
Loved what they were playin (playin)
Creola
Creola (creola)
On my victrola (victrola)
Makes me feel like dancin (dancin)
Fall in love romancin the melody
(do do do do, do do do do)
Creola, creola (creola), creola for me
Its in the mood, its in the blood
Its in the food, its in the mud
Its a spicy kind of life
Creola
Its in the mood, its in the blood
Its in the food, its in the mud
Creola, creola, creola for me
(pan instrumental)
The years have come and gone
Still the old song lingers on
I keep it in my heart with fond affection
Like the family good luck charm
That keeps away the harm
Creolas always there for my protection
Chorus:
Creola (creola)

[...] Read more

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
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My Name Is Mud

My name is mud
Not to be confused with bill or jack or pete or dennis
My name is mud and its always been
cause Im the most boring sons-a-bitch youve ever seen
I dress in blue-yes navy blue
From head to toe Im rather drab except my patent shoes
I make em shine, well most the time
cept today my feet are troddin on by this friend of mine
Six foort two and rude as hell
I got to get him in the ground before he starts to smell
My name is mud
My name is mud, but call me alowishus devadander abercrombie
Thats long for mud so Ive been told
Told that by this sonsabitch that lies before me bloated blue and cold
Ive got my pride, I drink my wine
Id drink the finest except I havent earned a dime in several months
Or were it years
The breath on that fat bastard could bring any man to tears
We had our words, a common spat
So I kissed him upside the cranium with an aluminum baseball bat
My name is mud

song performed by Primus
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Mud Bath

So thrilled to bits, was he that day,
He raced towards the mud!
The elephant hell-bent to play
And also cool his blood!
He jumped with one almighty splosh!
The mud jumped skyward bound!
He wasn't there to have a wash,
Just there to fool around!

'Oh, yeah! The mud gets everywhere!
Oh, yeah! This feels so cool!
Oh, yeah! Let everybody stare
And think that I'm a fool!
But this is what life's all about!
Not lazing in the sun...
Life isn't fretting, full of doubt...
Come on! Let's have some fun! '

So there he squished and squashed a while
And squelched the mud so nice...
To greet the world with one huge smile,
As if in Paradise!
To think, for him, such fun was free...
His mud bath felt so grand!
His Shangri-La, his ecstacy...
His private Disneyland!

Denis Martindale, copyright, February 2011.

The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Mud Bath'.

More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com

poem by Denis Martindale
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A Song Of Winter Weather

It isn't the foe that we fear;
It isn't the bullets that whine;
It isn't the business career
Of a shell, or the bust of a mine;
It isn't the snipers who seek
To nip our young hopes in the bud:
No, it isn't the guns,
And it isn't the Huns --
It's the MUD,
MUD,
MUD.

It isn't the melee we mind.
That often is rather good fun.
It isn't the shrapnel we find
Obtrusive when rained by the ton;
It isn't the bounce of the bombs
That gives us a positive pain:
It's the strafing we get
When the weather is wet --
It's the RAIN,
RAIN,
RAIN.

It isn't because we lack grit
We shrink from the horrors of war.
We don't mind the battle a bit;
In fact that is what we are for;
It isn't the rum-jars and things
Make us wish we were back in the fold:
It's the fingers that freeze
In the boreal breeze --
It's the COLD,
COLD,
COLD.

Oh, the rain, the mud, and the cold,
The cold, the mud, and the rain;
With weather at zero it's hard for a hero
From language that's rude to refrain.
With porridgy muck to the knees,
With sky that's a-pouring a flood,
Sure the worst of our foes
Are the pains and the woes
Of the RAIN,
THE COLD,
AND THE MUD.

poem by Robert William Service
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When The Generals Talk

Up there on the platform
He is speaking to the people
The people are responding
With clapping and acheering
But the meaning of the message
Not revealed to those assembled
Theyre taken for a ride
Taken in his stride
When the generals talk
You better listen to him
When the generals talk
You better do what he say
Theres a rumour in the ranking
Someones talking insurrection
So the general has a purge
cos he wants to win elections
With the certain satisfaction
That the people are appeased
Long live the revoluton
The generals very pleased
Sitting on the fence both ears to the ground
The fat cats still push the thin cats around
(hirst/moginie/garrett)

song performed by Midnight Oil
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Surprise attack

The enemy can be easily way laid in night
When they are relaxing after the fierce fight?
They won’t have slight inkling about surprise move
They may not have slight chance for superiority to prove

The olden battles waged by kings provide sufficient skill
How the war can be won and force the enemy to flee or killed?
How best the weaknesses can be exploited to full advantage?
And the best and powerful armies of the world can be managed

The ground is surveyed before the start of war
The enemy supply lines are too probed very far
The cut of supply route can bring any army to knee
They may loose the clear advantage of fighting free

The rulers never wanted any competion
They were guided by the superstitions
No one should challenge their authority
They must have complete superiority

The kings were sole authority in the field
They had lots of influence and enormous power to yield
They were benevolent and provided good shield
They had high standing in public eye and respect too held

The war norms were observed and not violated
At down it was bringing all the hostilities to an end
The armies would retire to tents and prepare for next day
Still the foul games were never ruled out in any way

I have vivid remembrance of one such incident
The army was annihilated and defeat was evident
The retired generals thought to make surprise attack
They had nothing to loose but everything at stake

As they entered retiring tents in barracks
They found it opportune for surprise attack
They moved at ease and killed many generals
The little carelessness proved fatal for veterans

It is known reaction with the advent of next sun rise
The whole filed will be witnessed by sudden demise
Lot many able generals might have lost their life
It was not moral war but worn torn strife

The time has changed but not the tactics
The time and against it has been proved by statistics
The powerful armies are routed by small army
The theories and proofs are provided by many

[...] Read more

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Dunciad: Book II.

High on a gorgeous seat, that far out-shone
Henley's gilt tub, or Flecknoe's Irish throne,
Or that where on her Curlls the public pours,
All-bounteous, fragrant grains and golden showers,
Great Cibber sate: the proud Parnassian sneer,
The conscious simper, and the jealous leer,
Mix on his look: all eyes direct their rays
On him, and crowds turn coxcombs as they gaze.
His peers shine round him with reflected grace,
New edge their dulness, and new bronze their face.
So from the sun's broad beam, in shallow urns
Heaven's twinkling sparks draw light, and point their horns.

Not with more glee, by hands Pontific crown'd,
With scarlet hats wide-waving circled round,
Rome in her Capitol saw Querno sit,
Throned on seven hills, the Antichrist of wit.

And now the queen, to glad her sons, proclaims
By herald hawkers, high heroic games.
They summon all her race: an endless band
Pours forth, and leaves unpeopled half the land.
A motley mixture! in long wigs, in bags,
In silks, in crapes, in garters, and in rags,
From drawing-rooms, from colleges, from garrets,
On horse, on foot, in hacks, and gilded chariots:
All who true dunces in her cause appear'd,
And all who knew those dunces to reward.

Amid that area wide they took their stand,
Where the tall maypole once o'er-looked the Strand,
But now (so Anne and piety ordain)
A church collects the saints of Drury Lane.

With authors, stationers obey'd the call,
(The field of glory is a field for all).
Glory and gain the industrious tribe provoke;
And gentle Dulness ever loves a joke.
A poet's form she placed before their eyes,
And bade the nimblest racer seize the prize;
No meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin,
In a dun night-gown of his own loose skin;
But such a bulk as no twelve bards could raise,
Twelve starveling bards of these degenerate days.
All as a partridge plump, full-fed, and fair,
She form'd this image of well-bodied air;
With pert flat eyes she window'd well its head;
A brain of feathers, and a heart of lead;
And empty words she gave, and sounding strain,
But senseless, lifeless! idol void and vain!

[...] Read more

poem by Alexander Pope
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Mud

Mud is Beauty in the making,
Mud is melody awaking;
Laughter, leafy whisperings,
Butterflies with rainbow wings;
Baby babble, lover's sighs,
Bobolink in lucent skies;
Ardours of heroic blood
All stem back to Matrix Mud.

Mud is mankind in the moulding,
Heaven's mystery unfolding;
Miracles of mighty men,
Raphael's brush and Shakespear's pen;
Sculpture, music, all we owe
Mozart, Michael Angelo;
Wonder, worship, dreaming spire,
Issue out of primal mire.

In the raw, red womb of Time
Man evolved from cosmic slime;
And our thaumaturgic day
Had its source in ooze and clay . . .
But I have not power to see
Such stupendous alchemy:
And in star-bright lily bud
Lo! I worship Mother Mud.

poem by Robert William Service
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A Fable For Critics

Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Was reminded of Daphne, of whom it was made,
For the god being one day too warm in his wooing,
She took to the tree to escape his pursuing;
Be the cause what it might, from his offers she shrunk,
And, Ginevra-like, shut herself up in a trunk;
And, though 'twas a step into which he had driven her,
He somehow or other had never forgiven her;
Her memory he nursed as a kind of a tonic,
Something bitter to chew when he'd play the Byronic,
And I can't count the obstinate nymphs that he brought over
By a strange kind of smile he put on when he thought of her.
'My case is like Dido's,' he sometimes remarked;
'When I last saw my love, she was fairly embarked
In a laurel, as _she_ thought-but (ah, how Fate mocks!)
She has found it by this time a very bad box;
Let hunters from me take this saw when they need it,-
You're not always sure of your game when you've treed it.
Just conceive such a change taking place in one's mistress!
What romance would be left?-who can flatter or kiss trees?
And, for mercy's sake, how could one keep up a dialogue
With a dull wooden thing that will live and will die a log,-
Not to say that the thought would forever intrude
That you've less chance to win her the more she is wood?
Ah! it went to my heart, and the memory still grieves,
To see those loved graces all taking their leaves;
Those charms beyond speech, so enchanting but now,
As they left me forever, each making its bough!
If her tongue _had_ a tang sometimes more than was right,
Her new bark is worse than ten times her old bite.'

Now, Daphne-before she was happily treeified-
Over all other blossoms the lily had deified,
And when she expected the god on a visit
('Twas before he had made his intentions explicit),
Some buds she arranged with a vast deal of care,
To look as if artlessly twined in her hair,
Where they seemed, as he said, when he paid his addresses,
Like the day breaking through, the long night of her tresses;
So whenever he wished to be quite irresistible,
Like a man with eight trumps in his hand at a whist-table
(I feared me at first that the rhyme was untwistable,
Though I might have lugged in an allusion to Cristabel),-
He would take up a lily, and gloomily look in it,
As I shall at the--, when they cut up my book in it.

Well, here, after all the bad rhyme I've been spinning,
I've got back at last to my story's beginning:
Sitting there, as I say, in the shade of his mistress,
As dull as a volume of old Chester mysteries,

[...] Read more

poem by James Russell Lowell
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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems

SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III

The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems

March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan

Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.

Sincerely,

George W. Bush

SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III

Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.

They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.

The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.

They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.

The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.

[...] Read more

poem by Tom Zart
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Bread & Blood

(graham russell)
Im not afraid of losing you or saying good-bye
If someone needs you more than me, I will understand why
Id never stand between someone whos holding your heart
But I cant let a superstition tear us apart
Who has the right to speak fire from above
If heaven is away from you, that is the place I will give up
For falling in love cant be taking these lips from the cup
Dont fill her mind with bread and blood
Dont confuse strength with pride and mud
I have a faith in love thats thicker than all bread and blood
Im not afraid to face the truth of what I believe
If love was never meant to choose, it could never succeed
And we may always stand alone in everyones sight
And be the judge unto ourselves between wrong and right
Who puts a price on eternitys sin
Who throws the first stone shall search for perfection again
For you are the reason that pleasure was taken from the pain
Dont fill her mind with bread and blood
Dont confuse strength with pride and mud
I have a faith in love thats thicker than all bread and blood
I wont see you cry, should it make you cry
Dont fill her mind with bread and blood
Dont confuse strength with pride and mud
I have a faith in love thats thicker than all bread and blood
Dont fill her mind with bread and blood
Dont confuse strength with pride and mud
I have a faith in love thats thicker than all bread and blood

song performed by Air Supply
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If I Should Fall From Grace With God

If I should fall from grace with god
Where no doctor can relieve me
If Im buried neath the sod
But the angels wont receive me
Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
This land was always ours
Was the proud land of our fathers
It belongs to us and them
Not to any of the others
Let them go, boys
Let them go, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
Bury me at sea
Where no murdered ghost can haunt me
If I rock upon the waves
Then no corpse can lie upon me
Its coming up three, boys
Keeps coming up three, boys
Let them go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry
If I should fall from grace with god
Where no doctor can relieve me
If Im buried neath the sod
But the angels wont receive me
Let me go, boys
Let me go, boys
Let me go down in the mud
Where the rivers all run dry

song performed by Pogues
Added by Lucian Velea
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Heaven

Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond;
But is there anything Beyond?
This life cannot be All, they swear,
For how unpleasant, if it were!
One may not doubt that, somehow, Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And, sure, the reverent eye must see
A Purpose in Liquidity.
We darkly know, by Faith we cry,
The future is not Wholly Dry.
Mud unto mud! - Death eddies near -
Not here the appointed End, not here!
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time.
Is wetter water, slimier slime!
And there (they trust) there swimmeth One
Who swam ere rivers were begun,
Immense, of fishy form and mind,
Squamous, omnipotent, and kind;
And under that Almighty Fin,
The littlest fish may enter in.
Oh! never fly conceals a hook,
Fish say, in the Eternal Brook,
But more than mundane weeds are there,
And mud, celestially fair;
Fat caterpillars drift around,
And Paradisal grubs are found;
Unfading moths, immortal flies,
And the worm that never dies.
And in that Heaven of all their wish,
There shall be no more land, say fish.

poem by Rupert Brooke (1913)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Great War Poems

I.

The same old soldiers walking along the same old skyline

2.

Dead hand through the sandbags reaching out for the cream­and ­white butterfly

3

mud/water under duckboards/mud/rats scamper in starshell darkness/mud/smell of shit and rotting bodies/mud/resting your sweaty forehead on the sandbags OVER THE TOP the first men in the lunar landscape.

4.

What did you do to the Great Whore, Daddy?'

5.

Poppies slightly out­of­focus and farmcarts bringing in the peaceful dead.

6.

The ghost of Wilfred Oven selling matches outside the Burlington Arcade.

7.

Seafog. Red flaring lights from the shore batteries. The roar of shells rattle of machineguns. Water running in the bilges. My feet slipping on the damp cobbles of the quayside.

8.

DON'T BE VAGUE ­ BLAME GENERAL HAIG.

9.

four white feathers clutched in a blood­stained envelope

10.

a skull nestling in a bed of wild strawberries/boots mouldering green with fungus/saplings thrusting through rusting helmets/sunken barges drifting full of leaves down autumn rivers.

poem by Adrian Henri
Added by Poetry Lover
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