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There are risks which are not acceptable: the destruction of humanity is one of them.

quote by Friedrich Durrenmatt
Added by Lucian Velea
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Frightening Conclusion

In a pickle sizzling because of recent risks.
And unable to face or come to grips with it,
For fear of other unsuspecting hits.
Can be a frightening conclusion,
For the one who pitches a fit.
This can be frightening to someone,
Unprepared for it even a little bit.

The one who smiles on the outside,
May hide inside their moping.
As they do their best to cope.
To make each day for them okay.

The one who smiles on the outside,
May hide inside their moping.
As they do their best,
Not to confess trials they face...
On a daily basis.

This is a frightening conclusion,
For someone unprepared for this!
This can be frightening for anyone,
In a pickle sizzling because of recent risks.

Frightening conclusion,
For someone unprepared for this!
This can be frightening for anyone,
In a pickle sizzling because of recent risks.

The one who smiles on the outside,
May hide inside their moping.
As they do their best to cope.
To make each day for them okay.

The one who smiles on the outside,
May hide inside their moping.
As they do their best,
Not to confess trials they face...
On a daily basis.

This is a frightening conclusion,
For someone unprepared for this!
This can be frightening for anyone,
In a pickle sizzling because of recent risks.

Frightening conclusion,
For someone unprepared for this!
This can be frightening for anyone,
In a pickle sizzling because of recent risks.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Few Can Pick Them To Then Run

How can one live without risks.
Or prevent risks to exist.
Risk taking is a part of this life lived,
As it is...
For everyone.

Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run...
To be undone.

Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run...
To be undone.

How can one live without risks.
Or prevent risks to exist.
Risk taking is a part of this life lived,
As it is...
For everyone.

Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run...
To be undone.

Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run.
Few can pick them to then run...
To be undone.

Living life is taking risks.
And no one living can resist...
Those risks.

Few can pick them to then run,
From those risks.
Few can pick them to then run,
From those risks.
Few can pick them to then run...
To be undone.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Weapons of Mass Destruction

The Holy Roman Empire and Alexander The Great
Exterminate the globe, with extreme prejudice,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction

The European Inquisition, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The Holy Christian Crusades, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The Manifest Destiny and land expansion, A Weapon of Mass Destruction

Globalization and commercialization of the many rain forests,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction
Comprehensive sanctions is economic violence,
A Weapon of Mass Destruction

The procreation of religion and God, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
Democratizing the whole world, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
The extermination of The Iroquois Confederation, A Weapon of Mass Destruction
World domination the salvation of, A Weapon of Mass Destruction

War, is the greatest Weapon of Mass Destruction
The justification for annihilation of, The Constitution

The constitution of retribution, the absolution of, A Weapon of Mass Destruction.

poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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Neuromancer

Age of destruction
Age of oblivion
Age of destruction
Age of oblivion
Discovered love,
In the rancid days of ruin
My bodys sweatin toxins,
Of my own demise
Only from space, can you see
How much earth is burning
Smokin out the innocense inside
The child
Its the age of destruction
In a world of corruption
Its the age of destruction
And they hand us oblivion
Neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer--and Im trancing
Man wallows in his insatiable greed
More in the answer that sweats
From desparate palms
Turn on the lies, the secrets,
Of our desolation,
Or be smothered, by the red hot core
Its the age of destruction,
In a world of corruption
Its the age of destruction
And they hand us oblivion
The neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer--Im trancing
Trancing
Trancing
And Im trancing
Denied love in the age of ruin
Suicide toxins of my own demise
In cyberspace, you know how much
The earth aint learning
Smoking out the man, inside the child--yeah
Its the age of destruction
In a world of corruption
Its the age of destruction
And they hand us oblivion
The neuromancer and Im trancing
Im the neuromancer and Im trancing
Neuromancer--trancing
Neuromancer--trancing
Neuromancer--trancing
Neuromancer
Age of destruction

[...] Read more

song performed by Billy Idol
Added by Lucian Velea
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Climbing From Ruts

Not 'who' is he?
But 'what' is he?
To know.
Before the showing?
To have that showing...
Grow.
To be known.

Not 'who' is she?
But 'what' is she?
To know.
Before the showing?
To have that showing...
Grow.
To be known.

They are the ones,
Unstung.
And freed,
From under a thumb.

They are the ones,
Unstung.
And freed,
From under a thumb.

Climbing from ruts.
Undone.
And looking up.
Undone.
And taking risks,
Unlimited...
Others may sit and resist.

Climbing from ruts.
Undone.
And looking up.
Undone.
And taking risks,
Unlimited...
Others may sit and resist.

They are the ones,
Unstung.
And freed,
From under a thumb.

Not 'who' is he?
But 'what' is he?
To know.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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M'Fingal - Canto IV

Now Night came down, and rose full soon
That patroness of rogues, the Moon;
Beneath whose kind protecting ray,
Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
The honest world all snored in chorus,
While owls and ghosts and thieves and Tories,
Whom erst the mid-day sun had awed,
Crept from their lurking holes abroad.

On cautious hinges, slow and stiller,
Wide oped the great M'Fingal's cellar,
Where safe from prying eyes, in cluster,
The Tory Pandemonium muster.
Their chiefs all sitting round descried are,
On kegs of ale and seats of cider;
When first M'Fingal, dimly seen,
Rose solemn from the turnip-bin.
Nor yet his form had wholly lost
Th' original brightness it could boast,
Nor less appear'd than Justice Quorum,
In feather'd majesty before 'em.
Adown his tar-streak'd visage, clear
Fell glistening fast th' indignant tear,
And thus his voice, in mournful wise,
Pursued the prologue of his sighs.

"Brethren and friends, the glorious band
Of loyalty in rebel land!
It was not thus you've seen me sitting,
Return'd in triumph from town-meeting;
When blust'ring Whigs were put to stand,
And votes obey'd my guiding hand,
And new commissions pleased my eyes;
Blest days, but ah, no more to rise!
Alas, against my better light,
And optics sure of second-sight,
My stubborn soul, in error strong,
Had faith in Hutchinson too long.
See what brave trophies still we bring
From all our battles for the king;
And yet these plagues, now past before us,
Are but our entering wedge of sorrows!

"I see, in glooms tempestuous, stand
The cloud impending o'er the land;
That cloud, which still beyond their hopes
Serves all our orators with tropes;

[...] Read more

poem by John Trumbull
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Paradise Lost: Book 10

Mean while the heinous and despiteful act
Of Satan, done in Paradise; and how
He, in the serpent, had perverted Eve,
Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit,
Was known in Heaven; for what can 'scape the eye
Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart
Omniscient? who, in all things wise and just,
Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind
Of Man, with strength entire and free will armed,
Complete to have discovered and repulsed
Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend.
For still they knew, and ought to have still remembered,
The high injunction, not to taste that fruit,
Whoever tempted; which they not obeying,
(Incurred what could they less?) the penalty;
And, manifold in sin, deserved to fall.
Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste
The angelick guards ascended, mute, and sad,
For Man; for of his state by this they knew,
Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stolen
Entrance unseen. Soon as the unwelcome news
From Earth arrived at Heaven-gate, displeased
All were who heard; dim sadness did not spare
That time celestial visages, yet, mixed
With pity, violated not their bliss.
About the new-arrived, in multitudes
The ethereal people ran, to hear and know
How all befel: They towards the throne supreme,
Accountable, made haste, to make appear,
With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance
And easily approved; when the Most High
Eternal Father, from his secret cloud,
Amidst in thunder uttered thus his voice.
Assembled Angels, and ye Powers returned
From unsuccessful charge; be not dismayed,
Nor troubled at these tidings from the earth,
Which your sincerest care could not prevent;
Foretold so lately what would come to pass,
When first this tempter crossed the gulf from Hell.
I told ye then he should prevail, and speed
On his bad errand; Man should be seduced,
And flattered out of all, believing lies
Against his Maker; no decree of mine
Concurring to necessitate his fall,
Or touch with lightest moment of impulse
His free will, to her own inclining left
In even scale. But fallen he is; and now
What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass
On his transgression,--death denounced that day?
Which he presumes already vain and void,

[...] Read more

poem by John Milton
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A Poet's Voice XV

Part One

The power of charity sows deep in my heart, and I reap and gather the wheat in bundles and give them to the hungry.

My soul gives life to the grapevine and I press its bunches and give the juice to the thirsty.

Heaven fills my lamp with oil and I place it at my window to direct the stranger through the dark.

I do all these things because I live in them; and if destiny should tie my hands and prevent me from so doing, then death would be my only desire. For I am a poet, and if I cannot give, I shall refuse to receive.

Humanity rages like a tempest, but I sigh in silence for I know the storm must pass away while a sigh goes to God.

Human kinds cling to earthly things, but I seek ever to embrace the torch of love so it will purify me by its fire and sear inhumanity from my heart.

Substantial things deaden a man without suffering; love awakens him with enlivening pains.

Humans are divided into different clans and tribes, and belong to countries and towns. But I find myself a stranger to all communities and belong to no settlement. The universe is my country and the human family is my tribe.

Men are weak, and it is sad that they divide amongst themselves. The world is narrow and it is unwise to cleave it into kingdoms, empires, and provinces.

Human kinds unite themselves one to destroy the temples of the soul, and they join hands to build edifices for earthly bodies. I stand alone listening to the voice of hope in my deep self saying, "As love enlivens a man's heart with pain, so ignorance teaches him the way of knowledge." Pain and ignorance lead to great joy and knowledge because the Supreme Being has created nothing vain under the sun.

Part Two

I have a yearning for my beautiful country, and I love its people because of their misery. But if my people rose, stimulated by plunder and motivated by what they call "patriotic spirit" to murder, and invaded my neighbor's country, then upon the committing of any human atrocity I would hate my people and my country.

I sing the praise of my birthplace and long to see the home of my children; but if the people in that home refused to shelter and feed the needy wayfarer, I would convert my praise into anger and my longing to forgetfulness. My inner voice would say, "The house that does not comfort the need is worthy of naught by destruction."

I love my native village with some of my love for my country; and I love my country with part of my love for the earth, all of which is my country; and I love the earth will all of myself because it is the haven of humanity, the manifest spirit of God.

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that humanity is standing amidst ruins, hiding its nakedness behind tattered rags, shedding tears upon hollow cheeks, and calling for its children with pitiful voice. But the children are busy singing their clan's anthem; they are busy sharpening the swords and cannot hear the cry of their mothers.

Humanity appeals to its people but they listen not. Were one to listen, and console a mother by wiping her tears, other would say, "He is weak, affected by sentiment."

Humanity is the spirit of the Supreme Being on earth, and that Supreme Being preaches love and good-will. But the people ridicule such teachings. The Nazarene Jesus listened, and crucifixion was his lot; Socrates heard the voice and followed it, and he too fell victim in body. The followers of The Nazarene and Socrates are the followers of Deity, and since people will not kill them, they deride them, saying, "Ridicule is more bitter than killing."

Jerusalem could not kill The Nazarene, nor Athens Socrates; they are living yet and shall live eternally. Ridicule cannot triumph over the followers of Deity. They live and grow forever.

Part Three

Thou art my brother because you are a human, and we both are sons of one Holy Spirit; we are equal and made of the same earth.

You are here as my companion along the path of life, and my aid in understanding the meaning of hidden Truth. You are a human, and, that fact sufficing, I love you as a brother. You may speak of me as you choose, for Tomorrow shall take you away and will use your talk as evidence for his judgment, and you shall receive justice.

[...] Read more

poem by Khalil Gibran
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The Song Of Mankind

If human fails to help humanity..
Who will think for humanity
With a feeling of li’l sympathy
Won’t be a matter of indignity…? ? ?

If human fails to help humanity
Who will think for humanity
With a feeling of li’l sympathy
Won’t be a matter of indignity…? ? ?

If human fails to help humanity…..

When a man sells his fellow men..
When a man bids for fellow men..

When a man sells his fellow men..
When a man bids for fellow men..
Uncivilized and uncultured….
Won’t be a matter of indignity? ?

If human fails to help humanity
Who will think for humanity
With a feeling of li’l sympathy
Won’t be a matter of indignity…? ? ?

If human fails to help humanity…

Let us stretch our hands..
To help the needy and poor..
With a feeling of warmth
We can make it sure! ! !

Let us stretch our hands..
To help the needy and poor..
With a feeling of warmth
We can make it sure! ! !

If a man cant be a human…
How would a demon become human? ?

If a man cant be a human…
How would a demon become human? ?
And If a demon becomes human
Won’t be a matter of indignity? ?

(Originally composed in Assamese as ‘Manuhe Manuhor Babe’ by Dr. Bhupen Hazarika)

(Set to original tune)

poem by Kamal Jyoti Borah
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A Man Of A Thousand Faces

(music: marillion lyrics: john helmer)
Im the man of a thousand faces
A little piece of me in every part I take
I hold the tape for a thousand races
A different point of view in every speech I make
Cut me a piece of my divided soul
Cry me a river, call it rock and roll
Speak to a leader with the voice of command
And when I talk to God I know hell understand
I speak to machines with the voice of humanity
Ill speak to the wise with the voice of insanity
Im the man of a thousand faces
A little piece of me in every part I take
I hold the tape for a thousand races
A different point of view in every speech I make
Cut me a piece of my divided soul
Cry me a river, call it rock and roll
Give me an attitude and watch me make it lie
Pass me a microphone
I need to testify
Well I speak to machines with the voice of humanity
Speak to the wise with the voice of insanity
Speak to the present in the past and future tense
Speak to a slave with the voice of obedience
Im the man of a thousand ages
You see my face in the stones of the parthenon
You hear my song in the babble of babylon
Im the man of a thousand riches
Be my guest at the feast of satyricon
You spend the money that my logos printed on
Well Ill speak to machines with the voice of humanity
Speak to the wise with the voice of insanity
Speak to the present in the past and future tense
Speak to a slave with the voice of obedience
I stole a fire but it burned up much too soon
I took a leap and I landed on the moon
Look at my life and it looks like cnn
You see something once yknow its gonna come around again
Well Ill speak to machines with the voice of humanity
Speak to the wise with the voice of insanity
Speak to a woman with the fatal charm of a snake
Forgive like a giver and account for all I take
Yes, I speak to machines with the voice of humanity
Speak to the wise with the voice of insanity
Speak like a leader with the voice of power and command
And when I talk to God I know hell understand
Cause Im the man of a thousand faces
Yes Im the man of a thousand faces
I stole a fire but it burned up too much too soon
I took a leap and I landed on the moon..

[...] Read more

song performed by Marillion
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An Alliterative Amorous Answer

Alliterative Love Letter

Adored and angelic Amelia. Accept an ardent and artless amourist’s affections, alleviate an anguished admirer’s alarms, and answer an amorous applicant’s avowed ardour. Ah, Amelia! all appears an awful aspect! Ambition, avarice and arrogance, alas are attractive allurements, and abase an ardent attachement. Appease an aching and affectionate adorer’s alarms, and anon acknowledge affianced Albert’s alliance as agreeable and acceptable.

Anxiously awaiting an affectionate and affirmative answer, accept an ardent admirer’s aching adieu. Always angelic and admirable Amelia’s admiring and affectionate amourist, Albert
Wit and Wisdom 1826

An Alliterative Answer

Artless Amelia Acme’s answer adamantly admonishing artful Albert Acne’s announced amorous ambitions, and assertive advances, actively advocates appropriate alternatives. Also, attesting abhorrent Albert’s attempted abduction, Amelia asks an adequate aureate award. Advance “ amical ” arrangements are altogether abjured.

Adieu Albert!

Abused Amelia, an adorable angel, aghast and askance, acknowledges agile apostate Albert’s apparently avuncular, albeit astonishingly audacious application, and, as alleged affiancement alliances and anticipations are absent, appends an acceptable, accurate answer.

Aggressively accosted, Amelia acts advisedly, asking an acceptably authentic apology affirming all Albert’s avowed affiancement allegations as archetypal authoritarian autocratic attempts at annulling Amelia’s autonomy. Also, Albert’s absolutely alarmingly acquisitive ambitions afford anguish, anxiety, and, afterall, acute anger. All are anathema, as Albert, an adder, assumed angelic approbation after an abject attempt at abrogating and appropriating all Amelia’s assets.

Agamous Albert’s age, adiposity, and abnormally abrasive accents also argued against amorous agglutination. Agamy appeared advisable as Amelia always aspired at attaining an absolute amour, assiduously avoiding ambiguity. Ardent admiration activated Albert’s appetite as Amelia’s allure and accomplishments attracted all-round applause.

Amelia and Albert are at an apogee. Alliance anticipations are antilogical as Amelia’s aplomb and articulateness, and Albert ’s anthropomorphic antics are as antipodes apart as Aphrodite and an anthropoid ape. Acataleptic Albert, Amelia’s antithesis, acting almost as an aggressive animal, abused Amelia’s adolescent acquaintance, Anabelle, an alluring afro actress, - actually auditionning as an aria alto, - adventuring affront abruptly abbreviated.

Albert’s apologists are accomplices aiding and abetting an attack (after anticipating advantages agreed aforehand) .... At Ashcloth Abbey altar agnostic Albert asked Assyriac Abyssinian Archdeacon Ahasuerus and Arabian acolyte Abdul abn Abdulaziz abn Abdullah Abu an aboveboard absolution although Abbott Abraham Allsaints’ anterior abjuration altered all accomodating actions.

Apprehending arrogant acquiline Albert’s arbitrary approach, Amelia appositely acted appropriately, adjusting apparel. Applause and approbation are apropos.

Albert abusively alledges aristocratic alabaster Amelia’s assent - an assumption as absurd as an ass astride an advocate assiduously assembling an ascorbic acid apparatus!

Abstemious Amelia’s abilities attract acclaim - above all admirable administrative aptitudes, artistic aims, analytical assurance, amiability and amenability. Altruistic Amelia amalgamating agreeableness and authority, always assists aliens.

Alcoholic Albert’s abominations abound, as aforementioned as all adults agree, admonishing an aggressive ambiance........Albert apes affability!

Abusive adulation appalls, accelerates aversion and attracts adverse acknowledgements alienating affirmative adhesions. Allegorical accolades, artificially addressed, accumulate absurdities. although amiable acolytes are acceptable additions. Argot argues against acceptance as avid adventurers assume affected accents -, acquiring added artificial accomplishments.

Addressing amoral Albert, and apprehending amorphous arrangements, Amelia advises acrimonious Albert’s accepting any alternative Abigail, Alice and Anabella, as affianced amourette. Auburns are also admired as are armed assegaie’d ashanti, andalousian, algonquin, anabaptist and amerindian amours:

Abigail, Ada, Adrienne, Adriana, Adelaide, Agatha, Aglaë, Alice, Aliette, await Albert,
Aline, Alison, Amy Amanda, Amandine Andrea, Angela, Angelica, Ann, anticipate Albert
Anna, Annabelle, Anne, Annette, Angelina, Annick, Annie, Andrée, Anthea, alleviate Albert
April, Ariane, Ariane, Arlette, Armande, Armelle, Ashley, Astarte, Ava, appreciate Albert
.....And Albert annoys Amelia! - aggravating!

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Broken From A Normal Fit

You believe...
The dance of all life should be equal.
And you,
Believe...
Some people should live without risks.
And you,
Perceive...
An existence like this can be lived.
And...
You also wish,
Popsicles will not melt...
In Sunshine!

You believe...
The dance of all life should be equal.
And you,
Believe...
Some people should live without risks.
And you,
Perceive...
An existence like this can be lived.
And...
You also wish,
Popsicles will not melt...
In Sunshine!

And something you cuddle is rusted...
In your mind.

And you,
Believe...
Some people should live without risks.

But something is a little bit busted,
In your mind.

You believe...
The dance of all life should be equal.
And you,
Believe...
Some people should live without risks.
But...
Something has broken from a normal fit,
In your mind!

Yes,
Something has broken from a normal fit,
In your mind!

You believe...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Nip This In the Bud and Split

Let's take a 'trip' over the border.
And spread our wings quick,
With unlimited ease.
To fly above what others believe...
To soar,
And reach.
And...
Let's take a 'trip' over the border.
And spread our wings quick,
With unlimited ease.
To fly above what others believe...
To soar,
And reach.

You and I out of hiding can be free.
To get rid of any darkness...
Holding onto us to suppress.
And...
You and I can slip from a safety net.
That has us boxed in perceiving,
All our needs will be met,
If a trusted faith we leave...

Behind us!

Clipped and sitting and afraid to take risks.
Ready to give up.
Ready to quit.

Clipped and sitting and afraid to take risks.
Ready to give up.
Ready to quit.

Clipped and sitting and afraid to take risks.
Ready to give up.
Ready to quit.

No one who trys to fly is bored!

Let's take a 'trip' over the border.
And spread our wings quick,
With unlimited ease.
To fly above what others believe...
To soar,
And reach.

Clipped and sitting and afraid to take risks.
Ready to give up.
Ready to quit.
Nip this in the bud and split.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Paradise Bars No Race Embrace Humanity

even when life low ebbs
muddied exhausted drained
by a flu wonder awaits
in words soft still spoken
universal life chime spoken
haunting in stillness carried
on a breeze sparkling across
winds of time grace gift
of incredible verse may await
on line posted by a friend
who sings causes close embedded
in mine own heart soul that must
ever sing for all life embodied
upon this time tortured planet
earth that must bear witness
to divine angelic and beast
holocaust in nature of conflicted
global civilization humanity

then when tired weary cast
down from burden of voice
to ghost souls who cannot
voice injustices speak crimes
committed against their humanity
rises up sings clear voice
of a poet friend who shares
this burden life distilled chosen
carry a torch aflame in memory
hope to lives lost lives we yet
may save quiet listen to voice
of Eric Cockrell as ‘Sounds
Of The Earth' plead your soul
with conscience birthed immortal
breath breathed into humanity
knowing well concepts noble
uphold righteousness denounce evil
embrace bless all humanity

incredibly beautiful hymns
celebrating pride strength
in nature before the contrasted
turn in life cities civilizations
are written now await readers
who will read wisdom's words
who will transcend sing songs
gift blessing each unique portion
celebrating diversity in humanity
who will denounce crime of greed
excess hoarding precious life blood
of humanities victims hope stripped

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy

I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.

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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Prosperity to humanity

Prosperity, prosperity
Prosperity to humanity
I brought to you
Love and solidarity
Peace and harmony
Kings go to war
And humanity fall
But i brought prosperity to humanity
So why then should you curse me
Instead of blessing me
I need you to love me
For it is prosperity
I brought to humanity
It power and glory to humanity
Accountability and transparency
A higher levity
Prosperity, prosperity
Prosperity to humanity

poem by Matt Ancient
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The Murder Of Humanity

Once there lived two friends,
human and humanity.
human was loving and caring,
while humanity spread peace and brotherhood.
under their friendship tree,
everyone was happy and merry.
in the same world lived Hate and Greed, full of sinister.
very different from all the other.
who were always jealous of human and humanity,
and they tried hard to part the friends
and throw them away in different ends.
the did succeed,
in the heart of human they planted hate-seed.
soon the seed started to rear,
and human was left with no love and care.
it turned furious towards humanity.
all their friendship woes turned into enmity.
hate and greed infected human one after the other.
and made human to commit the murder.
end of peace was marked with the murder of humanity,
in some lost corner is the grave of humanity,
now the world knows only hate, greed and enmity.

poem by Arfa Iris
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The Secret (Roswell 1947)

On a warm summer day, I glanced at the sky,
On July 8th,1947, I saw a circle-like object a high,
Intent to search our world, the unidentified flying object,
A so-called encounter against humanity, the search project,
The object was shot by national security due to fright,
The object burned to bits before the dawning of night,
It landed in the desert in New Mexico, Roswell 1947,
But were the intent made for evil? it could’ve came from heaven,
The closed minds of humanity, justified by force,
Instead of letting nature and fate take it’s course,
On July 8th 1947, in Roswell New Mexico, I still remember,
The broken pieces that lay in the sand glowing from embers,
Humanity scared of chaos, confusion and disease,
Humanity, the naïve, that uses violence rather than perceive,
I still remember, the metallic pieces with the pink light code,
But forever government hiding what really happened so nobody will know,
Money the greed, that steals the knowledge of an event surreal,
Never will the world see the sky under steel,
Hidden tapes, and confidential info to keep for themselves,
Info humanity that would want to experience from ourselves,
Humanity has a right to know what really occurred,
Only I can spread what really happened, a true story preferred,
I still remember, when the sky was split by that bright beam,
The opening of the skies with neon seams,
Perceived as a loss of control, or a crash to the earth,
Perceived as a natural disaster in nature rather than mirth,
But it was a sight to see! Only can we imagine what the secret is worth,
It was then July 8th,1947, that the sky was a pattern of girth,
As it flew in a curve like motion, a pattern of its own,
This flying object that flies from the unknown,
But what makes Roswell 1947 different than any other event,
Why is the incident in Roswell 1947 publicity bent?
But I can still remember looking into those black eyes,
I can still remember the sensation I felt as the creature slowly died,
I felt a sense of sorrow for the black eyed creature, empathy,
A creature that proved no bad intentions, I felt sympathy,
A creature with a fairly large head, a small body, and black eyes,
The same creature that was a pilot of the UFO that split the sky,
Forever, must you really know what happened in Roswell,
But never will you see what really occurred,
But maybe again we’ll experience an event when the sky dispearse.

poem by Kurt Kacich
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As Those Unconscious Sleep

If not for love of humanity,
Would they outspoken speak?
If satisfied with injustices,
Acceptable would these observances be.

Why are some thoughtful?
Why others not?
Why do many dropp their priorities,
To try to stop such inequities?

If not for love of humanity,
Would they outspoken speak?
If satisfied with injustices,
Acceptable would these observances be.

As those unconscious sleep.
Upon self righteous fantasies to keep!
These are the lives lived and wished.
To be as far away from those in need.
And complaining to others,
How those deserving have no right to exist.
How those deserving,
Should be ignored and dismissed.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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