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A racing tipster who only reached Hitler's level of accuracy would not do well for his clients.

quote by A.J.P. Taylor
Added by Lucian Velea
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Accuracy

We sit in the same room
Side by side
I give you the wrong lines
Feed you
Accuracy
Accuracy
Look into my eyes
We both smile
I could kill you
Without trying
That's accuracy
Accuracy
Accuracy
...
Accuracy
Accuracy
Practice all day for accuracy
Mirror mirror on the wall

song performed by Cure
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Death Of Adolf Hitler’s Personal Physician

Why was Hilter’s personal physician
sentenced to death Daddy Daddy?

What did he do Daddy Daddy?

Karl Brant Hilter’s personal physician
was sentenced to death by the U.S.
War Crime Tribunal in August 1947!

Brandt was indicted with 22 other Nazi
SS doctors and SS officers! Brandt was
Reich Commissioner for Health and Sanitation!

Brandt was charged found guilty on all four
counts! Brandt was charged with conspiracy:
conspiracy in war crimes, aggressive wars,

membership in the criminal SS organization,
crimes against humanity, criminal acts
including participating in and consenting to

the use of concentration camp inmates;
to be used as test subjects in medical
experiments, including experiments on

women children without any anesthetic,
vivisection cutting up live people
without an anesthetic to reduce raw pain.

SS Medical Corp wore a serpent crest
on the collar patches of SS unit insignia.
From1935 to 1938 SS Medical Corps

began to serve a far more sinister purpose.
SS doctors serving in concentration camps
engaging in human medical experiments.

In 1936 SS doctors strengthen the master
race, culling the mentally disabled and
physically handicapped, vital work to assist

purification in Nazi Race Euthanasia Program.

By 1941 elite Waffen-SS doctors were highly
trained both in medical skills and combat
tactics, many receiving high combat awards.

SS doctors achieved such heights through
human medical experiments, notorious
experiments, at Aushwitz and Dachau

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Bush At Helm

Turkey’s Touristic Problem
Kurds coming over the hill!
Bush’s sovereign
non-interventionist, Foreign
Policy! Mountain
grave sides agore to fill!

Arise with Saddam’s Hitler admired
imitated stylised televised word!
Scapegoats falsely labelled executed
insurgents reduced rankle not dead!

In flight fled fear fed!
Refugee refuge
safe sanitary zones?

Symbolic symptom
(flat-lining) Bush’s!
International problem
ignored (New World Order) !

A few baby refugee corpses
small accountant price to pay!
(collateral damage civilian)
For history sought new world order!
Is this true political point scoring?
Sentiment stripped to bare bone?
Baboon floating his own balloon?

Democracy must accountable mean
no elected esteemed humane official?
Is above pan-morality credibility Check!
Democracy must not be policy tarnished!
Diverted treated acted easily white washed!
Non-accountable an expendable indifference!

An estimated? millions of Kurds!
Fled into neighbouring countries
during the Bush crisis in 1991!

An estimated four to five
million persecuted Iraqi Kurds!
Under Saddam’s dictatorship!
Were forbidden to celebrate
their ethnic culture! Or organize
representative political activities!

Oppressed Iraqi Kurds
were under constant invasive state
censure! Surveillance!

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Maps And Legends

He's not to be reached he's to be reached.
He's not to be reached he's to be reached.
Called the fool and the company
On his own where he'd rather be.
Where he ought to be he sees what you can't see can't you see that?
Maybe he's caught in the legend
maybe he's caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
have been misunderstood.
Down the way the road's divided
Paint me the places you have seen.
Those who know what I don't know
refer to the yellow, red and green
Maybe he's caught in the legend,
maybe he's caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
have been misunderstood.
He's not to be reached, he's to be reached. (4 times)
The map that you painted didn't seem real.
He just sings whatever he's seen
Point to the legend, point to the east,
Point to the yellow, red and green
Maybe he's caught in the legend,
maybe he's caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
have been misunderstood, been misunderstood. (Maps and legends)
(Maps and legends) Is he to be reached? He's not to be reached.
(Maps and legends) Is he to be reached? He's not to be reached.
(Maps and legends) Is he to be reached? He's not to be reached anymore

song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
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Maps & Legends

Hes not to be reached, hes to be reached.
Hes not to be reached, hes to be reached.
Called the fool and the company,
On his own where hed rather be.
Where he ought to be, he sees what you cant see,
Cant you see that?
Maybe hes caught in the legend,
Maybe hes caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
Have been misunderstood.
Down the way the roads divided,
Paint me the places you have seen.
Those who know what I dont know
Refer to the yellow, red and green
Maybe hes caught in the legend,
Maybe hes caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
Have been misunderstood.
Hes not to be reached, hes to be reached. (4 times)
The map that you painted didnt seem real.
He just sings whatever hes seen
Point to the legend, point to the east,
Point to the yellow, red and green
Maybe hes caught in the legend,
Maybe hes caught in the mood.
Maybe these maps and legends
Have been misunderstood, been misunderstood.
(maps and legends)
(maps and legends) is he to be reached?
Hes not to be reached.
(maps and legends) is he to be reached?
Hes not to be reached.
(maps and legends) is he to be reached?
Hes not to be reached anymore.

song performed by REM
Added by Lucian Velea
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Over The Hills And Far Away

A LITTLE bird flew my window by,
'Twixt the level street and the level sky,
The level rows of houses tall,
The long low sun on the level wall;
And all that the little bird did say
Was, 'Over the hills and far away.'

A little bird sang behind my chair,
From the level line of corn-fields fair,
The smooth green hedgerow's level bound
Not a furlong off--the horizon's bound,
And the level lawn where the sun all day
Burns:--'Over the hills and far away.'

A little bird sings above my bed,
And I know if I could but lift my head
I would see the sun set, round and grand,
Upon level sea and level sand,
While beyond the misty distance gray
Is 'Over the hills and far away.'

I think that a little bird will sing
Over a grassy mound, next spring,
Where something that once was me, ye'll leave
In the level sunshine, morn and eve:
But I shall be gone, past night, past day,
Over the hills and far away.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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where did I park my car?

1
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before

had a coffee at the center
caught up with some friends
watched a movie
and bought some stuff for home
and now I can’t find my car
though I’ve searched past 10 minutes

where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before

no, that’s not mine
that’s a Mercedes;
that one’s too shiny;
and maybe it’s this one
- no, mate,
we won’t go any nearer
this car is too clean
mine will look like
it’s not been washed since Noah

where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before

2
well, yes, help me look out...
it’s an old Nissan
blue faded into white;
no, nobody ‘ll steal that
and the only people
who’d give it a second look
will be the traffic police
who’d wave as if to say:
Pull over, Sir;

[...] Read more

poem by Raj Arumugam
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White Russian

(fish, steve rothery, mark kelly, pete trewavas, ian mosley)
Where do we go from here?
Where do we go from here, where do we go from here
Where do we go from here, where do we go from here
They boarded up the synagogues uzis on a street corner
You can't take a photograph of uzis on a street corner
The dj resigned today they wouldn't let him have his say
Surface scratched where the needles play, uzis on a street corner
Where do we go from here
Terror in rue de st. denis, murder on the periphery
Someone else in someone else's pocket, christ knows i don't know how to stop it
Poppies at the cenotaph, the cynics can't afford to laugh
I heard in on the telegraph there's uzis on a street corner
Where do we go from here, where do we go from here
The more i see, the more i hear, the more i find fewer answers
I close my mind, i shout it out but you know it's getting harder
To me calm down, to reason out, to come to terms with what it's all about
I'm uptight, can't sleep at night, i can't pretend everything's alright
My ideals, my sanity, they seem to be deserting me
But to stand up and fight i know we have six million reasons
They're burning down the synagogues uzis on a street corner
The heralds of the holocaust uzis on a street corner
The silence never louder than now, how quickly we forgot our vows
This resurrection we can't allow, uzis on a street corner
Where do we go from here, where do we go from here
We buy fresh bagels from the corner store
Where swastikas are spat from aerosols
I sit in the bar sipping iced white russian
Trying to score but nobody's pushing
And everyone looks at everyone's faces
Searching for signs and praying for traces of a conscience in residence
Are we sitting on a barbed wire fence
Racing the clouds home, racing the clouds home
We place our faith in human rights
In the paper wars that tie the red tape tight
I know that i would rather be out of this conspiracy
In the gulags and internment camps frozen faces in nameless ranks
I know that they would rather be standing here beside me
Racing the clouds home, racing the clouds home
You can shut your eyes, you can hide it away it's gonna come back another day
Racing the clouds home, are we racing the clouds home
Racing the clouds home

song performed by Marillion
Added by Lucian Velea
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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Beating Around The Bush: A Foreign Policy

Saddam claimed to be greater
than Hitler and Nebuchadnezzar,
an ancient king of Babylon.

Saddam believed he would
build a Greater Empire than both,
beginning from modern Iraq.

This is the man Mr Bush!
Decided to let continue
to rule during his watch?

In 1979 Iraqi President Saddam Hussein
claimed he was a direct lineal descendant
of Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar II.

Saddam called himself Nebuchadnezzar III
had coins struck showing his likeness
coined with the Babylonian king on these coins.

The two likenesses proved to be! Uncannily similar!

In his memoirs George Herbert Bush
compared Saddam to Adolf Hitler!
Aspirations for Empire! Ambitions!
Ethnic Cleansing! Rule by Dictatorship!

[Chemical weapons, deportations!
Forced disappearances, Secret police!
Targeted assassinations, torture, murders!
Sounds like a resume of Adolf Hitler!
Yes Saddam was another Hitler wanta be! ]

[This is monster Mr Bush
decided to let continue
to rule during his watch? ]

Invasion and Annexation
Kuwait invaded by Iraqi!
August 2 1990!
Iraqi forces first bomb
Kuwait City terror tactics!

The Kuwaiti civilian capital
attacked by Iraqi commandos!
Deployed by helicopters boats
all airports two airbases seized!

Remember Invasion Kuwait?
Saddam’s Iraq-Kuwait War?

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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ZF2 'Angel Of Death' A Demonic Nazi Doctor

he is the 'Angel of Death'
a demonic Nazi doctor
an SS physician in Auschwitz
concentration camp dedicated
to creating a master race
for Satanic Adolf Hitler

he carried out genetic experiments
vivisection on living human victims
without anesthetic without pain killers
cutting you up alive to find the key
to produce Aryan master race twins
to artificially increase Aryan birthrate

a serial killer without empathy pity
a chilling estimated 400,000 deaths
in medical experiments at Auschwitz
succeeded decades ahead of all rivals
experimenting on live humans not rats
doctor death to South America escapes

natural twin rates about one in rarely
in Argentina doctor death will openly
practice medicine far surpass this rate
in small town Candido Godoi in Brazil
in 1960′ s Josef achieves 1: 5 twin ratio
a phenomenon not occurring naturally

Nazi Josef Mengele his results will chill
resulting offspring is Nazi order unique
almost all twins born in Candido Godoi
have blond hair blue eyes to Hitler order
experimental results knife research based
Angel of Death at Auschwitz it learned

Candido Godoi was Mengele's laboratory
the clone master attended treated women
followed his genetic research pregnancies
treated patients with new unknown drugs
preparations talked artificial insemination
in human beings continued animal studies

proclaiming he could get cows to produce
male twins like the plot in the 1978 feature
film ‘The Boys From Brazil’ Mengele was
hiding in South America with real plans to
begin a Fourth Reich with other loyal Nazi
a town museum is the House Of The Twins

Auschwitz angel of death Nazi doctor Josef

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The City of Dreadful Night

Per me si va nella citta dolente.

--Dante

Poi di tanto adoprar, di tanti moti
D'ogni celeste, ogni terrena cosa,
Girando senza posa,
Per tornar sempre la donde son mosse;
Uso alcuno, alcun frutto
Indovinar non so.

Sola nel mondo eterna, a cui si volve
Ogni creata cosa,
In te, morte, si posa
Nostra ignuda natura;
Lieta no, ma sicura
Dell' antico dolor . . .
Pero ch' esser beato
Nega ai mortali e nega a' morti il fato.

--Leopardi

PROEM

Lo, thus, as prostrate, "In the dust I write
My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears."
Yet why evoke the spectres of black night
To blot the sunshine of exultant years?
Why disinter dead faith from mouldering hidden?
Why break the seals of mute despair unbidden,
And wail life's discords into careless ears?

Because a cold rage seizes one at whiles
To show the bitter old and wrinkled truth
Stripped naked of all vesture that beguiles,
False dreams, false hopes, false masks and modes of youth;
Because it gives some sense of power and passion
In helpless innocence to try to fashion
Our woe in living words howe'er uncouth.

Surely I write not for the hopeful young,
Or those who deem their happiness of worth,
Or such as pasture and grow fat among
The shows of life and feel nor doubt nor dearth,
Or pious spirits with a God above them
To sanctify and glorify and love them,
Or sages who foresee a heaven on earth.

For none of these I write, and none of these
Could read the writing if they deigned to try;

[...] Read more

poem by James Thomson
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Virginia

Fragments of a Lay Sung in the Forum on the Day Whereon Lucius Sextius Sextinus Lateranus and Caius Licinius Calvus Stolo Were Elected Tribunes of the Commons the Fifth Time, in the Year of the City CCCLXXXII.

Ye good men of the Commons, with loving hearts and true,
Who stand by the bold Tribunes that still have stood by you,
Come, make a circle round me, and mark my tale with care,
A tale of what Rome once hath borne, of what Rome yet may bear.
This is no Grecian fable, of fountains running wine,
Of maids with snaky tresses, or sailors turned to swine.
Here, in this very Forum, under the noonday sun,
In sight of all the people, the bloody deed was done.
Old men still creep among us who saw that fearful day,
Just seventy years and seven ago, when the wicked Ten bare sway.

Of all the wicked Ten still the names are held accursed,
And of all the wicked Ten Appius Claudius was the worst.
He stalked along the Forum like King Tarquin in his pride:
Twelve axes waited on him, six marching on a side;
The townsmen shrank to right and left, and eyed askance with fear
His lowering brow, his curling mouth which always seemed to sneer;
That brow of hate, that mouth of scorn, marks all the kindred still;
For never was there Claudius yet but wished the Commons ill;
Nor lacks he fit attendance; for close behind his heels,
With outstretched chin and crouching pace, the client Marcus steals,
His loins girt up to run with speed, be the errand what it may,
And the smile flickering on his cheek, for aught his lord may say.
Such varlets pimp and jest for hire among the lying Greeks:
Such varlets still are paid to hoot when brave Licinius speaks.
Where'er ye shed the honey, the buzzing flies will crowd;
Where'er ye fling the carrion, the raven's croak is loud;
Where'er down Tiber garbage floats, the greedy pike ye see;
And wheresoe'er such lord is found, such client still will be.

Just then, as through one cloudless chink in a black stormy sky
Shines out the dewy morning-star, a fair young girl came by.
With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel on her arm,
Home she went bounding from the school, nor dreamed of shame or harm;
And past those dreaded axes she innocently ran,
With bright frank brow that had not learned to blush at gaze of man;
And up the Sacred Street she turned, and, as she danced along,
She warbled gayly to herself lines of the good old song,
How for a sport the princes came spurring from the camp,
And found Lucrece, combing the fleece, under the midnight lamp.
The maiden sang as sings the lark, when up he darts his flight,
From his nest in the green April corn, to meet the morning light;
And Appius heard her sweet young voice, and saw her sweet young face,
And loved her with the accursed love of his accursed race,
And all along the Forum, and up the Sacred Street,
His vulture eye pursued the trip of those small glancing feet.

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Babbington Macaulay
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Long Walk

I need a long walk, with someone who knows what to do
I need a long talk, I need a helping hand to pull me through
I need a tall drink, with somebody who cares, I need someone here for company
Its time to rethink and somehow find a way to put an end to this mystery
See I dont know, the pain wont go
And the hurt inside is getting so damn hard to hide
So now I pay the price, I wonder how much its gonna take
Ive gotta roll the dice, and try to take all this heartache
But I still dont know, the pain wont go
And the hurt inside is getting so damn hard to hide
I gotta work it out, cause my heart is still racing, racing away
Work it out, cause my heart is still breaking, hey
So now Ill take this long walk, I dont want anybody listenin
cause I really wanna pour it out, and all went out without ever giving in
But I still dont know, the pain wont go
Im still hurting inside and its so damn hard to hide
You gotta help me work it out, cause my heart is still racing, racing away
Work it out, cause my heart, my heart is breaking away
Ive gotta work this out, cause my heart is still racing away
Yeah, work it out, cause my heart, its so much a part of me
Work it out - gotta work it out
My heart is still racing - and Im wasting away
Work it out - Ive gotta work it out...

song performed by Bad Company
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Odyssey: Book 10

Thence we went on to the Aeoli island where lives Aeolus son of
Hippotas, dear to the immortal gods. It is an island that floats (as
it were) upon the sea, iron bound with a wall that girds it. Now,
Aeolus has six daughters and six lusty sons, so he made the sons marry
the daughters, and they all live with their dear father and mother,
feasting and enjoying every conceivable kind of luxury. All day long
the atmosphere of the house is loaded with the savour of roasting
meats till it groans again, yard and all; but by night they sleep on
their well-made bedsteads, each with his own wife between the
blankets. These were the people among whom we had now come.
"Aeolus entertained me for a whole month asking me questions all the
time about Troy, the Argive fleet, and the return of the Achaeans. I
told him exactly how everything had happened, and when I said I must
go, and asked him to further me on my way, he made no sort of
difficulty, but set about doing so at once. Moreover, he flayed me a
prime ox-hide to hold the ways of the roaring winds, which he shut
up in the hide as in a sack- for Jove had made him captain over the
winds, and he could stir or still each one of them according to his
own pleasure. He put the sack in the ship and bound the mouth so
tightly with a silver thread that not even a breath of a side-wind
could blow from any quarter. The West wind which was fair for us did
he alone let blow as it chose; but it all came to nothing, for we were
lost through our own folly.
"Nine days and nine nights did we sail, and on the tenth day our
native land showed on the horizon. We got so close in that we could
see the stubble fires burning, and I, being then dead beat, fell
into a light sleep, for I had never let the rudder out of my own
hands, that we might get home the faster. On this the men fell to
talking among themselves, and said I was bringing back gold and silver
in the sack that Aeolus had given me. 'Bless my heart,' would one turn
to his neighbour, saying, 'how this man gets honoured and makes
friends to whatever city or country he may go. See what fine prizes he
is taking home from Troy, while we, who have travelled just as far
as he has, come back with hands as empty as we set out with- and now
Aeolus has given him ever so much more. Quick- let us see what it
all is, and how much gold and silver there is in the sack he gave
him.'
"Thus they talked and evil counsels prevailed. They loosed the sack,
whereupon the wind flew howling forth and raised a storm that
carried us weeping out to sea and away from our own country. Then I
awoke, and knew not whether to throw myself into the sea or to live on
and make the best of it; but I bore it, covered myself up, and lay
down in the ship, while the men lamented bitterly as the fierce
winds bore our fleet back to the Aeolian island.
"When we reached it we went ashore to take in water, and dined
hard by the ships. Immediately after dinner I took a herald and one of
my men and went straight to the house of Aeolus, where I found him
feasting with his wife and family; so we sat down as suppliants on the
threshold. They were astounded when they saw us and said, 'Ulysses,
what brings you here? What god has been ill-treating you? We took

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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When Hitler came for the Jews... I was not a Jew, therefore, I was not concerned. And when Hitler attacked the Catholics, I was not a Catholic, and therefore, I was not concerned. And when Hitler attacked the unions and the industrialists, I was not a member of the unions and I was not concerned. Then, Hitler attacked me and the Protestant church

Martin Niemoller in Congressional Record, October 14, 1968
Added by Lucian Velea
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To Aunt Rose

Aunt Rose—now—might I see you
with your thin face and buck tooth smile and pain
of rheumatism—and a long black heavy shoe
for your bony left leg
limping down the long hall in Newark on the running carpet
past the black grand piano
in the day room
where the parties were
and I sang Spanish loyalist songs
in a high squeaky voice
(hysterical) the committee listening
while you limped around the room
collected the money—
Aunt Honey, Uncle Sam, a stranger with a cloth arm
in his pocket
and huge young bald head
of Abraham Lincoln Brigade

—your long sad face
your tears of sexual frustration
(what smothered sobs and bony hips
under the pillows of Osborne Terrace)
—the time I stood on the toilet seat naked
and you powdered my thighs with calamine
against the poison ivy—my tender
and shamed first black curled hairs
what were you thinking in secret heart then
knowing me a man already—
and I an ignorant girl of family silence on the thin pedestal
of my legs in the bathroom—Museum of Newark.

Aunt Rose
Hitler is dead, Hitler is in Eternity; Hitler is with
Tamburlane and Emily Brontë

Though I see you walking still, a ghost on Osborne Terrace
down the long dark hall to the front door
limping a little with a pinched smile
in what must have been a silken
flower dress
welcoming my father, the Poet, on his visit to Newark
—see you arriving in the living room
dancing on your crippled leg
and clapping hands his book
had been accepted by Liveright

[...] Read more

poem by Allen Ginsberg
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A letter from the 20th century

On the 22nd of June in 1941
The Great Patriotic War in my Motherland had begun.
It was Sunday early morning,
the country peacefully slept,
but a horrible idea Hitler had kept.
Without announcing the war he had given order
to bomb the Soviet Republics border.
Hitler planned to capture the country
by unexpected military actions.
He was sure to occupy the country
and turn into slaves the nations.
But his plans failed
and his wailing voice was deadened
by the voice of Levitan,
the Russian radio announcer
who reported about the war.
Then everyone swore
to defend our Motherland
and stand up to the end, hand in hand.
Hitler didn’t understand
that Soviets were not the gangland or the analysand.
He forgot that he was the aggressor
and the people of my country were the defenders.
He had to know the mentality of Russians,
Ukrainians, Georgians, Armenians…..
and more than 100 other nationalities.
Their destinies were not to be the slaves,
they would rather die
and sleep in the graves.
Hitler had to know the native soul
which would never live on someones dole.
That horrible war lasted almost 4 years.
They were the years of fears, hunger and grief.
The war was a thief.
It took away millions of lives,
but those who survived
would never forget the war.
And more: they’ve become even stronger than before.
Therefore, many questions still remain:
What for? Why? Where is the truth? Where is the lie?
Who will deny the war?
Are we on the right shore?
Should we think a bit more
so as to create a world of love and peace?
Why do some people only think how to seize?
Why don’t they give?
Why don’t they share?
Why is the truth very rare?
There are so many questions to ask.
But… I give you one task:

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poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Appeasement For Adolf Hitler

The price of peace
appeasement
appeasing Adolf Hitler
will never work.

Was Neville Chamberlain
falling on his held sword
stalling an act to buy time;
or naive guillible ready...
to buy peace at any cost?

The British Prime Minister
left Munich believing
that in appeasing Hitler;
“he had assured
'peace for our time'”?

Both Britain and France
pursued a foreign policy
of political appeasement;
in their desperate hope
that Hitler would not drag
Europe into a new world war.

What was appeasement?

Appeasement expressed
a consensus widespread
collective British desire;
to heal the horrific wounds
of raw recent World War I.

Appeasement expressed
a consensus widespread
collective British desire;
to correct what many
British officials regarded;
as the injustices of
punitive reparations;
in the Versailles Treaty.

Remember their were
officials who regarded
a powerful Germany;
as a necessary desirable
bulwark against communism;
a feared rising Soviet Union.

Heartbreaking growing anxiety;
“horrible, fantastic, incredible”

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Painting For Hitler

Anyone who paints the meadow blue
And the sky green with yellow clouds
Should be sterilized or executed,
Adolf Hitler said.

For many years I waited with a response to that.
Finally on a spring morning I took a canvas and
With slow and measured brushstrokes I painted
The sky green with yellow clouds
And the meadow blue.

I did this not only as a symbolical act
Of defiance but also in reply to the present day
Followers of the Nazi dictator who continue
To admire and worship him.

Prior to his rise to power Adolf painted
Nostalgic landscapes. He also designed
The Nazi flag in which he reversed
The ancient Hindu and Buddhist icon
Of the swastika from a symbol of peace
To a symbol of violence and hatred.

As the supreme military commander
Of the Reich he liked to impress his minions
By quoting from memory encyclopaedic data
Such as the exact tonnage of each warship of
Every nation. However, General Franz Halder
Described Hitler as a grotesque neurotic
Who gave irrational orders. The fuehrer wanted
To outperform Napoleon and in the process
Fifty million people died in Europe.
Six million of them were Jews.

This monstrous criminal of history also posed
As art theorist although he failed to grasp
The principle of artistic freedom. He forbade
Aesthetic experimentation and raged at signs
Of the flight of imagination. He feared the idea
Of liberating perception from the tight hold of
Appearances because we can see what we cannot
See only through the unique eye of the free artist.

Anyone who paints the meadow blue
And the sky green with yellow clouds
Should be sterilized, or executed,
Hitler said on October 15,1933 in Munich
In a cornerstone laying speech
For the House of German Art.

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poem by Paul Hartal
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