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But if the Chinese mainland, the PRC, attacked Taiwan, we'd be obligated to come to their aid.

quote by Fred Thompson
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Na Tian Piet's Sha'er Of The Late Sultan Abu Bakar Of Johor

In the name of God, let his word begin:
Praise be to God, let praises clear ring;
May our Lord, Jesus Christ's[8] blessings
Guide my pen through these poetizings!

This sha'er is an entirely new composition
Composed by myself, no fear of imitation.
It's Allah's name, I will keep calling out
While creating this poem to avoid confusion.

This story I'm relating at the present moment
I copy not, nor is it by other hands wrought;
Nothing whatsoever is here laid out
That hereunder is not clearly put forth.

Not that I am able to create with much ease,
To all that's to come I'm yet not accustomed;
Why, this sha'er at this time is being composed
Only to console my heart which is heavily laden.

I'm a peranakan[9], of Chinese origin,
Hardly perfect in character and mind;
I find much that I can not comprehend,
I'm not a man given to much wisdom.

Na Tian Piet[10] is what I go by name
I have in the past composed stories and poems;
Even when explained to - most stupid I remain
The more I keep talking the less I understand.

I was born in times gone by
In the country known as Bencoolen[11];
Indeed, I am more than stupid:
Ashamed am I composing this lay.

Twenty-four years have gone by
Since I moved to the island of Singapore;
My wife and children accompanied me
To Singapore, a most lovely country.

I stayed in Riau[12] for some time
Together with my wife and children;
Two full years in Riau territory,
Back to Singapore my legs carried me.

At the time when Acheh[13] was waging war
I went there with goods to trade,
I managed to sell them at exhorbitant prices:
Great indeed were the profits I made.

[...] Read more

poem by T. Wignesan
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Gioconda And Si-Ya-U

to the memory of my friend SI-YA-U,
whose head was cut off in Shanghai

A CLAIM

Renowned Leonardo's
world-famous
"La Gioconda"
has disappeared.
And in the space
vacated by the fugitive
a copy has been placed.

The poet inscribing
the present treatise
knows more than a little
about the fate
of the real Gioconda.
She fell in love
with a seductive
graceful youth:
a honey-tongued
almond-eyed Chinese
named SI-YA-U.
Gioconda ran off
after her lover;
Gioconda was burned
in a Chinese city.

I, Nazim Hikmet,
authority
on this matter,
thumbing my nose at friend and foe
five times a day,
undaunted,
claim
I can prove it;
if I can't,
I'll be ruined and banished
forever from the realm of poesy.

1928

Part One
Excerpts from Gioconda's Diary

15 March 1924: Paris, Louvre Museum

At last I am bored with the Louvre Museum.

[...] Read more

poem by Nazim Hikmet
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The Great Chinese Dragon

The great Chinese dragon which is the greatest dragon in all the
world and which once upon a time was towed across the
Pacific by a crew of coolies rowing in an open boat—was
the first real live dragon ever actually to reach these shores

And the great Chinese dragon passing thru the Golden Gate
spouting streams of water like a string of fireboats then broke
loose somewhere near China Camp gulped down a hundred
Chinese seamen and forthwith ate all the shrimp in San Francisco Bay

And the great Chinese dragon was therefore forever after confined
in a Chinatown basement and ever since allowed out only for
Chinese New Year’s parades and other Unamerican demonstrations
paternally watched-over by those benevolent men in
blue who represent our more advanced civilization which has
reached such a high state of democracy as to allow even a
few barbarians to carry on their quaint native customs in our midst

And thus the great Chinese dragon which is the greatest dragon
in all the world now can only be seen creeping out of an
Adler Alley cellar like a worm out of a hole sometime during
the second week in February every year when it sorties out
of hibernation in its Chinese storeroom pushed from behind
by a band of fortythree Chinese electricians and technicians
who stuff its peristaltic accordion-body up thru a sidewalk
delivery entrance

And first the swaying snout appears and then the eyes at ground
level feeling along the curb and then the head itself casting
about and swayingand heaving finally up to the corner of
Grant Avenue itself where a huge paper sign proclaims the
World’s Largest Chinatown

And the great Chinese dragon’s jaws wired permanently agape as
if by a demented dentist to display the Cadmium teeth as the
hungry head heaves out into Grant Avenue right under the
sign and raising itself with a great snort of fire suddenly proclaims
the official firecracker start of the Chinese New Year

And the lightbulb eyes lighting up and popping out on coiled wire
springs and the body stretching and rocking further and
further around the corner and down Grant Avenue like a
caterpillar rollercoaster with the eyes sprung out and waving
in the air like the blind feelers of some mechanical preying
mantis and the eyes blinking on and off with Chinese red
pupils and tiny bamboo-blind eyelids going up and down

And here comes the St. Mary’s Chinese Girls’ Drum Corps and
here come sixteen white men in pith helmets beating big bass
drums representing the Order of the Moose and here comes

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
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Who is obligated?

Obligated to take care,
Obligated to spare,
Obligated to be awake,
Obligated to sacrifice,
Obligated to worry,
Obligated to keep smile,
Obligated for life,
Obligated for the name,
Obligated for giving birth,
Obligated for the initial,
Obligated with responsibilities.

What obligation do they have,
When they disown them?
What obligation do they have,
when they abandon them?
What obligation do they have,
when they torture them?
What obligation do they have,
when they walk over them?
What obligation do human have,
when they are alone?

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Ears Of Tin

In the late hours of a sunset rendezvous ---
Chill breeze against tide, that carries me from you.
Got a job in a southern city --- got some lead-free in my tank.
Now I must whisper goodbye --- Im bound for the mainland.
Island in the city, cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. groundswell of humanity.
Now the sum breaks through rain as I climb glen shiel
On the trail of those old cattlemen who drove their bargain south again.
And in the eyes of those five sisters of kintail
Theres a wink of seduction from the mainland.
Island in the city. cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise --- their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter. falling on ears of tin.
Take my heart and take my brawn.
Take by stealth or take by storm ---
Set my brain to cruise.
I can see the glow of the suburb lights.
Im fresh from the out-world ---
Singing the mainland blues.
There was a girl where I came from.
Seems a long time, long time gone by.
Wears the west wind in her hair.
She calls from the hill --- yeah, she calls
In my mainland blues.
Theres a coast road that winds to heavens door
Where a fat ferry floats on muted diesel roar.
And theres a light on the hillside --- and theres a flame in her
Eyes, but how cold the lights burn on the mainland.
Island in the city. cut by a cold sea.
People moving on an ocean. groundswell of humanity.
Storm-lashed on the high-rise --- their words are spray to the wind.
Blown like silent laughter. falling on ears of tin
In my mainland blues.

song performed by Jethro Tull
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Massacre in Nanjing

On a clear winter day you can see from Tokyo
The snow-capped volcanic cone of Mount Fuji.
Towering to a height of 3,776 meters on Honshu Island,
About 100 kilometers south-west from the capital,
The majestic mountain is a staunch symbol
Of the Land of the Rising Sun.

During the Sino-Japanese War of 1937-1945,
Hirohito's armies invaded China, carrying along
A fascist banner of samurai honor and pride.
The Japanese Imperial troops
Advanced with brutal force,
Committing dreadful atrocities
Against prisoners and civilians.
They reinterpreted bushido virtues and believed
That their war crimes elevated the splendor and glory
Of Mount Fuji to new heights.

Articles published in November and December 1937
In the Tokyo Nichi Nichi Shimbun reported the exploits
Of Japanese Imperial Army officers Toshiaki Mukai and
Tsuyoshi Noda, who on the road to Nanjing competed,
For being the first to behead 100 Chinese with a sword.

Okumiya Masatake, a Japanese officer,
Was a witness to the atrocities.
He was a principled aviator in the Imperial Navy,
Serving in Jiangsu.
He was shocked by the carnage he saw in China.

On December 12,1937,
He participated outside Nanjing
In the bombing and sinking
Of the American Gunboat USS Panay
In the Yangtze River.

A few days after the sinking of the Panay,
Okumiya rode a chauffeur-driven car,
Searching for the bodies of downed Japanese pilots.
It was then that he had witnessed
His Majesty's Imperial Troops
Perpetrating gruesome Massacres.
In the streets of Nanjing, Japanese soldiers
Were slaughtering indiscriminately
Chinese men and women, young and old.

On December 25 and 27 of 1937,
Okumiya photographed in the capital
Piles of innumerable bodies of Chinese people,
Lying unburied along the Yangtze River

[...] Read more

poem by Paul Hartal
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Who Dares To Take This Life From Me, Knows No Better

I

An important thing in living
Is to know when to go;
He who does not know this
Has not far to go,
Though death may come and go
When you do not know.

Come, give me your hand,
Together shoulder and cheek to shoulder
We'll go, sour kana in cheeks
And in the mornings cherry sticks
To gum: the infectious chilli smiles
Over touch-me-not thorns, crushing snails
From banana leaves, past
Clawing outstretched arms of the bougainvillea
To stone the salt-bite mangoes.

Tread carefully through this durian kampong
For the ripe season has pricked many a sole.

II

la la la tham'-pong
Let's go running intermittent
To the spitting, clucking rubber fruit
And bamboo lashes through the silent graves,
Fresh sod, red mounds, knee stuck, incensing joss sticks
All night long burning, exhuming, expelling the spirit.
Let's scour, hiding behind the lowing boughs of the hibiscus
Skirting the school-green parapet thorny fields.
Let us now squawk, piercing the sultry, humid blanket
In the shrill wakeful tarzan tones,
Paddle high on.the swings
Naked thighs, testicles dry.

Let us now vanish panting on the climbing slopes
Bare breasted, steaming rolling with perspiration,
Biting with lalang burn.
Let us now go and stand under the school
Water tap, thrashing water to and fro.
Then steal through the towkay's
Barbed compound to pluck the hairy
Eyeing rambutans, blood red, parang in hand,
And caoutchouc pungent with peeling.
Now scurrying through the estate glades
Crunching, kicking autumnal rubber leavings,
Kneading, rolling milky latex balls,
Now standing to water by the corner garden post.

[...] Read more

poem by T. Wignesan
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The Chinese Nightingale

A Song in Chinese Tapestries

"How, how," he said. "Friend Chang," I said,
"San Francisco sleeps as the dead—
Ended license, lust and play:
Why do you iron the night away?
Your big clock speaks with a deadly sound,
With a tick and a wail till dawn comes round.
While the monster shadows glower and creep,
What can be better for man than sleep?"

"I will tell you a secret," Chang replied;
"My breast with vision is satisfied,
And I see green trees and fluttering wings,
And my deathless bird from Shanghai sings."
Then he lit five fire-crackers in a pan.
"Pop, pop," said the fire-crackers, "cra-cra-crack."
He lit a joss stick long and black.
Then the proud gray joss in the corner stirred;
On his wrist appeared a gray small bird,
And this was the song of the gray small bird:
"Where is the princess, loved forever,
Who made Chang first of the kings of men?"

And the joss in the corner stirred again;
And the carved dog, curled in his arms, awoke,
Barked forth a smoke-cloud that whirled and broke.
It piled in a maze round the ironing-place,
And there on the snowy table wide
Stood a Chinese lady of high degree,
With a scornful, witching, tea-rose face....
Yet she put away all form and pride,
And laid her glimmering veil aside
With a childlike smile for Chang and for me.

The walls fell back, night was aflower,
The table gleamed in a moonlit bower,
While Chang, with a countenance carved of stone,
Ironed and ironed, all alone.
And thus she sang to the busy man Chang:
"Have you forgotten....
Deep in the ages, long, long ago,
I was your sweetheart, there on the sand—
Storm-worn beach of the Chinese land?
We sold our grain in the peacock town
Built on the edge of the sea-sands brown—
Built on the edge of the sea-sands brown....

"When all the world was drinking blood

[...] Read more

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Chinese woman

When your eyes,
Meet mine,
You smile,
So fine.

The thought
Of being with you,
Excites me,
It’s all I wanna do.

Chinese woman,
I love you,
Chinese woman,
Why don’t you love me too?

Chinese woman,
Don’t go far away,
Chinese woman,
Why don’t you stay?

Every time,
You see me,
I try
to be funny.

I don’t understand,
You laugh and smile,
Yet I don’t hear from
You in a while.

Chinese woman,
I love you,
Chinese woman,
Why don’t you love me too?

Chinese woman,
Don’t go far away,
Chinese woman,
Why don’t you stay?

Days come
In and out.
Still I have
To shout.

Just so you
Look at me.
Just so you
Can see…

[...] Read more

poem by Roger Naya
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Feeling Obligated

Someone has to give in and give up,
A dream...
About to be touched.
If a love of another is wanted that much.
Someone has to give in and give up.
Someone has to give in and give up.

Someone has to give in and give up,
A dream...
About to be touched.
If a love of another is wanted that much.
Someone has to give in and give up.
Someone has to give in and give up.

It's hard to love someone,
If that one is creative.

It's hard to leave and separate from...
Someone loved that's very innovative.
Someone loved that is creative,
Someone loved that is creative.

It's hard to love someone,
If that one is creative.

It's hard to leave and separate from...
Someone loved that's very innovative.
Someone loved that is creative,
Someone loved that is creative.

When one wants to be that one and only...
Someone is feeling isolated.
When one wants to be that one and only...
Someone else is feeling obligated.
Someone else is feeling obligated.

It's hard to love someone,
If that one is creative.

It's hard to leave and separate from...
Someone loved that's very innovative.
To leave another feeling obligated.
To leave another feeling obligated.

It's hard to leave and separate from...
Someone loved that's very innovative.
To leave another feeling obligated.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Chinese Rock

Transcribed by marco ferrero
Note: this is a ramones song. i used the chord file from that version.
Its the same idea.
Intro:
F g f g
Bb c bb c
F g f g
Bb c bb c
Verse 1:
F g
Somebody call me on the door
Say hey hey hey its arty home
You wanna take a walk, you wanna go cop
You wanna go get some chinese rock
Chorus:
D a g a
Im living on a chinese rock
All my best things are in hock
Im living on a chinese rock
Everything is in the pawn shop
Bridge:
F g f g
Bb c bb c
F g f g
Bb c bb c
Verse 2:
F g
The plaster fallin off the wall
My girlfriends cryin in the shower stall
Its hot as a bitch, I shouldve been rich
But Im just diggin a chinese ditch
Repeat chorus:
Bridge:
E g a e g a
D a g
E g a e g a
D a g
Verse 3:
F g
The plaster fallin off the wall
My girlfriends cryin in the shower stall
Its hot as a bitch, I shouldve been rich
But Im just diggin a chinese ditch
Repeat chorus:
D a g a
Im living on a chinese rock
Im living on a chinese rock
Im living on a chinese rock
Im living on a chinese rock
F g f g f g f

song performed by Violent Femmes
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Chinese Rocks

Transcribed by marco ferrero
Note: this is a ramones song. i used the chord file from that version.
Its the same idea.
Intro:
F g f g
Bb c bb c
F g f g
Bb c bb c
Verse 1:
F g
Somebody call me on the door
Say hey hey hey its arty home
You wanna take a walk, you wanna go cop
You wanna go get some chinese rock
Chorus:
D a g a
Im living on a chinese rock
All my best things are in hock
Im living on a chinese rock
Everything is in the pawn shop
Bridge:
F g f g
Bb c bb c
F g f g
Bb c bb c
Verse 2:
F g
The plaster fallin off the wall
My girlfriends cryin in the shower stall
Its hot as a bitch, I shouldve been rich
But Im just diggin a chinese ditch
Repeat chorus:
Bridge:
E g a e g a
D a g
E g a e g a
D a g
Verse 3:
F g
The plaster fallin off the wall
My girlfriends cryin in the shower stall
Its hot as a bitch, I shouldve been rich
But Im just diggin a chinese ditch
Repeat chorus:
D a g a
Im living on a chinese rock
Im living on a chinese rock
Im living on a chinese rock
Im living on a chinese rock
F g f g f g f

song performed by Violent Femmes
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Rokeby: Canto IV.

I.
When Denmark's raven soar'd on high,
Triumphant through Northumbrian sky,
Till, hovering near, her fatal croak
Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke,
And the broad shadow of her wing
Blacken'd each cataract and spring,
Where Tees in tumult leaves his source,
Thundering o'er Caldron and High-Force;
Beneath the shade the Northmen came,
Fix'd on each vale a Runic name,
Rear'd high their altar's rugged stone,
And gave their Gods the land they won.
Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine,
And one sweet brooklet's silver line,
And Woden's Croft did title gain
From the stern Father of the Slain;
But to the Monarch of the Mace,
That held in fight the foremost place,
To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse,
Near Stratforth high they paid their vows,
Remember'd Thor's victorious fame,
And gave the dell the Thunderer's name.

II.
Yet Scald or Kemper err'd, I ween,
Who gave that soft and quiet scene,
With all its varied light and shade,
And every little sunny glade,
And the blithe brook that strolls along
Its pebbled bed with summer song,
To the grim God of blood and scar,
The grisly King of Northern War.
O, better were its banks assign'd
To spirits of a gentler kind!
For where the thicket-groups recede,
And the rath primrose decks the mead,
The velvet grass seems carpet meet
For the light fairies' lively feet.
Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown,
Might make proud Oberon a throne,
While, hidden in the thicket nigh,
Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly;
And where profuse the wood-vetch clings
Round ash and elm, in verdant rings,
Its pale and azure-pencill'd flower
Should canopy Titania's bower.

III.
Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade;

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Lord of the Isles: Canto I.

Autumn departs - but still his mantle's fold
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville,
Beneath a shroud of russet dropp'd with gold,
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still;
Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill,
Yet lingering notes of silvan music swell,
The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill:
And yet some tints of summer splendour tell
When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western fell.

Autumn departs - from Gala's fields no more
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer;
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er,
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear.
The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear,
And harvest-home hath hush'd the changing wain,
On the waste hill no forms of life appear,
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train,
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scatter'd grain.

Deem'st thou these sadden'd scenes have pleasure still,
Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to stray,
To see the heath-flower wither'd on the hill,
To listen to the wood's expiring lay,
To note the red leaf shivering on the spray,
To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain,
On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way,
And moralise on mortal joy and pain? -
O! if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the minstrel strain.

No! do not scorn, although its hoarser note
Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie,
Though faint its beauties as the tints remote
That gleam through mist in autumn's evening sky,
And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry,
When wild November hath his bugle wound;
Nor mock my toil - a lonely gleaner I,
Through fields time-wasted, on and inquest bound,
Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found.

So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved,
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day;
In distant lands, by the rough West reproved,
Still live some relics of the ancient lay.
For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay,
With such the Seer of Skye the eve beguiles;
'Tis known amid the pathless wastes of Reay,
In Harries known, and in Iona's piles,
Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Obligated to be Crazed

Obligated to be crazed!
It seems that way,
Where the people's minds are
These days.

Poisoned by foods processed and packaged.
Tainted by liquids,
Whether alcoholic or faucets tapped.
Chemicalized soft drinks and sugared cereals...
Leave our children hooked.
And parents left with empty pocketbooks.

Obligated to be crazed!
It seems that way,
Where the people's minds are
These days.

Those claiming to have faith,
Feel unsafe in their homes.
They call themselves 'christians'
But pack guns to protect themselves...
From lifestyles they have condoned!

They are the ones believing they have rights,
Of all kinds.
Even to self destruct...
In racial divisions,
They've been conditioned to keep up!

And like ducks following 'quacks'
To be led like sheep to dead ends!
These same folks provoke others in conflicts...
They inflict and then insist,
There are needs to defend.

Enlightenment for them,
Means to incite bitterness and not peace!
Blaming their standards and values have diminished.
And they would feel more secured,
By the hiring of more police on urban streets.

Obligated to be crazed!
It seems that way,
Where the people's minds are
These days.

But a self examination,
That has increased their degradation...
Is too obvious although not admitted.
That this is mindset praised.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The PRC is the big brother in this relationship, and it has the capacity to be generous to Taiwan on this issue in a manner that might do much to defuse that issue internally in Taiwan.

quote by William Kirby
Added by Lucian Velea
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Chinese Girls

(jack hues)
A star is shining
Into my eyes
It will not fall
A star is wise
Across the harbor
Perfumed hills
The silent waters
And all is still
Oh yeah
Chinese girls stand, see right through you
Chinese girls can sway
Chinese girls will melt your heart
And take your breath away
Chinese girls would dance with god
Chinese girls dont care
Put their hands around their heads
And through their chinese hair
She is not moving
She does not talk
Birds in her hair
Where she walks
And when she gazes
Theres a pearl
I will not forget
My chinese girl

song performed by Wang Chung
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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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
Added by Poetry Lover
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My Kool-Aid Made

Some prefer ice tea.
A Pepsi or their Coke.
Or maybe just Spring water,
To minimize their thirsts.

Some pray for a breeze,
When sweat drips from their brows.
But with Kool-Aid made I make,
I don't mind these 'dog days' few allow.

My Kool-Aid made,
Tastes more like fresh lemonaide.
With concentrated lemon to add flavor.
The Summer August heat,
Spiced with humidity depletes and beats...
But a pick up with my Kool-Aid saves,
The ones who labor.

My Kool-Aid made tastes more like fresh lemonaide.
Here,
Try a sip.
With concentrated lemon to add flavor.
Oh.Oh.
And the Summer August heat,
Yeah!
Spiced with humidity isn't sweet.
And my Kool-Aid made,
Picks up those who labor.

Oh.Oh.
The Summer August heat,
Yeah!
Spiced with humidity isn't sweet.
And my Kool-Aid made,
Picks up those who labor.

My Kool-Aid made tastes more like fresh lemonaide.
With a 'fruit smack'.
And adding my own lemon to the flavor.
Oh.Oh.
The Summer August heat,
Yeah!
Spiced with humidity isn't sweet.
And my Kool-Aid made,
Picks up those who labor.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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