Successful crimes alone are justified.
quote by John Dryden
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Justified & Ancient
Ok man, take it away
Ummm-hmmm-hm
Whoah-nanananana
Hmmmmm mmmm
Ummm-hmmm-hm-yeah
Ummm-hmmm-hm-yeah
Ummm-hmmm-hm-yeah
Ummm-hmmmmmm
Theyre justified and theyre ancient
And they like to roam the land
Theyre justified and theyre ancient
I hope you understand
They dont want to upset the apple cart
And they dont want to cause any harm
But if you dont like what theyre going to do
You better not stop them cause theyre coming through
Theyre justified and theyre ancient
And they know what time is love
Theyre justified and theyre ancient
Did they come from up above?
Rockman hes just made of bricks
And king boy lost his screws
The jams dont need no master plan
To do whatever -- ever they can
Ummm-hmmm-hm
Whoah-nanananana, unh huh
All righhht, unh huh
Yeah
Theyre justified and theyre ancient
And they like to roam the land
Theyre justified and theyre ancient
I hope you understand
They dont want to upset the apple cart
And they dont want to cause any harm
But if you dont like what theyre going to do
You better not stop them cause theyre coming through
Theyre justified and theyre ancient
And they know what time is love
Theyre justified and theyre ancient
Did they come from up above?
Rockman hes just made of bricks
And king boy lost his screws
The jams dont need no master plan
To do whatever -- ever they can
Ummm-hmmm-hm
Whoah-nanananana, unh huh
song performed by KLF
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Crimes Of The Mind
Bigger than man walking on the moon
Coming to a theatre near you soon
This is what Im living for
You get a little bit
And you want a little more
Everything is fine
Crimes of the mind
I drink a little wine
Crimes of the mind
Heres to modern times
Crimes of the mind
Every dog will have its day
And all these dogs just want to play
You will reap what you sow
But the real truth we will never know
Everything is fine
Crimes of the mind
I drink a little wine
Crimes of the mind
Heres to modern times
Crimes of the mind
Rolling in the grime
Crimes of the mind
Digging for a dime
Crimes of the mind
Blind leading the blind
Crimes of the mind
song performed by Phish
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New Morality
From mental mists to purge a nation's eyes;
To animate the weak, unite the wise;
To trace the deep infection, that prevades
The crowded town, and taints the rural shades;
To mark how wide extends the mighty waste
O'er the fair realms of Science, Learning, Taste;
To drive and scatter all the brood of lies,
And chase the varying falsehood as it flies;
The long arrears of ridicule to pay,
To drag reluctant Dulness back to day;
Much yet remains.--To you these themes belong,
Ye favor'd sons of virtue and of song!
Say, is the field too narrow? Are the times
Barren of folly, and devoid of crimes?
Yet, venial vices, in a milder age,
Could rouse the warmth of Pope's satiric rage;
The doting miser, and the lavish heir,
The follies, and the foibles of the fair,
Sir Job, Sir Balaam, and old Euclio's thrift,
And Sappho's diamonds, with her dirty shift,
Blunt, Charteris, Hopkins;--meaner subjects fired
The keen-eyed Poet;--while the Muse inspired
Her ardent child--entwining as he sate,
His laurell'd chaplet with the thorns of hate.
But say,--indignant does the Muse retire,
Her shrine deserted, and extinct its fire?
No pious hand to feed the sacred flame,
No raptured soul a Poet's charge to claim.
Bethink thee (Gifford); when some future age
Shall trace the promise of thy playful page;--
"[1]The hand which brush'd a swarm of fools away,
"Should rouse to grasp a more reluctant prey!"--
Think then, will pleaded indolence excuse
The tame secession of thy languid Muse?
Ah! where is now that promise? Why so long
Sleep the keen shafts of satire and of song?
Oh! come with Taste and Virtue at thy side,
With ardent zeal inflamed, and patriot pride;
With keen poetic glance direct the blow,
And empty all thy quiver on the foe:
No pause--no rest--till weltering on the ground
The poisonous hydra lies, and pierced with many a wound.
[...] Read more
poem by George Canning
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An Epistle To William Hogarth
Amongst the sons of men how few are known
Who dare be just to merit not their own!
Superior virtue and superior sense,
To knaves and fools, will always give offence;
Nay, men of real worth can scarcely bear,
So nice is jealousy, a rival there.
Be wicked as thou wilt; do all that's base;
Proclaim thyself the monster of thy race:
Let vice and folly thy black soul divide;
Be proud with meanness, and be mean with pride.
Deaf to the voice of Faith and Honour, fall
From side to side, yet be of none at all:
Spurn all those charities, those sacred ties,
Which Nature, in her bounty, good as wise,
To work our safety, and ensure her plan,
Contrived to bind and rivet man to man:
Lift against Virtue, Power's oppressive rod;
Betray thy country, and deny thy God;
And, in one general comprehensive line,
To group, which volumes scarcely could define,
Whate'er of sin and dulness can be said,
Join to a Fox's heart a Dashwood's head;
Yet may'st thou pass unnoticed in the throng,
And, free from envy, safely sneak along:
The rigid saint, by whom no mercy's shown
To saints whose lives are better than his own,
Shall spare thy crimes; and Wit, who never once
Forgave a brother, shall forgive a dunce.
But should thy soul, form'd in some luckless hour,
Vile interest scorn, nor madly grasp at power;
Should love of fame, in every noble mind
A brave disease, with love of virtue join'd,
Spur thee to deeds of pith, where courage, tried
In Reason's court, is amply justified:
Or, fond of knowledge, and averse to strife,
Shouldst thou prefer the calmer walk of life;
Shouldst thou, by pale and sickly study led,
Pursue coy Science to the fountain-head;
Virtue thy guide, and public good thy end,
Should every thought to our improvement tend,
To curb the passions, to enlarge the mind,
Purge the sick Weal, and humanise mankind;
Rage in her eye, and malice in her breast,
Redoubled Horror grining on her crest,
Fiercer each snake, and sharper every dart,
Quick from her cell shall maddening Envy start.
Then shalt thou find, but find, alas! too late,
How vain is worth! how short is glory's date!
Then shalt thou find, whilst friends with foes conspire,
To give more proof than virtue would desire,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Justified And Sanctified
A wicked man, I am justified, saved by Christ to join His Bride,
The Holy Bride of Jesus Christ, saved by Him, given New Life,
Saved from a previous life of sin, to live my life, now for Him,
To live for Christ every day, walking anew on life’s narrow way.
By His Blood, I was justified, and in His Spirit, I am sanctified,
By Christ I have been set apart, with His Spirit now in my heart,
His Spirit guides me in this life, where sin around me is so rife,
To be for Jesus Christ a Light, in a world, where wrong is right.
Justified and sanctified to serve, in a position, I don’t deserve,
But while a sinner, God loved me, taking me to Mount Calvary,
To my Dear Savior’s Cross, where God cleansed me of dross,
He cleansed me of sin and shame, by the Power of His Name.
With His Power and Grace, He aids my witness place to place,
Giving me His Gospel, to preach, to all those, that I can reach.
Being a witness wherever I am, leading all others to The Lamb,
To The One, Who justified me, The Spotless Lamb of Eternity,
Through God’s only Salvation, I received by God justification,
Justified by A Holy God, He now leads me with staff and rod,
Leading with purpose in mind, with my old sinful ways behind,
A Purpose with an Eternal End, set apart to witness my friend.
poem by Bob Gotti
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Five ballades with a prologue
(after W.E.G. Louw)
Prologue: The child of God
From the creation,
long before the time of Plato and Aristotle
the word of God was the child’s criterion
while he ruled over everything.
When darkness rose right across the earth
others came in rebellion
wanted to show the God of creation
that they do not regard Him
and did not want to believe him
that destruction will follow upon their deeds,
that rain will fall in a terrible flood
that flooding will come as a result
from the hand of the God of the universe.
The child constructed a ship
went into its shelter with his wife,
children and animals
believing that the hand of the Almighty God
was sheltering
while the others in destruction
begged and cried for mercy.
The child walked through the palace of Pharaoh
could not convert his mother Hatshepsut
to the Almighty God,
saw whips lashing on the backs of his brothers
wanted to stop the lashing
on of one of them.
Right through the sea the child led his people
with crushing water closing on Pharaoh’s army,
right through the desert
his eyes were set on the Promised Land
while he trusted God.
When God Himself came to this earth,
taught people about love,
the child followed Him,
he baptised people and converted them
until on a Friday
on which the curtain ripped right through,
with God innocently hanging on a cross
while evil people mocked, cursed
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Restaurant Keeper
In the City of Toronto there was once
a restaurant owned by a man named Imre Finta.
Born in 1912 in Austria-Hungary, Finta spent
his years of youth in my hometown Szeged,
immigrating to Canada after the Second World War.
Settling in Toronto, in 1953 Finta bought
the Candlelight Restaurant but it did not go well,
so he closed it. Then he opened The Moulin Rouge
on Avenue Road at DuPont Street.
The old fashioned Hungarian gentleman greeted
his guests warmly, politely kissing the right hand
of his female patrons.
I had never dined at the Moulin Rouge
but I encountered Finta in a brickyard and
at the railway station of Szeged in the summer
of 1944. At that time I was eight years old
and Finta, aged 32, was a Captain
of the Royal Hungarian Gendarmerie.
He was also a Nazi collaborator who supervised
the deportation of 8,617 Jews to slave labour lagers
and death camps. I was one of them.
A few months earlier, on March 19,1944,
the German Army occupied Hungary
and Adolf Eichmann arrived in Budapest.
His Mission was to implement in Hungary
the “Final Solution”, a Euphemism the Nazis
used to disguise the mass murder of the Jews.
In June 1944, swearing gendarmes pushed
a group of Jewish prisoners from the ersatz ghetto
of Kistelek onto a freight train. My mother,
my three year old sister Vera and I were
among them. We travelled thirty kilometres to
Szeged where the gendarmes led us to
an abandoned brick factory that was turned into
a makeshift concentration camp.
The brickyard camp commandant was
SS captain Angermayer, whom I remember
as a tall and lanky silhouette moving among
the prisoners in a black uniform.
He was assisted by ruthless gendarmes
in cock-feathered hats, armed with
bayoneted rifles and swords,
who terrorized the captives.
Living conditions in the makeshift ghetto
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Hartal
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How Do You Define Success?
The word success means many things to many people
To be considered a success, means that you have made it
The question here is – made it as what?
How do you define success?
Is it by passing an exam?
Is it by becoming a landlord or landlady?
Is it by been promoted at work?
Is it by winning the lottery?
Is it by marrying the woman of your dreams?
Is it by marrying the man of your dreams?
Is it by been in an executive position?
Is it by winning an election?
How do you define success?
Are you successful as a pilot or a stewardess?
What does the word – “success” mean to you?
Is it by been the head of your organization?
Is it by having lots of money?
And how much money determines success?
Are you successful as a member of the armed forces?
Are you successful as a member of the police force?
What is your own definition of success?
Are you successful by been a writer, teacher,
Pastor, evangelist, taxi driver, congressperson,
Medical doctor or a reputed musician
Are you successful by been a sole proprietor
Mechanic, movie star, or the chairman of the board
Are you successful as an architect or builder?
Do you consider yourself a success as a banker?
Success is in the eyes of the beholder
The meaning of success varies and differs
From one person to the other
poem by Julius Babarinsa
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Met Pet Goat While Twin Towers Burn
"9/11 justified
invasion Afghanistan?
really Taliban
zero hijackers
zero links
to al-Qaeda?
at the time
hijackers were Arab?
not Afghani?
President George W. Bush
failed nation America
ordered total no shot down"
9: 03 a.m. Bush no action partakes
in a meaningless primary publicity
photo-op ignoring responsibility
continental US is already under attack
at Emma E. Booker Elementary
School in Sarasota, Florida
Mr President beat around the Bush
is reading 'Met Pet Goat'
to school children
for five critical minutes
after he had been told
second World Trade
Center tower had been hit
that America was under attack
wait rewind "What's the time? "
approximately 8: 48 a.m.
morning September 11 2001
first pictures of burning
World Trade Center
are broadcast on live television
reporters news anchors viewers
have had no advance warning
"What has happened in lower Manhattan?
[...] Read more
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Medal
Of all our antic sights and pageantry
Which English idiots run in crowds to see,
The Polish Medal bears the prize alone;
A monster, more the favourite of the town
Than either fairs or theatres have shown.
Never did art so well with nature strive,
Nor ever idol seemed so much alive;
So like the man, so golden to the sight,
So base within, so counterfeit and light.
One side is filled with title and with face;
And, lest the king should want a regal place,
On the reverse a tower the town surveys,
O'er which our mounting sun his beams displays.
The word, pronounced aloud by shrieval voice,
Loetamur, which in Polish is Rejoice,
The day, month, year, to the great act are joined,
And a new canting holiday designed.
Five days he sate for every cast and look,
Four more days than God to finish Adam took.
But who can tell what essence angels are
Or how long Heaven was making Lucifer?
Oh, could the style that copied every grace
And ploughed such furrows for an eunuch face,
Could it have formed his ever-changing will,
The various piece had tired the graver's skill!
A martial hero first, with early care
Blown, like a pigmy by the winds, to war;
A beardless chief, a rebel ere a man,
So young his hatred to his Prince began.
Next this, (how wildly will ambition steer!)
A vermin wriggling in the usurper's ear,
Bartering his venal wit for sums of gold,
He cast himself into the saint-like mould;
Groaned, sighed, and prayed, while godliness was gain,
The loudest bag-pipe of the squeaking train.
But, as 'tis hard to cheat a juggler's eyes,
His open lewdness he could ne'er disguise.
There split the saint; for hypocritic zeal
Allows no sins but those it can conceal.
Whoring to scandal gives too large a scope;
Saints must not trade, but they may interlope.
The ungodly principle was all the same;
But a gross cheat betrays his partners' game.
Besides, their pace was formal, grave, and slack;
His nimble wit outran the heavy pack.
Yet still he found hs fortune at a stay,
Whole droves of blockheads choking up his way;
They took, but not rewarded, his advice;
Villain and wit exact a double price.
Power was his aim; but thrown from that pretence,
[...] Read more
poem by John Dryden
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Times
The Time hath been, a boyish, blushing Time,
When Modesty was scarcely held a crime,
When the most Wicked had some touch of grace,
And trembled to meet Virtue face to face,
When Those, who, in the cause of Sin grown grey,
Had serv'd her without grudging day by day,
Were yet so weak an awkward shame to feel,
And strove that glorious service to conceal;
We, better bred, and than our Sires more wise,
Such paltry narrowness of soul despise,
To Virtue ev'ry mean pretence disclaim,
Lay bare our crimes, and glory in our shame.
. . . .
ITALIA, nurse of ev'ry softer art,
Who, feigning to refine, unmans the heart,
Who lays the realms of Sense and Virtue waste,
Who marrs whilst she pretends to mend our taste,
ITALIA, to compleat and crown our shame,
Sends us a Fiend, and LEGION is his name.
The Farce of greatness, without being great,
Pride without Pow'r, Titles without Estate,
Souls without vigour, Bodies without force,
Hate without case, Revenge without remorse,
Dark, mean Revenge, Murder without defence,
Jealousy without Love, Sound without Sense,
Mirth without Humour, without Wit Grimace,
Faith without Reason, Gospel without Grace,
Zeal without Knowledge, without Nature Art,
Men without Manhood, Women without Heart,
Half-Men, who, dry and pithless, are debarr'd
From Man's best joys — no sooner made than marr'd —
Half-Men, whom many a rich and noble Dame,
To serve her lust, and yet secure her fame,
Keeps on high diet, as We Capons feed,
To glut our appetites at last decreed;
Women, who dance, in postures so obscene,
They might awaken shame in ARETINE,
Who, when, retir'd from the day's piercing light,
They celebrate the mysteries of night,
Might make the Muses, in a corner plac'd
To view their monstrous lusts, deem SAPPHO chaste;
These, and a thousand follies rank as these,
A thousand faults, ten thousand Fools, who please
Our pall'd and sickly taste, ten thousand knaves,
Who serve our foes as spies, and us as slaves,
Who by degrees, and unperceiv'd, prepare
Our necks for chains which they already wear,
Madly we entertain, at the expence
Of Fame, of Virtue, Taste, and Common-Sense.
Nor stop we here — the soft luxurious EAST,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Punishable
Playing any sort of role
Is a crime and punishable
Do not indulge in crimes.
Do not aid and abet criminals
It is a crime and punishable
Do not indulge in crimes.
Abide by the rules and regulations
If you can not abide by rules
It is abhorrent and is a crimes
And punishable
Do not indulge in crimes
Do not indulge in crimes
If you are really a human being.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Tale XIV
THE STRUGGLES OF CONSCIENCE.
A serious Toyman in the city dwelt,
Who much concern for his religion felt;
Reading, he changed his tenets, read again,
And various questions could with skill maintain;
Papist and Quaker if we set aside,
He had the road of every traveller tried;
There walk'd a while, and on a sudden turn'd
Into some by-way he had just discern'd:
He had a nephew, Fulham: --Fulham went
His Uncle's way, with every turn content;
He saw his pious kinsman's watchful care,
And thought such anxious pains his own might spare,
And he the truth obtain'd, without the toil, might
share.
In fact, young Fulham, though he little read,
Perceived his uncle was by fancy led;
And smiled to see the constant care he took,
Collating creed with creed, and book with book.
At length the senior fix'd; I pass the sect
He call'd a Church, 'twas precious and elect;
Yet the seed fell not in the richest soil,
For few disciples paid the preacher's toil;
All in an attic room were wont to meet,
These few disciples, at their pastor's feet;
With these went Fulham, who, discreet and grave,
Follow'd the light his worthy uncle gave;
Till a warm Preacher found the way t'impart
Awakening feelings to his torpid heart:
Some weighty truths, and of unpleasant kind,
Sank, though resisted, in his struggling mind:
He wish'd to fly them, but, compell'd to stay,
Truth to the waking Conscience found her way;
For though the Youth was call'd a prudent lad,
And prudent was, yet serious faults he had -
Who now reflected--'Much am I surprised;
I find these notions cannot be despised:
No! there is something I perceive at last,
Although my uncle cannot hold it fast;
Though I the strictness of these men reject,
Yet I determine to be circumspect:
This man alarms me, and I must begin
To look more closely to the things within:
These sons of zeal have I derided long,
But now begin to think the laugher's wrong!
Nay, my good uncle, by all teachers moved,
Will be preferr'd to him who none approved; -
Better to love amiss than nothing to have loved.'
[...] Read more
poem by George Crabbe
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Ricochet
Like weeds on a rockface waiting for the scythe
Ricochet - ricochet
The world is on a corner waiting for jobs
Ricochet - ricochet
Turn the holy pictures so they face the wall
And who can bear to be forgotten
And who can bear to be forgotten
March of flowers, march of dimes
These are the prisons, these are the crimes
Men wait for news while thousands are still asleep
Dreaming of tramlines factories pieces of machinery
Mine shafts things like that
March of flowers, march of dimes
These are the prisons, these are the crimes
Sound of thunder, sound of gold
Sound of the devil breaking parole
Ricochet - its not the end of the world
Sound of thunder, sound of gold
Sound of the devil breaking parole
Ricochet - ricochet
These are the prisons these are the crimes
Teaching life in a violent new way
Ricochet - ricochet
Turn the holy pictures so they face the wall
And who can bear to be forgotten
And who can bear to be forgotten
March of flowers, march of dimes
These are the prisons, these are the crimes
Early, before the sun, they struggle off to the gates
In their secret fearful places they see their lives
Unravelling before them
March of flowers - march of dimes
These are the prisons, these are the crimes
Sound of thunder, sound of gold
Sound of the devil breaking parole
Ricochet its not the end of the world
Thats when they get home, damp eyed and weary
They smile and crush their children to their heaving chests
Making unfulfillable promises
For who can bear to be forgotten
song performed by David Bowie
Added by Lucian Velea
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High Crimes & Misdemeanors
Written by dennis deyoung
Lead vocals by dennis deyoung
They want you to believe
The unbelievable
They say you should accept
The unacceptable
Forget your common sense
It isnt sensible
Good times for fools and dreamers
Watch em all deny
The undeniable
See how they refute
The unrefutable
Theyre ready to defend
The indefensible
High times for lawyer schemers
They say we must forgive
The forgivable
They want us to respect
The unrespectable
The pious and the hip
So hypocritical
High crimes and misdemeanors
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
See how they explain
The inexplicable
Watch em debate
The undebatable
Apparently a lie
Is never liable
Prime time for talk show screamers
They say we constitute
The constitutional
With justice here for all
So justifiable
Im tryin not to laugh
But man its laughable
High crimes and misdemeanors
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
And so
Today we find
Theyve changed their minds
Theyve switched their points of view
Oh what tangled webs they weave
[...] Read more
song performed by Styx
Added by Lucian Velea
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High Crimes & Misdemeanors (Hip Hop-Crazy)
Written by Dennis DeYoung
Lead Vocals by Dennis DeYoung
They want you to believe
The unbelievable
They say you should accept
The unacceptable
Forget your common sense
It isn't sensible
Good times for fools and dreamers
Watch 'em all deny
The undeniable
See how they refute
The unrefutable
They're ready to defend
The indefensible
High times for lawyer schemers
They say we must forgive
The forgivable
They want us to respect
The unrespectable
The pious and the hip
So hypocritical
High crimes and misdemeanors
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
See how they explain
The inexplicable
Watch 'em debate
The undebatable
Apparently a lie
Is never liable
Prime time for talk show screamers
They say we constitute
The Constitutional
With justice here for all
So justifiable
I'm tryin' not to laugh
But man it's laughable
High crimes and misdemeanors
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
Hip hop hip hop-cracy hip hop
And so
Today we find
They've changed their minds
They've switched their points of view
Oh what tangled webs they weave
[...] Read more
song performed by Styx
Added by Lucian Velea
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Secret Meetings
I have secret meetings,
In my mind.
And...
I find they're the best,
All the of time.
Yes, I have secret meetings,
In my mind.
And...
I find they're the best,
All the of time.
In my mind to be condoned,
Secret meetings feeding peace.
In my mind I keep condoned.
Secret meetings feeding peace.
And my head I keep cool and collected.
Yes, I have secret meetings,
In my mind all the time.
And...
It's keepng me cool and collected.
Yes, I have secret meetings,
In my mind all the time.
And...
It's keepng me cool and collected.
Yes, I have secret meetings,
In my mind all the time.
And...
It's keepng me cool and collected.
I have secret meetings in my mind all the time,
To unwind...
From the beatings of the times.
With corruption on the pedestal directing the crimes.
I have secret meetings in my mind all the time,
To unwind...
From the beatings of the times.
With corruption on the pedestal directing the crimes.
I have secret meetings in my mind all the time,
To unwind...
From the beatings of the times.
With corruption on the pedestal directing the crimes.
With corruption on the pedestal directing the crimes.
I have secret meetings to unwind.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Thebais - Book One - part III
Oh race confed’rate into crimes, that prove
Triumphant o’er th’ eluded rage of Jove!
This wearied arm can scarce the bolt sustain,
And unregarded thunder rolls in vain:
Th’ o’erlaboured Cyclops from his task retires,
Th’ Æolian forge exhausted of its fires.
For this, I suffered Phœbus’ steeds to stray,
And the mad ruler to misguide the day;
When the wide earth to heaps of ashes turned,
And heaven itself the wand’ring chariot burned.
For this, my brother of the wat’ry reign
Released th’ impetuous sluices of the main:
But flames consumed, and billows raged in vain.
Two races now, allied to Jove, offend;
To punish these, see Jove himself descend.
The Theban kings their line from Cadmus trace,
From godlike Perseus those of Argive race.
Unhappy Cadmus’ fate who does not know,
And the long series of succeeding woe?
How oft the furies, from the deeps of night,
Arose, and mixed with men in mortal fight:
Th’ exulting mother, stained with filial blood;
The savage hunter and the haunted wood;
The direful banquet why should I proclaim,
And crimes that grieve the trembling gods to name?
Ere I recount the sins of these profane,
The sun would sink into the western main,
And rising, gild the radiant east again.
Have we not seen (the blood of Laius shed)
The murd’ring son ascend his parent’s bed,
Through violated nature force his way,
And stain the sacred womb where once lie lay?
Yet now in darkness and despair he groans,
And for the crimes of guilty fate atones.
His sons with scorn their eyeless father view,
Insult his wounds, and make them bleed anew.
Thy curse, oh Œdipus, just heav’n alarms,
And sets th’ avenging thunderer in arms.
I from the root thy guilty race will tear,
And give the nations to the waste of war.
Adrastus soon, with gods averse, shall join
In dire alliance with the Theban line
Hence strife shall rise, and mortal war succeed;
The guilty realms of Tantalus shall bleed;
Fixed is their doom; this all-rememb’ring breast
Yet harbours vengeance for the tyrant’s feast.”
He said; and thus the queen of heav’n returned;
(With sudden grief her lab’ring bosom burned)
“Must I, whose cares Phoroneus’ tow’rs defend,
Must I, oh Jove, in bloody wars contend?
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poem by Pablius Papinius Statius
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Seeding Master Race Hate Into Nazi German Identity
inser an attitude
into between
all the association
labels
questions
question marks?
the knowing
knowing
knowing minds
reference by places
special honoured dates
with gifts gifts
gifts
given wanted?
what price?
paid
received
ownership
ritu als
blood ties
friends
embraced
welcomed
em otion staged
on occasions
dictated traditions
circle patches
neatly date catalogues
life timed sequences
celebrating time shifts
lens cap on
lens cap off
click click click
pose posers
not to pose
life models
staged settings
feelings
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Waffen-SS Blood Tattoos
scan earmarked
final solutions
nazi life rapes
waffen SS blood tattoos
SS blood group tattoos
small black ink tattoos
located on underside
of left arm near armpit
20 cm above the elbow
blood type soldier's
early lettering Gothic-style
later inked Latin-style
blood transfusions
wounded unconscious
missing dog tags
war games crimes ended
catch beastly black rats
war crimes blood riddled
war atrocities ignored ended
Allies keen to catch scapegoats
Waffen-SS members desired
an accounting to be rendered
judgement trial vengeance selections
Waffen-SS type witch hunted
due to hideous volume of war crimes
committed by fanatical Waffen-SS units
post-war showcase Nuremberg Trials
Waffen-SS are collectively branded
a criminal organization condemned
due to Nazi Party loyalty connections
involvement documented war crimes
waffen SS blood group tattoos
used to accurately identify SS members
'prima facie' evidence established
as part of the Waffen-SS leading
to potential arrest prosecutions
leading to Waffen-SS prosecutions
occasionally war crimes executions
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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