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Lotte Lehmann

I had hoped you would protest, but please don't argue.

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Whipped

Is there anything that can help me let go
I’m tired of crying down this road
I’m young should I feel this old
I’m tired of being split
I’m tired of feeling whipped
I’m tired of not knowing what’s right
I’m tired of looking for this light
I’m tired of living wrong
I’m tired of crying to this repeating sad song
I’m tired of wrong feeling so right
I’m tired of fighting with all my might
I’m tired of hoping friends will be by my side
I’m tired of my feelings I hide
I’m tired of no one picking up the phone
I’m tired of being home
I’m tired of the sun
I’m tired of the moon
I’m tired of thinking what to do
I’m tired of you


All I ever think of is hope
And all I ever heard is have faith
I feel fragile like an old piece of rope
And know I did nothing but disgrace
I hoped to be a good man
I hoped to have a plan
I hoped to be the one
I hoped to have some fun
I hoped life was easer than they say
I hoped home was where I lay
I hoped I always knew right
I hoped I would always fight
I hoped me was the one you see
I hoped true love would always be
I hoped I didn’t need to rest
I hoped life meant happiness


Hope and faith are strong words
They fly away easy like birds
Does one ever know where they stand?
Its harder than I thought to be a man
I remember being young and free
I remember trying to be me
I remember when I first fell in love
I remember hearing the sound of a dove
I remember being young wishing I was old
I remember trying to live out side the mold
I remember when I would dream

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VIII. Dominus Hyacinthus de Archangelis, Pauperum Procurator

Ah, my Giacinto, he's no ruddy rogue,
Is not Cinone? What, to-day we're eight?
Seven and one's eight, I hope, old curly-pate!
—Branches me out his verb-tree on the slate,
Amo-as-avi-atum-are-ans,
Up to -aturus, person, tense, and mood,
Quies me cum subjunctivo (I could cry)
And chews Corderius with his morning crust!
Look eight years onward, and he's perched, he's perched
Dapper and deft on stool beside this chair,
Cinozzo, Cinoncello, who but he?
—Trying his milk-teeth on some crusty case
Like this, papa shall triturate full soon
To smooth Papinianian pulp!

It trots
Already through my head, though noon be now,
Does supper-time and what belongs to eve.
Dispose, O Don, o' the day, first work then play!
—The proverb bids. And "then" means, won't we hold
Our little yearly lovesome frolic feast,
Cinuolo's birth-night, Cinicello's own,
That makes gruff January grin perforce!
For too contagious grows the mirth, the warmth
Escaping from so many hearts at once—
When the good wife, buxom and bonny yet,
Jokes the hale grandsire,—such are just the sort
To go off suddenly,—he who hides the key
O' the box beneath his pillow every night,—
Which box may hold a parchment (someone thinks)
Will show a scribbled something like a name
"Cinino, Ciniccino," near the end,
"To whom I give and I bequeath my lands,
"Estates, tenements, hereditaments,
"When I decease as honest grandsire ought."
Wherefore—yet this one time again perhaps—
Shan't my Orvieto fuddle his old nose!
Then, uncles, one or the other, well i' the world,
May—drop in, merely?—trudge through rain and wind,
Rather! The smell-feasts rouse them at the hint
There's cookery in a certain dwelling-place!
Gossips, too, each with keepsake in his poke,
Will pick the way, thrid lane by lantern-light,
And so find door, put galligaskin off
At entry of a decent domicile
Cornered in snug Condotti,—all for love,
All to crush cup with Cinucciatolo!

Well,
Let others climb the heights o' the court, the camp!

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Hoped of Change

I've hoped for change
It gets better everyday
But still I fell the same

I've hoped for change
It get's better everyday
But I will let you decide

I've hoped for change
It get's better everyday
But I just can't tell

I've hoped for change
It get's better everyday
can you see the diffrence?

I've hoped for change
I think I know
But I just can't tell
can you see the diffrence?

I've hoped for change
But still I fell the same
It get's better everyday
But I will let you decide
can you tell the diffrence?

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The Holocaust Files & Other Theme Poems

Theme: Love Poems (various forms of love,10 poems only)
*any theme category may be extended upon reader interest and requests
A Family Blessing
Changing Scene
For Our Loved Ones
Look Across Time
Memory Of A Lover
My Love
Single Red Ribbon
Snowpowder
Song Of My Love
True Love

The Holocaust Files: (32 poems) are a work in process and this reference will be removed upon completion. This is a collection of holocaust related poems to give voice to the 12 million killed, tortured and enslaved by the SS during World War II. The Poles, Romani and Slavic victims who are sometimes overlooked in brief reviews or marginalized, will hopefully have a poem as their voice by the completion of this project. The poems will ease into and out of the full extent of this horror, to contrast kaleidoscopic images of the holocaust in tribute to the slaughtered, and may provide a differing overview of Nazi Ideology to address succinct examples of how and why in historical perspective. (Historical optional background notes, have been added below some poems to assist in this purpose.)
The cruelty of topic material in some of the main poems may shock or offend innocent readers. Looking up pictorial images of these events is not advised for children.
The poems should be read in the order listed below: -
A Vibrant Life 18.5.2010
Appeasement For Adolf Hitler 15&16.10.2010
Indomitable Will To Survive 12.7.2010
Holocaust Latvia Begins 30.5.2012
Nazi Death Squads Enter Eastern Europe 29.5.2012
SS Single Shot Executioners 28.5.2012
Legal Genocide Committed On Industrial Scale 16.10.2010
Stone Cross Prologue 85 87
Stone Cross 85 87
Hitler's Holocaust Product Of A Demonic Mind 1987
When Satanic Power Ruled A Third Reich 1987
Blind Neo-Nazi Nationalism Hitler's New World Order 1987
How Evil Regenerates Perpetuates 1987
Nazi Evolution Vile Carbon Monoxide Gas To Zyklon-B 1987
Indictment Against Entire Nations 1987
An Image Of The Beast Rules
Fallen Nation Transformation 1987
Cartoon Caricature Of The Master Race 17.5.2010
The SS Who Will You Kill 17.5.2010
Classic Dance Steps 17.2.1989
Peaked Cap; Skull-And-Crossbones Badge 17&18.3.2010
A Moral Civilized World 17.3.2010
The Death Of Adolf Hitler's Personal Physican 17.5.2010
Dagmar Topf A Defence Of Family Ovens 17&18.3.2010
Not To Be Written 7.5.2010
Struck Down With A Thunderbolt 20.4.2010
Love Has Rewards Worth Attaining 19.5.2010
SS Demons 15.12.2010
How Did You Kill Me?
They Did It All Before You 18.5.2010
'Angel Of Death' A Demonic Nazi Doctor 9.3.2011
Proclaiming Retrofit New World Order 9&10.3.2011

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Don't

Don't!
Don't... don't you wish we tried?
Do you feel what I feel inside?
You know our love is stronger than pride... oh
No don't... don't let your anger grow
Just tell me what you need me to know
Please talk to me, don't close the door
Hmmm, 'cause I wanna hear you
I wanna be near you
[Chorus]
Don't fight, don't argue
Give me the chance to say that I'm sorry
Just let me love you
Don't turn me away
Don't tell me to go
Don't!... Don't give up on trust
Don't give up on me, on us
If we could just hold on long enough
Hmmm, we can do it
we'll get through it
[Chorus]
Don't fight, don't argue
Just give me the chance to say that I'm sorry
Just let me love you
Don't turn me away, don't tell me to go
Don't pretend that it's okay
Things won't get better that way
Don't do something you might regret someday...
Don't!
[dobro solo, instrumental]
Don't give up on me
Hmm, Don't!
(We can do it) We'll get through it
[Chorus]
Don't fight, don't argue
Just give me the chance to say that I'm sorry
Just let me love you
Don't turn me away, don't tell me to go
Don't! (Don't fight dont argue)
Don't give up on me
(Give me the chance to say that I'm sorry)
Say that that I'm sorry
(Just let me love you)
Don't give up on me
(Don't turn me away)
Don't tell me to go
Don't!
(Don't fight don't argue)
Don't give up on me
(Give me the chance to say that I'm sorry)

[...] Read more

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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part—
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

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Sinners

He fell for her daughter;
She fell for him later.
There came in no protest.
He engaged them both.
***
He fell for her mother;
She fell for him later.
From them came no protest.
He engaged them both.
***
He fell for his neigbour;
His son too fell for her.
Silence was the protest.
She fed them both alike.
***
A mother was his beloved;
Her daughter was his son’s.
Wordless was the protest.
Each engaged the other.
***
Sinners make friends
19.10.2011

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Doth I Protest Too Much

I'm not threatened, by every pair of legs you watch go by
I don't cringe when you stare at women, it's just a thing called guy
I don't notice your side ways glances or where your loyalty lies
I'm secure and out of me, it's hard to get a rise
I'm not jealous
I don't get moved my much
I'm not enraged
Not insecure as such
Not going insane
Rational stays in touch
Doth I protest too much?
I'm not tortured by how oft your busy, Cause I've got things to do
I'm not needy
I don't get clingy much
I'm not scared
I'm not afraid as such
I'm not dependent
Rock solid, stays in touch
And Doth I protest too much?
So much energy to prove to you
Who I can't possibly be
So much energy to prove to you
I'm not who you hate for me to be
I'm not saddened
And I don't miss you
Cause I have moved on too
I'm not concerned about your new lover
Cause I have a new lover too
I'm not depressed
I don't get down that much
I'm not despondent
I am not dark as such
I'm never sad
Keep Chin Up, Stays in touch
And Doth I protest too much?
I'm not jealous
I don't get moved my much
I'm not enraged
Not insecure as such
Not going insane
Rational stays in touch
And Doth I protest too much?

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A Song Bewailing The Time Of Christmas, So Much Decayed In England

Christmas is my name, for have I gone, have I gone, have I gone,
Have I gone without regard;
Whereas great men by flocks they be flown to Londonward
Where in pomp and pleasure do waste
That which Christmas had wont to feast,
Welladay!
Houses where music was wonted to ring,
Nothing but bats and owls now do sing.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Christmas bread and beef is turned into stones, into stones, into stones,
Into stones and silken rags.
And Lady Money, it doth sleep, it doth sleep, it doth sleep,
It doth sleep in misers' bags.
Where many gallants once abound,
Nought but a dog and shepherd is found,
Welladay!
Places where Christmas revels did keep
Are now become habitations for sheep.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Pan, the shepherds' god, doth deface, doth deface, doth deface,
Doth deface Lady Ceres' crown;
And tillages doth decay, doth decay, doth decay,
Doth decay in every town;
Landlords their rents so highly enhance
That Piers the ploughman barefoot doth dance,
Welladay!
Farmers that Christmas would entertain
Hath scarcely withal themselves to maintain.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Go to the Protestant, he'll protest, he'll protest, he'll protest,
He will protest and boldly boast;
And to the Puritan, he is so hot, he is so hot, he is so hot,
He is so hot he will burn the roast.
The Catholic good deeds will not scorn,
Nor will he see poor Christmas forlorn,
Welladay!
Since holiness no good deeds will do,
Protestants had best turn Papists too.
Welladay, welladay, welladay, where should I stay?

Pride and luxury doth devour, doth devour, doth devour,
Doth devour housekeeping quite,
And beggary doth beget, doth beget, doth beget,
Doth beget in many a knight.
Madam, forsooth, in coach must she reel
Although she wear her hose out at heel,
Welladay!

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Those Smart Young People

They scare alot.
Those smart young people.
Who seem to know more than they should,
When others do not.

They scare alot.
Those smart young people.
And instead of listening to them,
To get the knowledge that they've got...
We think their heads are much too hot.

And we,
Wish to believe that all children...
Learn from us our doings,
With a wish we approved.

And we,
Can not perceive that our children...
Have those messages for us,
Because that haven't lived a life...
That proves they know what it is like,
To...

Sacrifice and suffer.
And live a life that we had.
Feeling as if suckers.
And live a life that we had,
Trying to be tougher.
Wanting them to be the best!
But to us they just protest.

They scare alot.
Those smart young people.
Who seem to know more than they should,
When others do not.

And we,
Can not perceive that our children...
Have those messages for us,
Because that haven't lived a life...
That proves they know what it is like,
To...

Sacrifice and suffer.
And live a life that we had.
Feeling as if suckers.
And live a life that we had,
Trying to be tougher.
Wanting them to be the best!
But to us they just protest.

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Surreal Ballard Of Tahrir Square

script implausible was so bad surreal
a badly written distorted dream scene
by hack writer with his train off de track

a director still coupled to an antique
loose caboose directing a crummy
crew straight out of sad clown wagon

hear bark a doghouse glory wagon
nationalist saviour script monkey
wagon attack techniques yes these

lapdogs trained as running dogs were
about to be let loose from monkey
wagon many bused in especially for

lackey protest busting feature occasion
moral railroaded false charge imagery
dont fall asleep on trains coz trains run

over sleepers” view protesters in lime
light were about to be overwhelmed
ruthlessly crushed steamrolled to pave

one way for Mubarak to oh so smoothly
retain President power so run mad house
script bizarre surging footage shot real?

roll cameras action paid men came with
baseball bats pieces of broken window
frames machetes one homemade spear?

form a line a small group plainclothes
policemen block one broad boulevard
leading into Tahrir Square now symbolic

epicentre
of peaceful Egyptian
revolution

poor police publicly shamed had been
driven from streets so used to controlling
last Friday now had come to hero reclaim

what? A ruthless reputation, proud ego,
status regarded as rightfully lawfully
theirs? Police gathered on Qasr el-Aini

prepared themselves for confrontation
with brave protesters who had humiliated

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Best Years Of Out Lives

Where were going
Heaven knows
{were} lost and falling
And it shows
And I know you wont believe me
And I know it wont seem right
And I beg you just to leave me
When wed argue and wed fight
But even as we stumble
Through the darkness and the light
You know these were
The best years of our lives
Sent to hurt me
And you will
Tear the seasons
From the hill
And I know you wont believe me
And I know it wont seem right
And I beg you just to leave me
When wed argue and wed fight
But even as we stumble
Through the darkness and the light
You know these were
The best years of our lives
And I know you wont believe me
And I know it wont seem right
And I beg you just to leave me
When wed argue and wed fight
But even as we stumble
Through the darkness and the light
You know these were
The best years of our lives
And I know you wont believe me
And I know it wont seem right
And I beg you just to leave me
When wed argue and wed fight
But even as we stumble
Through the darkness and the light
You know these were
The best years of our lives

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Jonathan Swift

Cadenus And Vanessa

THE shepherds and the nymphs were seen
Pleading before the Cyprian Queen.
The counsel for the fair began
Accusing the false creature, man.
The brief with weighty crimes was charged,
On which the pleader much enlarged:
That Cupid now has lost his art,
Or blunts the point of every dart;
His altar now no longer smokes;
His mother's aid no youth invokes—
This tempts free-thinkers to refine,
And bring in doubt their powers divine,
Now love is dwindled to intrigue,
And marriage grown a money-league.
Which crimes aforesaid (with her leave)
Were (as he humbly did conceive)
Against our Sovereign Lady's peace,
Against the statutes in that case,
Against her dignity and crown:
Then prayed an answer and sat down.

The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes:
When the defendant's counsel rose,
And, what no lawyer ever lacked,
With impudence owned all the fact.
But, what the gentlest heart would vex,
Laid all the fault on t'other sex.
That modern love is no such thing
As what those ancient poets sing;
A fire celestial, chaste, refined,
Conceived and kindled in the mind,
Which having found an equal flame,
Unites, and both become the same,
In different breasts together burn,
Together both to ashes turn.
But women now feel no such fire,
And only know the gross desire;
Their passions move in lower spheres,
Where'er caprice or folly steers.
A dog, a parrot, or an ape,
Or some worse brute in human shape
Engross the fancies of the fair,
The few soft moments they can spare
From visits to receive and pay,
From scandal, politics, and play,
From fans, and flounces, and brocades,
From equipage and park-parades,
From all the thousand female toys,
From every trifle that employs
The out or inside of their heads

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As Much As Always

I hoped I wouldnt miss you long
But I still cant believe youre gone
And I still miss you just as much as always
I hoped Id get you off my mind
Its been a long time but I find
That I still think of you as much as always
As much as always, as much as always
Just as much as always
As much as always just as much as always
I still miss you, still think of you
Just as much as always, as much as always
Just as much as always
I still want you, still need you
Just as much as always
I hoped that Id find someone else
But theres too much of you still left
And I still love you , just as much as always
I hoped that Id forget your touch
But I still want it just as much
And I still need it just as much as always
As much as always, as much as always
Just as much as always
As much as always, just as much as always
I still miss you, still think of you
Just as much as always
As much as always, just as much as always
I still love you, oh I do love you
Just as much as always
As much as always, as much as always
I still love you, still want you, just as much as always
As much as always, just as much as always
I still need you still love you
Just as much as always

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Buenas Tardes Amigo

Buenas tardes amigo
Hola, my good friend
Cinco de mayos on tuesday
And I hoped wed see each other again
You killed my brother last winter
You shot him three times in the back
In the night I still hear mama weeping
Oh mama, still dresses in black
I looked at every fiesta
For you I wanted to greet
Maybe Id sell you a chicken
With poison interlaced with the meat
You... you look like my brother
Mama loved him the best
He was head honcho with the ladies
Mama always said he was blessed
The village all gathered around him
They couldnt believe what they saw
I said it was you that had killed him
And that Id find you and upstand the law
The people of the village believed me
Mama... she wanted revenge
I told her Id see that she was honored
Id find you and put you to death
So now... now that Ive found you
On this such a joyous day
I tell you it was me who killed him
But the truth Ill never have to say
Buenas tardes amigo
Hola, my good friend
Cinco de mayos on tuesday
And I hoped wed see each other again
Yes, I hoped wed see each other again
I hoped wed see each other again

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Orlando Furioso Canto 5

ARGUMENT
Lurcanio, by a false report abused,
Deemed by Geneura's fault his brother dead,
Weening the faithless duke, whom she refused,
Was taken by the damsel to her bed;
And her before the king and peers accused:
But to the session Ariodantes led,
Strives with his brother in disguise. In season
Rinaldo comes to venge the secret treason.

I
Among all other animals who prey
On earth, or who unite in friendly wise,
Whether they mix in peace or moody fray,
No male offends his mate. In safety hies
The she bear, matched with hers, through forest gray:
The lioness beside the lion lies:
Wolves, male and female, live in loving cheer;
Nor gentle heifer dreads the wilful steer.

II
What Fury, what abominable Pest
Such poison in the human heart has shed,
That still 'twixt man and wife, with rage possessed,
Injurious words and foul reproach are said?
And blows and outrage hase their peace molest,
And bitter tears still wash the genial bed;
Not only watered by the tearful flood,
But often bathed by senseless ire with blood?

III
Not simply a rank sinner, he appears
To outrage nature, and his God to dare,
Who his foul hand against a woman rears,
Or of her head would harm a single hair.
But who what drug the burning entrail sears,
Or who for her would knife or noose prepare,
No man appears to me, though such to sight
He seem, but rather some infernal sprite.

IV
Such, and no other were those ruffians two,
Whom good Rinaldo from the damsel scared,
Conducted to these valleys out of view,
That none might wot of her so foully snared.
I ended where the damsel, fair of hue,
To tell the occasion of her scathe prepared,
To the good Paladin, who brought release;
And in conclusion thus my story piece.

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I Believe(From The 60's)

Even though I'm so young.
I still feel so ancient.
Like I was meant to be born in 60's
I believe in honest hard work.
I believe in chivalry.
I believe in taking ten paces before before you kill someone.

Yes I use modern technology.
But so does grama.
Some things will not change no matter the gadgets.
How the game is played is still the same.
Only the technique has changed.

Even though I'm so young.
I still feel so ancient.
Like I was meant to be born in 60's
I believe in the right protest.
I believe less government is progress.
I believe we must protect all our freedoms.

No matter if theirs a gun in my face or not.
You will not silence my speech.
You will not rob me or my family.
No matter who you are.
I never encourage violence accept to defend oneself.
No matter the impeding army.
Or the repercussions of such actions.
It has never been about self sanctification with me.
Protect those you love.
Let only god be the one to judge.

Even though I'm so young.
I still feel so ancient.
Like I was meant to be born in 60's
I believe in honest hard work.
I believe in chivalry.
I believe in taking ten paces before before you kill someone.

Yes I use modern technology.
But so does grama.
Some things will not change no matter the gadgets.
How the game is played is still the same.
Only the technique has changed.

Even though I'm so young.
I still feel so ancient.
Like I was meant to be born in 60's
I believe in the right protest.
I believe less government is progress.
I believe we must protect all our freedoms.

[...] Read more

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Postcard Pete

When Pete Moaner heard everything was going digital
it didn’t go down with him too well,
he decided to make a protest
and wonder which way was best.
The more he thought about it
and all the things he’d miss
he got angrier and angrier.
No more love letters with s.w.a.l.k. on the back
to hold onto forever never letting go,
the bills he didn’t mind
those he could do without.
Now for his protest it had to be strong,
something no one would forget.
He bought up all the saucy postcards he could get
and wrote on everyone and signed them P.M.
then sent them off to the power to be
and every computer company.
He sent them by the sack full
but none of them had a stamp.
If they were going to stop people
from writing sweet nothings to one another
the postage they could pay.
Eventually the law caught up with him
when he tried to deposit a truckload of cards
at the local post office.
The newspapers had a field day and dubbed him
Postcard Pete the protester.
The judge asked him when he went to court
how do you plead.
Guilty your honour
as I did it four our society.
Your honour would never get
those scented love letters
from your lady fair
if everything went digital.
You would have nothing
in future years to fondle and hold.
No paper to sniff the scent
of her erotic perfume,
no more mementoes
when you grow old,
that’s why I did it sir
to help people like you.
The judge nodded and called Pete to his bench.
Did you sign any postcard with your real name?
No your honour I couldn’t do that.
I signed them all from the P.M.
The judge looked up and in a stern voice said;
case dismissed through lack of evidence
unless someone wants to call the Prime Minister in.

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Protest With Those Protesting

Don't get erratic
Like the people in the streets.
I say emphatically...
Help them protest
A lack of quality!

You chased the 'bling' of things.
Titles and socialites,
And what you thought a good life brings.

You laughed at me.
Because I had my hands in toilets,
And cleaning sinks.

But I owned what I did.
And learned from invested time in it!
What did you learn?
How to pick up a pink slip...
Smile and be replaced!

Don't get erratic
Like the people in the streets.
I say emphatically...
Help them protest
A lack of quality!
I can think of no one better,
Than you.
How best to discuss,
A digust with a life you knew!
I can think of no one better,
Than you.
To protest with those protesting,
How they assisted themselves
In being screwed!

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Why Shouldn't We Protest?

Why shouldn't we protest
If something is wrong?
Why should we be under arrest
Just for singing a song?
Should we keep things in our chests
And let them boil and burst?
Should we forget about the freedom of speech
Which we were voting for?

Why shouldn't we protest
If we are against a certain term?
Should we be imprisoned like a bird in a nest
Just for writing a poem?
Should we through our views away like the waste
Because there is no way to present them?
Should we keep our baby ideas in their nest
Because we have no say in this game?

Why do you always think of violence
When we are talking about protest?
Why do you misinterpret poems, songs and articles
As if they are pointing fingers at someone?
If they are, well that's really a problem
But if the problem is the one being attacked
Forget about the author
The problem should be smacked.

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