We are the nation of the downcast eye,
We guard our thoughts and tongue.
Ours is the sad and the sullen tribe,
For we know that the trap has sprung.
Vampire suck as the armies’ ruck,
And the beast goes on its way,
Invades and raids each nation’s wealth,
For the blood is the vampire’s pay.
Media drones with hearts like stones,
Launder their nation’s crimes,
While their hoodwinked poor,
At the pauper’s door,
Must suffer such trying times.
Today I killed my brother,
Or was it other time?
For clock hands move no longer,
When the death is not of thine.
Had be been another’s boy,
Would it not matter much,
For if I kill your brother,
It doesn’t seem as such,
To take a life but brother’s death,
Is like you take your own,
It is a Civil War they said,
When hearts are made of stone.
WHAT SHALL WE TELL THEM?
What shall we tell them when people find out,
They were lied to and cheated,
By scoundrels no doubt.
WE ARE THE EUROPEANS
Let me introduce you to,
The folk of Europe sweet,
They’re kind and friendly lovely folk,
You’re ever going to meet.
During war and peace, one supposes every conflict creates the perfect mental environment for releasing one’s thoughts in poetry. As is pointed out endless times on the People’s Media (social media) the current war against the rapidly advancing hideous totalitarianism is war by other means.
Ironically, soldier foes killing each other on the Western Front during The Great War (1914-1918) brought to the world a far more eloquent message of peace and goodwill than could any bible-thumping priest berating his sleepy congregation.
MICHAEL WALSH is considered by many to be the world’s foremost living poet. Shunned by both publishers and corporate media for his politically incorrect writing, the Irish but Liverpool born dissident poet has received tributes from artists of theatre and opera, Church and political figures, playrights and the literati.
I make no apologies for spurning the pomp and pageantry that bull-horns Remembrance Sunday. There is much about the war that knows no political or national boundaries; war is a monument to human frailty, not strength.
Remembrance Day was originally intended to remind us of the futility of war. The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month marked the time the Armistice was signed at the end of WWI, or, as it was known at the time, The Great War, the war to end all wars.