By Being Simply You

You make my heart sing an ancient Love song,
And I know that with you is where I belong.

Your sweet gentle touch sends thrills my body over,
No one else in this world could ever be my Lover.

Your strong arms around me, shielding from all harm,
Darling, no man possesses one-tenth of your charm.

All the wrongs in my life you transmuted into right,
And all the darkness in life has suddenly turned bright.

The tender warmth of true Love, in me you revive,
Feelings once dead have come back alive.

Your essense is as Lovely as the graceful yellow rose,
With you I find the solace of romantic repose.

As long as I live; until the day I expire,
You will always remain my only desire.

The Love that I have and the feelings of joy,
No power on earth could ever destroy.

As I appreciate the elegance and beauty of each flower,
So I cherish you honey, each moment of every hour.

The surge of the great waters in the Pacific Ocean,
Doesn't compare to your stirring of my loving emotions.

Emotions, once damaged and resolutely inert,
Suppressed an d repressed to avoid further hurt,

Dear heart, these emotions you have somehow unleashed,
And all the Love I have for you will never decrease.

To a woman who through life had only been drifting,
Your devotion and passion has been truly uplifting.

So I have no ambition, no goals or endeavors,
Except to Love and prize you, now and forever.

And know that there's nothing you ever had to do.
You won my Love honey, by being simply you.

Rev. Sau ndra L. Washington, D.D., is an ordained clergywoman, veteran social worker, and Founder of AMEN Ministries. She is also the author of two coffee table books: Room Beneath the Snow: Poems that Preach and Negative Disturbances: Homilies that Teach which can be reviewed on her site. Her new book, Out of Deep Waters: My Grief Management Workbook, though delayed in publication, is expected to be available early 2006.

You have an open invitation to visit us at AMEN Ministries: Your Soul's Service Station for reviewing spiritual services being offered, obtain spiritual refreshing and soul edification, get your daily dose of humor, browse our newly expanded Stop & Shop Store and to visit our prayer sanctum for quiet time with God.

Blessings to all!

Author:: Saundra L. Washington
Keywords:: Poetry,Poem,Love,
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Ode To Quetzalcoatal Now in Spanish and English

Ode to Quetzalcatl

Quetzalcatl the Great

No one knew his true name, so they Called him Quetzalcatlfeather Serpent He and his crew of nineteen: faces Strange faces, images of a prince, a lord: King of the Yucatan in the year 986 AD

He was a tall man; long cloths, sandals; White as day, with a long beard, black hair. Some say red: some dont say But they called him priest, Lord, king Amongst many things: god!...

Quetzalcatls Life

Quetzalcatl, warrior of the Maya, God-king of the Astecaflanked By serpents; feared by kings; The god of the cometbearer Possessor of the wooden cross

Serpent of the Yucatan, chief of The Tula; wizardconquered by A wizard; fled to Cholulla! Twenty Years he nurtured his disciples: The sons of the sun, then

Then, those who loved vice and evil, Followed himrestrained his name, Planted evil seeds; castrated his Virtues; pronounced him warlock: The drunken-witch of Cholulla!

And so it was

Quetza lcatl-Cortes

War, iron, swords, white chalky faces Yellow hair, beardslong beards They came to Mexico, these Spaniards Hernn Cortsfor treasures [1519 AD Treasures of Motecuhzoma

These chalky face-ed-men with beards Had gunpowder, cannons, crossbows, Cavalry, steel swords and a lust for gold, Gold from Motecuhzoma in Tenochtitln The Ancient City of the Gods

Off the coast appeared the ship of Juan de Grijalva; so spoke the commoner Of this floating mountain in the sea; With disbelief, Motecuhzoma sent two Of his best men: officials to investigate

In dismay, Motecuhzoma of Tenochtitln Had little to say, of the nearing towers As he peered from a hill looking down Down and out into the green naked sea; Now the gifts were laid at Quetzalcatl feet

As the fleet of Corts appeared: Who were these strangers, bellowed Motecuhzoma, thinking it was the great God Quetzalcatl returning as predicted (in the Nahua year ce acatl ((1-Reed)).

Thus came a comet falling from the sky As Motecuhzoma watched it from his Palace in Tenochtitln, mumbled that This is a sign, of Quetzalcatl the divine. This was war, or submission to fate.

Motecuhzoma gave them gifts of food, Gold, bribes: so the ships would leave, Go away, never to return to this humid Mosquito-ridden Aztec coast; Thus, out of his gluttony-greed for gold Cortes burned his ships, his mates hope

then marched and reached Jalapa Pulling cannons all the wayacross The Tlaxcala frontier, a nation-state Independent of Motecuhzoma Hence, Cortes offered them peace.

An ally was secured for Cortes, the Greedy Spaniards: and the Talxcaltecas; Thus, soon to follow was destruction of The great city of Tenochtitln City of the Gods, City of the Dead!!

Who are these white cruel gods? Asked the stirring Nahuas These corrupted gods from the sea? Quetzalcatls decedents, perhaps? More corrupt than Motecuhzoma

Moving to Cholulla, the ancient city Of Quet zalcatl, they had a feast The long-beards and the Nahuas; Thus, the Nahuas were deceived Unarmed, and butchered like rat meat.

And so the journey of Cortes continued Towards Tenochtitln, past the Great Volcano, to its causeway, to the city Down the Street of the Dead---

Decedents of Quetzalcatl

Cortes men, Decedents of Quetzalcatl So the great ruler Motecuhzoma believed: Allowed him to be captured by the foe, The Ambassadors of the cruel, for the sake Of prophecyand so it was!

Now a prisoner and a puppet of Cortes Controlled by Spanish strings Quetzalcatl-Cortes bestowed many Cruelties on the city Tenochtitln And on the dying Aztec king

Motecuhzoma died by a grieving stone, Of his people; some say, by Cortes knife; Expelled by the Aztecs at Tenochtitln Shattered in defeat, the Spaniards left But only to return another day .

Note: #690 5/29/2005

In Spanish Translated by Nancy Penaloza Edited by Rosa Penaloza

Oda para Quetzalca tl

Aqu, amable lector, es lo que he descubierto gracias a investigacin histrica.

Quetzalcatl el Grande

Nadie saba su verdadero nombre, as ellos lo llamaban Quetzalcatl-Serpiente Emplumada l y su tripulacin de diecinueve: caras Caras extraas, imgenes de un prncipe, un seor: Rey del Yucatn en el ao 986 Despus de Cristo.

l era un hombre alto; tnica, sandalias; Blanco como el da, con una barba larga, pelo negro. Unos dicen rojo: otros no lo dicen Pero ellos le llamaron Sacerdote, Seor, Rey Entre muchas cosas: dios!...

La vida de Quetzalcatl

Quetzalcatl, guerrero de los Mayas, Dios-Rey- de los Aztecas-rodeado Por serpientes; temido por reyes; El dios del cometaportador Poseedor de la cruz de madera

Serpiente de Yucatn, jefe de La Tula; mago conquistado por Un mago; huy a Cholulla! Veinte aos l nutri a sus discpulos: Los hijos del sol, entonces

Entonces, aquellos que gustaron vicio y mal, lo siguieronconteniendo su nombre, Plantaron semillas malas; castraron sus Virtudes ; declarndolo a l, brujo: El brujo borracho de Cholulla!

Y entonces as fue .

Quetzalcatl-Corts

Guerra, hierro, espadas, caras blancas blanquecinas Pelo amarillo, barbas-barbas largas. Ellos vinieron a Mxico, estos espaoles Hernn Corts-por tesoros [1519 Despus de Cristo Los tesoros de Moctezuma

Estos hombres con cara blanquecina y barbas Tenan plvora, caones, ballestas, Caballera, espadas de acero y una lujuria por el oro, Oro de Moctezuma en Tenochtitln La Ciudad Antigua de Dios

De la costa apareci el barco de Juan de Grijalva; entonces habl el plebeyo De esta montaa flotante en el mar-; Con incredulidad, Moctezuma envi dos De sus mejores hombres: funcionarios para investigar

Con consternacin, Moctezuma de Tenochtitln Tena poco que decir, de las torres cercanas Mientras l mir detenidamente hacia abajo de una colina Abajo y hacia fuera en el mar verde desnud o; Ahora los regalos fueron puestos a los pies de Quetzalcatl

Mientras la flota de Corts apareci: Quines son estos forasteros, grit Moctezuma, pensando que era el grande Dios Quetzalcatl regresando como lo predic (en el ao Nahua ce acatl ((1-Reed)).

As vino un cometa cayendo del cielo Mientras Moctezuma mir desde su Palacio en Tenochtitln, musit Esto es una seal, de Quetzalcatl el divino. Esto era guerra, o sumisin al destino.

Moctezuma les dio regalos de alimento, Oro, soborn: para que los barcos se marcharan, Mrchense, nunca vuelvan a esta costa Azteca hmeda, llena de mosquitos; As, fuera de su glotonera-avaricia por el oro Corts quem sus barcos, la esperanza de sus compaeros

luego se march y alcanz Jalapa jalando caones todo el camino - a travs de la frontera de Tlaxcala, una nacin-estado Independiente de Moctezuma- Ah, Corts les ofreci paz.

Un aliado fue asegurado para Corts, los Espaoles vidos: y los Tlaxcaltecas; A s, pronto sigui la destruccin de la gran ciudad de Tenochtitln Ciudad de Dioses, Ciudad de los Muertos!!

Quines eran estos dioses blancos crueles? Preguntaron los conmovedores Nahuas Estos dioses corrompidos del mar? Descendientes de Quetzalcatl, quizs? Ms corruptos que Moctezuma

Trasladndose a Cholulla, la ciudad antigua De Quetzalcatl, ellos tuvieron un banquete Las barbas largas y los Nahuas; As, los Nahuas fueron engaados Desarmados, y matados como ratas.

Y entonces el viaje de Corts continu Hacia Tenochtitln, pasando el Gran Volcn, a su paso, a la ciudad bajo la Calle de la Muerte el gui A sus barbudos sardnicos guerreros!

Descendientes de Quetzalcatl

Los hombres de Cortes, Descendientes de Quetzalcatl Eso el gran Jefe Moctezuma crey: Permitiendo ser capturado por el enemigo, Los Embajadores de la crueldad, por amor a la Profecay entonces as fue !

Ahora un prisionero y una marioneta de Corts Controlado por cuerdas e spaolas Quetzalcatl-Corts leg muchas Crueldades sobre la ciudad Tenochtitln Y sobre el Rey Azteca agonizante.

Moctezuma muri por la penalidad de piedra, De su gente; algunos dicen, por el cuchillo de Corts; Expulsado por los aztecas en Tenochtitln Devastados por la derrota, los espaoles se marcharon Pero slo para regresar otro da .

Nota: Dennis Siluk, es un viajero mundial y buscador de los misterios del mundo, quien nos trae a la luz al misterioso personaje de Quetzalcatl. El estuvo en las grandes ciudades antiguas de Mjico, Amrica Central y Sudamrica; ste fue para el Sr. Siluk, un poema intenso para escribir, en particular, viendo quin era realmente Quetzalcatl para las personas ms all de su siglo. Rosa Pealoza.

Nota: #690 29 de mayo del 2005

Dennis Siluk, a world traveler,and seeker of the mysteries of the world, brings to light the mysterious personage of Quetzalcoatl. He has been to the great ancient cities of Mexico, Central and So uth America; this was a most searching poem for Mr. Siluk to do, in particular, looking for who Quetzalcoatal really was to the people beyond his century of life. Rosa Penaloza

Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Poetry Books A Growing Demand

Where were you when American poetess Sylvia Plath gassed herself in her London kitchen at the age of 30 during the harsh winter of 1963? Not perhaps the stuff our memories are made of, but all that could change. There is a distinct revival worldwide of interest in Poetry and Poets. This is expressed in the increased purchase of Poetry Books anthologies and works by individual Poets in the new and secondhand book markets. There are a number of reasons for this:

The internet allows the discussion and publication of Poetry in a way previously impossible considering the uneconomic nature of the physical publishing Poetry and publishing critiques, both amateur and academic. The brash and materialistic eighties preceded the fantastic and terrified nineties. Now here we are here in the middle of the first decade of the 21st century, more sober and reflective, wondering where the world is going.

Out of this a generation is emerging a present-day version of the 60s and 70s dreamers and idealists. They want more than self-help Books, more than herbal remedies and fatuous fantasies. There is a return to serious intellectual examination and spiritual actualization.

And by serious I dont mean lacking in humor. Im talking about intellectual acuity (take the works of travel poet Bill Bryson for instance) compared to idiotic ramblings (say the Books of creative conspiracy theorist David Icke). Bryson is funny and perceptive while Icke is obtuse and laughable. Theres a big difference. We are moving away from weak thoughts to profundity.

Can there be any explanation other than this when a 17-year-old youth enters our Bookshop asking for The Complete Works of Byron, or when a blonde girl no older than 15 says she is searching for the Poems of Shelley?

In a decade of book-selling this has never happened before. Suddenly we are buying Poetry Books again to meet demand, and retrieving the slim Poetry Books we relegated to boxes in the basement, to create a special Poetry section.

This makes sense of the revival of interest in the sixties ballad-Poets: Leonard Cohen and Joan Baez. Once again Bob Dylan is speaking to the contemporary generation. T.S. Eliot and Ted Hughes are being discussed again. The demand for the work of Lebanese poet Kahlil Gibran can barely be met. Dylan Thomas is revisited. There is renewed interest in the war Poets and so-called world Poetry: the Senegalese, Thai, French and Swedish Poets. And why not? It is possible because the Books are available and affordable, thanks to the international online book-buying market and the renewed interest in poetic thought.

Can a rediscovery of Shakespeares sonnets and Miltons Paradise Lost be far off? Horde any old Poetry Books and Poetry anthologies you still have. You could catch your children reading them one day in a way you never did.

Call it poetic justice.

About the author: Justine Eaglestone is a journalist brick-and-mortar Bookstore owner, online bookdealer and Booksite specialist. See her blog at http://search-book-sites.blogspot.com/ and website ht tp://www.abillionBooks.com/.

Author:: Justine Eaglestone
Keywords:: Poetry, Poems,Poetry Books,Books,Poets
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

The Wicker Man and Whiter than Pure White

Whiter than pure White.

What type of shadow will linger when I'm gone,
What ghost of me will haunt heraldic halls of fame,
Ive tried my best to cover over all my tracks,
And where impossible have spread the taint of blame,
As my multitudes grew daily more uneducated as I progressed,
So now many fortunately will not read tales of my fall,
They will however hear my faultless baritoned Songs of Praise,
And thus be enthralled by my final curtain call,
And though Im sure they will crave an encore or two,
Im afraid this time I have to let them all down,
Though they thirst for my genuflected Presidential wave,
Or merely to gaze upon my ermined sceptre and crown,
Many was the voice that tried to thwart me,
But they were smeared, bullied, killed and died,
Or evicted without the youth to defend themselves,
Or disallowed quite legal protests staged outside,
Some would have me painted quite deluded,
But I must t ell you now honestly as I stand here,
I would gladly have gone so very long ago,
If my adoring public did not hold me so dear.

The shadow, Sir, is evil, blighted with contaminating lies,
The epitaph rings oh so hollow down echoing old halls,
The ghosts are of past heroes glaring down in anger,
From their framed historical pictures on ancient walls,
They see this puny actor with fresh blood upon his hands,
Dripping away souls for naught where honour once resided,
They see a caricature who has achieved absolutely nothing,
And who is yesterdays news, now ridiculed and derided,
Who strives to assert authority with storm trooper tactics,
Pursuing new ill thought laws denying human rights,
And putting us all on big brother intrusive databases,
So he can swoop on you quietly in the dead of night.

What legacy and great feats were ever attained,
Those born today will merely inherit his wind,
Those promises so gr eat and visions so strong,
Were lost in clouds of lies, deceit and spin,
Big Brother now creepingly rules from his database,
Uneducated masses being a decidedly useful plus,
Why do you think Tony did away with learning,
All the better to rule unquestioned over us.

His legacy is an Emperor stripped naked,
After years of Presidential style media lies,
No one believes a word politicians say,
For too many wolves have already cried,
No one ever heard any apology either,
For all those years they have been betrayed,
For all the incessant talking then inaction,
On all the grand promises He made,
So school report at end of term,
Reads not so well as He would pray,
Master Blair failed dismally in every subject,
And lied his way through every single day,
Tony has made severe errors of judgement,
Whose consequences for others have been grave,
Yet Tony feels the need to blame others,
When it was decisio ns he alone had made,
When Master Blair faces honest depositions,
Or in debate is questioned on his words,
Said opponent is invariably vilified,
Or stained, discredited, killed or slurred,
Tony could do better and try harder,
If only there were a next term to come around,
For he has sunk so very low at present,
It would be impossible not to find higher ground.

And amazingly now the great Lion of the public,
Ignored and silent for so long, lets out a low growl,
Bares his teeth and gets up to his feet,
And with resonating roar begins to prowl,
Who is this usurper of all we hold dear,
Who is this mouse upon the throne,
Who is this actor with nothing real inside,
Who thinks we are his dog to proffer the odd bone,
We are this mighty nation forged with pride,
We have history and tradition saying we can fight,
We have been blind to believe all of his lies,
But now we are going to put it right.
We deserve to believe our vision,
We deserve education not lies,
We deserve hospitals that cure us,
Not ones that ensure we will die,
We deserve to live in peace,
Not cower in our homes in fear,
Above all we deserve the truth,
Yet it is only ever lies we hear.

So Tony just tiptoes silently and shamefully away,
Leaving absolutely nothing noteworthy in his place,
No everlasting Valhalla legacy of greatness,
He is too afraid now to even show his face,
Dead bodies still pile up daily at his door,
Intent to haunt the reason for their demise,
Blood pouring slowly from their mouths,
In an ironic parody of his ceaseless streams of lies.

And the king is in his counting house serene,
Licking his lips with anticipatorary glee,
Counting his chickens too fast it now seems,
In his dreams of dominion over you and me,
As the liar leaves the final battlefield,
Unscathed, unlike his fallen servicemen,
He who presumes automatic anointment,
Would, it seems, have to think again.

For the ruling of our country is not a bauble,
To pass on as if meaningless and trite,
No, there has to be the sanction of the Lion,
And there has to be a Parliamentary fight,
If our glorious President chooses to abdicate,
Because he is patently not fit to rule,
There should surely be a general election,
Not just passing on the baton to a fool.

And the Lion roared I will be heard,
I want a vote of no confidence right now,
And ferocious was the look in his eyes,
And knotted very tightly was his brow,
What insolence to think that we would,
Meekly sit and watch them all decide,
Who would now become our Prime Minister,
And just assume it someone from their side,
Does our great country not have a say in,
Who governs us in our historic name,
It is not just a game of pass the parcel,
Now the liar has finally been shamed, If theres to be a new king of our country,
The lion roared with all of his might,
Then let it be put to a general election,
If these curs have the stomach for a fight,
This pack of sycophants so spineless,
They allowed that craven liar Blair full rein,
Are we going to be ruled by these timid men,
Are we all content to be subjugate again,
Or are we all proud to be born British,
Proud of centuries long of fire and toil,
Proud of standing proud alone quite often,
Against all those who would own our soil,
Are we then now so meek and mild,
We have even lost the will to think and fight,
Are we going to sit back and merely take it,
When we know to hell and back it isnt right.

NO roared the Lion reverberating mightily,
We will again wield those swords our bloodlines forged,
We will advance strong against this sniveling enemy,
For the age old England and Saint George,
And force them finally to put it to the vote,
Just tell them thats exactly how its going to be,
Maybe then this country can be run by heroes,
Maybe then we can all be free.

The Wicker Man.

On an island carved from granite,
Which down dark centuries provided light,
A dawn heralds a totally new monolith,
A new might born out of night,
It stands powerful, tall and imposing,
Dwarfing the loftiest models ever planned,
Seemingly indestructible and super solid,
Its the long prophesied Wicker Man.

And Lo, it says what all would hear,
It breathes air into all our sails,
And no one questions its honesty,
For statistically it never fails,
No one thinks to look inside,
For preview portents of the morrow,
A glimpse behind the media front,
Would show the Wicker Man is really hollow.

Programmed to realistically act out his part,
Chameleonesque to suit his current plot,
Never afraid to make pronouncements,
Of all the gl eaming goodies he has got,
But when he tells us hes sincere,
And of all the honesty in his soul,
We dont realise hes just a Wicker Man,
And all thats inside is a hole.

Thats why he cant tell wrong from right,
Truth from fiction, pleasure from pain,
Because he hasnt got a soul or heart,
Just a self deluding convenience brain,
So whatever needs to be said to smooth,
Is intoned whilst looking straight in your eyes,
It matters not what hes telling you sincerely,
Is yet another pack of advantageous lies.

Ten years later there are those that can see,
Through that multi faceted outer shell,
Perceiving theres actually no substance,
Beneath the polished surface of farewell,
He trots out lists of achievements great,
From another land or another time,
To underpin his legacy and Churchillianness,
When all hes willed is poverty and rising crime,
An NHS to die for, merely enter their doors,
An educ ation in illiteracy, shorn of history,
And decimating our troops in His illegal wars,
A population frightened in its own homes,
Who quietly dread the onset of feral night,
All because they three times trusted,
The Wicker Man would put it right.

His last speech was another treason,
His master class in barefaced lies,
There are no lasting epitaphs,
Glorifying Him in our eyes,
All that shimmers through the gloom,
His tenancy has created for us all,
Are rows of white marble headstones,
For those He sold out most of all,
For we can rebuild after Him,
Once he spontaneously combusts,
But our soldiers cant reincarnate,
To contest His abuse of trust,
Now the Wicker Man is abdicating,
In favour of Gordon the Smug,
Will we now see through his stupidity,
Or start taking a new drug.

A drug that created worthless pensions,
And transmuted golden surplus into debt and tax,
Creating one trilli on borrowed souls,
Due to lending restraints being relaxed,
A country floated on flimsy credit cards,
And heavy remortgages to balance the sums,
Record insolvencies and rising unemployment,
Is what that creates for us crumbs,
While the smug Chancellor eats of cake,
And says all is fine and hes divine,
Just put your total trust in me,
Now where have we heard that line.

The Wicker Man will burn in hell,
For the lies hes coldly told,
His cabinet will perish in purgatory,
For allowing him his hold,
And this smug oaf who would follow,
Whose maths is surely recently learned,
Should be treated as the latest pariah,
Not to be trusted but to be spurned.

For who are these to presume,
They govern wisely over us,
They abuse our mandate and lie,
They patronise all of our trust,
They presume we are so stupid,
We can be fed fiction as if fools,
That we need them to think for us,
That we need new sets of rules,
To tell us all what to do,
Where to go, and how to act,
Assuming we will just simply obey,
And believe their twisted facts,
We are the British Lion,
We deserve the truth,
We deserve proper education,
For the future of our youth,
We deserve medical assistance,
Without the fear of bugs,
We deserve to receive the best,
And not rationing of expensive drugs,
We deserve to live in a nation,
Without millions more every year,
Putting strains on existing services,
For those who are already here,
We deserve a proper General,
Who really cares for our land,
Who treats us as intelligent,
Who carries out his plans,
We deserve actions not words,
We deserve honesty not spin,
We deserve not a polished speaker,
But one having integrity within,
Who tries to make us all,
One country and one mind,
We need someone we can trust,
Not more of the old lies,
We n eed a Churchill reborn,
A pure Rolls Royce with elan,
We need someone of substance,
Not another hollow Wicker Man.

Yo Blair.

http://www.stiffsteiffs.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/poems6.htm

Direct Emails mr-bong@blueyonder.co.uk
poems@blueyonder.co.uk

I am 54. I was a systems programmer/civil engineer. Now run to =>http://www.stiffsteiffs.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk website for free.

Author:: Malcolm Pugh
Keywords:: tony blair final speech wicker man the gordon brown labour leadership battle
Post by History of the Computer | Computer safety tips

Banana Republic

Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered,
Through eighty per cent of my allotted span,
Occasionally awoken, when dissent is spoken,
And I invent another cunning five year plan,
Lately it was pensions, that were being mentioned,
So I borrowed from the French and Robespierre,
Scrap all that went before, saved by tooth and claw,
And let my all equal Citizens appear,
Currently it is time, for me to be in my prime,
For there is another election looming,
I have to appear sincere, for part of this coming year,
And assure everyone that everything is booming,
Never mind strict quotas, Ive imported multitudes of voters,
And told them which party let them stay,
Though Ive rigged the postal vote, and defamed everyone of note,
You never know what might happen on the day.

So to be on the safe side, I swallow all my pride,
And allow my people to hear my hallowed voice,
And roll out the charade, put on the faca de,
And even make believe they have a choice,
Next time around the crown, will be trampled underground,
House of Lords and Lord Chancellor history,
With the other Chancellor gone, I alone will soldier on,
Yes, then there will only ever be me,
Ill hold elections for you, as all dictators do,
And fill positions with those that grease my palm,
As for civil unrest, there is always house arrest,
Or secret imprisonment for those that mean me harm.

So from national nursery, via educational history,
You can in time join the New Labour Youth,
Be taught gay is fun, and the state is number one,
And any other opinion is untruth.

Ask the media if unsure, or philosophically impure,
Brainwashing British Citizens is their forte,
They will surely put you right, or visit you at night,
Either way they will stop you being naughty.

Meekly follow all the rules, laid down in our schools,
Where state is all and learni ng is suppressed,
And you can safely be ignored, not seen as being flawed,
Just be another number like the rest.

Better far to be, a part of mediocrity,
Within your state and the seeds they have sown,
Than to disappear, or to live in constant fear,
For having a mind and will all of your own.

How is it that we, lost the option to be free,
How did we give away our right to choice,
How did we believe, whilst being deceived,
When did we decide to lose our voice.

How did we select the politically correct,
Why are we victims of unpunished crime,
Were we such fools as not to see the tools,
Or did we think they would go away in time.

The tap is darkly dripping, droplets that are gripping,
Our throats today our minds in time to come,
We must turn the tide, and reaffirm our pride,
We must prove we are not deaf and dumb.

It is no good wailing, chained up to your railing,
That you want the vote bac k like before,
For no one hears your plea, they are deaf to you and me,
No on cares about us any more.

This is about manipulation, of us and of our nation,
This is about illusions triumph over actual reason,
This is about lies, and the power to mesermerise,
This is about a slowly creeping treason,
This is about the eviscery, of the neutral BBC,
This is about what poison will soon take its place,
This is about five year plans, and Citizens of Euroland,
This is about civil service, with a very red face,
This is about soaps and plays, which in very subtle ways,
Try to put into our minds new sets of plausible truths,
This is about newspaper demise, in the guise of purveying lies,
Whilst the state preaches Pravda through schools to our youth,
This is about vision and sound, and any means that is allowed,
Trying to persuade you against your own common sense,
This is about duplicity, making seem true what cannot be,
And hoping you will at very least sit on the fence.

This is about unelected expertise, being paid huge taxpayer fees,
Alaister Campbells school of used car salesmen integrity,
This about usage of such curs, and their lies, and their slurs,
To pull the wool over the eyes of you and me.

Maybe feeble opposition is fuelling this submission,
But this is not about parties or their competence,
This is simply a war, not about who to vote for, But who to definitely vote against.

Malcolm Pugh was a civil engineer then a systems programmer - slightly deranged retired now.

Author:: Malcolm Pugh
Keywords:: poem Poetry malcolm james pugh election voting votes political politics blair blairdom banana republ
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Read this Article if You Are Not Afraid of Bird Flu

Are you tired of being in Fear of this or that or what ever it is today? Are you tired of the BS and Hokum from the folks who brought us Y2K?

Are you sitting down and watching too much TV until your rear is sore? Are you simply fed up with the prospect of Nuclear War?

Does the thought of Communism no longer get you down? Are you to the point you are certain it will always be around?

Are you tired of looking for OBL in some remote cave they say he does dwell? Are you sure he is on our payroll and want to tell them all to go to Hell?

This Comet, which is certain to hit the Earth and kill us all? The one that never comes, forget that noise I am going shopping, be at the mall!

Are you tired of hearing about fictitious political scandal? Those people in D.C. it seems that they will ne ver get a handle.

Is International Terrorism really real you ask yourself now? My god you turn on the TV and the mass media is in complete hysteria having a cow.

Its the Economy stupid it is crumbling all around? Yet every time you look out you see, expansion, business as usual and the jobs abound?

Are we suppose to live in Fear for Fear sake? Are you wondering now why you are becoming immune to it all, catastrophes of Earthquakes and you dont even shake?

The Hurricane Season broke all records, Super Storms are real? Are you worried about disruption of power, supplies and where you will get your next meal?

This Fear we must be afraid the disease is coming we are all going to die? Well, thats nice but how can you prove to us that Bird Flu is not just another lie?

Lance Winslow

Author:: Lance Winslow
Keywords:: nuclear war, international terrorism, bird flu, Communism, Hell, political scandal, Economy, Fear
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Fantasy/Controversy or My Reality: Captivates

Fantasy/Controversy or My Reality: a collection of Poetic writing that comes from the heArt. Written by a Mother as her own escape from her chore filled day, the Anthology is very riveting and it makes you contemplate.

After expressing my own thoughts I was able to relax and get clarity and appreciate my life in this fun way. As the author, I must confess that ever time I read this Book, I find a new jewel in it. I would like for readers to find some satisfaction and lose all their cares about the things that they regret in life from reading my Book.

Designed to put the pep back into your step and a zing to remove anything that's distressing, this Anthology will make your day. Through the captivating verses you will be inspired and motivated. These heArt felt Poems are about the good, the bad, the happy and the sad with an up lifting twist. Clearly written for all to understand, this expressive Literature was meant for everyone. If you are in need of an encou ragment; order your copy today on line.

Diginity: one of the 150 poem featured in Fantasy/Controversy or My Reality:

Dignity

As another day dawns,
As life triumphantly moves on,
As the sun brilliantly brings forth
Light to our eyes and warmth for our face,
We as a people with courage embrace
Our challenges with honor, not disgrace.

For it is not what we do, it's how we do it!
It is not what we say, but how we say it!
It is not where we are from, its our destination!
It is not how we look, but how we see ourselves!

It is about dignity, self-respect and pride,
That makes us lift our heads up high,
Refusing to surrender, when attacked from every side.

For more information about this Book and the author visit her web-site at http://home.eArthlink.net/~rgarnes/

Ruth Andrews Garnes was born in Belize the second of six Children. She moved to New York City at age eighteen. After studying nursing she worked in the emergency room in Bellevue Hospital. She currently resides with her husband and seven Children in the Houston Texas area. Having always had a heArt for hurting Children she adopted four sisters. Through her writings she hopes to be able to make a difference to hurting Children everywhere by giving a voice to their struggles.

Author:: Ruth Garnes
Keywords:: Encouragement,Poetry,Poetic,Anthology,Poems,Book,Family,Mother,Fantasy,Reality,Literature,Art,Child
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