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Rye - A Game of Softball

A Game of Softball
I stand awaiting my
Turn for softball.
One person practices his
Swing. He walks up to
Me as he practices. I get
Hit by his bat and I
Scream. Half the class
Laughs pointing at me claiming I should have
Moved away. I lost half of
A tooth, a Pint of
Blood at the very least and
My illusions of the kindness
Of people in my school and
The kindness of people in general and
The kindness of God,
if he even ever was.
The Pain overwhelms me
For the rest of the day, but the pain
And the scars on my lip
Remain, has remained, and will
Forever remain in my mind.

Chatelle - I Wish You Could See

I wish you could see
The things I see
I wish you could cut me open
Perceive and leave it be
I want you to feel what I feel
Two of one, and one of three
I want to share something real, something pure and something clear!

I know none of this is real
Except the smell of yours which I carry with me
Thin, but still soft and sweet
So unlike the fierce of napalm
And the echoes of searing pain
The nightmares you have never known
Or might not wish to know

I know it's an effection of my ghostly dream
Slowly creating a mist of illusions
Carrying your certain smile
Oh God, I don't remember your eyes...
I only recall your scent, like a flower nailed to my skin!

Such a drop in the ocean
Still the only drop I'd like to taste
As the sweetest wine
Slowly, without hestitation
Make the mirror pieces hold still
So they may finally look upon each others
Creating the essence of life

We could be Gods if there was a place for us to be.

Chairman - The Circus

The Circus
The crowds were cheering,
The time was near,
The circus was due;
The time was near!
To the circus! To the circus!

Mothers, children;
Women and men;
Costermongers and nobles;
There were not few!
To the circus! To the circus!

They did all hear the news on the papers or such;
That Baron was touring with his large troupe –
Of clowns, of lions, of contortionists, of everything else;
There were not few!

The tickets did sell;
The duds were quick;
Though the top seats were empty;
As the unloved King was to go,
To the circus.

The time was near –
To the circus, to the circus!
The time was here!
The fat Master Baron was prancing;
To the circus, to the circus!
On his great brown horse.
And along with his troupe
Of clowns, of lions, of contortionists.

They passed the slums;
The people did stare.
And they ‘id staring at the passing bandwagons,
At the golden carriages,
Midst the dark sky.
And they did ‘eir cheering as loud as ‘ey could;
In the midst of darkness, numbness, poverty,
Versed a strange song.

And they were there – the lions and everything!
On the large, tinted podium where the clown was standing;
The mighty lions;
Roaring in their cages;
In frenzied rage.

The king was solemn;
As he sat in his seat;
Hands and heart;
With thorns and needles.
And all the men, women and children;
Cheered and applauded,
Not for him;
Not caring;
Not loved.

Clown presents Baron;
In his attire -
“We will welcome –
Monsieur Baron Dufrett!”
The king’s eyes grew wide.
His met the Baron.
And Baron’s met his.
And they stared.
Eyes’wites widened,
Uninviting;
Menacing;
Great Danes to a bone.

The crowd did stare;
Which the King did avoid;
And still he sat,
Dog hiding a bone;
The Baron said nothing,
Off he went.

Tha art my younger!
Thee I not kill!
But! This is over!
The throne was rightfully thine!
Tha shalt slam thee down!
Tha shalt slam thee down!

His eyes were maddening;
In a sindark tinte;
His fists had fought fights;
First from the War;
And his heart ‘as hard;
Hard as a stone.

The clowns were juggling;
Trapezes lined in;
No soul to ken;
That something was cooking –

Equus at full stride;
Leo purring;
Tyger burning;
Baron gleaming;
Baron flaming;
Baron calling –
In fiery hate;
The lions growled;
And they leapt -
Prancing;
As the monarch cried a silent scream.
The tigers were ferocious;
As the citizens ran and stared;
At the blood and flesh and bone;
On the High Chair.

Most were astonied;
Some did cheer.
The Baron did stand;
Did sit;
His eyes shone with the evil gleam;
Eviller than the last king owned.
And he bowed,
For the show was ended.

Hasta -Venio de Gothi ("The Come of the Goths")

Cum gladius,
Cum hasta,
Cum clypeus,
et cum asta,
Imperium Romanum neruina,
Aput cruor de Gaius.

Cum ignis,
Cum scutum,
Cum ensis,
et cum deritas,
Gothi venio,
et Imperium Romanum ruo,
Aput curor de Agustus.

Quid fortuna,
Quid causa,
Quid causa nom ruina?
Estne Gothi,
Gothi, gens de mastigavi!
Cum ira venio,
et aeturnus consisto,
Sed ne exto.

My Classical Latin isn't the best, so this is probably going to have errors up the wazoo, especially since there are entire books on Latin poetry and prose I have yet to read. Here is the English translation:

With sword,
With spear,
With sheild,
And Javelin,
The Roman Empire shall not fall,
On the Blood of Gaius (Julius Caesar).

With fire,
With shield,
With sword,
And with frightfulness,
The Goths come,
And Rome now falls,
On the Blood of (Romulus) Agustus.

What fortune,
What cause,
What cause for ruin?
It is the Goths,
The Goths, the tribe of scourge!
With hate they came,
And forever linger,
Yet do not exist.

Zoon - Suicide Opus

Whose home is this, or monster's lair?
To look upon the sanguine floor,
Or know the subtle scent - of gore!
And the kitchen sink, could one not think a gibbet?
Behold, it cradles a diced face
Gently draped from a cut throat.
Cobalt lips reaching for a note,
Was there once a ballad behind those blinds?
The noose, not unlike a snake, was wound
Round the slender neck (upon the pallid chest,
Where the rope's wrinkles now found rest).
Below, the fleshy planks
Are arranged like a sleeping Nataraja,
Embracing cold ceramic, or soft canvas.
Could it be a frame from a sideways ballet?
And they;
An artist in death,
Loosing strokes of crimson,
Painting a portrait in blood.

Comrade Alex - What is?

What is love?
What ever we want it to be.
What is freedom?
What ever we decide it is.
What is war?
What ever we need it to be.
What is God?
What ever we say it is.
What is truth?
Whatever you think it is.
Who am I?
What ever we say you are.
Who are you?
What ever you think we are.

2+2=5 - Pictures

First Picture.
The beach, the sea, the cliffs, the shore.
The view from the window.
The lamp-post.
A few cars, but no people.
Beautiful, but colourless. Grey.
Loneliness. I have only just arrived here.
Then, the realization:
I am a chicken.
Resolutions that I will not live up to.
Mild depression.
But then: The Change.
Things change, but gradually.

Second Picture.
Still the sea
but this time I am standing in the water.
Still alone, but smiling.
For happiness.
For fun.
For the notion of other people
but not for their existence, as there is none.
Not in this picture.
The enjoyment is limited.
We are catching other people's looks.
But not doing anything with them.
How do I go about it.

Third Picture.
The Chance.
Maybe we have left the sea.
The ocean of solitude.
Because now there is someone.
Not someone that I have chosen.
Just someone that's there.
I go
on a second thought.
There is conversation.
I begin to build up hope.
But there are other factors involved.
Things happen that I could only too easily blame
on my loneliness.
The next day is lonely.
Happy, but lonely.
And so are the following.

Fourth Picture.
Virtual nothings.
It was easy back then.
Phone up someone you know.
Now it is difficult.
I don't know anyone.
Therefore, I resort to talking to people
that I do know.
But they are not here.
What's the sense in that.
My enjoyment.
But I realize
that I am lonely.

Fifth Picture.
The Surprise.
I wake up in the morning
to find the building deserted.
I realize I have waited too long.
Everyone has left
to go to a party
that I never knew existed.
Therefore, I go out and buy a rope to hang myself.
I live high up.
I don't know how to go about it.
But I try.
I tie one end of the rope to my bed.
And the other end is fashioned into a noose
around my neck.
I then realize that I must be off my rocker.
And after having untied the whole lot
I desperately try to hide the rope
where it won't bother my eyes
with its presence.

Sixth Picture.
The Sign.
By the water again.
There is a walkway out onto the sea.
Over it looms a sign.
It says two words.
DARE YE.
No daring question mark even?
The words are enough.
I am angry.
Suspect it of wanting to lure me
into the water.
Make me jump in and drown myself.
But again
I realize two things.
One: I am still too much of a chicken.
Two: The sign probably has no personality to speak of.
I give it a compassionate pat
and walk away.

Seventh Picture.
I find true love.
One night, there is a knock on my door.
I wake from a dream
in which I have found true love.
Lie there in a state of amazement.
Then get out of bed.
To see
that there is no one there.
I must have
imagined
it.

RataSista - Terrorists

Part 1

Once upon a time in Texas,
Bush decided, who the next was.

Saddam was his name.
He was the one , America should blame.

Condoleeza was behind Bush, too -
Although she was the one , who had no clue.

They had no idea which results they would get,
"Revenge" was the only idea they had.

"They have weapons of mass destruction", Rumsfeld meant,
but once this war will start, it'll never find an end.

"In God we trust" is what they say,
killing terrorists should be the right way.

Freedom fries ,they call their favorite meal,
but millions of sad people, does Bush know how they feel?

In the land of the free and the home of the brave,
the government started to dig out a mass grave.

Iraqees were hurt and lots of them died,
but still they dont give up, they fight!

Peace is what some of them are fighting for,
and atleast the majority doesn't want war.

They scream and cry for a family member,
and see the worst thing in the world, they'll always remember.

Just like the western world will never forget September 11,
Iraqee children will be followed by pain 24/7.

They'll lose their hope and lose their dreams,
they are the only ones who know what war means!

Innocent ,that's what they are,
but there is no fairness in any war.

So who will win? No one knows.
War is useless, that's the only thing it shows.

Part 2

Soldiers taken away from their families
In order to defeat the countries’ enemies

Fathers leaving their babies at home
Moms will start to feel alone

On both sides, kids will grow up with fear
The answers to questions are not so clear

What’s the use of war? What’s going on in this world?
Is dad going to come back to his little girl?

Will his son grow up in a world that feels so safe?
Or is their dad just digging his own grave?

Do terrorists care about the importance of love?
Or are they just pushed from someone who’s above

Above them all, telling them to kill
Make them all forget their own will

Inventing machines out of human beings
Make them lose control and all their feelings

Someone who pushes them to fight
Someone who’s got the powerful might

No matter what country, no matter the plan,
They’re going to hate each other, again and again

Wounds transform to scars pretty fast
But they will always remember them of the past.

Will burn like fire, inflict a sharp pain
Will make its way through every vein

Millions of tears will make their way
Millions of people will die in one day

And if the world is still spinning around
There will always be some group from the underground

In use are guns, or maybe just a knife
Hate and greed will be a part of life

The hurt isn’t going to stop, no never,
There will always be bad and evil,

From now until forever!
Will we ever learn from it?
Know one knows,
Once again war is useless
And that’s the only thing it shows.

Kirov - Rzhev Ballad

Oh, in Rzhev it's a folly of indescribable proportions
Most of the people who live in here
Are victims of abortions
And if you're lucky, the day will be merely sucky
Unless you've got antenna TV - then you'll suffer with distortion!

Oh, in Rzhev it's too easy to die
When those damned mosquitoes
Poke you in the eye
Unless your name ends with Rye - you might as well just die!
Oh, in Rzhev it's too easy to die!

Oh, in Rzhev the meat is too cheap
Especially if you live near Federal Beef
Just watch for the worms
And hope that your stomach doesn't turn - that meat burns coming back up!

In Rzhev they have churches
Topped with crosses
In Rzhev they discriminate work
With their picky-ass bosses
But as long as you manage, do avoid that pickled cabbage!
You'll be off the ground in no time!

Oh in Rzhev, they don't play the Internationale
And neither do they play any good music at all!
It's just country and gospel
Just outside the hospital
And I hope the other stations pop up!

Oh, in Rzhev they gots lots of bad roads
During wet season Din likes to throw in some toads
But doing 75 on I-29
Will make the road you're on come alive! haha

Oh, Din, Rzhev is a bitch!
The sun burns, and I've got this strange itch.
Spare me some calamine, and maybe some Dramamine
And perhaps it'll kill this lil' twitch!

If you made it this far in the rhyme
Perhaps it's just about time
To give Rzhev a rest, perhaps it's a pest
Aw, damnit, now I don't know what to say this time! -.-

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