Mandela - The Immortal Icon

The Peace Warrior Of Mzansi, among heroes - a colossus! Sun Of The Nation; a rare gift of Providence. Once, entangled in the web of racist succubus; Unruffled he declares before High Justice: '[I]t is an ideal for which I am prepared to die! ' Silence - Pregnant with dreadful menace in court ensued. A beast of burden consequent of unshakeable stance. In the slammer Symbol Of The Struggle he attained; But Apartheid demon persisted in its Treachery. 'Coalition Of Conscience' inspired outcry for Liberty;

Gentleman Alone

The young maricones and the horny muchachas, The big fat widows delirious from insomnia, The young wives thirty hours' pregnant, And the hoarse tomcats that cross my garden at night, Like a collar of palpitating sexual oysters Surround my solitary home, Enemies of my soul, Conspirators in pajamas Who exchange deep kisses for passwords. Radiant summer brings out the lovers

A Woman Waits For Me

A woman waits for me- she contains all, nothing is lacking, Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the right man were lacking. Sex contains all, Bodies, Souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, results, promulgations, Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal milk; All hopes, benefactions, bestowals,

America The Beautiful

O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain! America! America! God shed His grace on thee And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea! O beautiful for pilgrim feet,

Mzansi And The Ballot Box

Millions queued in lines before Arbiter Of Disputes. Hopes were high, Duty and resolve holding firm. Hearts dance with spirit of Emancipation, Each with ammo stronger than bullet, Ready to dislodge a fiendish cabal out of Power. All conscious of the long night of tribulation. Singly, the weapons were discharged Into The Receptacle Of Liberty; Upon which they received baptisms of Freedom.

Small Mourning Pieces

No time to prepare Shoved over cliff by sorrows Float down now, gently Grief comes as strong waves Tide that never seems to ebb Let it wash your soul Nasty Opponent Grief punches all breath away

War Is Never Over

War is never over Thought the treaties may be signed The memories of the battles Are forever in our minds War is never over So when you welcome heroes home Remember in their minds they hold Memories known to them alone

Base Details

If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base, And speed glum heroes up the line to death. You'd see me with my puffy petulant face, Guzzling and gulping in the best hotel, Reading the Roll of Honour. "Poor young chap," I'd say -- "I used to know his father well; Yes, we've lost heavily in this last scrap." And when the war is done and youth stone dead, I'd toddle safely home and die -- in bed.

Asphodel, That Greeny Flower

Of asphodel, that greeny flower, like a buttercup upon its branching stem- save that it's green and wooden- I come, my sweet, to sing to you. We lived long together a life filled, if you will, with flowers. So that

Teeth

English Teeth, English Teeth! Shining in the sun A part of British heritage Aye, each and every one. English Teeth, Happy Teeth! Always having fun Clamping down on bits of fish And sausages half done. English Teeth! HEROES' Teeth! Hear them click! and clack!

Concord Hymn

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood And fired the shot heard round the world. The foe long since in silence slept; Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

Leaves Of Grass. A Carol Of Harvest For 1867

A SONG of the good green grass! A song no more of the city streets; A song of farms--a song of the soil of fields. A song with the smell of sun-dried hay, where the nimble pitchers handle the pitch-fork; A song tasting of new wheat, and of fresh-husk'd maize.

Hymn To Aristogeiton And Harmodius

Wreathed in myrtle, my sword I'll conceal Like those champions devoted and brave, When they plunged in the tyrant their steel, And to Athens deliverance gave. Beloved heroes! your deathless souls roam In the joy breathing isles of the blest; Where the mighty of old have their home - Where Achilles and Diomed rest.

Old Ironsides

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar; -- The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe,

Endymion: Book I

ENDYMION. A Poetic Romance. "THE STRETCHED METRE OF AN AN ANTIQUE SONG." INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS CHATTERTON. Book I

Corpses Delivery (Verse)

In the war these heroes have died Though the war was illegal, They are martyrs They have shed their blood in the war For the country, for the nations You hold their coffins; Supported groups do violences, kill innocent Spread horrors, terrors matter a less; Opposite groups do those

Voronezh

For Osip Mandelstam And the town is frozen solid in a vice, Trees, walls, snow, beneath a glass. Over crystal, on slippery tracks of ice, the painted sleighs and I, together, pass. And over St Peter’s there are poplars, crows there’s a pale green dome there that glows, dim in the sun-shrouded dust. The field of heroes lingers in my thought,

A Proadway Pageant

OVER the western sea, hither from Niphon come, Courteous, the swart-cheek'd two-sworded envoys, Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive, Ride to-day through Manhattan. Libertad! I do not know whether others behold what I behold, In the procession, along with the nobles of Asia, the errand- bearers,

I Sing The Body Electric

I SING the Body electric; The armies of those I love engirth me, and I engirth them; They will not let me off till I go with them, respond to them, And discorrupt them, and charge them full with the charge of the Soul. Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves; And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the

Autumn Begins In Martins Ferry, Ohio

In the Shreve High football stadium, I think of Polacks nursing long beers in Tiltonsville, And gray faces of Negroes in the blast furnace at Benwood, And the ruptured night watchman of Wheeling Steel, Dreaming of heroes. All the proud fathers are ashamed to go home. Their women cluck like starved pullets, Dying for love.