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Issue 43/44 : January - June, 2009 : Volume 11 No 3/4 Allan David Goldschmidt A Man on the Wall Part 1 Here’s to Here’s to the cover up Here’s to the lies we’ve yet to expose Here’s to Here’s to the man on the wall Here’s to the flag that waves half-mast On the flagpole on the wall alongside him Here’s to the Fall Where green apples hang pie-eyed From tree branches low on the horizon. Here’s to the wearied path Unseen through the rubble of war Here’s to a world On the edge of the great abyss. Here’s to Here’s to the napalm, the bombs That fell that hapless night Took to bended knee, one last survivor Here’s to the many wars That may never cease to be Here’s to every round of mortar shell fire Mindlessly exploding Landing on the brink of bloody aftermath; Here’s to our boys and girls, Men, women, and children; Here’s to the drowning pool of blood; The great sinking sea: the great flood A body of water sinking deep Into a shrinking vessel of earth and sand The pit where life meets death one last time. But here’s to Here’s to the truth Of what is known That is and shall forever be. And here’s to A few enlightened men Who’ve seen the truth; Looked spellbound into the eye Of that all-blinding light And know the difference Between truth and the lies That men still live by. Part II Here’s to Here’s to the children Of the new dawn Now separated from loved ones: parents, Siblings, and a host of other significant people Here’s to what were their golden growing years; Children who were just children When the war had already begun; What harsh, belligerent words did men speak Bring into action, enact the first act of aggression and war On its own people with or without their consent Here’s to Here’s to the ruthless, the all-powered But not all-knowing five-cornered power generator: Yes, the PENTAGON of mass destruction: Here’s to Here’s to our young boys; Recruited into an army of defenseless pawns Torn from their friends, lovers and family- Or where have they all gone-gone to tombstones Every one- "When will they ever learn?" Here’s to all of them, on and off the bloody front. Part III Here’s to Here’s to the cancellation Of the rites of Spring; The flowering of the tiny seed, Little ladies, flower white and pretty Blossoming in size and maturity; But just in their prime They live only to see their soul mates Paddywagoned off to fight their leaders’ war Whether in the market or on the battlefield: The rainforest once so green and moist Here’s to Here’s to another failed chance To return them all their “rites of spring” Their youth Their free time and innocence. Part IV Here’s to Here’s to the old men Without a country Whom you might once have met On the street, on the boulevard, Or just along the village green Here’s to their passing friendship Here’s to the pleasant, though brief furloughs They offered us; those moments of sheer joy, And heartfelt compassion-the trek through The rough and tough, often where tragedy Forms the tears they shed with us and we shed With them-for our beloved kin, and our fellow Travelers throughout the world. Here’s to Here’s to friends of old age The hapless, The homeless, The workingman (poverty And destitution their plight)- All but precious memories left Of perhaps better days gone by. But here’s to A few enlightened men Who’ve seen and witnessed the truth Gazed spellbound into the eye Of that all blinding light And know the difference Between truth and the lies That men still live by. New York Please read more poems in English in the hardcopy... |