Industrial, along those lines
We organise, from shops to mines
Which we believe will bring on better times
The Stained RoseThe field was silent now, the men had fought, bled and died. Even the Ravens and Crows had their fill and left the remains of the unfortunate to decay in the mood. The sun looked on impassive, bringing false warmth to the dead. In its gaze the dulled and broken tools of the dead’s former trade shined just a little, giving such vile instruments a tiny measure of beauty. A shame there was no one around to appreciate it.
A slight breeze picked up, and stirred some of the wreckage littered about the field, the flapping of torn banners breaking the silence of the scene. The banners, those tattered and trampled rags still declared the identity and Heraldry of their deceased owners. In the centre amongst the carcasses of horses and their riders flapped a red and blue banner with a still recognisable Stallion rearing up in gold embroidery, now marking the open grave of its master a nobleman. To the east with its shaft buried deep in the mud and poked full of holes was a simpl
We Must Travel FarWell that’s that then,
Time to escape our pen
Earth’s become a literal hell
So charge up the FTL
So long old Terra
Forgive us our error
Farewell red Mars
We’re going to the stars
Too late we found a solution
To that nasty pollution
Hopefully we’ll do much better
In the role of galactic settler
But if we get too bold
And New Eden goes the way of the old
And again we cause ecological harm
Then you know what they say, “Third times the charm”
Viva the Social (Media) Revolution!Ladies and Gents this here is my brand new plan
It’s guaranteed to take down the man
First up we list all his wrongs
In a protest album full of remixed songs
Step two is even better
Hit him with a petition and an open letter
For step three we’ll ruin his trip to Tahiti
By daubing his beach house in artistic graffiti
And when he’s reeling like a cat in the rain
We’ll move in for the kill with a human chain
And expose him as a man most bitter
With paint bombs and a ton of glitter
And of course we’ll be coordinating via facebook and twitter
Qapla!there once was a Klingon called Worf, son of Mogh
Enlisting in Starfleet the Empire considered him rogue
He was fearless
Just like Kahless
And judging by his quarters, chainmail and spikes were in vogue
Taking one for the teamAmerica’s most famous Labor chief is of course Jimmy Hoffa
A firebrand, a scrapper, a militant and a full time Scoffa
He got pally with the mob
The pension fund he did rob
But the friendship eventually spoiled, and he received a final offa
The literally Cold WarTo Kronstadt, to attack alleged White Guards
While in the streets workers waved crude placards,
They manned the garrison there, mysteriously
Where we used to sneer imperiously
There demands Workers' control, soviet power
And stop nicking are bloody flour!
What could we do? Abandon the fort
After losing the cities support?
With it state power, given to the revolting masses?
Let them win and we'd lose our conference passes!
No: we would take a stronger, firmer grip,
And bail out, our battered sinking ship!
We marched to conquer fortress Kronstadt;
Beating them as we beat the real Whites
before they could show the world we were hypocritical shites.
We marched to conquer Fortress Kronstadt:
Under their guns across the ice-clad sea
Taken full advantage of their naive mercy
Went Congress delegate and soldier elite;
In that order too (when in retreat)
Their cannon smashed the ice on which we stood;
After we repeatedly spat on their attempts at brotherhood
After, when our bodies were reclaim
E.P.I.C.One of my favourite yank writers is that bloke Upton Sinclair
After making a fortune he used the money to build a communal lair
He rumbled the Meat packers Jungle
And documented the Oil barons bungle
The one thing he couldn’t do it seems, was climb the political stair
I don't pay attention to the newsUkraine’s in the news lately, I’m only familiar with Nestor Makhno
I’ve no idea how that’s pronounced so just assume it rhymes with snow
Which is also something I imagine Ukraine has quite a bit of?
Just like those other countries that where the people’s names end in “ov”
So anyway on to the Ukraine and something called Maidan
I didn’t know Ukraine had a lot of fans of Iron Maiden
Now apparently Russia has moved into the Ukraine east and taken over
Which surprised me, since on my map they had it all as well as Moldova
Though know I come to think of it
I don’t think Germany is still split
Between Westen und Ost
And Yugoslavia now appears lost
And according to google maps there’s now a New Mexico hey?
Why its enough to make you scratch yer head and say “Que”?
AusverkaufskulturAasgeierfirmen und Spekulanten
kaufen die Schuldenscheine ganzer Staaten
für einen minimalen Wert
und treiben sie dann ein mit dem Schwert
Griechenland, Portugal, dann Spanien
zuletzt Frankreichs Kapitulation
die EU muss alles bezahlen
im Namen der Integration
ein indischer Milliardär
lässt Ressourchen verkommen
kauft Europa's Stahlwerke leer
um Konkurrenz zu stoppen
sonst wird alles geregelt
das Taschengeld der Putzfrau
der Kellnerin, der Bierzeltmädel
geraubte Kunst hingegen...
...ist rumetikettiertes Fleisch
verseuchte marokkanische Stangenbohnen
werden über Spanien einwandfrei
im Staatenbund der Abzocker
geraubte Kunst braucht keine Herkunft
Schwarzkonten-Alice weiß unser Wohl
ein Hoeneß spottet jeder Vernunft
alles Privilegierte der Ära Kohl
Zuhälter bleiben unbehelligt
im demokratischen Zuchtstall
der Markt agiert selbstständig
doch blechen wird die Vielfalt
© j.w.waldeck 2014
Please do nout use
anything of my work!
RealityLet us go then, you and I,
to watch the waters lap oh so high
to watch the lakes grow oh so dry
while they blow smoke to the sky
and frack our future.
distort the trouble,
doubt the science
on the double
lie and cheat and make a fuss
in money we trust.
And the waters they rise,
and the islands they sink
Southern Louisiana's right in the drink
The wars are here, the thirst has come
but too many bigshots sit and hum.
Repeating the mantras won't change a thing
repeating the mantras won't change a thing
repeating the mantras won't change a thing.
On the Fear of WritingCrackling words break the backs of silence.
Words. Words. Screamed from the mouths of eternal horses.
Upon the backs of men seeking a path from hell.
There's no way to know.
There's no way to tell.
Is the world's getting smaller?
Or are we getting too big?
Wars fought over oil paint blood in the sand,
while the whole planet smiles,
"Ain't it fine?" "Ain't it grand?"
The cracking of the globe, splitting faces in two.
With some halves in the "Us's" and others in "You's".
Rising from the pheonix's ashes
to smush oily words upon the gate.
For babes are crying and winter's dying
when love is left to rot.
No more feathered wings to cradle it.
No more tender hands to keep it.
There is only the swollen pregnant moon
in the gnashing yellow night.
Killing PotentialBuilding walls to watch them crumble;
raising men to watch them fall
Burn your hometown down to rubble
stand in silence at the call.
Cutting forests in the spring,
smashing eggs to smithereens.
Smelting down engagement rings
just to hear the children scream.
Shut down the lawmen in their prime
kill the carpenter at work.
Stop the conman in his crime
hang in innocent in flirt.
Crush the change before happens;
halting progress in it's step.
Just watch the future's slipping
There is no shifting what is set.
SWASTIKAA symbol dating beyond 10,000 years ago.
A glyph long sacred.
With origins that remain untold.
Long predating the age of old.
Used in Asia and Europe as a symbol to behold.
Until a dark cloud shrouded the message.
Tiling it 45 degrees. They make it their own.
To give there Reich Credence.
As if Fate itself had bestowed.
An Unholy edict against their chosen foes.
Further perverting the meaning of what the symbol holds.
25 years of misuse, should not undermine it's legacy.
Nor should it stop parents from educating their own.
Because people today are to Fucking stupid to know.
That history does not begin with this century.
It Foreshadows the age of stone.
the Lay of IllIllkvæði
Si! Lyss till sången, den sällsamt sorgsna,
om svek och sveda, i Sviþiods land.
Hur en smitta småsint, i smälekens smedja,
med spefull spinnrock, spinna illsluga nät,
hur folksjälen svärmas, med svartaste svårmod,
då samfälldhet sina, och sågas isär.
Hören nu alla, om de härskna herrar,
vilka högsätet inta, med högburet hull.
Hövdingar alla, som härska i hallen,
med hövisk tunga, och skenhelig håg.
Dessa högborgens hökar, vårt rikets herdar,
nu hyckla och häckla, om ofärd och harm.
Då hetsas till tinget, hembygdens söner,
på hastiga hovar, från trygghetens hamn.
Med hatets hetta, de lockas att härja,
i blanka harnesk, för hem och för härd.
Också hyrda hirdmän, till härmönstring kallas,
på järnskodda hästar, i hiskelig hast.
Härolder hojta, och bl
Inside-The-OutsideAnother treacherous hour
ticks the heavenly, caged.
Between Life and Death
and the Rich and Beseiged
Inside the Outside lies one of two worlds
One of the men
and one of the girls.
One earth of curses,
the other a plus.
'Twix men who ride horses
and who walk in the dust.
They'll never rest
There will always be more
For those that go looking
are not those that go seeking
Because you must look
to find the In-Betweens
King JesterSo, crown the jester
in his plight
of the laughing widows, merry.
Each cackle and haw
tears him apart
in his fields of poppies.
Given him the crown
make a scepter of his bread.
Carry him on
to his throne of glory;
a sordid pile of the dead.
Mock him as he cries in anger
laugh at every tear.
Chain him to his crown of glory
and listen for the jests and jeers
FarmlandSeeing life through shattered eyes
hollowed out by crows
stinking words of slurping lies
death in perfect form.
The spoiled minds of children
who slither in the dust
devour whole their kindred
in a never-ending lust.
Come now, lads, lay down your arms
shed your hands and grin.
Fill the through and feed the farm
break your bones and skin.
Stick out your tongue and ring the bell
gorge yourself to bursting.
Taste heaven in the devil, sell
your lands of birthing.