Terror and Torture in Ukraine

 

Terror and Torture in Ukraine

Sweet children of Ukraine, the precious parts now gone, in terror and torture ridden,

Lives that were meant to be, abruptly stolen away, by the grief and pain, now hidden.

Never to sing and dance again, to the tunes they knew, of innocence and tenderness,

Minds filled with fearsome thoughts, languishing in their loss, and painful emptiness.

The courageous sons and daughters, who have given, the lives they had, for Ukraine,

Desperately fighting, for the ones they love, brave souls lost, never to be seen again.

Dutiful mothers, and loving fathers, who fought at the front, and endured the worst,

Against the brutal Orcs, the unruly savage beasts, sent from the east, by Putin cursed.

Innocent people dwelling day to day, uncertain of the light of dawn, living in darkness,

With terrible shadows cast, over their homes, towns, and cities, in strokes of madness.

With missiles and drones, raining down, destroying homes and hospitals, in their wake,

Leaving unsightly scenes, defenseless civilians, buried and dead, misery and heartache.

Soldiers returning from captivity, with parts missing, torture stories, too painful to share,

Suffering sickness and starvation, deplorable depravation, mental distress, and despair.

A country struck, with so much sadness, desperately fighting to survive the devil’s wrath,

As Russia blatantly pounds, and forges, leaving unutterable crimes, in its bloody path.

In the West, a world incapable of understanding, the awful terror and torture, in Ukraine,

Unable to feel the loss, grasp the heart wrenching reality, the dreadful suffering and pain.

The country plagued with an unwanted pestilence, is one that their world may never know,

Watching from afar, awful episodes unfolding, the terrible chapters in a Media Reality Show.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (June 2023)

The Innocence of Life

 

The Innocence of Life

Young soldier, therein the wild glint, within your eye, what visions do you see?

As you chase vivid dreams, to the land that extends, beyond the boundless sea.

Through the dark of night, past tangled thoughts, perchance to find, a fallen star,

The universe, within your hand, superhuman powers endowered, how bizarre.

The strength to stride amidst the gods, and thrust frightful thunderbolts at will,

The ability to cheat deaths impervious breath, and your wildest dreams fulfilled.

To sow the seeds of myth, founding legends, bravely facing deaths dark divide,

To swim the salty oceans wild, and leap great mountain ranges, in your stride.

To scour the earth, in search of heroic deeds, and solve Icarus’s mystery of flight,

To face the foe, with sword and shield in hand, to bravely fight, the ‘good’ fight.

Alas young soldier, your ego wears thin, your reckless imagination has passed,

Within youths’ insufferable vanity, now facing the truth, the horizon is overcast.

The immortality you seek, is out of reach, your futures bleak, you have dug a hole,

Your guardian angel comes, a riding fast, to wrap her wings, around your soul.

You are off to join your dreams, from your mother, unripe bud, plucked too soon,

With your frivolous thoughts, life has fallen short of becoming a beautiful bloom.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)

Beautiful Bakhmut

 

Beautiful Bakhmut

Oh, beautiful Bakhmut! Now you have endured, the test of Putin’s war,

Bombarded with rockets, and munitions, his awful crimes abhorred!

Yet another beautiful city, now transformed, into wreckage and dust,

Without reason, into wanton waste, the people’s lovely homes crushed.

For the inhabitants, there will be no return, no “Finally heading home!”

For they have been unwillingly set free, upon the road, to sadly roam.

Joining in the massive sea of wearily faces, that have already drifted by,

As they journey on, in pursuit of the setting sun, left to wonder why?

Unsure about where they have come, within the troubles they have been,

The fearsome sights, and haunting thoughts, now set in the flux between.

Displaced souls, now flooding west, unsure where they are bound to go.

Set on the perilous road, into the darkness, their fate we shall not know.

Widows and orphans, walking together, their sight fixed in empty eyes,

Hunger pains, and thirst, a forbidding reminder, hope difficult to visualize

No sound of chatter, their spirits paralyzed, fear set firmly in their minds,

Trudging methodically, one foot in front of the other, all dreams benign.

Mariupol, Sievierodonetsk, Maryinka, Rubizhne, and Popasna destroyed,

Volnovakha, Lyman, Izium, and now Bakhmut has joined the empty void.

In the towns and cities, where each solemn shadow was cast, we grieve,

With the pit of eternal sadness welling within, as our tears take their leave.

Slava Ukraini! Heroyam Slava! We take a knee, for all that you have lost!

Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the heroes! For you have borne freedoms cost.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)

In Gelendzhik

 

In Gelendzhik

In Gelendzhik, beside the ancient Sea of Zalpa, there sits a secret palace,

Home to the soulless evil demon, sorely regarded for all his wicked malice.

Beware! The self-proclaimed prince of darkness, who would dwell within,

Be wary of the illegitimate leaders last retreat, wherein he hides his sins!

Set at the end of the river of extortion, where all the dirty money flows,

The top-secret place, where all the stolen wealth, of the Russian people goes.

Proceeds extorted from poor people’s pockets, stolen before their very eyes,

Fortunes covertly embezzled, lifted by his light-fingered servants in disguise.

Great riches robbed, from other regions, and countries round the globe,

For the wickedest oligarch, a malevolent monster, clad in the finest robe.

In silk from the orient, and the finest fibers, fleeced from furry critters,

Mohair and cashmere, especially bred, in the lands of whitebait fritters.

The world’s finest wines, food fit for a greedy king, or a narcissistic tsar,

Canned borscht, beef stroganoff, solyanka, shchi, ukha, and briny caviar.

It is Putin’s lair, the point of escape, where the evil despot plans to stay,

The extravagant place, of clandestine retirement, to end his wicked ways.

Built on the blood and sweat of others, terrible torture, misery, and pain,

Great rooms tiled in imported marble, placed with scant regard of disdain.

Solid silver n gold, in great abundance, and vaults, full of precious stones,

Priceless relics and paintings, pilfered from museums, and people’s homes.

Safely hidden in Gelendzhik, entrenched beneath, the baren rock and trees,

Concealed in the solid bunker complex, behind rocky cliffs, and rugged scree.

Constructed with solid reinforced concrete, buried way below the ground,

A fortified sanctuary, where an evil nest of nasty criminals, will be found.

The Hague has another place, where with his henchmen, he will stay a while,

Once from all their hiding places, they have been routed and sent to trial!

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)

Like Pawns Within Putin’s Game

 

Like Pawns Within Putin’s Game

Be ever wary of the wicked moves he makes, his devious strategies in play,

As every counter, is thoughtlessly sacrificed at will, then casually cast away.

And all that they are worth, mere unthinking pawns, in his dangerous game,

Each holding little value, in his evil eyes, each is a number, without a name.

The wicked he has bred, moral fibers erased, within their unwitting minds,

Their sinful souls are lost and sold, there is no returning them back in time.

Their withered cortexes, have been corrupted, converted, and lead astray,

All goodness has been extinguished, now there is no lamp, to light their way.

Empathy condemned, and dispelled, by broken promises, and shameless lies,

Their future has fallen, into the land of no hope, within their fractured minds.

There is no escape, they are content, to live within, the hopeless hand of fate,

And wear cheap tin medals, for war crimes committed, in the name of state.

To sweat it out for Putin, all bound to be transformed, into his bloody brine,

Cannon fodder with no withdrawal, no turning back, behind the bloody line.

The Kremlin’s agenda has been firmly fixed, Russia has planted hatreds seeds!

Now it will take many generations, for humanity to eradicate the weeds!

It is time to cast the unruly mob aside, to cleanse the world, of their vile sins!

Before they spread more dirt amongst us! And seed their perverted evil within!

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)

 

When Love Turns to Mothers Wrath

The overwhelming joy of birth, in painful acts endured, as new parts of them are born,

The daunting challenges of childhood, with so many knocks, along roads already worn.

In a minefield of emotions let loose, of loves frustrations, worry, concern, and fatigue,

The tireless task, of building bonds so strong, bound within the ancient mother’s league.

Forged in the fires of maternal matrescence, in antenatal acts of evolving motherhood,

Facing the forbidding fears of failure, with an ounce of neglect, an inherent likelihood.

Dutifully watching, over each part of them, in the menacing world, of risk and threat,

Each infant, facing the challenges set before them, bumps and bruises, blood and sweat.

The teenage years, a step above the rest, a period of rapid change, and very little thanks,

As the adolescent voice becomes louder, and attempts to split, from the childhood ranks.

Then, as the tired mothers utmost fear approaches, that there will come the final day,

Within her hands the world, that she holds, each part from her, will finally break away.

When, she can no longer hold on to forever, the day she must, set her beloved doves free,

To soar in the sky of hope, amidst the clouds breaking blue, to rise above the raging sea.

Alas, war has never held a place, within a mother’s heart, somewhere beyond her dreams,

As wicked men, would like to pocket, what is not theirs to take, in their reckless schemes.

To take sons and daughters, and squander all their childhood dreams, lost in wicked war,

To feed them to the wolves, before the youngsters really know, what they are fighting for.

As the mother’s progeny is torn apart, the inconsolable grief, becomes too much to bear,

The part of her, she loved so much, is laid to waste, in deaths decay, gone beyond repair.

And she is left, to abide in woeful wake, over the love now lost, the strong bonds broken,

Flesh and blood, wrenched from her core, replaced with ruthless anger, rudely awoken.

She will turn to face the thunderous storm, with the grieving mother’s wrath unbound,

Full of bitterness and scorn mothers revolting, venting hate on Putin’s hallowed ground.

Sending the callous form, on into the pit of hells eternal fire, where his evil soul awaits,

As the mother’s purge Russia, of his band of wicked disciples, through their iron gates.

In their hearts, the place where they held the precious ones, once in proud embrace aloft.

Within the arms empty cradle, is a wretched well of pain, where boils the mothers wrath.

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)

All for the Pleasure of Pain

 

All for the Pleasure of Pain

Laying down a path, of destruction, where life will never be the same,

Supporting the work his army has wrought, the pestilence, and the pain.

With civilians gunned down, in the streets, as they tried in vain, to escape,

All the heartache and agony, the rotten plague of torture, and all the rape.

What evil mind possessed, would derive, so much pleasure from the pain?

 

The mindless misery, broadcast to a shocked world, struck in disbelief.

What unfeeling empty heart, could not feel the anguish, and the grief?

Attempting to twist the truth, at each turn he makes, and every bend,

Lacking even an ounce of regret, without intent to ever make amends.

Conspiring in kind, to take so many innocent souls, what wretched thief?

 

Leaving thousands of harmless people floundering, in distress and despair

As their homes and cities, were systematically destroyed, in his nightmare.

Stolen children, transported away like cattle, taken from the ones they love,

While he lays claim to the throne, and staunch orthodox beliefs from above.

Laying waste to the children of God, the poor families broken beyond repair.

 

As we wonder, looking to his mother and father, and how badly he was bred,

A childhood devoid of compassion and love, all the delusions, that he was fed.

Now trying to take, what is not his to take, the lives of other children abroad,

Twisting minds, shaping their lives, instilling mistruths, and paternal discord.

Creating the next generation of Orcs, a fearsome hoard with evil to spread.

 

The brutal suffering, and eternal sorrow wrought, within his bloody campaign,

Whereupon a burden, within each other country, he leaves his crimson stain.

Carnage raining down, upon innocent civilians, as they sleep, from the skies,

As he holds on to his fearsome regime, feeding people with his shameless lies.

We wonder, what architect would draw, such ungodly pleasure. from the pain?

Written By: Alan.Clark@WW1POET (May 2023)